Twelfth Night Betrothal

Chapter 9

Where could he start?

The weight of Heather’s hand barely registered on Flynn’s arm. She looked deathly pale, and he knew she was worried he was going to announce he had to put an end to this whole folly because in less than a week he would be gone and married to another woman. In fact the opposite was true. He was going to tell her he had come to his senses and if he had to marry and produce an heir, then he would do it with the woman of his choosing—her.

The Lord of Misrule might well get his betrothal by Twelfth Night after all.

They stepped out into the night. It was not snowing anymore, but just as Heather had anticipated, the land was covered by a soft, fluffy blanket. A new beginning, so to speak, both the wiping out of the old and the promise of a fresh perspective. Dare he see it as a good omen?

In the sky above, the moon was only a faint silver crescent, the darkness around them almost complete.

“Heather, there is so much you don’t know about me. It didn’t seem to matter at first, but now…” He shook his head, not knowing how to explain it all. Now they had kissed, now he knew he wanted her as his wife, and he thought she might want him too. Now it mattered. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Just tell me this one thing first. Are you promised to another?”

He had wanted to start from the beginning, but he could not refuse to answer the direct question without offending her. Unfortunately, he knew the answer would not please her.

“Yes.” He could not lie. He was betrothed. Technically. “But it’s not what you—”

She raised a hand. Though it was dark, he thought he saw her pale further. “I’m sorry, I need a moment alone.”

She turned and fled before he could stop her. “Heather, no, wait!”

He ran after her, cursing himself for his lack of reaction. The night was too dark for her to be out on her own. She would twist an ankle in the soft snow, or get lost, or some ill-intentioned guest would get to her. None of these possibilities could be allowed to happen.

“Leave me alone!” Her voice reached him from somewhere to the right, but he could not see anything. Was she hiding behind a tree? In her dark cloak she would blend into the night. If she didn’t want to be seen, he might well not see her.

“I can’t leave you like this. I still haven’t explained what the situation is.”

“I’ve heard enough, thank you very much.”

“Heather, please.” If he could keep her talking he would eventually be able to locate her. “You need to hear everything before you can judge.”

“If you want to talk, then talk. I can’t stop you.”

Flynn gritted his teeth. He would have to expose his most shameful secret out loud when he would have preferred to whisper it in her ear. But if she was not going to come near him, there was no other choice. He could not leave her alone in the gardens, and he had to tell her what he had come to understand.

“I’m a bastard,” he called out into the night. Oddly, it felt good to finally acknowledge what had always been the bane of his life. The darkness helped. No one but Heather was here, as far as he knew, and he had meant to tell her anyway. Better like this than face to face and risk seeing the horror in her eyes. “I was a servant all my life, like my mother. Less than a fortnight ago I had nothing—no name, no money, no future. Now I have my dead father’s title and fortune and all the privileges that come with it. All the obligations too. Chief amongst them the duty to marry and produce the legitimate heir he was unable to produce.”

There was no answer.

Flynn chose to see the fact that Heather was not throwing insults at him for his deception as a good sign. A woman who had been married to an earl should be horrified to hear that the man who had been piquing her interest was of such low birth, but she seemed to be ready to listen to the rest of his story.

He took in a deep breath and carried on. “All my life I hoped he would want to know me and be proud of me, of my achievements. In the end he only acknowledged me on his deathbed and only for my ability to do what he had failed to do—carry on the family name. I wanted recognition and I ended up betrothed to my dead father’s promised bride to be used as a stud.” He gave a bitter snort. “But maybe I will have the last laugh in the end. Who knows? For all we know, I might be barren, unable to do what is demanded of me.”

From her hiding place behind the tree, Heather listened to Flynn’s confession with a thudding heart. He was telling the truth, she knew it in her bones. She heard the pain, the shame, the hope, the anger, the confusion—and everything in between—in his voice. He had been born illegitimate. He had craved recognition. Against all odds, he’d gotten it, and he was now trapped in a world he did not understand.

It was just like Will had said, down to the fact that he seemed less than thrilled by the prospect of marrying the woman his father had chosen for him.

