Abe looked rather sad to hear all of it. “Why did he send you away?”
Andrew shrugged. “Because I was alive,” he said simply. “I was a threat, I suppose. I was very young at the time and clearly no threat, but my brother did not see it that way. I think I was lucky to escape with my life.”
“And you became a mercenary.”
“I did what I had to do in order to survive.”
Abe nodded in understanding. “So you were chased from your home and you have spent all of these years waiting to seek revenge,” he said. “But why now?”
Andrew smiled, but it was without humor. “Because I was betrothed to a woman I love,” he said. “She is a cousin to the king, and the king sought to make an alliance with my brother, who is a powerful border lord. He dissolved my betrothal and pledged the woman I love to my brother. I cannot allow him to marry her. For that reason, and for the slight against me and my mother, I must kill him.”
Abe’s bushy eyebrows lifted as a horrible story came to light. He felt sorry for Andrew. “Then you have a terrible burden to bear, my friend.”
Andrew looked at the sword lying on the table, the magnificent piece with a dreadful destiny. “I do not know how terrible it is. I only know that it is my burden. It has always been my burden. But it is something that shall soon be lifted.”
Abe looked at the sword because Andrew was. Something ironic occurred to him as he gazed at the nasty blade.
“Then you have selected the right weapon for such a destiny,” he said.
Andrew looked at him. “Why would you say that?”
Abe’s gaze drifted away from the blade, now looking at Andrew with his black eyes. “Because I name all of my weapons,” he said. “Like children, I am their father because I gave them life, so I name them all. This weapon was christened qatal alshyatin.”
“What does that mean?”
“Demon Slayer.”
Andrew was struck by the appropriateness of that name. He returned his attention to the sword, seeing it in a whole new light. Demon Slayer. Reaching out, he picked it up, holding it vertically so he could once again inspect the blade.
It was the blade that would free him.
“It will, indeed, slay a demon,” he muttered. “This blade will destroy the burden that has dogged me all of these years.”
Abe watched Andrew’s face as he studied the steel. Amidst all of the vengeance, he thought he might have seen a ray of hope flickering in the man’s eyes.
“Andrew?”
“Aye, Abe?”
“When you have finished with your brother, will you send word that you have survived as well?”
Andrew looked at him, hearing concern in the old man’s voice. It was strange, he thought, considering he’d just met the man, that he should be concerned for him. But it also reminded him that there were kind and genuine people in the world who did care for the fate of strangers. And with that, Abe became something of a concern to him, as well.
“I will,” he said. “And from now on, I shall only do my business with you, Abe. We share a bond, you and I. With this great weapon, you have made it possible for me to achieve what I have needed to achieve all of these years.”
Abe simply nodded. Leaning forward, he put a meaty, dirty hand on Andrew’s arm. “I hope you find peace, Andrew,” he said. “That is what I pray for you. Peace.”
Truth was, Andrew prayed for peace as well. He hoped that killing Alphonse would finally give him what he sought but, as he’d seen so many times with men bent on vengeance, sometimes being successful in their revenge left them empty, as if the revenge had become such a part of them that it was difficult to find that peace once the vengeance was gone. Some men needed that hatred in them simply to survive.
Andrew didn’t think he was one of those men but, soon enough, he would find out.
Soon enough, he would know.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was early evening and the castle was lit spectacularly in honor of the earl’s visit. The warmth of the day still lingered and every window of the castle was open, allowing the sweet fragrances of nature to waft in on the evening breeze.
A huge feast had been prepared for the hundreds of people that would be dining this evening. Servants flowed throughout the structure, assisting, dressing, serving, and bathing the revered occupants. The air about was alive with the importance of the event and the enormity of the situation.
This night had to be perfect.
Josephine was high in her rooms, waiting patiently as Madelaine finished dressing her hair. She was clad in the most exquisite silk gown, white in color, that had been part of the wedding gifts from the earl. He had sent a message along with the dress, specifically asking that she wear it to the feast tonight. The message had the tone of a direct order and she angrily obeyed, hating herself for complying.
