Twelfth Night Betrothal

Chapter 2

The music stopped.

Flynn turned to face the woman standing behind him and pursed his lips when he did not recognize her as one of the women who had caught his eye earlier. She was not the vixen wearing daring red, or the one who had swayed her hips in a scandalous fashion. She was not the olive-skinned beauty who had practically undressed him with her eyes, either, or the petite brunette who’d smiled at him when he’d entered the hall. The woman in front of him was neither tall nor short, neither plump nor brazen. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about her, as far as he could tell.

His hopes sank further. This was not a promising beginning. Could the Lord of Misrule not have stopped the music a heartbeat earlier? Or later? What would he be unveiling when he untied the ribbons holding the woman’s mask in place?

The answer was not long in coming.

Flynn blinked in surprise. He had just revealed the most arresting face he had ever seen. Maybe not the loveliest, or the most conventionally beautiful, but definitely the most intriguing. There was something in the woman’s gaze that was impossibly compelling. When all the other women simpered or blushed, or giggled to attract his attention, this one just stared at him calmly, as if he was the answer to all her prayers, as if they already knew each other and shared a past. Her eyes were gray, an unusual color offering a perfect contrast for her warm chestnut hair. His woman was fire and ice all at once—and she smelled exquisite.

For a long time they just looked at each other.

“Gentlemen, bow to your lady. From now on, no one but you will be able to court her unless I allow them to, on a whim, something I am renowned for,” the Lord of Misrule announced. “Ladies, please curtsey to your suitor. You have my permission to slap anyone else attempting to seduce you during the festivities. Or even this one, if you don’t like the look of him.”

This announcement was greeted with the usual scandalized whispers, but the woman in front of him didn’t laugh or even move.

“Well, now I’ll admit I’m curious,” he drawled, leaning in toward her. “Am I going to get a slap?”

Flynn’s mouth curved in a smile. In truth, he would be very surprised if the woman objected to him. She seemed utterly transfixed by…well, by him .

From somewhere in the distance the music resumed.

“No, you’re not going to get a slap, my lord,” she said, as if shaken out of her trance.

“Flynn,” he instantly contradicted. The formal greeting still felt odd.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please call me Flynn. Remember, the Lord of Misrule gave us leave to use our Christian names just now.” How handy that was.

This time she did flush. “He didn’t order it, as I recall.”

“No, I suppose he didn’t. It will be up to us to do it or not…my lady,” he said, letting the two words hang. Would she take up the challenge? He dearly hoped so.

“Heather,” she breathed.

Flynn arched a brow in delight. So…spirit as well as allure. He addressed his mental apologies to the Lord of Misrule. It seemed he had stopped the music at the right time after all. He was more entranced with every passing moment.

“Heather,” he repeated. “Do you know, my mother once told me she would have called me Heather if I had been a girl.”

His mother… She had not lived long enough to see her son elevated. What would she have made of it all, he wondered? It was hard to know. After all, she had never loved his father. She might well have been horrified to see her only son used as a stud to provide the heir for the title and lands his father had held. He pushed the uncomfortable thought away.

Thinking about his mother now would not help.

Heather was smiling as if he had given her the most heartfelt compliment. “It’s hard to imagine you as a girl, my lor—Flynn,” she amended when he tilted his head.

“I should hope so. Otherwise all these hours of sword fighting will have been in vain.” More than ever he was grateful to Alistair for having insisted on teaching him how to spar when they were children. He felt inadequate already in his new role. What would it be if he didn’t even know how to use a weapon?

“I wish I had been born a man!” Heather said with feeling.

He barely suppressed a smile at the odd sentiment. “Now that would have been a great pity. You are the most enchanting woman I’ve ever seen.”

When she flushed a delicious red, he realized he meant every word. For a moment, when he had turned to face her, he had thought there was nothing remarkable about her, but just because she didn’t tower over the other female guests or smile invitingly at strangers it didn’t mean she didn’t stand out, all the same. She was, as he’d said, entrancing, which, all things considered, was much better than just being beautiful. Beauty would disappear with age, but this woman would forever be able to hold his interest, or so it seemed.

Right now, he could not detach his gaze from her.

“Thank you. But I think you are just being kind.”

“My friend Alistair would tell you I’m never kind if I can help it,” he answered. Even as the words left his mouth, he started. What had possessed him to tell her such a jest? Now she would think him a boor. But to his relief, she let out a delightful giggle.