“So you need to marry this lady?” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Although he must have heard the snow crunch under her foot when she approached, he had not turned around. Was he too ashamed to face her? She waited for him to answer the question.

“I thought I needed to, until a few days ago. Now I see that I don’t have to. I owe the man nothing, not after the way he treated my mother and ignored me.” His voice vibrated with resentment. “I will make sure the woman is compensated for the cancelation, but I simply will not tie myself to someone who will never make me happy for the sake of a man who never cared a fig about me.”

“Have you met her?” Heather forced herself to ask.

“No, and that’s not even the issue. It might be that she is all that is gracious, even if I doubt it, from what I’ve heard. But I don’t want to live the rest of my life with someone I didn’t choose myself. If I have to marry, I want to have a wife who will make me happy, and I think…I think this week I may have met such a woman.”

Heather’s heart almost stopped. Could he mean what she thought he meant?

Slowly, Flynn turned. His eyes glittered like crystals in the darkness and she fought the urge to kiss him.

He had admitted to something very personal, very painful. Now it was her turn to be honest.

“I too have something to confess.” She bit her lower lip, wondering if she was doing the right thing. After admitting to being a widow, she was about to reveal she was already betrothed. He had the right to know, but with all these obstacles in his way, it would be a miracle if he persisted in his wooing of her come morning. Supposing that wooing was what he’d been doing, of course…

“What is it?” he asked when the silence between them became too heavy.

“I am betrothed as well, and just like you, I cannot bear the thought.”

He stared at her. “Betrothed? So soon after your husband’s death? You said he’s been dead only three months.”

“Yes. He arranged the union himself on his deathbed without consulting with me, of course, knowing I would have no other choice but to accept. I told you he liked nothing more than to torture me. Evidently he didn’t want to let his death get in the way of his entertainment.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “He arranged a union between me and a cousin of his, an older man who wanted a young wife in his bed in his last few years, or so he took great pleasure in telling me.”

The thought was nauseating.

Flynn took her hand in his. “You could refuse. The earl is dead. He cannot hurt you anymore.”

She shook her head. If only it was so simple. “He made it clear in the will that I would get the inheritance I was due as his widow only if I married the man he had chosen. He knew I had married him merely to provide for my family. I didn’t know about his true nature when I accepted his offer, but I would never have married a man twenty years my senior if it had not been the only way to save them from ruin.”

“How so?”

Heather took in a deep breath. “My two brothers fought at the Battle of Bosworth last year. On old King Richard’s side.”

She saw in Flynn’s eyes that she didn’t need to say more. He would already have understood the consequences of being on the losing side once the battle was over. The new king, Henry VII, had been ruthless in his bid to establish his supremacy. Nevertheless, she continued, so he would know the full story. Her brothers had been forced to go into exile to avoid being put to death as traitors. Stripped of their possessions, their wives and young children had been forced to take refuge with her and her father. Both women had been pregnant at the time. Their only means of subsistence had been the allowance awarded to her by the earl. As poor a husband as George had been, at least he had not begrudged her the money to which she was entitled. Appearances had to be preserved and people would have started to ask questions if a man as wealthy as he was did not provide his wife with adequate means.

Since the two babes had now been born, it was more imperative than ever that she find a source of revenue to support everyone.

“Anyway, now they all rely on whatever money I have. Or rather…had, as George’s wife. It was a generous allowance. And to keep it I have to obey his last wishes. There is no other choice. Too many people depend on me.”

“So you’re going to marry an old lecher you don’t know or want, just to save your family?”

Heather’s chest constricted. What choice did she have? She was a woman, not free to choose. She had always known it. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

****

In the morning, the gardens were a breathtaking sight. A timid sun cast its pale light over a completely frozen landscape. The snow on the ground appeared to have been sprinkled with thousands of diamonds, and the ice-encased branches on the trees glistened like polished silver. Everything was still, pure, and fresh.

The Lord of Misrule, not a man to miss an opportunity, had organized five sleighs drawn by white horses and piled with soft furs. Couples were to take turns in them while the rest of the company enjoyed the extravagant feast set on trestle tables installed in the middle of the courtyard. No expense had been spared, and the Earl of Redding was heard many times congratulating himself on his choice of Lord of Misrule. Indeed everything was as lavish, decadent, and exciting as could be.