As Josephine sat thinking about the message from the earl, the angrier she became. How dare he order her about! And how dare she cave in like a weak, spineless woman! She was Lady Josephine de Carron, cousin of the king and heiress to the Earldom of Ayr. At least, she had been. Still… she would not take orders; she would give them.
Abruptly, she stood up, knocking the brush from Madelaine’s hand.
“I will not wear this dress tonight,” she said firmly and turned to the massive wardrobe that lined one wall. “I will find something else.”
Madelaine was aghast. “My lady, why not? ’Tis a lovely gown!”
Josephine swung to the maid and the woman visibly cowered. Her jaw muscles flexed and her lips pressed into a thin smile. “It was a lovely gown,” she said as she deliberately stepped on the hem of the dress and stood up, ripping a large portion of the skirt from the bodice. “But alas, a terrible accident occurred as I was dressing and the dress was ruined. I am sure that that earl will understand.”
Madelaine looked at her in shock. Then, she suppressed a grin. “My lady, yer bravery astounds me,” she said softly. “His request was a bit demanding.”
Josephine’s eyebrows lifted “A bit? Make no mistake; it was a command. And I will not do it.”
Madelaine’s expression was one of approval. “I can see that ye relent to no man, my lady. Ye have my respect and admiration.”
For the first time, Josephine felt Madelaine was on her side. Even so, she remembered what she’d been told; that the woman was a sometime mistress of the king. Still, she really didn’t care if this made it back to the king.
“Then help me select a new garment,” she said.
Madelaine helped her remove the dress first, handing it over to a pair of hovering servants. Josephine, in her shift, then stood alongside Madelaine as the two scrutinized the other dresses in the wardrobe.
“What of the red garment?” Josephine asked, as she pulled out a red silk surcote, studying it. “This will make me look entirely wicked.”
Madelaine was looking at the collection of dresses as if hypnotized. “Or the black?” she breathed. “Black for mourning. Black for the loss of innocence.”
Josephine looked at Madelaine, hearing something in her tone. There was sorrow there as she spoke, and Josephine was affected by the depth of her words. Something in her expression suggested that Madelaine knew exactly what the loss of innocence meant. If she was the mistress of the king, then it was probably something she’d experienced firsthand.
Josephine had only spent a short amount of time around the king, enough to know that he was lascivious at best. Perhaps he’d stolen poor Madelaine’s innocence. She tossed the red dress aside.
“Then black it is,” she said quietly.
Josephine was dressed in the exquisite black silk, a surcote with a massive skirt to it, elaborately embroidered, and Madelaine went back to dressing her hair. She pulled the front portion of Josephine’s hair back and secured it at the crown of her head with a jewel-encrusted clip. Then, she gathered up the whole wonderful mane and secured it at the nape of her neck with a black silk ribbon embroidered with tiny c
rystal beads. The last step was the rose fragrance, daubed over her entire neck, back, and wrists.
Josephine gazed back at herself in the polished mirror, noting the long, graceful neck, the creamy shoulders, and the swell of her breasts. She had to admit that she looked rather beautiful. Madelaine finished by swabbing red-tinted salve on her lips, making them seem all the more tempting and full. The entire picture was startling.
There was a knock on the door and Madelaine rushed to open it. Josephine turned defiantly to the door, certain that it was the earl, and braced herself for a fight. Much to her surprise, it was not the earl.
It was the king.
Alexander entered the room, his eyes falling appreciatively on his young cousin. In fact, he had that lascivious look that Josephine had seen before.
“Josephine,” he said, as he reached out and took her hand. His eyes raked all over her. “You are incredibly lovely. But why black? I was told that the earl requested you to wear the white dress he sent you.”
