Another note had come from the earl himself, telling her to wear the white dress, but she would not comply. Although it was mended and hanging on a peg in her wardrobe, she made sure to tear it again. She wasn’t going to be forced into wearing the thing. Instead, she chose the black dress again.
As she’d told the king, black was for sadness. The message would be clear.
As dusk consumed the land and the great hall was already noisy with guests and fragrant with the smells of fine foods, William Ward came to escort her to the feast. When Madelaine opened the door, Ward was accompanied by six armed men. Josephine had to laugh at that, inwardly of course; she wondered if the men were there because the king was expecting a fight. But she gave them no fight. She willingly went with Ward down to the hall, only to be met by Alexander at the entry door.
The king greeted her politely but didn’t say anything about seeing the black dress again. It seemed that he was being particularly kind, which was strange for the man. But Josephine could tell he was eyeing the black dress. Perhaps he didn’t say anything for fear of upsetting her and sending her right back up to her chambers. He had her where he wanted her and he wasn’t going to upset the balance. So he simply smiled, took her hand, and proceeded into the great hall.
When Josephine entered the hall on the king’s arm, all noise and movement stopped. Six hundred pairs of eyes devoured and admired the strikingly pale woman in black. Josephine was somewhat self-conscious as she was led to her seat on the dais, feeling the hot stares of the room on her back.
But it was nothing compared to the fear she felt when she was finally introduced to Alphonse d’Vant. She was seated right next to him and found herself looking up at a mountain of a man; enormous, with a pockmarked face and black eyes. He looked like everything hellish she’d ever heard about him. Big hands, a big nose – everything about the man was big. His gaze was fixed on her during their introduction. His expression suggested that he wasn’t disappointed in what he saw. When he spoke, however, his tone was anything but pleased.
“What happened to the white dress I sent to you?” he growled as she took her seat. “I told you to wear that.”
That was his greeting to her and Josephine’s palms began to sweat. God’s Toes, the man scared her. But she searched her soul and found courage; courage from Andrew, and she drew on it. She had to be brave, even if she didn’t feel it.
“Forgive me, my lord, but the dress was damaged,” she said. “There was no time to repair it before dinner, so I chose another dress that I hoped would please you.”
Alphonse studied her, his eyes glittering evilly. Josephine couldn’t tell whether or not he believed her and was relieved when a pretty maid bearing honeyed fruit distracted him. In that moment, she took the time to observe her surroundings.
Men she didn’t know were seated down the table from her, men who were looking at her rather interestedly. She didn’t like their stares and almost turned away until she caught sight of Sully, Justine, Nicholas, and Donald, far down the table. They were all seated together. When Josephine saw them, she nearly shouted with joy. Her confidence returned with her friends and family sitting near her. Friendly faces in a sea of unfamiliar, unwelcome men.
They gave her strength.
Her gaze fell on Sully as he smiled at her, and Josephine noticed the fine clothes he wore. He was looking more and more like the Earl of Ayr. That realization brought a stab of regret to her heart, but it quickly vanished. Her father was dead, her brother was dead, and she could think of no better man to carry on the title. Except for Andrew, of course. But he had his own path to follow that didn’t include Torridon, a path that she, too, would soon follow.
Now, Torridon belonged to Sully and Justine, and forever would.
But thoughts of Sully vanished when something heavy hit her trencher. Startled, Josephine turned to see that the earl had thrown a stringy piece of beef from his own trencher onto hers. Apparently, this was his idea of being chivalrous.
“Eat,” he commanded.
Though she had no appetite, Josephine took a bite. She’d already disobeyed him about the dress; she didn’t think he’d take kindly to her refusing to eat. As she chewed with some effort, the earl watched her intently.
Alphonse d’Vant, Earl of Annan and Blackbank, had been waiting for this moment. He’d had quite a bit to drink that evening as he waited to meet his betrothed and was feeling his liquor. With Lady Josephine in his sight, his mind wandered to the perverted and violent sexual acts he would perform with her. God, she was gorgeous. He hadn’t expected such finery. He couldn’t wait to watch while she masturbated with the phallic symbol he had specially made from pure gold. It was big, like he was, and he loved to watch women as they struggled to bury it deep within their soft bodies.
