by Jill M Beene
“My lady,” he said in a melodious voice, his brown-eyed gaze snagging on her tight breeches and the front of her shirt. “Have you come to wish me good fortune in the competition? Perhaps to give me a kiss for good luck?”
He made a smooching noise and pursed his lips while waggling his eyebrows at her. He was younger than Samiris had initially thought based on the groomed, luxurious mustache that dominated his face.
Samiris laughed. “Tempting, but no. I’ve come to ask you a favor.”
“Anything, my darling,” he said, clasping his hand to his strong chest. “For my heart is already yours. Tell me, what is your name?”
Samiris smiled up at him, and was surprised to find herself genuinely amused at his over-the-top antics. “I have your heart and you don’t even know my name?”
He leaned in to whisper theatrically, “I fear that my heart is often controlled by what I see with my eyes.”
“And what you feel in your breeches, too, no doubt,” Samiris whispered back.
He tipped his head back and roared with laughter. “Now I must know your name.”
Samiris clasped her hatchets in one hand, and executed a shallow curtsy. “Lady Samiris Orellana, my lord.”
He took her hand, bowed low over it, and pressed a lingering kiss to her skin. “I am Lord Kinsley Marian, and I am enraptured by your very presence.”
She gave him a coy look from beneath her lashes. “So enraptured that you would let me take your place in line?”
“I will guard your backside with my life while you, er... compete,” he said, his eyes landing on the hatchets Samiris held.
“Don’t you mean you will guard my back while I compete?” Samiris asked with a raised eyebrow.
In answer, he gave her a roguish wink.
Samiris chuckled and shook her head. But her time was up. She could see Artem trying to push his way through the small crowd of men that had flocked around her and Lord Kinsley like pigeons when crumbs are dropped.
“Lord Kinsley, would you provide some room?” she asked.
“Stand back!” he thundered dramatically, throwing his hands up toward the group of men with a flourish.
They took a few steps back dutifully, further trapping Artem in their midst. Samiris caught one last glimpse of Artem’s flashing eyes, his clenched jaw and his frown. She smiled, turned, and in one fluid movement, raised a hatchet above her head, stepped forward, snapped her wrist and released it. In the instant it was out of her hand, Samiris smiled even as a gasp went up from the ladies in attendance. One even screamed. It was a good throw, pure and true, and the hatchet thunked into the bullseye of the target.
“A backside worth guarding, and talented with weapons,” Lord Kinsley sighed into the shocked silence that followed. “I really am in love.”
Samiris laughed at his words, but noticed Artem’s narrowed eyes focused on Lord Kinsley. The crowd clapped, and Lord Kinsley added a raucous whistle to the applause. Samiris gave a little curtsy, surprised to feel blood heating her cheeks. She stepped aside for the next competitor and waited for the servants at the end of the archery range to mark her spot and return her hatchet.
“Lady Samiris, may I have the first dance at the upcoming ball?” Lord Kinsley had followed her off to the side.
Samiris winced, and saw Lord Kinsley’s gaze turn speculative, his eyebrow quirked.
“Unless someone else has already asked for that honor?” he asked.
Did she imagine it, or did his eyes flicker to Artem in the crowd?
“No. I forgot all about the ball.” She frowned. “I’m not very fond of dancing.”
“She likes weapons, but not balls,” Lord Kinsley murmured, studying her face with a serious expression. Abruptly, he winked and wiggled his eyebrows again, grinning. “Then the first dance, and a promise to take a long, romantic walk in the gardens and get so lost in the shrubbery that we cannot return?”
Samiris laughed. For some reason, she liked Lord Kinsley. Although his words were meant to be shocking, Samiris got the impression that the womanizing act was just for show. He was playing a part, just like she was.
She stuck her hand out in a decidedly peasant fashion. “Deal.”
Lord Kinsley shook her hand enthusiastically, his face brightening even more with the uncouth action.
