“I have no doubt that I love him,” she replied. “With all my heart.”
“Huh,” the Grand Master grunted and shook his head. He looked down, his hands clenched into fists. “I love my brother but sometimes he does things that make me dislike him completely.” He looked up. “Tonight is just such a time.”
Terror raced through Jameela’s heart. “Please,” she begged. “Do not blame him for my wayward heart, Your Grace. He has not once…”
The Grand Master held his hand up. “It matters not what Dagan feels, Milady. He is as much a pawn in this matter as you.” He turned his attention to the Lord High Abbot. “Get on with the ceremony, Teazel.”
Nodding respectfully, the Lord High Abbot instructed Jameela to kneel at her betrothed’s feet.
“Let her stand,” the Grand Master snapped.
“Milord, it is not…”
“It is my Joining and it will be performed in the manner in which I decree!” the Grand Master commanded through clenched teeth. He put a hand out to Jameela. “Take my hand and stand beside me as my equal, Wench.”
There were muted mumbles of protest among the gathered Brothers but none dared gainsay the Grand Master’s orders. They cast the lovely woman who took the proffered hand a look but their whispering stopped when the Grand Master swept his hawkish glower over them.
“Let it be known that I am accepting this woman not only as my mate but as my helpmeet, my friend, and the keeper of my heart. Any Brother who would dare insult her or cause her the first moment’s agitation will have my undying enmity. Is that clear?”
Quick nods punctuated the shout of “Aye, Your Grace” from amongst those men gathered.
The Grand Master turned his stern look on Brother Qutaybah. “Do you understand?” he demanded.
Brother Qutaybah inclined his head though his eyes were bright with anger and the fingers of the hands clasped at his waist had bled of color so tightly were they clenched.
“Under penalty of being stretched upon the Lord High Executioner’s post and lashed until there are no strips of your flesh left hanging on your lifeless body and every drop of your worthless blood is pooled at your feet?” the Grand Master pressed. “Speak to me!”
The anger in Brother Qutaybah’s eyes fled to be replaced with shock. “I am here to do your will, Your Grace,” he replied. “Your wish is my command.”
“Then swear to me before those assembled that you will not cause my Lady-wife one moment of distress. That you will attend to her commands and instructions as though they came straight from my lips!”
Brother Qutaybah swallowed hard, the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbing. He cast Jameela a fleeting look then his shoulders slumped. “It will be as you have decreed, Your Grace.”
“Lie to her ever again, frighten her with any implied mistruth and I swear to you before these good men that I will retaliate in ways you will rue to your dying breath!” the Grand Master stated.
His head lowered, hanging as though the weight of the world were pressed atop it, Brother Qutaybah closed his eyes.
Satisfied that he had cowered the coward, the Grand Master looked up at his betrothed. “Have I covered what needs be said, Milady?”
Jameela smiled tremulously. “I believe you have sufficiently chastised Brother Qutaybah, Your Grace, and for that I am eternally grateful. He has not been very nice to me.”
“I am aware of that, Wench,” the Grand Master acknowledged. “Should he treat you in that fashion in the future, his life will be forfeit.”
The Brothers looked at one another with surprise stamped upon their faces but they nodded at one another, having understood the implications of not giving the Grand Master’s Lady-wife the respect he demanded they show.
“Now, Join us together, Lord Abbot, for I am growing weary of this hellish chair,” the Grand Master stated. “My shoulder is killing me.”
“Perhaps,” Jameela said softly, “I could sit beside you, Your Grace.” She held his gaze. “There would be less strain on your arm.”
The Grand Master threw his head back and laughed then brought Jameela’s hand to his lips. He placed a hard kiss to her wrist then motioned for a chair to be brought.
Brother Qutaybah jumped to the task and brought a chair quickly, placing it gently behind Jameela’s knees and holding it steady until she was seated. Silently he backed away, his hands once more at his waist.
