Chapter Twenty-Nine
There was no lantern in the stables. Also, no staff. There were, however, plenty of sheep. Gabriel tied the gelding to a post and drifted from stall to pen in the fading light. He found water for the horse and then feed. He stood at the edge of a pen and observed the sheep. They appeared rather thin at the moment. Ryan’s sister must have ordered a second shearing. They’d been divided into various holding lots; with a larger group ambling about an outdoor paddock. They bleated and watched him with their strange, rectangle pupils. Gabriel was careful not to look at the line of carriages parked along the drive; with the golden crests as familiar to him as the flag of France.
He did, however, think about them. He’d learned in the last month that his mind could explore the possibility of something without putting his body at risk. He could survive remembering. He could survive speculation.
Remembering the strange and eerie sight of the servants, ruddy in their bloodred livery, bowing when he passed... calling out his father’s name... was a trial, but it happened, and he could remember it, and the earth still spun. He was still standing. He was still free.
Unless he was mistaken, he recognized the older, fatter face of one of the bowing servants—he’d known this man, a coachman, and this man had known him. But how? It was a very far stretch to say Gabriel resembled English country gentry, let alone French royalty. It was almost as if the old men had wanted to see a prince.
And this sparked a different memory. He remembered the pervasive attitude of adoration, of reverence, of a sort of love (if he was being honest) that friends and strangers alike—certainly devoted servants—felt for his parents, and indeed, for him. This strange worshipfulness had been lost to his memory, likely because it’d been overshadowed by the strange hatred in the end. Before, his family had been loved to the point of bended knee; after, they’d been resented and hunted and executed.
The old servants had reflected that devotion and the sight had not panicked him, but he didn’t like it. And certainly he didn’t want it. He understood how quickly it could turn—he’d seen heads chopped from necks while crowds cheered—but also, he knew real adoration. And real, authentic adoration was the only sort of worshipfulness he wanted in his life. He’d adored Samuel Rein and his boys. Now he adored Ryan. He adored Elise and her family. What need had he for strangers to love him—and, potentially, to scream for his head—when Ryan might return his love in earnest?
The fealty of strangers was suffocating and conditional and misplaced. It was not love, it was control. The love and loyalty between husband and wife could be, he thought, liberating. And unconditional. He’d seen this in his sister’s home. This was how Samuel Rein described the marriage between himself and his late wife. Maurice could take the royal esteem and rot. Gabriel’s only interest was this more intimate, purer love. Authentic love.
When the moon was high and the dimming sunset had been replaced with a bright white glow, Gabriel walked from the stables to the hitching post and recovered Ryan’s mare. With every step, he prayed that she was safe, and happily reunited with her sisters, and didn’t resent him for sending her inside the house alone. Was it ridiculous, he thought, that he’d come all this way only to abandon her for the stables?
I’m not ready, he thought, leading the horse in.
I’m not ready.
If I face him—if I face any of this—before I’m in the correct state of mind, I’ll bungle it. I’ll behave like the maddened forest dweller I’ve been trying, for years, to become.
I’ll be nothing like the prince she needs me to be.
Walking to the stables with the horse, Gabriel took in the looming mansion and verdant garden. The house was larger than Mayapple, but the roof drooped and vines sprouted between stone blocks. The garden was wild; tended only in pockets, scattered with fruit trees and a leaning sundial.
Maurice’s grooms and coachmen kept, thankfully, to the vehicles; although Gabriel was certain he saw crimson shadows watching him from behind hedges and walls.
He’d just finished feeding and watering the mare and was brushing her coat when he heard footsteps crunching across the garden in his direction. Gabriel froze, a jolt of readiness coiling inside him, preparing him to pounce. He would fight, or he would shout, or he would—
“Gabriel?” called a familiar voice.
Ryan—thank God.
He laid his head against the curve of the horse’s back and closed his eyes. Let her be well. Let her be safe. Let her be alone.
“Here,” he called back and stepped around the horse.
She hurried to him, swinging a lantern before her to light the way. Two women followed behind, peering into the stables as if she was leading them to the cage of a trapped bear.
“Are you—?” she began but didn’t finish.
“I’m alright,” he said.
Her gait was neither slow nor fast, she simply walked, leading her sisters (the women could be no other than her sisters), her face tight with concern. She searched every corner of the stables, lifting the lantern high.
“I’m alone,” he assured her. “Except for the sheep.” He gave a small smile. “And the two horses. Have you no stable help?”
“We do,” she said, “but they are tenants and they go home to their families at night.
“We brought you something to eat,” she said.
The smaller, fairer sister—Charlotte, he guessed—clutched a basket with both hands. Her eyes were huge; she watched him as if he might rip it from her and bite directly into the straw.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Diana, Charlotte,” called Ryan, “I would like to introduce you to my husband, Gabriel d’Orleans, also known as Gabriel Rein. He has come to help us.”
Diana and Charlotte stared at him like Ryan claimed to be married to one of the sheep.
“How do you do?” said Gabriel.
The two women said nothing. They looked from Gabriel, to Ryan, and back to Gabriel.
“Of course you would never be rude to the man I’ve dragged from his home and work to save us,” Ryan bit out impatiently.
Eventually, the women bent heads and bobbed in greeting. Gabriel lowered his own head. This, he realized, was the reaction he’d expected from his sister Elise. He felt a wave of love for his sister; for her openness and lack of judgment. She’d not batted an eye when he’d bounded onto her stoop.
“And he will not come inside the house?” whispered Charlotte, eyeing him.
Ryan cleared her throat. “Until we understand what the imposter intends, we feel it’s best for Gabriel to keep out of sight. As I’ve told you, he’s a hand we’ll play when the timing is most strategic—and not before.”
