by Jackie Ivie
“I have never done a lot of things. And most are happening since that woman came into my life!”
Rhoenne walked slowly, favoring his injured side. Henry walked alongside. If he noted Rhoenne’s gingerly-taken steps, he didn’t speak of it.
“What woman?”
“Cassandra!”
“Well...you do have two of them. I just wanted to be specific.”
“Things are completely backwards, Henry. Up is down. Down is up!”
“Because of Cassandra,” the man remarked.
“Aye!”
“What has she done?”
“She is beautiful.”
“So you continually tell me.”
“No! It is so much worse than that. She is too beauteous for belief. There is no comparison. Of any kind! I do na’ have much time. Once we dock, her fate will be set.”
“What fate? Why?”
“That is no heathen shoreline, Henry. ’Tis civilization. Christian civilization. Keeping slaves is a sin. And nae nobleman keeps a lady in his household...na’ without besmirching her name.”
“Besmirching her name? Cassandra? Are we speaking of the same woman?”
“Henry,” Rhoenne said warningly.
“I do na’ ken this trouble. She came out of a heathen potentate’s harem. How is anything you have or will do besmirching anything?”
“Call me a fool, but I actually believe she is an innocent. Still.”
“Nae!” The man’s expression mirrored his shock.
“Oh. Aye.”
“Well. This is... I see. That is surprising, but it is hardly a problem.”
“I face two options. Either I set Cassandra up in a household with Ida and Emin...or I place her in a convent.”
“Or you leave her on the street and go on your merry way.”
“Never!”
“Why na’?”
“I can na’ just leave her! She has gotten under my skin! I do na’ even ken how. Or why. Or when. But last night showed me.”
“Ah. I see. You...have discovered a fondness for her, and that is turning you a little too human for your own peace of mind.”
“Why did I think speaking with you a good idea?” Rhoenne bit out through clenched teeth.
“Forgive me, my laird. I could na’ resist. Have you asked her what she wishes?”
“Aye.”
“And what does she say?”
“She is na’ amenable to either option. She wishes to stay with me. She begged it just now.”
“My. My. Things must have been verra interesting in that cabin with just two women.”
“And a eunuch! Damnation, FitzHugh! Would you be serious? I need advice. Not jesting.”
“Forgive me, my laird. I mused aloud, and the levity was out of place. I just. Well. This is all so...surprising.”
“My asking advice?”
“’Tis more the quandary you are presenting to me.”
“Cassandra is—. She—. Well. It is na’ what you think. She is na’ accustomed to much of anything. And she is far too beautiful. ’Tis most unreal. She believes the lone place of safety is with me. She is verra persuasive with her words, too.”
“I do see your issue. Well. I must say of the three options I have just heard, only one is truly safe.”
“The convent?”
“Convents are na’ safe. Priests are – forgive the blasphemous thought – still men. If she is as beauteous as you say, how will covering her in a habit, with scapular, cowl, and veil, keep her protected?”
“She would nae longer be my problem.”
“Nor would she be if you set her up in her own household.”
“I canna’ set her up with just Emin and Ida. ’Twould be akin to leading a lamb to slaughter.”
“That leaves one option. The one she already requested.”
“I canna’ keep that woman with me. Who is to protect her, then?”
“You.”
“From me!” Rhoenne announced.
“Ah. I begin to see the real trouble here.” It looked suspiciously like Henry was hiding a smile. His mouth moved rapidly behind his beard. But his voice didn’t sound amused. “Your options are narrowing as you speak. Would you consider...matrimony?”
“Of course na’. I am betrothed. You ken as much. You were at the ceremony.”
“A decade ago. More. She was na’ even birthed, yet.”
“She is a Plantagenet. Sister to our queen.”
“True. But...loyalty to England grows ever tenuous. Some say even Baliol clan or Bruce may lay claim to the throne next. Should you fail to abide the betrothal, the most that will happen is you will lose a fat dower. Your fief is large. Her dower of little moment, actually.”
“What of the curse?”