The ceremony was not overly long but it was intricate. Explanations were given on the accepted conduct of a Grand Master’s mate and instructions on her duties were clearly stated. When at last the actual Joining was pronounced, Jameela’s head was spinning with all the information she had been given.
“I present to you His Grace, Lord Hagan Kiel, Grand Master of the Conclave and his Lady-wife, Her Grace Lady Jameela!” the Lord High Abbot exclaimed.
There was a hearty round of applause, vigorous nods of the Brothers’ heads and an actual smile or two here and there.
Once more the Grand Master brought Jameela’s hand to his lips, sealing their Joining with a kiss as light as a butterfly’s winds. “Milady, I am honored to have you to wife,” he said.
Jameela breathed easily for the first time that day. She managed a smile though she wished with all her heart it was Dagan Kiel to whom she had been Joined in matrimony.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” the Grand Master said. “I need to refresh myself before we retire for the evening, Milady.” He glanced at Brother Qutaybah. “Escort Her Grace to her new quarters and send her ladies to help her ready herself for…” He faltered then lifted his chin. “For the consummation of our Joining.”
She watched her new husband being rolled away and wondered at the break in his voice on his last words to the assembly. Her heart went out to him as she looked at his bent head, his hands clutched almost desperately on the arms of the rolling conveyance.
“He looks tired,” she said to no one in particular.
“He tires easily,” Brother Qutaybah said in a haughty tone then cleared his throat. His next words were almost normal. “He will not overly abuse the privilege of being your husband.”
Somewhat confused by such a statement, Jameela said nothing as the Grand Master’s Chancellor swept out a hand for her to precede him. As they passed the members of the Conclave—parting before her advancement—she met the eyes of a few and was relieved to see no overt hostility aimed her way.
“Where is Lord Dagan?” she asked Brother Qutaybah and felt—rather than saw—the lanky man stiffen.
“I do not know. He did not deign to attend as you no doubt noticed, Your Grace,” Brother Qutaybah replied and the smug satisfaction in his voice made it clear to Jameela that the awful man was glad Dagan was no doubt suffering in some way.
“Would you find him for me and ask him to come to my quarters?” Jameela queried and thought the man walking slightly behind her now that she was a person of authority was going to refuse.
“With all due respect, Your Grace, but perhaps you should ask your husband’s permission to have Lord Dagan…”
“I shall,” Jameela interrupted him, “but please do as I ask.” She cast a side look at Brother Qutaybah. “I will make sure my husband knows you voiced your caution.”
She could hear Brother Qutaybah’s teeth grinding but he did not respond to her words. Once they reached the new quarters provided for the Lady-wife of the Grand Master, he opened the door for her and ushered her inside.
“I will do as you command, Milady,” Brother Qutaybah told her then clapped his hands to the two guards who flanked the portals of Jameela’s new home. “Fulid, fetch Her Grace’s attendants. Yareon, see to whatever her needs may be until the women arrive.”
The guards snapped to attention and the younger of the two made haste to seek out Jameela’s ladies-in-waiting. The older man arched a brow at his new mistress, not having received permission to speak.
“I would like a glass of lemon water if it is not too much trouble,” Jameela said. �
�Yareon, is it?”
The guard smiled widely. “No trouble at all, Your Grace, and aye, it is Yareon.” He left Jameela looking about the sumptuous room that had been provided for her, quietly closing the door behind him.
Jameela flinched as she heard the portal’s lock engage. For a moment she feared being locked in then realized her safety was the guard’s concern and relaxed. Her feminine curiosity aroused, she began inspecting the extravagant room that had been designed especially for her. So engrossed in her tour of her quarters, she paid scant attention to the lock disengaging and the door opening.
“Is it to your liking, Milady?”
Jameela spun around, her eyes wide as she beheld Dagan standing in the opened doorway, a glass of lemon water in his hand. She rushed to him, coming up short at his slight frown.
“You are…” she said then cleared her throat. “You are well, Milord Dagan?”
