Twelfth Night Betrothal

Chapter 3

“Will, you’re wonderful!”

Heather squeezed her friend’s hand as soon as she saw him. He was waiting for her in the corridor, looking his usual flamboyant self in a bright blue tunic and plumed hat.

“We’ve know each other all our lives. Don’t tell me you only now noticed just how wonderful I am?”

This answer, which was a model of modesty, made her smile even wider. “You know what I mean.”

“I think I do. So, do tell, what’s his name?”

“Flynn.” She said in a whisper, reddening at the intimate use of his name. “How did you know that of all men, he was the one I favored?” What if he had stopped the music a heartbeat earlier, while she was behind Baron Peltham?

Will rolled his eyes in a familiar gesture. “Please. From the moment you saw him you were smitten, and I can hardly blame you. He’s quite something to look at. I should know. I have looked at my fair share of men.”

She ignored the provocation. “Was it that obvious?”

“Yes! At least, obvious to me,” he amended when she gasped in horror. Had everyone seen her interest? Had Flynn? “I know you, remember? You’re like my own sister. Besides, even if I hadn’t seen the way you looked at him, he would have been my first choice. No one is better suited to the role of your future groom.”

Yes, that was what she was starting to believe. Better suited than “Wicked Wexford” at any rate.

“I thought you might have gone for the tall, dark-haired man to his right,” she admitted.

Will’s mouth curled up and she detected a gleam she knew only too well in his eyes. “Oh, no, my dear. That one isn’t for you.” With a laugh, he took her arm. “Come, let us go break our fast. I’m famished.”

In the great hall they found the long trestle tables covered with a dazzling array of dishes, each more appetizing than the next. After one last kiss on her fingers, Will went on to resume his role as Lord of Misrule, and Heather sat on her own at the end of one of the benches. By the dais she spotted Baron Peltham. Their gazes met and he tilted his head in greeting. Damnation. In a moment he would walk over and ask if he could sit with her.

While she was trying to come up with an excuse to refuse his company, she felt a presence behind her. Her heart skipped a beat. Without knowing quite why, she knew that when she lifted her head, she would see Flynn.

“May I?”

His deep voice sent shivers down her spine. “Of course.”

He sat opposite her, looking positively breathtaking. The light of the candles last night had gilded his blond hair, but the sunlight this morning made his green eyes sparkle.

“I trust you’re well, Heather?” he asked with a smile.

“I am. And I’m glad you joined me before Baron Peltham could make his move.”

“Ah. Baron Peltham.” His lips quivered. “Who is that?”

“The wiry man by the dais, talking to the Earl of Falkin.”

He selected a bread roll from the pile in front of him. “Pardon me, but you talk as if I knew who the earl in question was.”

Heather blinked. “You don’t?” It seemed extraordinary. The man was one of the most prominent guests at Redding Castle. She had not imagined anyone would not know who he was. “You don’t seem to know a lot of the people present,” she observed. Now that she thought of it, she had only ever seen him talk with his dark-haired friend. Others nodded in his direction and exchanged pleasantries, of course, and women could not detach their eyes from him, but it was obvious they could not claim to know him.

“That’s because I don’t. I only really know Sir Alistair Wyatt, who is a childhood friend.”

She frowned. What sort of a recluse life did the man live? She, who had started to move in prestigious circles only a year ago when she had married George, knew most of the men present. Before she could ask any more questions, Will came to stand on the dais and called for everyone’s attention.

“Tonight I will have the same couples as last night dance with each other,” he announced in his best Lord of Misrule voice. Heather could tell he was enjoying himself immensely, which did not surprise her in the least. “Remember, I still aim to have at least one happy couple deciding to tie the knot before Twelfth Night.”

A few of the women looked at their appointed suitors with hope mingled with excitement. The men coughed, obviously less thrilled by the prospect of an imminent union. Heather worked hard at keeping her face impassive. Unlike all the other “sweethearts,” she was already assured of marrying in the new year.

The next ten days would be spent ensuring she swapped one groom for another.

****

The music started, and Heather and Flynn took their place at the end of the line of couples. For a while she stayed silent, focusing on managing the intricate steps. She had never been the best dancer, and her husband’s criticism had rendered her even less able to perform gracefully. Under his hawk’s eye it had been impossible not to make twice as many mistakes as she would have otherwise.

“Really, why did I have to choose such a graceless lump for a wife!” he would hiss in her ear. “How hard is it to put one foot in front of the other? Just look at the other women, will you! They glide, they do not stomp!”