“Lady Samiris, are you quite finished?” Artem’s growl of a voice sounded near her ear, and Samiris jerked.
She hadn’t realized he was so close, and now wondered what he had heard.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied serenely. “I’m just waiting for my mark and my weapon.”
Artem’s eyes flicked to the man next to her.
“Lord Kinsley,” Artem acknowledged, his tone cool.
“Captain Trego,” Lord Kinsley said with a widening smile, his eyes moving back and forth between Artem and Samiris. “Lady Samiris has just given me the honor of promising me the first dance at the Opening ball.”
Artem grunted in response, then said in a clipped tone, “Mind you watch your toes, then. She’s the worst dancer I’ve ever seen.”
He turned a stiff back and melted away into the crowd. Samiris stood, eyes wide, looking after him. Under the shock inspired by his comment, there was a small screw of hurt twisting deeper and deeper into her stomach. A blush settled over her cheeks like a dusting of new snow.
“He’s right, you know,” she admitted to Lord Kinsley. “I don’t dance well.”
Lord Kinsley gripped her forearm tightly, making her eyes jerk to meet his. He frowned, his voice serious. “By the time we are finished, he’ll regret his words. Just make sure your dress is worthy of all of the attention we’ll be getting.” He winked at her, his attitude playful again. “Or just wear the pants.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Samiris trudged toward her room that afternoon with five points toward the Crown Prince’s Championship and a numb heart. She had sat through afternoon tea with a slight humming in her head, like a bee was lodged in each ear. No one seemed to notice, except for Narcise, whose lip held an especially high sneer when she glanced at Samiris. The rest of the Chosen ignored her, per usual. It didn’t seem to matter to any of them that she was still in breeches and tunic. It’s not like they could ignore her any more.
She could not figure out why Artem’s words affected her so. They were not friends. Nothing had changed. Except that until today, he had never gone out of his way to be mean. Samiris’ eyes were downcast at the sumptuous carpet, her hands deep in her pockets, so she did not see the girl in her path until she nearly ran into her.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” Narcise snapped.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“Not that, you numb skull,” Narcise said, scowling deeply at Samiris. “I’m talking about your little stunt this morning at the competition. First the Captain, now Lord Kinsley? We are supposed to be courting the Crown Prince.”
Samiris held up her hands in defense against the loathing plainly visible in Narcise’s gaze. “I’m not courting anyone.”
Narcise crossed her thin arms and narrowed her eyes. With her bony arms, Samiris thought that Narcise looked like an angry bird. A very beautiful, angry bird who wanted to peck Samiris’ eyes out.
“You expect me to believe it’s just coincidence that you are trying to catch the eye of the two wealthiest bachelors in the kingdom?”
“Actually, the Crown Prince is the wealthiest bachelor in the kingdom.”
Narcise’s eyes rolled toward the gilded ceiling. “We both know he’s not going to choose you. You’re lucky to have lasted this long. Your only hope is to catch the eye of some Northern lord so you can escape the Southern hovel you call home.”
Samiris felt the anger rising within her, like ocean fog rolling in over the Faro hills. “I cannot wait to return home. I’ve been asking to leave
since before I even arrived.”
Narcise scoffed. “I’m embarrassed for you. Can’t you see that any attention Northern lords pay you is out of morbid curiosity? You’re like the two-headed snake at the street fair. Fascinating to look at, but no one is going to marry it.”
Samiris felt her color rising, felt the sharp prick of anger behind her eyes. She pushed rudely past Narcise and walked quickly to her room. She did not stop until her door was shut firmly behind her, until she was leaning against it and taking deep breaths to calm herself. She knew the truth about herself, about her motives, about her desires for her future.
In her wildest dreams, there was not a Northern lord in sight. It was just Samiris, Tamrah, and their healthy father at home in their stone manor in Faro. Samiris would work fertile fields alone to the sounds of the ocean’s roar and seagull’s cry, and she wouldn’t have to worry about marriage at all, since the inheritance law had been changed. That’s why she had entered the Crown Prince’s Championship. That was the dream she saw when she closed her eyes. Not the Crown Prince. Not Lord Kinsley. Certainly not Captain Trego.
