While Beauty Slept (31 page)

But it was too late. Marcus had stopped cold, his eyes fixed upon me. Waiting for me to determine what would happen next.

My first impulse was to flee. But the queen had trained me well. I set my mouth in a polite smile and walked forward. Marcus greeted me as he would any old acquaintance, with formal good manners, and introduced me to his daughter, Evaline, and his wife, Hester. Looking at her up close, I saw her roundness for what it was: proof of another child on the way. I took petty satisfaction in noting her dowdy dress and freckled, plump face; my hair was braided in the latest style, with curly tendrils framing my face, and my skin, protected from the sun by the castle walls, was smooth and unblemished. Yet she had claimed the prize I once thought mine.

“You are well?” Marcus asked.

Unlike so many who ask the question, he appeared genuinely interested in my reply. I answered as best I could, but there was little to tell. His life had been transformed since we last saw each other; mine had not much changed.

“So you have not married?”

I shook my head. If Marcus was surprised by the news, or pleased, he did not show it. “I have found life at court rich enough without a husband,” I could not resist adding.

Hester scowled in disapproval, and Marcus made a halfhearted attempt to rein in a smile. Whether it was my words or his wife’s reaction that amused him, I could not tell.

“I am glad your loyalty to the queen and Princess Rose has been well rewarded,” he said.

Our eyes met, and the stiffness between us softened. For a moment it was as it had been, when Marcus was my friend. Time had eased the pain of our parting, and I remembered the easy rapport we had once shared, when we could make ourselves understood with no more than a glance.

“It is good to see you,” I said, glad I had resisted my first impulse to avoid him. “Good to see you happy.”

He smiled warmly, and I could sense, without a word said aloud, the message he wished me to hear:
My love is not easily given, nor is it easily revoked. No matter what happened between us, I will always care for you.

As I care for you,
I replied silently.

Hester tugged at the girl’s hand to pull her along. “Come,” she ordered Marcus. “The service will be starting.”

“The cathedral,” Marcus explained. “It is Evaline’s birthday, and we thought it right to give special thanks on this day.”

“Yes, of course. The queen will be expecting me back as well.”

And so we parted, with kindness and forgiveness. We were both healthy and content, which was more than most could say. It was enough.

The passing years were a kindness, for they had dulled the memory of Marcus’s hungry kisses and the feel of his fingers upon my skin. The longer I went without a man’s touch, the less I felt the need of it. Not until I had fully resigned myself to a life alone did a suitor come along who could not be easily refused. A suitor who showed me how little I understood my own desires.

It was Queen Lenore who told me. I had just returned from a visit to Flora’s room, my spirits dampened by the signs I had noted of her further decline. Her cures were helpless against the relentless ravages of old age: weakened legs that could no longer walk to the garden, faltering eyesight, a mind that lit more easily on stories of the past than on events of the day before. I came to her now as companion rather than student, my presence an assurance she had not been forgotten.

“Elise! What news!” the queen trilled with uncharacteristic enthusiasm when I entered her chamber. She patted the bedcover next to her, urging me to sit. Proper etiquette between a maid and her mistress did not concern her when we found ourselves alone. “You will scarcely believe it. You have received an offer of marriage.”

The thought so stunned me that I took a moment to reply. Over the years Queen Lenore had asked me occasionally if I had a special man, and I always replied no. In time she no longer asked.

“It cannot be,” I protested, thinking the offer could result only from a misunderstanding. “I have no suitors.”

“Surely you are aware of a certain person’s interest in you?” she asked, her eyes wide with delight.

“In truth I do not.”

My bewilderment was plain, for Queen Lenore’s smile faded, and she regarded me curiously.

“Dorian has said nothing?”

Dorian? The name was so unexpected, so mystifying, that it must be proof that I had been confused with some other woman. Dorian’s talent for riding and hunting had brought him into the king’s inner circle, and he had recently returned from two years commanding a troop of soldiers in the north, a commission that was considered a sign of special favor. From what I had seen, his knightly exploits had only enhanced his appeal among the castle’s young noblewomen, any of whom would have wed him in an instant. That he might ask for
my
hand was absurd.

“We have scarcely exchanged two words in all the time I have lived here,” I said. “There must be a misunderstanding.”

The queen looked puzzled. “I will send for Sir Walthur,” she said. “It was he who told me of his son’s intentions.”

A visit by Sir Walthur to Lenore’s chambers would set off a storm of gossip, with myself at the center.

“Please, my lady,” I offered, rising to stand beside her. “It’s best I clear up this confusion myself.”

The king’s advisers and their families were housed along a corridor just above the Council Chamber. As the king’s chief counselor, Sir Walthur was granted the largest suite, blessed with more light and space than the inner apartments. When I entered his front room, I saw him seated at a large desk. Though not fat, he gave an impression of solidity, from his broad shoulders to his jowly cheeks and wide nose. His thick white hair sat like a cap over his forehead and ears, and it stood out even more against the somber black clothing he favored. Were it not for the heavy gold chain with the royal seal that hung around his neck, he might have been mistaken for a particularly well-fed monk. But he had none of a clergyman’s humility, be it real or feigned. Sir Walthur wore his position proudly and cultivated his reputation as one who dared speak the truth to the king. His seriousness of manner was a striking contrast to his son’s jocularity; I did not think I had ever heard Sir Walthur laugh.