Already, he had plans for his new bride. As he watched her choke down a couple of bites followed by great gulps of wine, he leaned in her direction and lowered his voice.
“Lady Josephine,” he growled. “Would you accompany me to my chambers this eve? We have much to… discuss.”
Josephine almost choked on the food in her mouth. She hadn’t expected a proposition so soon and every instinct in her body told her to run. The man’s foul breath and foul ambiance was enveloping her, embracing her like the grime of an unseen plague. She could feel death about her, radiating from him. But she couldn’t run; she knew she couldn’t. With iron control, she managed to turn and look at him.
“Of course, my lord,” she replied evenly. “And I believe the king also wishes to discuss our arrangement. It would be ideal for all of us to meet in the privacy of your chambers.”
The earl was a bright man. He knew exactly what she was doing, calling in reinforcements so she wouldn’t have to be alone with him. But he was also an insensitive brute and could not possibly feel admiration for her bravery or her cleverness. He leaned his big head close to hers.
“I have no need for the king,” he whispered gruffly. “Unless the man wishes to help me inspect my latest acquisition.”
Josephine couldn’t help it; she visibly blanched. “I am a maiden, my lord. I shall remain so until my wedding.”
He laughed loudly, and she nearly jumped from her skin. “Liar!” he said.
Josephine flared in spite of her fear. “How dare you accuse me of untruth!” she fired back, even if he had been correct.
By this time, the dining hall had quieted considerably, watching the earl glare at his newly betrothed.
“Is that so?” he boomed. “Then we shall see!”
That was the end of Josephine’s bravery. King or no king, Josephine shot out of her chair in an attempt to run, but no sooner did she move than the earl was on her, grabbing handfuls of hair and nearly her entire neck in one hand. She gasped in pain, clutching at his wrist with one hand and trying to keep from stepping on her dress with the other.
Sully, witnessing the brutal move, jumped out of his chair. His face was red and his veins throbbed violently in his temples – no one was going to treat Josephine like that, and to hell with the king. He may be killed for his actions, but he wasn’t going alone. That bastard earl was going to feel his sword if it was the last thing he ever did.
But his efforts were thwarted. On either side of him, Justine and Donald reacted to Sully’s murderous intentions. Donald grabbed his arms while Justine tried to block him with her body, putting her hands on his chest.
“Sully, nay!” she hissed pleadingly. “Sit down! Please, I beg of you!”
Sully was struggling against Donald. Nicholas, his eyes wide with concern, tore his eyes from Josephine long enough to see that Sully was not taking the assault well. Nicholas knew that they had to help keep Sully calm, lest his blood be spilled right here in front of all of them. The king wouldn’t tolerate any acts of violence against guests, and most especially against Blackbank. Quickly and silently, Nicholas slipped from his chair and caught Sully around the torso with his strong, young arms.
“Let us remove hi
m from the hall,” he whispered to Donald, who heartily agreed.
“Let me go, you little whelps,” Sully demanded, fighting all three of them. “Let me go, all of you!”
“Remove him,” Justine said desperately as she gave the struggling mass a hard shove towards the door. “Take him back to our chambers!”
With Donald pulling and with Nicholas pushing, they managed to get Sully several feet from the table and Justine breathed a sigh of relief as they moved away. But her hope was shattered when a booming voice rang above the commotion. The earl still had Josephine twisting in his hand and he stepped out into the room, yelling again for the exiting group to halt.
Nicholas, Donald, and Sully came to a halt, turning eyes of anxiety and hatred to the monstrous man. Sully was breathing fire.
The earl’s eyes narrowed at the group. “What goes on?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
Nicholas knew he didn’t mean him; they had met. Quickly, he straightened. He would do the talking.
“My lord, allow me to introduce Sully Montgomery, the Earl of Ayr, and his companion, Lord Donald Muir,” he said evenly. “They are… guests.”