Breathe. George is not here anymore. He cannot hurt you. And if you falter, Flynn will catch you. He won’t mock you.

“I have a confession to make,” he told her quietly once the first dance had ended. There was an odd expression on his face. Was he wary? Ashamed? Surely not. No one would choose such a public place and such a moment to make an embarrassing confession. Not sure what to say, she nodded in encouragement. “Unlike you, I cannot dance very well.”

Was he jesting with her? He thought she was a skilled dancer? Of all the compliments he could have given her, this had to be the last one she was entitled to.

“You are trying to flatter me. Please, don’t.”

“You are much better than I am,” he said with a tight smile. “So elegant and precise.”

Elegant and precise ? She, the graceless lump? She might have taken offense at what could only be mockery if at that precise moment the musicians had not struck up a lively tune and she hadn’t seen panic flash in Fynn’s eyes. He was telling the truth. He couldn’t dance. Lost to her own misery, focused on not making any mistakes, she had not paid attention to what he was doing earlier, but he seemed petrified at the idea of having to resume the dance.

She let out a sigh of relief. Far for bothering her, his confession had put her at ease. How wonderful to be dancing with someone who did not think she stomped around but actually admired her!

“I didn’t see anything amiss,” she assured him.

“But you will now. I do not know this dance,” he whispered back.

She was not the most accomplished performer, but at least she knew the steps. “Worry not, I do. Just follow my lead.”

They joined the other couples and, between them, managed to give a creditable performance. Flynn might not like to dance or know all the steps, but he was innately graceful, which was a huge advantage, and a quick study, which ensured they did not disgrace themselves.

“Thank you,” he told her once the dance was over. “I believe you got your first taste of what being a man would be like.”

She smiled. Indeed, men were supposed to lead their partner, not the other way around. “I liked it as much as I thought I would.”

He handed her a cup of spiced wine, which she accepted gratefully. “I was never taught how to dance, you see,” he murmured. “I only ever observed dancers from afar.”

“And no one ever asked you to dance?” Heather found this impossible to believe. He would have been swamped by women eager for a turn in his arms as soon as he appeared in the room. How had he managed to get away with it?

“No.”

Flynn gritted his teeth. Understandably, Heather was assuming he had been one of the lords standing in the room with a cup of wine in hand while the dancing was going on. He had not. He’d been one of the servants bringing in the drinks and sweetmeats. No one had spared him a glance, least of all asked him to dance…

“Well, as long as you stay with me, all will be well.”

“Oh, I have no intention of leaving your side,” he confirmed. “For one, there is no one I would rather be with, and for another you’re my ‘sweetheart’, remember? The Lord of Misrule might not approve of my abandoning you to your fate, and he told us last night he was not above spanking anyone. I am not sure if he was jesting or not, but I have no intention of finding out.”

“Oh, he’s not jesting,” Heather replied. “He’s more than capable of doing such a thing.”

He arched a brow. She sounded so certain… “How do you know? Don’t tell me he stole into your bedchamber last night?” Had the man abused his role to seduce the women who took his fancy? The idea was enough to send his blood boiling. Lord of Misrule or not, he would have words with him if Heather hinted at any wrongdoing.

But far from looking afraid, she threw him a mischievous smile that made her gray eyes sparkle. My, luck had really been on his side when she had stopped behind him during the dance the other night. He could not have found a better “sweetheart.”

“No, he did not. He would be too afraid of seeing more of Lady Garfield than is proper.” She giggled. “She frightens him half to death when she is fully clothed. He might faint if he saw so much as her collarbone.”

“Do you know him, then?”

There Heather hesitated. “I’ve heard enough about him to feel I do,” she said vaguely. He sensed she was not telling the whole truth, but before he could ask anything, she led him back to the middle of the room. “But I still don’t know who you are,” she whispered as they joined hands once more. He was thankful this dance was much slower and he could follow her easily. “I only know your Christian name.”

Flynn smiled. Indeed, their introduction had hardly been formal. It seemed oddly fitting and very convenient. She would have been appalled to be told who he’d been only last month, and he still felt a fraud introducing himself with his new title.

“Does it matter who I am?” He was happy to be just “Flynn” as he had been all his life.

“Well…” He could tell it did, but she didn’t dare admit as much. “Aren’t you curious to know who I am?”

“No. You are Heather, my ‘sweetheart.’ For now it is enough.”

He meant it. That was how he would remember her.