“Birthing a Ramhurst kills the mother? Complete nonsense. Wife’s tale.”
“What of...Aileen, then?”
“Oh. Rhoenne. Please. Just grant me permission to be there when they meet. I would die a happy man. I vow it.”
“I am not speaking of matrimony, FitzHugh. Ever. There has to be another option!”
“You wish me to take on the responsibility...in your stead?”
Rhoenne growled menacingly. His hands knotted into fists. He even took an instinctive step toward the man before stopping it.
“Well,” Henry remarked slowly. “That sounds like an answer to me.”
“I already regret asking advice, FitzHugh. Don’t make me hit you, as well,” Rhoenne returned.
“Must you make this decision now? Perhaps yon port is a licentious city. Or one of little note. Your passage may na’ be noted.”
“Me? Go unnoticed?”
“Hmm. True. My wits do desert me at times. Perhaps she can stay veiled?”
“And have it known I keep veiled women in my household, like some eastern heathen?”
“You can say she is your ward. ’Tis na’ unusual.”
“My ward?”
“Cousin’s daughter. Sister-by-law. Something. None need ken the truth.”
Rhoenne snapped his glance to his man. A glimmer of hope altered his frown. “Oh, Henry. I never considered that.”
“I believe the idea merits a word of caution, Ramhurst.”
“Yes? What?”
“She is of marriageable age. And beautiful. If you are her sponsor, and she is as you say...then you will most likely face a fourth option.”
“What?”
“Her marriage to another.”
Rhoenne’s step faltered. He caught the motion. Resumed walking. His torso twisted. The wound twinged unmercifully. He stifled the pain. But nothing stopped the other pain. The one that shot through his chest without a hint of warning. The one he refused to acknowledge.
Not in this lifetime.
And never because of a woman.
Chapter Sixteen
She saw him twice in the next eleven days.
Twice.
The rooms she’d been escorted to were large and richly furnished, as befitted a city in the Domini de Mar of the richest most powerful trading empire in the world. Rhoenne had secured housing within the walls of Castle Kaza, the regional seat of power for the Dukedom. The castle was a hive of activity, housing many noble households, most attempting to secure financing for a personal matter or business venture. That would have also been Rhoenne Ramhurst’s mission, save he’d arrived at the city in possession of a ship and a cargo hold full of luxuries.
The city was called Sitia. A massive structure called Fortress Kazarma overlooked the harbor from the crest of the highest hill. Part of the Realm of Candia, and controlled by the Venetian Republic, the fortress was a symbol of power and protection. Sitia’s markets were awash in luxury goods. Rhoenne’s cargo fetched monumental prices. His coffers were said to be bursting, even without the addition of her jewelry. Not that she worried over it, but Emin never mentioned what had happened with it, and she didn’t ask. The ship was being repaired and retrofitted for an ocean journey, somewhere past the I
sland of Malta. A crew was being hired and trained. And if it hadn’t been for Emin’s information, she’d have known nothing.
Cassandra and Ida had been left aboard ship the entire first day and into the night. Before dawn, the women had been escorted under heavy veiling to a covered donkey-drawn cart, driven over cobblestoned streets for some distance uphill, then rushed through a maze of halls that echoed. A lone torchbearer had lighted the path, hooded, his face in shadow. Cassandra hadn’t known who led their progress, but Emin had been the man behind them the entire way.
Candelabra had been lit throughout the three rooms of her new chambers. Emin had followed the shadowy man out. She’d heard the door closing, and then the definite sound of a lock being engaged. She’d tried the door since. It was always locked. Emin was the lone one allowed through it, and he knocked before every entrance.
Apparently, she’d just exchanged a small enclosed prison cell for a palatial one.
It didn’t take long to have every bit of this one memorized. The main room held chairs, stools, and a large circular table. There was a fireplace along one wall, used only at night, for the light was welcome. It also warded off chill that pervaded the rooms. One antechamber was adorned with hooks, and shelves. Another one contained cots that she and Ida slept on. The largest antechamber held a large bed with three enclosed wooden sides and a thick velvet drapery to pull down for further privacy. That was the one Rhoenne used.