The earl looked right at Sully, who was spitting venom from his eyes. “What ails you, man?” he asked suspiciously.
In his grip, Josephine was nearly hysterical. The earl would kill Sully in a heartbeat if she didn’t do something. She turned her head slightly to look at her sister, whose face was a mirror of her own – pure, absolute terror. Before she could say anything, however, Nicholas answered the earl’s question.
“Nothing ails him, my lord,” he said. “The earl has simply had too much to drink. We were escorting him to bed.”
As Alphonse eyed Sully threateningly, thinking the man looked as if he was about to charge, the king came up behind him as he gripped Josephine by the hair.
“Remove your hand from my cousin,” he said icily.
It was a steely command, not meant to be disobeyed. Alphonse turned to look at the king with an expression that was nothing short of hateful. He considered bashing the king’s brains out right there, but he decided against it. He was, after all, in the king’s court, and even he couldn’t fight all of the king’s men. After a moment, he released Josephine.
“Thank you,” King Alexander said, but he didn’t mean it. He even looked to see if Josephine was all right as she staggered away, rubbing her scalp. But then he pointed at Sully. “This is Lady Josephine’s brother-in-law, and that is his wife, Lady Justine. She is Lady Josephine’s sister.”
The earl looked at Justine. “Not a beauty like her sister, is she?” he said cruelly. “And you, Lord Ayr, wish to challenge me for your sister-in-law’s honor? Ha!”
Sully went mad. Jerking away from Donald and Nicholas, he drew his broadsword from its decorative sheath. “By God and King Alexander, I’ll do more than challenge you!”
The earl responded by yanking his sword from its sheath. It was a huge piece of metal, as tall as Josephine. His eyes glittered coldly.
“I’ll skewer you, little earl!” he declared.
The hall was alive with people dashing to leave, and with soldiers drawing their swords; shouting. Justine was chanting “no, no, no” and Josephine turned beseechingly towards the king.
“My lord!” she pleaded. “Stop this!”
Before the king could speak, Ridge de Reyne came charging into the chamber like a runaway horse, his sword drawn. He had been outside of the hall, monitoring who was coming and going, when a hysterical servant told him what was transpiring inside. Sworn on his life to protect his king, even from a giant, he charged into the great hall.
Ridge was an extremely large man. Perhaps not as tall as Andrew, but he was very wide and muscular. He had never in his life been bested in a fight, sword or fist, but he had doubts about coming to blows with the Earl of Annan and Blackbank. Prepared for the worst, he put himself in the middle of the melee.
But the king saw that, very quickly, this was going to be a bloodbath. Once Ridge entered the mix, he raised his hands in supplication.
“Cease!” he bellowed. “No blood will be spilled in this hall!”
The combatants paused, giving King Alexander a chance to continue. Somewhat relieved, he began to issue orders. He had to defuse the situation quickly.
“Lady Justine, remove your husband to your rooms and stay there. Nicholas, go with them. De Reyne, take Lady Josephine to her chamber and remain with her.” Then, he fixed an intolerant eye on the earl. “You, my dear Blackbank, will accompany me.”
The group broke up. Justine, Donald, and Nicholas half-carried a reluctant Sully out as Ridge moved swiftly to Lady Josephine, sweeping her into his enormous arms and whisking her from the room. In a matter of seconds, the room was nearly empty.
Alexander fixed the earl with a cold stare. He was beginning to wonder if he had made a serious mistake.
“Now, d’Vant,” he said quietly. “What you do with Lady Josephine when you go back to England is your affair. But while she is under my roof and is my charge, you will kindly show her the respect she deserves. And that includes her family as well. Is that understood?”
The earl cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Clearly, my lord,” he said, simply to pacify him. But he didn’t mean it.
Alexander wasn’t stupid. He was very astute in his dealings with men, and he could see in Alphonse’s eyes that the man had absolutely no respect for the king, his position, or anything else. Alphonse was a man used to having his way, in all things, and he considered orders from the king an annoyance and nothing more.