Josephine curtsied formally. “My lord,” she greeted. “The white dress was accidentally torn. It will not be repaired in time for the feast.”
She didn’t seem upset by it and that piqued Alexander’s curiosity. “Then why black? There are many other colors in your wardrobe.”
“Black is the color of sadness, and I am sad.”
He looked at her with a pout. “My sweet little cousin,” he said. “Have I made your life so miserable? You will be a very rich and very powerful woman. Certainly, that is some cause for happiness.”
Josephine could tell that he truly did not understand her plight and she felt a certain amount of pity for a man who was so narrow-minded. But she also felt a great deal of resentment. He had no idea of the hell he was condemning her to and if he did, he didn’t care. Either way, it was an appalling prospect.
“Nay, my lord, it is not,” she said frankly. “I know you believe this to be a great honor, but it is not to me. I want to go home to Torridon and marry Andrew.”
Alexander hardened at what he perceived to be an ungracious attitude. “But I am giving you the opportunity to start a new and prestigious life as a countess,” he said, leaving no room for discussion. “Now, close your eyes. I have brought you a wedding gift.”
Reluctantly, Josephine obeyed. She didn’t like the idea of closing her eyes with this man in close proximity, and her body was taut with uncertainty. She felt something very cold go around her neck.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded gaily, directing her towards the mirror.
Josephine opened her eyes and her hands flew to her neck, touching the necklace as she stared at her reflection. A bejeweled necklace clung to her skin, its incredible brilliance sparkling like a million stars. It was an expensive and outrageous gift, and she did not feel comfortable accepting it.
“My king,” she breathed, her eyes glued to the bejeweled strand. “This is the most beautiful necklace I have ever seen.” Suddenly, she stepped back from the mirror and faced him. “But I cannot accept it. This is far too generous.”
He looked confused at her refusal. “It is a gift, Josephine. My wife selected it herself,” he said. “You will accept it.”
He was giving her an order. To defy an earl was one thing, but to defy the king was another thing. And since the queen had a hand in selecting the gift, Josephine felt as if she truly could not refuse. With a deep breath for resolve, she forced herself to curtsy again.
“I thank you, my lord.”
Although she uttered words of thanks, still, she was wary. The necklace was a gift to be given from a husband to a wife, or from one lover to another. She began to suspect that the necklace came with strings attached when she noticed the lustful gleam in the king’s eyes. Instinctively, she moved away and put distance between them.
Alexander noticed. One would have been blind not to see that Josephine didn’t want to be near him. In fact, she’d been standoffish since they’d first met, and he suspected why. At least, he thought he did.
“You fear me, Cousin?” he asked softly. “Why? Have I frightened you somehow?”
Josephine turned to him. She felt braver with several feet between them. “I do not fear you, my lord,” she said. “I respect and admire you.”
If he believed her, he didn’t give any indication. He simply continued to stare at Josephine until her skin literally crawled from his cloying gaze. There was something so dirty about the way he looked at her. Eventually, he closed the distance between them. He came to within inches of Josephine and she saw his hand come up to her face. It was a struggle for her not to pull away as he gently grasped her chin and looked her in the eye.
Josephine stood her ground, but she was terrified. She could not refuse him if he wanted to seduce her. And physically, she was no match to fight him. Strangely, she felt a great deal of anger at his boldness, but she also felt a great deal of disgust at herself for allowing him to have power over her.
But he was the king, and she was his subject. She prayed she wasn’t going to go the way of Madelaine, claimed by a man she could not refuse. Alexander’s breath was hot on her face.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Josephine,” he whispered. “I should like to get to know you better.”
She lowered her gaze, her lashes fanning against her cheek. “Ask me any question, my lord, and I should be happy to answer you,” she said. “As I would like to get to know you better as well. I understand you knew my mother. Mayhap you could tell me about her, what you knew of her in your youth.”