When he used it at all.
She could count the times he might have slept in it on the fingers of one hand, as Ida clicked her tongue and smoothed the coverlet. Cassandra would have helped her, but Ida was adamant, and would move any helping hands aside. Ida shared the incarceration, but the woman spent most of her time in measuring and fitting and working with the fabrics and items that Emin brought in and took out daily with the information that she was being fitted with a wardrobe. He didn’t say why. And she didn’t ask.
It was enough that Rhoenne hadn’t discarded her.
So, Cassandra stood idly while Ida pinned fabrics. Cut them as needed. Sent them out with Emin. Finished, almost-ready to wear garments were brought back in. Cassandra’s wardrobe grew to include ankle-length smocks of thinnest flax linen in varying shades, from ecru to one so white it shone light blue. Some smocks were crafted in gossamer silks, in rose, blue, and yellow tones. They were folded and set neatly on the closet shelves, alongside pairs of hose that had been crafted in every shade and from all manner of yarns. Some woolen. Most silk. As time passed, a multitude of sleeveless tunics joined the smocks, hanging from the hooks, all crafted from colorful expensive fabrics: silks, linen, velvets, brocades. The bodices were intricately embroidered around slits for the lacing, in various materials: satiny ribbons, thin leather cording. Gold wire.
She had three girdles as well, two worked in gold, one in silver. They’d been fashioned in a latticework fashion, making them not only delicate but much less weighty. There were matching headdresses, and she had a selection of light-as-air veils to attach, each one exquisite.
The days were full. When she wasn’t sewing or reading from the eight precious tomes on a shelf in the main room, or partaking of wonderful meals of varied and delicious items, she was meditating - using the skills she’d been taught by a woman from the Indus valley. But the nights had become a morass of unease. Dream-filled sleep intermixed with wakeful fretting. Ida had no such issues. The woman fell asleep almost the moment her head touched her cot, and she didn’t stir again until dawn. Such a thing must be a benefit of long work hours, and a clear conscience.
Cassandra’s wakefulness was the only reason she’d seen him. She’d been fetching a cup of water from their pitcher when the lock had sounded. Cassandra barely had time to turn about before Rhoenne walked in. The door shut behind him. She’d been in her night-rail of thin linen, silhouetted in the firelight. The fire glow had illuminated him. She’d seen his lips tighten. His teeth clench. And then he’d given a heavy sigh. And narrowed his eyes.
“I...was...getting water,” she stammered.
Without a word, he’d turned and walked out. Shut the door softly. Re-connected the lock. Cassandra had returned to her cot, but it had taken a long time to get back to sleep.
The second time they’d met had been deep into the hours of another night. She’d been restless. Apprehensive. She’d fallen from her cot, awakening abruptly from a dream. She’d heard male voices in the hall, raised almost in anger. Or entreaty. This time, before she left the chamber she shared with Ida, Cassandra had taken the time to don a hooded surcoat of velvet that trailed to her feet. She’d just raised the hood when the lock clicked. The door opened. She heard bits of conversation.
“...swear to you, Excellency!”
“She has na’ been out?”
“No.”
“And no one has been in?”
“None. I have let no one through this door.”
Rhoenne had stepped in. Shut the door behind him. And then he’d looked over and seen her. He’d gone taut. His face blank. Completely emotionless.
“Where is it you think you are going?” he’d asked in a truly frightening voice.
“No...where,” she whispered through cold lips.
“I left orders. You were na’ to leave. Or be seen.”
She nodded.
“Emin swears my orders were followed.”
Cassandra nodded again.
“So...how is it you escaped?”
She’d frowned. “I did na’.”
“So why are you dressed?”
She swallowed on a dry throat. Her heart was hammering. “I did na’ think you wished to see me...undressed.”
