by Jackie Ivie
“We can na’ be cousins. I vow,” Henry replied. “Do na’ you see? She has been living here as Rhoenne’s ward! I’m a-feared ’twas on my advice, too.”
“So?”
“She was in his household, Euan.”
“Aye. I ken.”
“Ramhurst is na’ wed. Cassandra is na’ wed. There is nae wife to see to the proprieties.”
“She came out of a harem. Why would a harem harlot need those?”
Harem harlot? That’s what they’d thought? Cassandra didn’t know whether to be angered, insulted, embarrassed, or amused.
“Because everything we thought is wrong! She’s nae harlot, mon. She is a lady! An...innocent lady.”
“Nae!” Several voices chorused it as one.
“But...what of Rhoe-? Oh.”
Silence followed Euan’s cut-off remark. Cassandra couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. She dipped her head. Suffered a series of blushes. There was no disguising them.
“Henry,” Rhoenne injected. “That is enough.”
“Enough? When you just spoke words tantamount to a declaration of war?”
“He did what?” Euan sputtered.
“Your cousin speaks in poetic phrase. I did na’ declare anything,” Rhoenne said.
“You desire a sponsor for her! That was what you requested this audience for!”
“He wants a sponsor for Cassandra?” Euan asked. “Why?”
Henry ignored him, and continued speaking to Rhoenne. “Is na’ the perfect sponsor her own grandmother?”
“I said that’s enough,” Rhoenne replied.
“I do na’ ken any of this,” Euan spoke in the silence that followed. “Don’t you want her, Rhoenne?”
Rhoenne stiffened. She felt it.
“That is na’ the question, Euan,” Henry answered. “You can na’ simply keep a princess! This sort of arrangement will require marriage. If it is na’ already too late.”
Somebody whistled. Cassandra’s eyes went wide. Her heart stopped. When it restarted, it pumped vicious amounts of heat through her face. Down her body. She swore she could feel it in the toes of her slippers. But that was followed by such an icy sensation, she felt faint. Dizzy. The room began a slow rotation. She locked her view on the carpeted floor beneath her. Silently begged the room to solidify again. Marriage? He was being forced to consider marriage? Oh. He would hate it.
And her.
This was her fault. She’d begged him to keep her. But she hadn’t known!
“Well...is that so bad? I mean...I would gladly take your place. If you, uh...did na’ wish marriage,” Euan said.
“The Ramhurst is betrothed. His bride-to-be is sister to Scotland’s queen. Henry III’s daughter. England’s king.”
“Is that why you said Rhoenne just declared war? He can na’ wed? Well. Perhaps I could be an option here? I am unencumbered by things such as betrothals.”
“I already offered that solution, whelp,” Henry said.
“Sounds like you FitzHughs are related after all,” Rhoenne remarked, sarcastically.
“Enough of this foolishness, my laird! We’ve wasted time, gone round in circles, and I still do na’ ken why you fought the duchesse! You were just about to ask for a sponsor before her grandmother arrived! There is nae better sponsor! She clearly wants Cassandra, while you do na’.”
“I never said that.”
Rhoenne’s voice matched the tautness throughout his entire frame. Even his arm felt like she touched iron. Cassandra’s body wasn’t far behind. She felt like a statue. She couldn’t swallow. Her throat had closed off. Her back ached from standing stiff and straight. She had her knees locked, her fingers pinched on his forearm. And still it felt like the room rotated.
“Ah. So, you do want her,” Henry mused.
“I did na’ say that either.”
“I’m confused,” Euan said.
“You are na’ the lone one, lad.”
That comment came from either of the Montvale men, Iain or Graham. Cassandra didn’t have their voices pegged well enough to specify.
“Rhoenne. I ask it again. Do you ken what you are doing?”
“Not really,” Rhoenne admitted.
There was a shocked silence. Cassandra was afraid to breathe.
“Finally...we get to the heart of the matter.”
“Strange you should bring that up,” Rhoenne remarked.
“What?”
“Hearts.”
Someone cleared their throat. It covered Cassandra’s gasp. She was afraid she’d heard it wrong.
