Chapter 21
The fading aromas of roasted boar, peacocks, and swans sifted through the air as the servants removed the remainders of the celebratory dinner.
Laughter rippled through the great hall from the throng of well-wishers gathered within as Marie sipped the last of her spiced wine and returned the goblet to the table, dreading the festivities leading up to her wedding.
Beneath half-lowered lashes, she glanced to where Colyne sat finishing his meal.
Deep blue eyes locked on hers. Desire blazed from their mesmerizing depths as his fingers tightened around his cup.
Shaken, she looked down and found her own hand had curled into a fist. How could she go through with this mockery of a marriage? But what other choice remained? Two days past, in private, she’d again sought out her father and demanded that he break the betrothal.
Once again, he’d denied her. Panicking at the thought of losing Colyne, she’d threatened to flee to Scotland.
And with his eyes leveled on hers with cold intent, he’d made it clear that if she foolishly tried, not only would she be caught and returned but Lord Strathcliff would be hanged.
His face dark with fury, he explained that after learning the Scot had taken her innocence, regardless of her going to him willingly, only the noble’s having saved her life had swayed him to allow him to live. Then he’d stormed out.
“You are finished, my dear?” Gaston asked from her side.
Marie started and met his gaze, unsettled by his nearness and wanting to be alone.
“I am tired.” The truth. The last few days, she’d felt lethargic, and at times her stomach had been a bit upset, no doubt due to her recent illness.
Anxious to be away from his company, she nodded. “I shall be retiring now.”
This night, once everyone was abed, she would sneak to Colyne’s chamber.
For three days, with fear of her father’s promised repercussions, she’d not spoken to him beyond a brief and distant daily greeting.
Since Gaston had interrupted their meeting in the stable, the duke had escorted her from dawn ’til dusk.
If only she’d waited to choose a suitor. To be fair, had she not met Colyne, with Gaston’s striking looks and polite manner, theirs would most likely have been a peaceful relationship.
The discord between her and Gaston arose from her show of favor to Colyne when she’d halted his execution.
She’d embarrassed the duke. His coming upon her and Colyne in the stable had served to increase her betrothed’s ire.
To further complicate matters, her suspicions of his involvement with her kidnapping added to her angst.
With the passing days, Colyne had not learned anything that would tie Gaston to her abduction. Not that her covertly spying on the duke had delivered anything of consequence either.
Marie stood.
Immediately, her betrothed rose at her side. “Sire, if you will allow me, I shall escort Lady Marie to her chamber.”
With a frown, her father studied her. “Marie, you have been quiet throughout the meal and eaten little. Are you ill?”
She forced a smile to her lips. “Non, Father. Merely tired, and I have little appetite.”
“ ’Twill take time to fully recover from your ordeal. Although,” the king said, his eyes dark with meaning, “I wonder if your sleeplessness may have more to do with your upcoming vows.”
Unsettled, she remained quiet.
Gaston gently took her arm. “Come.”
She cast a yearning look at Colyne and, with regret, allowed the duke to lead her from the great hall.
A series of torches secured in ornate sconces illuminated their path as they climbed the worn steps. “I, too, am concerned at your silence this eve,” he said as they reached the top and began to walk down the corridor toward her chamber.
Ahead of the duke, Marie spoke over her shoulder. “As I informed my father, I am tired.”
“I see.”
Mayhap, but she heard his doubts. Marie stopped at her door.
He took her hand, skimmed his thumb across her skin. “You are a beautiful woman.”
Uneasy, she withdrew her hand. “I bid thee good night,” she said, fighting to keep the panic from her voice.
Gaston leaned forward.
He was going to kiss her. A finger’s width apart, she turned away, and his mouth skimmed across her cheek.
On a heavy sigh, he caught her chin. “I know you believe you care for the Scot, but ’tis because he saved your life. With time, your feelings for the earl will fade.”
Marie didn’t reply, aching at the thought of living without Colyne, the cold emptiness of her life ahead. She would never stop loving him.
At her continued silence, Gaston’s gaze narrowed to dangerous slits, a crack in his well-polished veneer.
For the first time since they’d met, fear scraped through her that, if pushed, the duke would do her harm. “ ’Tis late and—”
“Listen well and heed my words,” he hissed. “ ’Tis me you shall wed. I will not tolerate any appearance of impropriety. Until he leaves, never again will you speak with the Scot.”
