Chapter 5 Stefano
STEFANO
“Wine, my lord?” Margery stood in front of me on the raised dais, holding a pitcher of red wine and gesturing to my goblet.
I’d been seated at the high table, right beside the prince, and every eye in the room was drawn to me, anticipation thick in the air. I felt like a king—a feeling I could get used to, given the chance.
I thanked Margery and turned back to Prince John. “As I was saying, I’m looking forward to the challenge. The only good witch is a dead witch, am I right, Your Highness?” I raised my refilled glass.
The prince let out a low, dark laugh. “Indeed. Ah, here she is now!” He stood and held up his own glass, the entire room quieting around us.
I followed the direction of his gaze and saw a young maiden in a dove-grey gown approaching the dais.
Her pale hair flowed in waves to her waist, and a simple but elegant gold circlet sat nestled on her head.
This was Prince John’s daughter; my future bride.
I stood quickly, causing my chair legs to screech across the wooden floor in the sudden silence.
“Lady Gwyn-Marie, my darling daughter, come and join us.” Her father held out a hand and she took it, coming to stand on the prince’s other side, facing out at the gathered congregation.
I took in the smiling, ale-warmed faces of our audience; the wealthy and influential landowners of the region.
These were the people I needed to impress if I wanted to take power one day.
Once the prince’s daughter and I were married, I would be his heir.
Prince John was already at an advanced age, and with no other legitimate children, and his wife, the queen and Lady Gwyn’s mother now deceased, there would be no one to challenge me for power.
Even so, I would need loyal supporters, and donors.
I painted my best smile on as they looked up at us expectantly.
“I’m sure, by now, you will have heard we have a new High Sheriff of the Royal Forests.
” A cheer went up in the crowd, and a wave of satisfaction shivered through me at the sound.
Prince John gestured for them to quieten down with an indulgent chuckle.
“For those of you who have not had the pleasure, I present to you Lord Stefano di Reinalto, your new protector from the scourge of witchcraft.” A roar erupted as the noblemen and women raised their glasses, wine sloshing over the sides, and shouted their approval.
“I know you’ll make him feel welcome here.
And to solidify the bond between our two families, I couldn’t be more delighted to announce the engagement of Lord di Reinalto and my daughter, Lady Gwyn-Marie.
” He took my hand and joined it with Lady Gwyn’s in front of him, binding us together.
The response to this was a cacophony of noise, fists banging on tables, feet stamping on the flagstone floor, shouts and cheers from all corners of the great hall.
I spotted Dominico sitting across from Edward and Peter, he waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively when our eyes met and I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
I looked over at my future bride and saw her smiling demurely at our audience, a faint blush in the apples of her cheeks.
She had a pleasant face, round and angelic with large eyes and long, thick lashes.
Her eyes caught mine and held them for a second before she looked away, her manners impeccable.
But all I saw in the ice blue of her gaze was duty and obedience. Nerves perhaps, but no warmth. Not even a hint of flirtation.
Wasn’t that exactly what I had wanted? A well-behaved wife who would keep our home and give me an army of sons?
Looking into her eyes, I realised I’d hoped for something more.
I had expected to feel nothing but tolerance, perhaps a sort of gratitude and respect for my wife.
But I hadn’t expected her to feel the same way.
I’d imagined her looking at me with adoration, even love, and there was nothing in Lady Gwyn’s expression that suggested the slightest romantic interest in me.
The realisation was like a bucket of cold water had been tipped over me.
Perhaps her feelings would grow; we’d barely set eyes on each other after all, let alone had a single conversation.
I realised now, I had assumed simply meeting me would elicit a sigh of relief from my betrothed; upon discovering her father hadn’t given her hand to a wealthy, fat and decrepit lord.
I was youthful—only just into my fourth decade—and fit.
I’d been described as handsome on more than one occasion, and the noblewomen in Sicily had seemed to covet my pitch-black curls.
I was sure any sons of mine would be healthy and strapping lads.
There was nothing else for it, I would simply have to court my bride and prove to her father that I was the right man for the job.
I could do this, I’d been the victor in more difficult negotiations than this.
Until the deal was sealed and our marriage finalised, I would be the perfect son-in-law and husband-to-be.
A memory of the dark-haired stall owner at the market flickered in my mind, unbidden.
The fire and passion in those hazel eyes, the rose-red flush of her pale cheeks.