Mostly, Alexander saw Josephine’s death in the cold, black depths of Alphonse’s eyes.
Now, he was starting to feel some guilt for what he’d done. He’d taken his beautiful young cousin and pledged her to a monster. Aye, he’d already known that but, somehow, now it was different. He’d come to know Josephine and knew she was an extraordinary woman, like her mother. Truth be told, perhaps that was Alexander’s biggest weakness – long ago, he’d had a great love for the Lady Afton. Perhaps he still did. That being the case, he couldn’t condemn the woman’s daughter to such hell. As the great hall around them began to settle down, the king shook his head.
“I hope I do not regret this,” he muttered, eyeing Alphonse. “Do not make me wish I had not pledged my young cousin to you. I could have very easily pledged her to another man who would be worthy of her. But because I honor our alliance, I honored you with her hand. If you make me regret such a thing, there will be consequences.”
Alphonse didn’t take anything Alexander said seriously. “What consequences?” he asked. “Once she is my wife, there is nothing you can do. And I will do what I wish to my wife.”
Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “Harm her and I will bring all of Scotland down over you,” he threatened. When Alphonse merely lifted an eyebrow, as if he didn’t care, Alexander’s rage knew no limits. “By God’s Bloody Rood! I should have left the woman to her betrothal with your brother, but I foolishly believed I was doing what was best for her and for my throne. And you have the arrogance to refute me and tell me it is none of my affair?”
Alphonse was prepared to retort, at least as much as he dared to a king, but something the man said caught his attention. In fact, he was most puzzled by it, fixated on it.
“My brother?” he repeated. “What about my brother?”
Alexander could see the man had no idea what he was talking about and, in that knowledge, he felt some smugness. He was about to lay some knowledge on the man that might change the entire dynamic of the situation.
“Your brother was betrothed to Lady Josephine but I dissolved it and, instead, gave her over to you,” he said, seeing a genuine reaction of shock on Alphonse’s face. “Did you not know that? Your betrothed was once pledged to The Red Fury.”
Alphonse’s mouth popped open in shock. He wasn’t any good at hiding his emotions. “The Red Fury?” he said, stunned. “My… my brother is The Red Fury?”
Alexander was disgusted that the man knew nothing of his kin. “Were you not even aware of that?” he said. “The greatest mercenary lord in all of England and Scotland is your brother, Andrew d’Vant. I have met the man. He is a beast of a man, although not as beastly or barbaric as you are. I took that woman away from him to give to you. So if you harm her, not only will all of Scotland come down over you, but so will The Red Fury. I doubt you will survive his wrath.”
Alphonse simply stared at him, too stunned to speak. My brother is The Red Fury? He’d never even heard that, not in the nineteen years that his brother had been gone from Haldane. Once Andrew had run, he never heard from the man again. He hadn’t kept track of him, uncaring what happened to his younger brother. All he cared about was the fact that his brother was gone for good. Since he’d not heard from his brother in so long, he had assumed the man was dead. God, how wrong he’d been.
It seemed as if the joke was on him.
Suddenly, he burst out laughing, as if he’d just heard something incredibly funny. Still laughing, he sheathed his sword.
“My brother is The Red Fury?” he said. “That is the most astonishing thing I have ever heard of. I do not believe it!”
Alexander wasn’t sure the man’s laughter was that of real humor. There was something innately disturbing about it. “It is true,” he said. “You were not aware?”
“I was not. By God, I was not.”
Alexander watched the man as he seemed to relax a great deal, still chuckling over the news. “Then you know what I say is truth should you harm the lady,” he said. “Treat her well, Blackbank, or you shall have to answer to a great many people.”
With that, the king went back to his seat and back to his meal. He was finished dealing with arrogant lords. But Alphonse didn’t follow him; he’d eaten his fill, anyway, and he’d had far too much to drink. What he needed now was a woman, but it was clear he wasn’t going to get anywhere with his betrothed. She had too many people concerned for her and, until he could remove her from Edinburgh, he wasn’t going to make a move against her.