The pompous ass. She broke free. “How dare you talk to me with such disrespect? The king is my father and I shall—”
“Do naught.” He caught her jaw, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he jerked her toward him. “Do you believe I am ignorant of the child you carry?” he scoffed. “You should be thankful that I care little about your unfaithfulness. Marriage to you will gain me access to the throne.”
Stunned, she stared at him, his words melding into one thought.
The child she carried? She wasn’t . . . The lingering tiredness, her inability to eat much as of late, and her aversion to the smell of many foods, all of which she had attributed to her recent illness.
With his accusation, the signs of her pregnancy were clear.
Her heart stumbled.
A child.
A life she and Colyne had created.
Emotion swept her at the thought of his babe in her arms, of blue eyes watching her with wonder as tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb with a smile. Colyne would be so excited to learn . . .
Colyne.
Regardless of the duke’s warning, he must be told they were going to have a child. And what of her father? Once he learned the news, mayhap he would end the betrothal?
Joy swept her at thought of a life with Colyne, the start of their family, of the years ahead and sharing their love.
“Did you think I would not find out that the rebel’s seed grows within you?”
Gaston’s harsh words dragged her to the fore.
He stilled, realization dawning on his face. He released her with a cold laugh. “Strathcliff does not know, does he?”
“Non,” she whispered, her pulse racing as she rubbed her wrist where he’d held her. “My father—”
“Knows naught of the Scot’s spawn. As your betrothed, and with the king unavailable due to pressing matters, the physician informed me.”
She swallowed hard. This explained how the duke had learned of her condition.
“I assured him that I would pass the news to your father. But I chose to spare King Philip further shame.”
Hurt tore through her. “He would love my child!”
“Another bastard?” Eyes narrowed, he leaned closer. “Do you not understand the disgrace your father has endured since your birth? Have you never asked yourself why he has kept you sequestered on the coast with but minimal protection? Or why you are rarely invited to visit?”
“You lie! His home is always open to me. He loves me!”
He drew himself to his full height with a cold laugh. “Does he? Is that what your desperate heart wishes to believe? Or your begging him to release you from our betrothal didn’t reveal the obvious?”
Stunned, she stilled, the hurt immense. “He—he told you I pressed him to end our betrothal?”
“Indeed. He is anxious to have you out of his life.” Pity shadowed Gaston’s face. “He doesn’t want you and never did.”
Sickened, a sense of betrayal washed over her as her childhood memories collapsed in her mind.
As a young girl when she’d shown an interest in herbs and healing, her father had arranged for her to live in the seaside village.
In addition to allowing her to follow her passion for healing, it had given her freedom from suitors who’d sought her hand to gain a royal tie.
Marie understood her father’s explanation that the responsibilities of the crown allowed her infrequent visits. When the opportunity arose for her to stay at one of his castles, hadn’t he always visited with her at the start of each day, reading stories of magic and faraway lands?
A chill swept through her. What of her father’s recent threat toward Colyne? Was Gaston right? “My father loves me,” she said, but doubts filled her words.
He closed his eyes, shoved out a harsh breath. When he opened them, his gaze softened. “I am sorry I was overly harsh. ’Twas wrong of me to have shared some of your father’s admissions to me with such candor. Forgive me.”
Some of her father’s admissions? Mon Dieu! What else had he told the duke? Her heart aching, she stepped back; all she wanted was to be alone.
A weary smile touched his mouth, fell away. “I have allowed jealousy to guide my tongue. But I see by the hurt in your eyes that you know my words are true.” With a grimace, he gestured toward the turret. “Go, then. Speak with the king. Ask him if my claim is a lie.”
No, it couldn’t be true. Shaking, Marie knew she should move, should seek out her father and learn the truth. And yet her feet refused to move.
“Though you do not love me,” Gaston said with unexpected tenderness, “I believe ours can be a comfortable marriage. I expect naught but your duties as my wife. Once an heir is born, if you choose, you will have your privacy. But I shall expect you at my side when an occasion requires such.”
An heir, his child, when Colyne’s grew inside her. A babe she wanted desperately.
“My only stipulation is that the Scot remain ignorant of the child,” the duke said. “ ’Twould bode ill for his life if he dared again confront the king or me.”