He looked up as I entered, and I saw an echo of Dorian in the way his eyes moved over my face and down along my body. It was the habit of a man accustomed to surveying and assessing a woman’s charms, or lack of them.

“Sir Walthur,” I said, bobbing in a curtsy. “May I speak with you?”

He nodded brusquely, extending his hand toward the chairs that sat opposite him. For a moment I paused, torn. Customarily a servant would not be permitted to sit in the presence of such a high-ranking official. Slowly, I took a seat facing Sir Walthur, half expecting to be admonished for impertinence.

“The queen has told you of our offer?” he asked.

It crossed my mind to ask if both he and his son were intending to take me as wife. Instead I nodded and waited for him to continue.

“I hope you appreciate the honor done you.” His voice rumbled as he talked, giving even the simplest words a ring of authority. “I mean no insult when I say Dorian has had other, better prospects. Yet, given the circumstances, we must make the best of things. I hope you will rise to the occasion.”

“Excuse me,” I spoke up. Sir Walthur was not used to having his monologues interrupted, for he scowled with irritation.

“Yes?”

“Begging your pardon,” I said in my most obsequious manner. “Your son has said nothing to me of marriage. Indeed he has not spoken to me on any matter that I can recall. Is this an offer that comes from him or from you?”

Sir Walthur stared at me impassively, betraying no emotion. “Do you know anything of my family?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I have two sons. Dorian is the younger, Alston the elder. Alston is a man of steady nerves and very little thought. He will never do great things, but he takes care of my estate in the country and performs his duties well. He married a respectable girl from a neighboring village some years ago, and they’ve produced three children, with more to come, God willing. With the family bloodline secure, there was no rush for Dorian to marry. Why should he? He had the run of the castle, and young men of his disposition need time to sow their oats before they settle down.”

I wanted to cut off his smugly confident flow of words, to tell him that rich young men such as Dorian left a trail of brokenhearted women behind them. But I kept my mouth closed and my expression respectful.

“These are uncertain times,” Sir Walthur went on. “We have kept the peace, thanks to the efforts of my son and his fellow soldiers. But the deRauleys are wily devils, and they continue to foment discontent. It is only a matter of time before we face an open rebellion.”

I was shocked. Isolated as I was from the rest of the kingdom, I had no idea that the king’s rule rested on such a shaky foundation.

“Dorian is young enough to welcome the thought of bloodshed. I trust his skills on the battlefield as much as any man’s, but I cannot push aside the thought that he may never return. It would set my mind much at ease if he left an heir. If the unthinkable should happen and he were to be killed, he must leave a legacy behind. Do you understand?”

I nodded, thinking it the right thing to do, though I still did not see how this story might wind its way around to me.

“I did my duty as a father and found a girl for Dorian to wed, a distant relation of my late wife. He was betrothed a few years ago, with the wedding to take place this summer, once the girl was of age. Alas, we received word that she has been taken by a fever. The other women I had considered as possible brides have all been married off or promised to others. I was preparing to look farther afield for a match until Dorian came to me with a suggestion. You.”

The thought had come from Dorian himself. I still had no idea why.

“A servant, and one of your age, was hardly the partner I imagined for my son,” Sir Walthur continued. “However, it has come to my attention that your bloodline is less humble than I thought.”

Sir Walthur watched me with his large, bulging eyes, fixing me with the glare that caused weaker men to crumble before his demands. He knew. He knew that Prince Bowen had fathered me, and that was the only reason he favored this union.

“I have never spoken of my parentage, with good reason,” I said hastily. “Please, I beg you to say nothing of it, not even to the king and queen.” If I were revealed as Bowen’s child, I might lose everything: Queen Lenore’s trust, my position at court, Rose’s friendship.

“I agree, we should keep it quiet. Now, what do you say?”

My first inclination was to say I was unworthy of such an honor; I was well schooled in feigning humility. But as I stared at Sir Walthur’s haughty face, my obsequiousness hardened into anger. Sir Walthur had concocted this plan as if my own preferences were an afterthought. He expected me to agree without question, to fall to my knees in gratitude. But I would not. A surge of recklessness burst through my body, pounding against the restraint I wore like armor. It was the same feeling I had when I walked off the farm, determined to forge a new life for myself. The same feeling I had when I lay in Marcus’s arms in that meadow, ready to throw aside caution and virtue. It was a feeling that overcame all reason, demanding only to be satisfied.

I fixed Sir Walthur with my sweetest smile and said, “I could hardly accept a proposal of marriage without seeing what my future husband has to say for himself. I will speak to Dorian before giving you my answer.”

Let him fume at my rudeness
, I thought recklessly as I strode from Sir Walthur’s room. Before I faced Dorian, I must seek out the only other person in the castle who knew the truth of my parentage. A person I thought would never betray me.

I stormed into Mrs. Tewkes’s room without knocking. She was sitting at her table, writing in an account book, and started when I entered.

“How could you?” I demanded. Though my chest was tight with fury, my voice came out as a whimper.