“Was Maurice aggressive with you, Ryan?” Gabriel asked lowly. “Lady Charlotte, Lady Diana, you’ve not been threatened or harmed since he’s returned?”
Slowly Charlotte shook her head.
Diana said, “He’s playing cards with the men who travel in his caravan—his steward and his herald and his equerry and such.”
“Travels with that many, does he?” asked Gabriel.
“He is very important,” Diana said, rolling her eyes.
“The salon has the largest fireplace,” said Ryan. “It’s brightest and warmest, and that is where they play cards at night. As long as Utley, our footman, keeps them in drink, they should remain in the salon until they stagger to their beds.”
“We are safe if we keep close to our father,” provided Diana. “We take our meals in his room; we sleep on cots beside his bed. Papa has suffered a fall recently and cannot rise without the help of his valet, but he is awake. To do us harm in the presence of our father and his valet would require a boldness that Maurice does not possess. That said, we cannot remain locked in Papa’s room forever.”
“I told him,” Ryan blurted out.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
“Maurice,” explained Ryan. “He caught sight of me between his dinner and his game, and he demanded to know where I’d been. And so I told him. I said I’d been married—to a friendly correspondent I’d known for years. A man from the mainland. As such, I told him, ‘I cannot marry you because I’m married to someone else instead.’”
“What was his response?”
“Honestly? He responded like I was a child who threatened to run away from home. He asked, ‘What friendly correspondent?’ He wanted to know what had become of this nameless man. He said he didn’t believe me. He called me impertinent and told me I was disrespectful and a disgrace to both our families. He asked to see the ring, and I flashed my hand. But Gabriel? When he stepped closer to study it, I think he knew. I think he recognized some feature on it, because he turned a very strange shade of pink and his eyes bulged. He swiped for my hand, but I jerked away before he could touch me. And then I told him I expected him to take his leave tomorrow. I told him I had legal precedent on my side, that betrothals do not pass down like houses and land.”
“God, Ryan, your courage is a marvel. I’m sorry you were forced to do this on your own.”
She was shaking her head. “I wanted to be the first to tell him—and I wanted to be the one to do it. He has underestimated me in every way. Why stop now? He was unnerved by the ring, perhaps, but he’s retired to the salon for his game. I heard him laughing as if he hasn’t a care in the world.”
“He simply accused you of lying and left it?” Gabriel asked.
“Well, he told me I was fatigued. That I should go to bed. That we would speak of this again in the morning. He said he didn’t appreciate my fresh boldness and would not tolerate insubordination. He urged me to reflect on the ancient bond of our two families.”
Beside her, Diana tapped her fingers and thumb together like a yapping mouth, the universal gesture of someone droning on. “He is insufferable,” Diana said.
“Do you feel comfortable with him under the same roof?” Gabriel asked.
“Far more comfortable than we’d feel in thestable,” said Diana. Her shyness, Gabriel realized, was waning.
“There’s not even a cot in the stable, Ryan,” Diana pointed out. “How is he meant to sleep? He could—”
Ryan raised her hand. She turned to Gabriel. “I think word of what happened on the drive—with the old servants bowing down—will have reached Maurice’s entourage by morning. I’ve already noticed far more whispering and corner peeping than before. When Maurice looked at the ring, he wasn’t shocked and confused, as one would expect. It was more like uneasy.”
“Uneasy?” asked Gabriel.
“Suspicious,” Ryan clarified.
“Perhaps word has spread,” said Gabriel. “In my uncle’s court, gossip was valuable currency. When you ask the world to believe you are divinely appointed, rumor can be a dangerous thing. Regardless, I don’t like you under the same roof with him. You should not have to face him alone.”
“Well, I hope you don’t expect her to also sleep in the stables,” said Diana.
“We are with our father,” Ryan cut in, speaking over her sister. “I’ve sorely missed Papa and am delighted to find him so lucid. We’ve not seen this from him in more than a year. Maurice will not attack us at breakfast—in fact, the pattern of his last visit was to sleep very late and have a tray sent up midmorning. We will have until noon before we encounter him again, at least. We should all get some rest and I’ll show him the marriage license tomorrow. Perhaps it will be enough.”
“It won’t.” Gabriel sighed. “But I think you’re correct. I should keep myself concealed until the most impactful moment. However we play it, whether you’re married to Gabriel Rein or...” he exhaled “...Gabriel d’Orleans, the revelation of a living, breathing husband should be timed correctly.”
The sister called Charlotte sucked in a little breath, presumably because of the ease with which his name and title rolled off his tongue in perfectly accented French.
“What can I bring to make you more comfortable?” Ryan asked. “Are you well?”
“Nothing. I’m alright. There’ll be no howling at the moon or sacrificing your sheep, never you fear.”
“Right,” Ryan said. “Well, I’ll leave the lantern. And the dinner...”
Charlotte crept forward and settled the basket in the center of the aisle and scurried to the safety of her sisters.
“Forgive me,” Diana began, “but if this is the marital regard the two of you intend to demonstrate to the imposter, we’re doomed. Are you certain you’re married? To each other? You are newlyweds? You speak to each other like colleagues.”
“Yes, Diana.” Ryan said on a sigh. “I’ve told you we’re married, and it’s true. I’ve also told you our situation is complicated. Also we’re both exhausted. And the fate of this family and a bloody princedom rests on Gabriel’s shoulders. Please be gracious.”
“Remind me never to marry a prince,” Diana said.
“Diana,” scolded Charlotte, eyeing Gabriel like this statement might be the final insult; like now he would lash out.
Ryan rolled her eyes.
“Not impressed,” sang Diana, turning away. “Not impressed.”
Charlotte hurried after Diana. Ryan stood a moment more, staring at him. I’m sorry, she mouthed.
“Go,” he whispered tiredly. “Stay together and near your father. We’ll talk again in the morning.”