Christmastide had always been Heather’s favorite season, but never had she experienced a more magical one. If only the menace of her marriage to Wicked Wexford had not been looming, she would have thought she was a princess in a fairy tale being courted by the most handsome prince.

Today Flynn looked even more dashing than usual, clad in a splendid tunic of blue brocade. He was the image of the hero she had imagined as a little girl.

They were amongst the last couples to get into a sleigh. Guiding the horse with consummate skill, he drove them away from the castle swiftly. Soon, just like the other day on the boat, they were alone, and free to behave as they wanted.

She lifted her head to the sun and smiled, determined to make the most of the magic while she could. Their time at Redding Castle was swiftly running out. Soon the grim reality would catch up with them.

Flynn wished he could simply carry on driving over fields and forests and take Heather away with him, back to his castle. The thought was still odd. Just like a king in a fairy tale, he had a castle now, he who had once been the pauper. All he needed to complete the picture was a queen.

A bird took flight from a tree ahead of them, dislodging snow from the heavy branches. It fell to the ground in a cascade of sparkles. Around them everything was white and quiet. In that moment nothing existed but them.

It was perfect.

“Let us stop here,” Heather suggested as they glided across a meadow.

He instantly slowed the horse. “Are you getting too cold?”

“No. But you promised not to throw snowballs at me yesterday and I made no such promise,” she teased. “I think there will never be a better opportunity.”

His lips quivered. How could he not want to make this woman his wife? Life with her would be exciting and full of possibilities. “Very well, my lady. A snow fight it is. I should warn you, though, that I have no intention of letting you win.”

“I should hope not! I will certainly give no quarter and I expect no less from you.”

Without waiting for his help she jumped down from the sleigh and started to gather snow in her gloved hands. Flynn didn’t have time to move out of the way. Her aim was true and a heartbeat later white powder exploded on his shoulder.

“Oh, now you have gone and done it, my lady,” he growled, piqued in his masculine pride. “You’re going to pay for this.”

“You’ll have to catch me first!” With a shriek, Heather gathered her skirts and ran. Laughing, Flynn took the time to throw a ball at her before giving chase. This was quickly turning into the best moment of his life. Only one thing could make it better. But for that he needed to catch her and, as she’d said, that would be easier said than done. The woman was surprisingly fast and cunning.

By the time he drew her into his arms, they were both thoroughly soaked and panting hard.

“I think I won,” Flynn drawled. Finally he had her where he wanted her.

“Yes. I think you did.” Heather sounded slightly breathless. A few drops of melted snow dotted her temple and he had the urge to lick them away. Her skin would feel cold, and taste sweet. He stiffened almost to the point of pain. God, what wouldn’t he give to have this woman in his bed, writhing under him, calling his name.

“I would like to claim my reward.”

“We never talked about rewards!”

“We are now. And I know just what I want.”

With her cheeks red from the cold, her eyelashes dotted with crystal droplets, and her lips half parted in expectation, she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. If he didn’t kiss her now he might well die from want.

“Take it, then. You did say I’d have to pay for it. I mean to honor my debt in full.”

He had meant the kiss to be gentle, but she moved at the same time as he did and their mouths met with an urgency that set his blood on fire. With a roar he lifted her onto a nearby log. With their mouths level, he started to devour her. She felt so good against his chest, all warm and soft, and she tasted even better, of snow and freedom and woman.

His woman.

After a long moment that felt as if it had gone in a heartbeat, he drew back.

“When are you supposed to marry your late husband’s cousin?” he asked, clenching his jaw. He could not let her go to another man. She was his.

Something died in her eyes. “Next week.”

“I can’t let it happen.”

Heather stilled in his arms. “What are you saying?”

He hesitated. What was he saying exactly? He was not sure. All he knew was that the notion of her being sold to a man she dreaded tore him apart.