It took a second for her brain to register that there were voices coming from her sitting room. She heard the low murmur of a male voice, then Aster’s laughter, and some dull clunking noises. Samiris stepped forward hesitantly to investigate. Whatever she expected, it wasn’t Aster and Lord Kinsley moving furniture. They had cleared a large circle in the center of the sitting room.
“Lady Samiris!” Lord Kinsley said. A sheen of sweat glinted at his temples like morning dew on a leaf. “There you are.”
“What are you doing?” Samiris asked.
“Dancing, of course,” he said, as if he and Samiris had agreed upon it previously. “Now go get changed. No matter how well you fill out those breeches, you probably won’t be allowed to wear them to the ball.”
Samiris stood staring dumbly at Lord Kinsley as he wrestled an overstuffed brocade ottoman, until Aster prodded her lower back and led Samiris to her dressing room.
“Lord Kinsley said that you had agreed to give him the first dance at the Opening ball,” Aster said, helping Samiris out of her boots.
“Yes. He asked me today,” Samiris said, loosening the ties on her tunic.
“That’s an honor, that is,” Aster said. “Traditionally, the Opening ball marks the beginning of Courting Season. Lords only ask ladies to dance the first dance if they plan on courting them throughout the season. He could have chosen any Lady, Chosen or not. The fact that Lord Kinsley asked you to dance even though you are one of the Chosen says a lot.”
“Why?” Samiris said, peeling off her breeches.
“Because the Crown Prince is already courting you,” Aster said, exasperation tinting her voice. “Lord Kinsley is saying that he values you so highly that he is willing to wait for you. He is making a secondary claim, but it’s risky. If the Crown Prince doesn’t release you, Lord Kinsley may waste an entire Courting Season, waiting.”
“Why would he do that?” Samiris said, her words muffled as Aster jammed a crisp cotton chemise over her head. “I just met him today.”
“Lady Samiris, whether you want to admit it or not, you are very beautiful.”
Samiris made a derisive noise that sounded a lot like a pig.
“Well, you are very beautiful when you aren’t doing that, at least. And you are different from every other lady here. I saw the way Lord Kinsley was looking at you during the competition. It seems you have caught his fancy and he is willing to publicly declare it.”
A knock sounded at the dressing room, and Lord Kinsley said, “Need any help in there, Lady Samiris?”
“Go away, you pervert!” Samiris bellowed, clasping her hands to her chest.
“It was worth a try,” Lord Kinsley’s retreating voice said, his words thick with laughter.
Aster looked from the closed door to Samiris with a bewildered expression and said, “Yes. I guarantee that you are different from most women Lord Kinsley has spent time with.”
Samiris emerged from the dressing room after Aster had cinched her into the fullest gown she owned. After only two days in breeches and tunics, Samiris had almost forgotten how much she hated corsets, stays, and heavy skirts. Her corset made her feel like her chest was in the grip of a Southern desert python. Her swirling skirts weighed her down like she was walking in waist-high water.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Kinsley said, bowing nearly to the floor.
For the next two hours, Kinsley swept Samiris around the clearing in her sitting room, exhorting, complimenting and critiquing in turn. Aster had dinner brought up and delivered to the dining room. Samiris and Kinsley drank wine and ate fruit, bread, cheese and cold cuts of meat with sweat on their brows and laughter on their lips.
“Did anyone tell you what the first dance of the Opening ball means?” Kinsley asked Samiris as she took a sip of fruit-infused wine.
Samiris’ eyes flickered to Aster, who stood expressionless against the wall, then back to Kinsley’s serious face.
“Yes. I heard it means you want to court me. Or rather, that you want to stand in line to court me.”