A crushing blow to the king’s intentions. Josephine happened to glance at him as her words sank in, and she saw the flame of lust extinguishing. Wielding her mother’s name like a weapon, the only weapon she had, it had worked the desired effect.
But Alexander wasn’t pleased about it. His hand dropped like a stone from Josephine’s face and he cocked an eyebrow at her. The woman was cleverer than he had given her credit for, knowing that mention of Lady Afton would remind him of the person he toyed with. Lusting after his own family, as it were.
Disillusioned, and defeated, he turned away.
“As children, your mother and I were quite close,” he said. “She was a bit older than I and quite beautiful. She would be pleased to know that her daughter can thwart the plans of men with less than honorable intentions with nothing more than a few words.”
Josephine looked at him incredulously, realizing he was fully admitting his lust for her. But she also caught an amused glimmer in his eye and they were soon grinning at each other knowingly. Josephine knew his mind and she had established a line he would think twice before crossing.
“Do you wish the necklace returned?” she asked.
He scratched his head with a smirk. “Nay,” he insisted. “It is your wedding gift from me and Marie. That, and a manor house outside Selkirk. It comes with a village of nearly two hundred acres of land.”
Josephine was genuinely touched by his generosity. Maybe he did realize the terrible pit he was casting her into and was trying to make it as attractive as possible. But she was going to press him on the issue of the manor house.
“Thank you very much, my lord,” she said. “You are most gracious. Might I make a request?”
Now he looked at her a bit warily. “What is it?”
She wasn’t shy about telling him. “That the manor house, and all of its holdings, will be placed in my name only,” she said. “The earl will not be able to touch it. I want it to be mine alone.”
To her surprise, he smiled at her. Then, he laughed. “Josephine, you are a shrewd and wise woman,” he said. “I can see that you possess more in your head than most of your countrywomen combined. Of course, the manor house will be yours entirely, as well as the title it carries. But I do not suppose you care about a title, do you?”
There was some humor in his question, surprisingly, and she shrugged. “I was once the heiress to the Ayr earldom,” she said, as she cocked her head comically. “So
on, I shall be the Countess of Annan and Blackbank. What is the meaning of one more title?”
“Nothing, of course,” he agreed with mock seriousness. “But the manor house comes with the title of Lady Ashkirk.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.”
With all of that behind them, Alexander had a new respect for his young cousin, who was quite cunning in spite of her youth. He reminded her a good deal of her mother. A seed of respect for the woman sprouted and he held out his hand to her.
“Come, my beauty,” he said. “The castle abounds with guests who, I am sure, wait at this very moment in the dining hall with strained patience.”
Josephine looked at the outstretched hand, knowing he meant to take her to the earl, and all of the ease she’d felt with the conversation over the past few moments was gone. Now, she felt a good deal of apprehension. She’d already fended the king off, but she wasn’t so sure her luck would hold out with her intended. The best way to fend him off would be to stay away from him, and that was exactly what she intended to do. Andrew’s advice suddenly popped into her head – tell them your woman’s cycle has begun, he’d said.
It was the best excuse she could think of.
“I am afraid I am not feeling very well this evening, my lord,” she said, putting her hand to her belly. “I… I should like to meet the earl when I am feeling and looking my best. And unfortunately, that is not tonight.”
Alexander peered at her. “You seem well enough to me.”
She shook her head, rubbing at her belly. “I fear it has taken all of my strength to speak with you,” she said. “I feel rather weak and… faint.”
His eyebrows came together. “Faint?”
She nodded, reaching for the nearest chair and trying not to be overly dramatic about it. She didn’t want it to seem as if she’d suddenly taken ill the moment the king invited her to attend him to the hall, but that’s exactly what it looked like. She had to make it seem believable.
“It comes over me sometimes,” she said. “Monthly, I mean.”
Alexander was looking at her as if he had no idea what she meant until, abruptly, her meaning settled. Suddenly, he didn’t seem so suspicious and, much as Andrew had predicted, he moved away from her.