She’d been so alive, where Lady Gwyn could have been carved from ice—an elegant sculpture, or an oil painting.
Untouchable. Something to look at, appreciate, but nothing more.
I shook off the thought and focused my attention on the conversation.
“What’s the latest report on the rebels?” Prince John asked a broad-shouldered man further down the table.
Rebels? I hadn’t been made aware of any rebellion when I’d accepted the prince’s job offer.
The man glugged from a tankard of ale and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering. “They’ve been quiet recently, my lord. Small jobs, nothing of value stolen. We believe they may be planning something, sir. Building up their resources. Biding their time.”
A red-haired serving girl set a large plate of food in front of Prince John and he picked up his eating irons without thanking her. If he replied to the large man, I didn’t hear it.
When my own food arrived, I had to fight to not wrinkle my nose. Mashed potato and root vegetables with a slice of what I believed to be beef but could have been horse meat. All swimming in a sea of brown, watery liquid.
I fantasised about the exquisite meals I’d been served back in Sicily—ribbons of pasta with cream and brandy sauce, pork medallions with apricot and spring greens. I closed my eyes and took a bite of the meat and potatoes. It wasn’t bad, I had to admit. It certainly tasted better than it looked.
I washed it down with a swig of wine and turned to the prince. “What sort of rebellion, Your Highness?”
Prince John swallowed a mouthful of carrot and turnip, gesturing to me with his knife. “Just an irksome bunch of no marks trying to rally the people against the Crown. It’ll be quashed in no time, won’t it Graham? Nothing for you to worry about, Stefano.”
I frowned, chewing slowly on my food. I swallowed and said, “What if we didn’t quash this little rebellion?”
Prince John paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, a piece of carrot falling back onto his plate and splattering the table with gravy. “What do you mean? Let the rebels run amok, unchecked?”
I shook my head. “Quite the opposite, my lord. We control the rebellion instead of putting an end to it. We could even get a man inside, disrupt the organisation from within.”
I could see the idea rattling around behind the prince’s eyes. He hummed. “It’s certainly an interesting thought.”
All it would take was one more prod and the line of dominoes would topple.
I sipped my wine, giving Prince John a moment more to consider my suggestion, then added, “If there’s one thing my father taught me, sir, it’s that nothing unites a people quite like a common enemy.
If we give the villagers a reason to hate the rebels as much as they fear the witches, they will be eating right out of our hands. ”
A slow, venomous smile spread across Prince John’s face as he absorbed my words.
A low chuckle slipped from between his thin lips, growing louder as his shoulders shook and wine sloshed out of his goblet onto the wooden table.
He jabbed a finger at me, grinning broadly.
“See, that is exactly why I hired you! Very good, Sheriff, very good indeed.”
My chest swelled with pride and satisfaction, the smile that threatened to take over my whole face felt reminiscent of a cat with a dish of cream. I imagined the look on that stall owner’s face; she’d show me the respect I deserved the next time I saw her.
Something niggled at the back of my mind as I chewed on a mouthful of meat and potatoes. Why couldn’t I get that woman out of my head? All evening, my mind had kept returning to her, conjuring her face at the most inopportune moments.
Could it be that she had bewitched me, body and soul? Why else would I have given that peasant woman a second thought? It simply didn’t make sense. I was engaged to marry a princess—or an almost-princess, at least. What interest would I have in a poor village woman who sold rabbits’ feet at market?
The lucky rabbit’s foot. My heart thundered in my chest, heat rising up my neck; prickly and uncomfortable.
That had to be it. I had inadvertently purchased some kind of talisman and she had put a spell on me.
Likely, every item on her table had been cursed or enchanted in some fashion, and I had been caught completely unawares.
But there was no need to panic or rush into anything.
I just needed to get through the banquet, and in the morning I would make a plan.
I would simply have her arrested on suspicion of witchcraft and questioned in the castle dungeons.
Edward and Peter could patrol the market, keeping an eye out for her.
And in the meantime, I would burn the rabbit’s foot. That ought to do it.
I speared another piece of meat with my fork and ate it, feeling my heart rate slow as I chewed. This confounding preoccupation would be over soon.
I caught the look on Lady Gwyn’s face before she hurriedly turned away, and felt something twist in my stomach. Her carefully schooled features couldn’t hide the curiosity in her eyes.
Wooing my bride would have to wait. I had a witch to catch.