Heather’s chest squeezed uncomfortably. She would have liked to say that it was enough for her that he was Flynn, her “beloved.” Unfortunately it wasn’t. Considering she was here to entice him into marriage, she had to establish who he was, or rather, whether he was rich and powerful enough to save her from a union with the frightful Viscount Wexford.

She hated having to insist, but she had no choice. If he was a poor knight or a baron’s younger son, she would have to set her sights elsewhere and forget about him. Her life was not her own. Her heart might draw her to this man, but her reason told her it was no use pursuing him if he wasn't in a position to supplant her betrothed.

“I would have your name, if I may.”

“Very well. I—”

A shriek interrupted him. Heather’s head snapped up as pandemonium broke out in the great hall. Some of the women were clutching at the men in front of them, others were trying to run away. From his place on the dais, the Earl of Redding let out a roar of laughter, an odd reaction, when everyone else appeared panicked.

What on earth was going on?

“Are those… geese ?” Flynn asked, incredulous, as he stared at a point over her shoulder. He sounded on the verge of laughter himself.

Oh, no. Without looking, Heather knew they would be. That wretched Will! What was he thinking? He knew she was scared of the animals! But perhaps that was the point. He wanted to force her handsome suitor to take decisive action.

“I… Please. I-I have to get out of here,” she whispered to Flynn.

Flynn took one look at Heather’s face and saw dread in her gray eyes. For some reason he could not fathom, she was petrified. He didn’t stop to wonder why. If she needed his help, he would be here for her. A heartbeat later, he had swept her into his arms.

“Close your eyes. Hold on to me. I’m taking you out of here.”

Weaving his way out of the crowd, he made straight for the gardens. Once the chaos of the great hall was nothing more than a distant murmur, he deposited her gently onto the ground. He would have liked to hold her all night but of course he could not take such liberty.

“What was that?” he asked gently. Distracted by the geese’s intrusion, had he missed something more frightening?

There was a silence, not reassuring in the least, and then Heather spoke. “I’m scared of geese. I’m sorry, it’s ridiculous, I know.”

She sounded so mortified by the admission that he cupped her face to force her to meet his gaze and propriety be damned. In the moonlight her skin was pure alabaster, her eyes two crystal pools. The night air swirled in little clouds around her mouth every time she exhaled. She looked so shaken he wanted to sweep her into his arms again.

“It’s not ridiculous. I’m not surprised you should be scared of geese. They are…well…” Despite his intention to reassure her, he could not think of a single thing that could justify her reaction. After all, the great hall had not been invaded by wild cats or rabid dogs. “Remind me, what are they exactly?”

“Vicious,” she said with feeling. “Once, when I was a child, my cousin shut me in the goose pen for a laugh, after having filled my pockets with grain. I fell in the mud and the beasts pecked at me until my screams alerted one of the grooms. By the time he reached me, I was covered in cuts and bruises.”

If that was the case, no wonder she had wanted out of the great hall.

“Your cousin sounds like a right devil. But I hope you know I would not have allowed the beasts to touch as much as the hem on your skirts.”

“No, I know. But it’s irrational.” She shook her head. “What was the man thinking?”

“The Lord of Misrule? It’s his role to be mischievous and do scandalous things,” Flynn defended. In truth, he was warming to the man. Thanks to him, his sojourn at Redding Castle was a lot more enjoyable than he had anticipated and he was now alone in a moonlit garden with Heather. “He wants to entertain the earl, and I believe he is succeeding in his mission. The man was roaring with laughter when we left.”

“Yes, but did he have to choose… geese to accomplish that?”

He couldn’t help a chuckle. She sounded as outraged as if The Lord of Misrule had released the most evil creatures known to mankind into the great hall. “He will no doubt ask to have the birds roasted for dinner tomorrow. Will you be able to stomach the sight? Will it not please you to nibble at them in retaliation for what they did to you?”

To his relief, Heather smiled. Her fright seemed to have subsided and her cheeks had regained some color, he was pleased to see. “Yes. It will.”

“You’re safe here with me,” he murmured before wondering if she would believe him. Would she not be worried to be on her own at night with a stranger? After all, a man posed more threat to a lone woman’s virtue than geese ever would.

Heather looked at him for a moment, as if trying to decide if she could trust him. Then she shivered.

“You’re cold. Let me take you back inside,” he said with regret. He could have stayed alone with her all night, but he could not ask her to remain a moment longer out here when it was so cold and she was not wearing any cloak. “The monsters should have been brought under control by now.”