His lips pursed as if he might consider believing her. Or, it might be that he completely disbelieved her. She couldn’t tell, and she’d always told herself she was good at reading expressions. He took three steps toward her, closing the distance between them, then lifted a hand and peeled the hood back. She couldn’t meet his gaze. It would help if he wasn’t so tall. Or so masculine. Or so close.
Cassandra kept her focus on the center of his chest at her eye level. He wore a sleeveless blue jerkin over a tunic of wheat-colored linen. The lacing was a thin black cord. It wasn’t tied properly, or the shirt was sewn to gap, revealing chest. It didn’t disguise any of his size. Or form. Or handsomeness. He needed to wear a lot more for that to happen.
She trembled with something indefinable. It wasn’t with chill. She was completely covered. The surcoat she’d donned was concealing blue velvet with a gold stitched border. Beneath it was an ankle-length linen nightgown, fastened with a tie at her throat. Ida had done her hair in a loose braid down her back, like always. Nothing about her attire had felt remotely sensual. Or illicit. It did now.
“This was na’ a good idea,” he said.
“What?” she asked his chest.
“Keeping you.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened. Her heart raced even faster.
“You are much too beautiful.”
“No, please. I will do anything. Cut my hair. Disfig—”
He touched a finger beneath her jaw, interrupting her as he lifted her chin. “I was accosted with a rumor tonight. In a tavern. By a complete stranger and two of his companions. They’d heard about the beauty I keep hidden away in my chambers.”
Cassandra gasped, her eyes widened. She glanced up, got an impression of his frown. Looked back down again. She wasn’t brave enough to look higher.
“Nae man can keep you hidden away safely. I am surprised the sultan managed it.”
“Please?” Cassandra whispered and moved her gaze to his.
Her heart immediately stopped. Time froze. Firelight quit flickering. Even the air held still. She’d forgotten the effect of his intense blue gaze.
“You should probably stop me,” he whispered.
“From...what?”
“This.”
His head lowered to hers, while she went up onto tiptoes, the move instinctive. Perfect. L
ips met. Hearts fused. Eons passed. Heat and light whooshed through the chamber. She saw it from behind closed eyelids. Felt it with every fiber of her being. She’d thought their first kiss touched on the divine. This one was even better. Her every breath matched his. Their blended moan swelled and filled the chamber. And then he lifted his head. His eyes were tightly scrunched shut. His entire frame was trembling. He opened his eyes and the look he gave her was haunting. He looked beyond pained. He looked tormented.
He lowered her to the floor. She hadn’t even felt him lift her.
“Go,” he ordered, motioning with his head toward the room she shared with Ida. His voice was low. Gruff. Commanding. “Now.”
Cassandra ducked her head and rushed to the room. Shut the door. And launched onto her cot. Facedown. Nearly swooning with a sensation of bliss she hadn’t known existed. She told herself he meant nothing by it. It was late. He may have over-imbibed. He didn’t care for her. He never would. But nothing stopped the rapturous shivers that continually flew her skin. Over and over.
And over.
“Hurry, Highness! He approaches.”
Cassandra turned at Emin’s words. Smiled. The eunuch was acting like a mother hen with a chick. There wasn’t anything more she could do to enhance her appearance. His wide grin and wider eyes showed he agreed.
They’d been under orders all day. Emin had repeated them to her that morning, along with a pot of caffe, and a meal of porridge with figs, kidneys with eggs, and blackened bread covered with melted butter and dusted with cinnamon. One of the Consiglieri of the Dukedom controlled the city of Sitia. He’d granted Scotland’s Earl of Tyneburgh an audience. This evening. Rhoenne wanted Cassandra at his side, dressed in her finest ensemble. They would be accompanied by the men who made up his Honor Guard. She was to be ready and waiting before sundown.
Cassandra had been beset with excitement that grew apace with the day’s ministrations. Wasn’t this proof that he wasn’t discarding her? He’d ordered this wardrobe for her presence at court. That must be the reason. Wasn’t that proof that he wanted her with him! He was making certain the world saw and recognized it. The glow that suffused her every fiber was almost uncontainable. It was an aura of happiness. The entire day of preparations only enhanced the feeling.