But what could he do? Things had been complicated enough with him being betrothed. Now, the old crone was not the only obstacle in his way. If he wanted to be with the woman who, with each passing day, fitted the widely accepted description of a sweetheart, he would have to dispose of yet another person, and a powerful one at that. Could he do it? Could he ask Heather to trust him to look after her and her family, in preference to the groom waiting for her, when he knew how important marriage to a rich man was to her? He had been about to ask for her hand the other night, despite having met her just over a week ago, despite knowing that, as a bastard, he might always be viewed with suspicion, despite knowing that she had once been the wife of an earl—in other words, of a man who outranked him three times over and whose parentage was impeccable.

He had been prepared to risk it all.

But before he could ask, he had been told she was betrothed herself. Even if the match was not one she wanted, he understood why she felt compelled to go through with it. She had others to think about. Would she jeopardize their future for a man she barely knew?

One look at her decided him.

He could not be sure she would accept his offer, but he would damn well make sure he did everything he could to convince her. There was no other way. He simply could not stand and watch as she walked away from his life. But he would have to take some precautions first, and ensure the success of the enterprise.

“Give me a few days to sort out my own mess, and then we’ll meet again to talk about the future,” he said, placing his forehead against hers.

That was all he could do for now because he didn’t want to make promises he wouldn’t be able to honor. Before he could do anything, he would ride back to London and speak to her father. He would ask for the man’s blessing and in return give assurance of his intention to provide for his wife’s family. Then he would sort out the situation with the dowager countess. Once he was free and he was assured Heather’s family would not stand in his way, he would…

He shook his head, refusing to think about it until his conscience was clear and everything was finalized.

“I need you to trust me. If you do, it might be that neither of us ends up married to someone we don’t want in the new year.”

They climbed back into the sleigh. Heather spent the whole ride mulling over Flynn’s enigmatic words. Dare she believe what she thought he meant?

Could they really avoid marriages they didn’t want? How?

When they reached the castle, she still didn’t have her answer.

“What on earth happened to you?” Will asked as soon as they drew into the courtyard. He was surrounded by his usual admiring crowd, and by his side was Alistair, looking happier than Heather had ever seen him. Then again, she had never seen him next to Will before, only with his designated sweetheart. The change in company might well account for the change in mood. It was impossible to be maudlin with Will around. “You’re wet through!”

“The horse was going too fast, and I’m afraid the sleigh overturned when we had to dodge a log,” Heather improvised. She could not admit to the snowball fight, or the scorching kiss that ensued, even to her friend. The moment was for them alone. “Fortunately there is no harm done.”

“Well!” Alistair laughed. “Can’t His Lordship control his horse?”

Oh. Her stomach dropped. She had not thought how her explanation would present Flynn in a bad light. Would he resent her for painting him as an incompetent driver? But he only smiled, confident his friend was only teasing because he knew how skilled Flynn was at managing horses.

“I’m sure he can. Whether he wants to is another matter. Who wouldn’t use an excuse to roll over the ground with such a lovely woman?” Will said, winking at them.

Around them it was a chorus of laughter. Heather blushed. “We didn’t roll over the ground,” she mumbled. Well, not in the way he meant anyway.

“More’s the pity for you.” Will was not so easily deterred.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think my sweetheart is in need of a drink after a ride in the cold.” It was the first time Flynn had called her his sweetheart publicly, and although it was obviously in reference to the Lord of Misrule’s little game, it sent flutters of delight through her whole body.

She accepted his arm and they made their way to the hall and the trestle table covered with everything they might want to quench their thirst and tempt their palates. While she helped herself to a dried apricot, Flynn poured her a cup of wine, which she accepted gratefully. She was indeed parched.

“I’m leaving this afternoon.”

Heather went still as a statue at the abrupt announcement. He was leaving ? Now? After the searing kiss they had just shared? After all but promising her they could have a future together?

“Where are you going?” she asked absurdly. Where mattered not. What mattered was whether they would see each other again once he was gone.

Flynn refused to meet her eye. “I have urgent business in London. But can we agree to meet on the north side of the bridge on the day before Twelfth Night? I hope to be able to inform you of the progress of my endeavors then.”

This was intriguing enough to make her agree. Besides, what else could she do? She could not forbid him to go anywhere, could she?

“Very well. I’ll be waiting for you.”

In all senses of the word.