“I think your friend is mocking you.”

“Mayhap.” He made a face. “That sounds like something he would do. But pray tell, why on earth would you want to be a man?”

“Men can do whatever they like, go wherever they want, without having to justify their decision to anyone, they can…” She stopped, as if she thought she’d said too much.

“I see,” Flynn said slowly. “You think being a man means being free. But you are mistaken, I’m afraid. Men too are subject to pressure and obligations.” Didn’t he know it… He shook his head. “I fear you might not find it all that satisfactory to be a man.”

Heather regretted her outburst when she saw a dark shadow pass in Flynn’s eyes. That he had his own issues to deal with was obvious. Why did she have to open her mouth? She was supposed to attract him, and complaining never attracted anyone.

“Of course, you’re right,” she started. “I should not have—”

“Well, it seems we now have our couples at last!” Will’s booming voice, followed by a round of applause, interrupted her. “And now with any luck, we shall have a wedding before Twelfth Night!”

She clenched her teeth while the onlookers smirked at the people standing in the middle of the room. Did Will have to be so blatant? Next he would bring on a priest wearing a jester’s hat and ask the newly paired couples to form an orderly queue and get married one after the other. Then she reminded herself that, thankfully, Flynn did not know she was in league with the scandalous Lord of Misrule, or even that they knew each other. She allowed herself to relax. He would never suspect this game had been created with the express purpose of finding her a suitor.

Perhaps this mad plan would work.

All she had to do now was enjoy the rest of the evening.

Later that night, when Flynn walked her back to the bedchamber she had been allocated, she could have sworn the time had gone in a heartbeat. They had eaten, danced, and laughed with the ease of old acquaintances. She now knew there was more to Flynn than a handsome face, and she was more determined than ever to give Will’s idea a try. After all, she had nothing to lose.

“This is my room,” she said as they reached the door at the end of the corridor. “I’m sharing with Lady Garfield.”

“I’m in the west wing, sharing a bed with my friend Alistair.” His lips quivered, as if he had made a jest. A jest she didn’t understand. “I will bid you good night then.”

“Good night, Flynn. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?” He arched a brow.

“Because I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Then you should thank the Lord of Misrule.”

“He wasn’t the one I spent the night with. You were.”

She blushed. For some reason the words sounded impossibly lewd. What was wrong with her? Had she had too much wine? All she could think was that if she had not been sharing a room with another lady, she might well have invited him to come in with her. This was not only scandalous but ludicrous. She was supposed to entice him into marriage, not lust after him and give him the impression she was bedding all the men she saw!

“I thank you, Heather. A man likes to know the woman he spent the night with had a good time.”

He winked. Curse it, apparently she was right, and her words had been too suggestive. But oddly, he didn’t seem horrified, didn’t seem to think her unforgivably wanton. On the contrary, he seemed amused.

She turned and disappeared into the room before she could throw herself into his arms.

****

“Well that was interesting.” Alistair winced as he closed the door behind them. “Not only was I paired with possibly the dullest, silliest woman present, but she is now under the impression that I will propose before the end of the week.”

Flynn chuckled as he started undoing his tunic. “Someone’s in for a rude awakening.”

“Yes…” His friend sighed. They both knew he would never get married, since his preferences did not exactly make him a prime candidate for marriage. “How was your ‘sweetheart’ anyway?”

His sweetheart. It sounded odd. “Heather?”

“Oh, you mean she actually told you her Christian name?”

“She did.”

“And so?” Alistair pressed. He poured a glass of wine, then handed it to him with an arched brow. He had never been one for letting Flynn get away with evasive answers.

“So nothing. You know I’m not looking for a wife. I’m already betrothed. This will be a distraction, as you intended, nothing more.”

“No, unfortunately the old crone is waiting for you.” Alistair poured another glass of wine for himself. “If what her late husband said about her is true, you’re in for a rough ride, my friend.”

Flynn stayed silent and emptied the spiced wine in one gulp. Indeed, even if half of what they had heard was a pack of lies, he would be in for a rough ride. He fell on the bed with a sigh.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to join the circle of men. This could end nowhere. Soon reality would catch up with him.

When he closed his eyes, he saw two intense gray eyes burning a hole through his skull.