“I’m listening,” Henry prompted.
“You ken I will na’ force a woman.”
“That was a long time ago,” Henry replied.
It didn’t seem possible to go stiffer than the stance Rhoenne had already engineered. But it felt like he managed it.
“Is this about your step-mother, Aileen? I mean—oof!”
Euan’s comment was cut off as if he’d taken a blow. Cassandra didn’t see it. And she didn’t care. Her entire being was centered on what Rhoenne had said. Whoever Aileen was, and whatever her position, she didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Rhoenne. And what he might be inferring.
“We ken what you mean, Euan. Just do na’ let it cross your lips.”
The voice sounded like Rhoenne’s cousin, Grant. But it could have been any of them speaking. Henry cleared his throat.
“I think I begin to see the quandary. I do. I have been dense. Extremely so, now that I think on it. But...I now have another word or two for you, my laird.”
“With you, FitzHugh, it’s never just one.”
“You speak of force. But what if...there is nae force involved?”
Rhoenne grunted.
“What if...there is a proposal offered? And it is accepted?”
“Henry.”
“Too late, my laird. I told you. I see your issue. So. Would you like me to handle this? Or are you going to ask?”
“I was working up to it,” Rhoenne replied slowly.
Oh, dear God!
Cassandra’s mouth gapped open. Tingles hit her nose and cheeks. Shivers containing giddiness flew over her limbs. She forced herself to calm. Think. He might be asking. But he’d been trapped. He’d hate her for it.
Someone chuckled.
Rhoenne pulled in a heavy breath. Audibly blew out the lengthy sigh. And then he put his right hand beneath her chin, and lifted her to face him. She’d never seen anything like the glow in his eyes, making their color exactly match the center of a flame. She barely heard him speak through a flurry of bubbles that continually popped, sprinkling the scene with sparkle.
“Cassandra. Alexandria. Votten.”
He spaced out each of her names. Then gave a slight smile. Cassandra held her breath.
“Princess of Vottenavia. Grand-niece of the duca de Candia, and whatever other titles you carry...would you be willing to solve this entire mess...by marriage?”
“But...you hate me,” she whispered.
He sobered. Tipped his head to one side. Regarded her. Cassandra didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink.
“Nae,” he finally answered.
“You don’t?”
He licked his lips. Then shook his head.
“But I thought—?”
He lowered his chin toward her, stopping her words. “I have never said these words to a woman afore, Cassandra. And you are na’ making it verra easy,” he told her.
“Oh.”
Someone snorted, bringing her back to reality that was an ornate room. The five listeners.
“Should I begin again?” he looked over her head to ask it.
Henry answered. “Nae, my laird. You are doing well. Continue.”
He looked back at her. Caught her gaze. It wasn’t difficult. She hadn’t moved it. “Cassandra. We are in a bit of a bind here. And I would na’ force your hand.”
“But you would force yours?” she asked.
He regarded her for long, heart-thumping m
oments. Humming filled her ears. The candles flickered in their sconces. Everything seemed to pause along with him. And then he smiled. Her heart flip-flopped.
“Nae man has ever forced me to do anything, sweet. Not even my da’,” he replied.
“That much is definitely true,” Henry remarked. “I can vouch.”
Oh my.
He’d just called her sweet! The humming dissolved into a symphony of sound, each note coming at her in rapid-fire fashion. Pinging sensations hit every limb, while some sort of effervescence bubbled through her veins. It was difficult to keep still.
“May I continue?” he asked her.
“Please!”
She answered so quickly his lips twisted. As if he withheld a smile. And then he cleared his throat and spoke again.
“Cassandra Alexandria Votten. Would you consider accepting marriage? To the laird of the Ramhurst Clan, from the Kingdom of Scotland? Right now. Becoming the Countess of—?”
“Yes!”
She interrupted. She couldn’t help it. She’d started bouncing up and down, using his arm for stability. It looked like he was having a hard time staying serious. There were sounds of hilarity coming from the others behind her.
“Cassandra. I am trying to be official here.”
She nodded. Somebody guffawed. It sounded like Henry.