“Quite well, Milady,” he replied, closing the distance between them. He extended the frosty tumbler of lemon water. “You have developed quite a liking for this brew, haven’t you?”
Jameela grinned. “It quenches my thirst better than anything I’ve ever encountered.” She took the glass and brought it to her lips for a quick sip.
“Some thirsts are easily quenched,” he replied. “While some will never be.”
She slowly lowered the tumbler. “Why did you not tell me the Grand Master was your brother?” she inquired softly. “Or that he and you were twins?”
Dagan shrugged carelessly then thrust his hands into the pockets of his black breeches. “It didn’t seem of any great import.” He shrugged again. “There is nothing neither he nor I can do about the circumstances of our birth.”
“I wish you had told me he was handicapped,” she said.
“Hagan isn’t handicapped, Milady. He is crippled. There is nothing soft nor lacking in him save the use of his legs.”
“How did that happen?” she asked. “Was he born that way?”
Dagan shook his head. “No. He was injured as a boy, a fall from his steed.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“So is he, but it will not interfere with his marriage rights.”
Her face red at his remark, she took another sip of the chilled lemon water, looking over the rim of the tumbler at her companion. He seemed at ease in his surroundings so she reckoned he had his brother’s—his Grand Master’s—permission to be in her quarters. He held her gaze. Lowering the glass, she held it with the bottom in her free hand.
“I wish it had been you who…”
“He will be along shortly,” Dagan said, halting the admission she had been about to make. “He wanted to speak with the two of us before you and he retired for the evening.” For the first time, he looked away but not before she glimpsed the infinite sorrow in his amber eyes.
“He loves you,” she told him.
Dagan snorted but it wasn’t a sound of disbelief. Rather it seemed to her it was a noise of exasperation. “So he has always told me but there have been times when I questioned the validity of his statement.”
“Such as when he sent you to the dungeon this morn?” she asked.
An amused smiled lit the Master Trainer’s handsome face. “You have to admit it is a supreme way in which to garner one’s attention, eh?”
“You do not fear him?” she asked lightly but the concern on her face belied the easy way in which she asked.
“Fear is not the correct word, I think,” he admitted. “Irritated, frustrated, even annoyed would better describe how I feel when he asserts his power on me.”
“I hear your affection for him in your tone, Milord,” she said.
He shrugged and looked away.
The air was charged with silence then he asked once more if the quarters were to her liking.
“They are dazzling,” she replied. “Far more than I ever thought to have.”
“If there is something you wish, something you need, let Qutaybah know,” he told her. He narrowed his eyes. “He is treating you better, is he not?”
“Oh, yes!” she answered. “He might not like being nice to me but he is far more polite than before this day.” She giggled. “Lord Hagan made sure he would be.”
Dagan’s lips twitched but he made no comment to her words. Instead, he walked to the lone window and looked out over the enclosed courtyard beyond. “A lovely cage,” he said quietly. “No escape from this place, Milady.”
“Why would she want to escape, brother?”
Dagan and Jameela turned toward the door. His steward who pushed the chair to the center of the room was rolling the Grand Master into the room. After making sure his master wished nothing further, the steward bowed and then backed out of the room, closing the portal quietly behind him.
“Well, Dagan? Why would our lovely Lady-wife wish to escape?”
Dagan frowned. “When have you taken to using the royal our, Your Grace?”
The Grand Master grinned. “Was I doing that, brother?”
This time Dagan’s snort gave no doubt of his disbelief and he looked away from the humor on his twin’s face.
“You haven’t told her, have you?”
Dagan snapped his head around. “Told her what?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.
“That she is as much your Lady-wife as she is mine,” Hagan replied.
Dagan’s lips parted in shock and he was about to speak but his brother held up a hand.
“I have no intention of starting my wedded life with the lovely Jameela on a lie, Dagan. She has a right to know the truth.”
“Don’t,” Dagan said so softly his voice was but a breath of sound.