Kinsley ran his cultured fingers over his chin, then fingered his mustache. “I think I may have been right about you, Samiris. Not one girl in a thousand would have answered me honestly. Most would have feigned ignorance in an attempt to get me to expose my intentions or declare my feelings.”
“What are your intentions?” Samiris asked. “My intentions are to leave here as soon as possible and return home to take care of my sister and ailing father.”
Kinsley smiled at her, a smile tinted with sadness. “My father and mother are pressing me to take a bride. But I love another.”
“Who is she?” Samiris said, popping a grape into her mouth. “Just point the full force of your charm at her, and I’m sure she’ll come running.”
“Her name was Lady Melody Remino.” He ran his fingertip along his mustache again.
Samiris’ hand paused on its journey toward another grape. “Was?”
“She was one of the Chosen. Four years ago, she was the last girl remaining. She burned, right in front of me, while I watched.” Tears welled in his eyes.
Samiris reached out and gripped his hand where it lay on the white tablecloth. “I am sorry. I am so, so very sorry.”
She could not imagine losing a lover to the flames, but she could imagine losing Tamrah or her father in such a fashion. To lose someone you loved, while you were forced to watch, helpless? The emotional gulf that opened within her even at the thought was breathtaking in its scope of pain.
His watery brown eyes found hers. “Thank you.”
“How can they possibly expect you to take a wife so soon after what happened?” Samiris asked earnestly.
Kinsley blinked at her several times, searching her expression. “You really mean it. You really understand why that would be difficult, even after four years.”
Samiris jerked back, stunned. “Four years is nothing when it comes to losing someone you love. Nothing. I still can barely think about my mother.” She rubbed the heel of her palm against her chest. “It hurts too much.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“Twelve years.” Samiris gave a shaky smile. “Maybe next year it will be easier.”
“Maybe.” Kinsley plucked at the tablecloth, then gave his head a little shake as if to clear memories from his head. “So you understand I cannot marry for love.”
“Of course,” she said. “I understand completely. I will play along and keep your parents satisfied. Then you’ll have a year to grieve in peace.”
“No, you don’t understand. I still mean to court you.”
Samiris looked up to find Kinsley’s brown eyes wide and completely serious.
“But I don’t even want a husband,” she blurted.
Over Kinsley’s shoulder, Samiris caught Aster rolling her eyes and sighing.
Kinsley laughed. “Even a ridiculously wealthy one who lets you do whatever you damn well please?”
Samiris paused at the thought. “I want to live at home in Faro with my father and sister.”
“Great. I can’t wait to move out of my parent’s manor in Brizelle. When they die, I can split time between Faro and Brizelle. I can easily afford to keep another residence. My family has six already.”
“I don’t want to wear dresses,” she argued.
“Then it’s good that you look really good in pants.” Kinsley gave a cheeky grin. “And if you marry me, you’ll be wealthy enough that people will consider you eccentric instead of crazy.”
Samiris sat back in her chair, stunned. Before her was a wealthy, attractive man offering to improve her life a hundred times over, and asking little in return.
“I’ll need time to think about it,” she said.
“That’s what the Courting Season is for,” he said, standing. He bowed over her knuckles and pressed a kiss to her skin. “Goodnight, Samiris.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Samiris sat staring at the merry fire she had built in the grate. It was early, the sunlight just beginning to turn the landscape out the windows from shades of black to shades of silver. She had been up for hours, thinking. There was no way around it. The plan that had formed in her mind ever since she had used servant clothes as a disguise had been pecking at her mind like a restless chicken. When Aster breezed through the doorway, Samiris was decided.
“I need your clothes,” Samiris said, bluntly.
“Ex...excuse me, my lady?” Aster said.
“I need a set of servants clothes again. Tonight. I need to go into the city without anyone knowing. I’ll give them back tomorrow morning.”
Aster seemed torn between obedience and following the rules. Samiris could see the two desires battling on her face like two alley cats.
“If anyone asks me, I won’t say where I got them,” Samiris said, trying to help.