“You agree to wed with the Earl of Tyneburgh? Become his countess? Here and now, you accept matrimony and—?”
“Yes!”
She interrupted him again. Tears were going to obliterate him and she didn’t want to miss a moment of this. It might also make the kohl lining her eyes run. Cassandra sniffed. Tilted her head higher and blinked rapidly to clear them.
“Oh. Verra well. Me. Do you agree to be wed with me? Right now? Cleave only unto me? Honor and obey me? Until death?” he finished.
“I already said yes!”
Cassandra launched into his arms, and was enfolded in an embrace resembling heaven. She put her nose and lips against his throat. She’d thought it perfection when he’d held her in the little cabin. She’d been mistaken. This was so much better.
“I believe you have just earned yourself a bride, my laird,” Henry said from behind her. “What do you gentlemen say? Did that look like agreement to you? Euan? Grant? Iain? Graham? Have I missed anyone?”
There was a burst of ‘ayes’ throughout the room. And a round of chuckling. Rhoenne lifted his head. Spoke firmly. Her nose vibrated with the words.
“Verra well. My turn. I, Rhoenne Guy de Ramhurst. Fifth Earl of Tyneburgh. Laird of the Ramhurst Clan. Do hereby wed this woman, Cassandra Alexandria Votten. I vow to honor, protect, and cleave only to her...also until death.”
Cassandra listened to his words as they rumbled around her, experiencing thrill after thrill as he pledged his troth.
“Well? What say you, FitzHugh? ’Tis sufficient to our law?”
“Unquestionably. You have wed yourself a countess, my laird. And I am honored to be the first to offer congratulations. May your union be long and fruitful and all the other platitudes women say in times like this,” Henry answered.
Cassandra pulled away from Rhoenne. Lifted her head. Turned to look out at the group, but focused on Henry. “Our union?” she asked.
Henry had a wide grin on his face, and no beard to hide behind. He wasn’t the only one grinning, though.
“There is a dearth of clergy in the Highlands, my lady. Marriage by Declaration before witnesses is done all the time. ’Tis na’ only lawful...but unbreakable.”
“We just wed? Truly?”
“Aye. Legally. And permanently. Nae man can put it asunder. Nor can any grandmothers with pointy canes...regardless of court position.”
She looked up at Rhoenne. “You are my husband?” She couldn’t even say it without blushing. Several chuckles greeted her words.
“Aye.” Rhoenne leaned toward her and matched his forehead against hers again. “And you are my wife,” he told her.
“Oh my!” The last word was barely voiced. It was also said in a much higher octave.
And that’s when Rhoenne put his head back, gave a triumphant shout that resounded through the chamber, rattling several items of décor, and making the lanterns flicker. The door opened swiftly. Several soldiers peered in. They may have entered. They might have threatened. They might have been simply checking. Cassandra didn’t notice or care. She was enwrapped within a blanket of happiness, vibrating with absolute joy.
The door shut. Henry spoke again.
“Well, my laird? And...my lady? Lads? Now that we have finished conducting a bit of quite enjoyable business, we should go and gird the dragon.”
“Dragon?” Someone asked.
“Aye. Her Grace. The woman terrifies me. I am rather grateful she is na’ my new in-law.”
Rhoenne lowered Cassandra slowly back to the floor. It took some time to feel her feet on a solid surface. She slipped a finger beneath each eye, testing for any residue of black before she looked back up to him. She’d thought him the most handsome man birthed. With the twist to his lips, and the light behind his eyes, it was impossible to look elsewhere. And then he winked.
Her belly roiled. She lurched oddly. He caught her to him before she floated off, and it actually sounded like a possibility. This time she didn’t look away. She met his look boldly. She didn’t bother hiding her interest. He was her husband. And soon! Soon! She would find out exactly what the harem teachers had left out of her studies. Cassandra licked her lower lip and pulled it into her mouth.
Rhoenne’s chin lowered and his brows rose as if he read her thoughts.
“My laird! And my lady! Please. We stand ready to accompany you. We have officials awaiting us! A private audience to enjoin. One that you requested, I might add.”