“What?” the Grand Master asked, putting his hand up to cup his right ear. “Is that the dungeon master I hear calling your name, Dagan? Do you miss the embrace of your shackles?”
Despite the thudding of her heart, Jameela stepped forward, garnering her new husband’s attention.
“Your Grace, please do not threaten him with torment you know you do not wish to inflict upon him,” she begged.
Hagan laughed until tears formed in his eyes. “Ah, Wench, you are fast becoming his champion.” He wiped his eyes. “Dagan, tell her I always make good on my threats.”
“He gets great delight out of seeing me strung up to that foul wall,” Dagan said with gritted teeth. “He doesn’t think I know about the peephole in the ceiling but I do.”
“Aw,” the Grand Master said on a long breath. “And I thought I was being so clever lying on the floor and watching you fidget.”
“What is this truth you believe I should know, Your Grace?” Jameela asked quickly, feeling a chill enter the men’s words.
“Ah, yes, the truth.” Her new husband arched a brow at his twin. “Shall I tell her or will you?”
“Hagan, don’t do this,” Dagan pleaded. “What purpose will it serve?”
“To put her mind at rest?” his brother countered.
Jameela looked from one man to the other. Dagan’s face was hard, his eyes bleak, his mouth tight. Hagan was grinning, his eyes twinkling, his lips quivering with amusement. Whatever secret the Grand Master wished to impart seemed to make Dagan ill at ease.
“You know I am going to tell her,” the Grand Master stated.
“You always do what you want,” Dagan said. “And that has not been either prudent or safe on occasion.”
The smile slipped from the Grand Master’s face. “True, but the consequences have been mine to bear, haven’t they, Dagan?”
Dagan flinched and turned his back, staring once more out the window.
Jameela could sense the disquiet between the brothers but was at a loss to know what to say or how to react. When her new husband bid her sit on the settee beside his rolling chair, she did so without comment.
“I really had no desire to wed,” the Grand Master said, causing Jameela to blink. “It was something necessitated by decree of my position.” He held his hand out to his Lady-wife and threaded his fi
ngers between hers. “Dagan, on the other hand would never have married because of his condition.”
The snort that pushed from Dagan this time was full of bitterness.
“He deserves a helpmate, don’t you agree, Wench?”
Jameela tore her attention from her husband to the man standing so stiffly at the window, his back to her. She looked back at the Grand Master, her gaze full of pleading.
“Well?” the Grand Master prompted. “Don’t you think he deserves happiness with a woman he can call his own?”
Hurt drove through Jameela’s breast and she felt the prickle of tears starting. As much as she wished Dagan happiness, it would not be with anyone other than herself. “He is a good man,” was all she could say.
“Indeed, he is,” her husband agreed. “He did not deserve what our father did to him anymore than I deserved to be a cripple.” He glanced over at his brother. “Between us, we are a whole man. Wouldn’t you agree, Dagan?”
Dagan did not answer.
The Grand Master sighed audibly. “Now, he’s pissed at me,” he said. “I may well have to call the dungeon master yet.”
“His scourge or hot pinchers couldn’t hurt me any more than what you mean to do,” Dagan said though he didn’t turn around. “Spin your evil, Your Grace, and get it over!”
“Evil?” the Grand Master queried in a disbelieving voice. “Dagan, why do you think me such a demon?”
“Because if you tell her the truth, that is exactly what you will be!” Dagan said, turning to face his twin. “Don’t do this!”
“Tell me what it is you have to, Your Grace,” Jameela interrupted. She tensed her fingers around her husband’s. “Please don’t put Lord Dagan through the ordeal of having to hear your words. Allow him to leave and…”
“It was he who spoke the words of Joining with you this eve,” the Grand Master told her and as her eyes widened, her lips parted, he nodded emphatically. “By proxy, aye, but still it was he who made the vows. In essence, though you are my legal Lady-wife, so, too, are you his.”
Jameela sat back, too shocked to speak. She could not look at Dagan and found it hard to look at the man who was legally her husband.
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