“I hadn’t just wed, Henry.”
“True. We will make it brief. Or as brief as court proceedings can be. Now that you are wed, it should na’ be too difficult. We have the upper hand. Euan? Make yourself of use. See to the door.”
‘I hadn’t just wed....’
The words repeated through her head. Just wed?
Dear Lord.
She might truly faint.
Chapter Nineteen
He’d never done anything as gut-wrenchingly difficult.
The fact that he’d gone through it unscathed was not only staggering, it was too unbelievable to consider. He couldn’t describe the sensation pumping through him. Despite denial, it was too exquisite. It grew with every beat of his heart, every continued second of his existence...and each time his new wife’s fingers trembled in his.
Wife?
Oh. Dear Lord.
The thought actually made his knees wobble. He disguised it with a large step, and then had to adjust again to her small ones. Her arm wasn’t atop his forearm as they walked the hall, surrounded by Ramhurst Honor Guardsmen. He hadn’t offered his arm. He’d held out his hand. And he’d closed his fingers about hers – trapping her, the moment she’d touched him. It hadn’t been optional.
She wasn’t getting a chance to escape him.
If he pondered it, he had a few comparisons to this sensation. One, in particular, occurred to him. His near-drowning in Loch Grantham had been close. His father had given him orders not to try to swim the loch. To the fourteen-year-old Rhoenne, that was akin to a challenge. It had been a gray morn. Heavy with rain. The water icy. The waves topped with white caps. Rhoenne had sunk beneath the water more than once, the last time without a hint of energy left to fight. He’d actually given his final words to God. Sent the prayer on a winged thought. And if he hadn’t touched shore with his toes, he might never have been found. No one would have known what happened to him. He still recalled the triumphant taste of air as he’d lurched out of the water. Collapsed onto shore. Sucked in breath. And fought tears.
Come to think of it, that wasn’t even close to how he felt right now.
Handing responsibility for Cassandra to another had taken every
ounce of courage he possessed. His innards had ached all day at the prospect. He’d prepared in the tower with his men, surrounded, yet alone. He’d ignored any fare that was brought. Drink as well. He’d bathed in cold water, shaved by feel, and dressed without speaking to anyone. He’d had to draw on every ounce of his hard-hearted reputation. Hide behind the ‘Dark One’ façade. And when the moment arrived, it felt like he’d been ripping his own heart out.
He hadn’t known until the interruption by her grandmother that he’d fail. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t letting Cassandra out of his sight for fear he’d never see her again. Who would protect her then? That was why he’d pressed her to his back in the audience room, and the reason he held her hand now.
Cassandra thought he hated her?
He was terrified of what he did feel. Literally.
Terrified.
“Ah! Here they come!”
Signor Pietro blurted the words. He was the first official to spot them. He stood beside an open door, flanked by guards. Rhoenne sent a quick glance about the hall. There were a lot more soldiers than had been in the audience room. Henry noted it as well. He clicked his fingers twice. Honor Guard shoulders went back and hands sought sword hilts.
And then Cassandra’s fingers trembled within his again. Rhoenne’s knees did the exact same quake motion, followed by another stumble, and another overly-long step.
Signor Pietro rushed through the doors, and started an announcement so loud it was painful to hear.
“Your Excellency, Councilor Angelo Moroseni! The Earl of Tyneburgh, Kingdom of—!”
“Cease that, Signor Pietro. The room is not that large. We can all hear you.” The councilor waved his hand dismissively.
The Ramhurst retinue stopped at the portal. The space supposedly fit thirty? It looked capable of holding twice that. The room glimmered with every flicker of torches in their sconces. They’d covered the walls with mother-of-pearl, or something as iridescently green. Overhead, a large painted span with a colorful Christian-themed fresco in more green tones plastered the ceiling. Long wooden rails lined the walls. At the moment, observers were behind rows of guards. A line of chairs stood across the back of the room, opposite the door. All the men who’d previously sat on the dais were there. The councilor’s wife was the only one missing. In the right corner was a high-backed chair. Large. Gilded with gold. Set atop a step-fronted pedestal.