Her breath caught at his words. Dear heaven, dear heaven, she thought, fighting down panic and a strange stirring that she could not understand. St. Sebastian made his desire plain enough for even her inexperienced ears. And for some reason his words struck a heretofore long-buried chord within herself. Meredyth had barely allowed herself to think of the “wedding night” and what might occur during it, even in her most secret moments.
Without another word, Meredyth turned and ran. She had no care of what he or her father might think. She simply knew she had to get away, away from his too powerful presence, away from the huskiness of his sensuous voice and the things he had said, away from the things they made her feel.
But as she hurried toward not her own chamber but her sister’s, Meredyth told herself she was reacting like a child. She would not be bedding this man. It would not go so very far as that.
She rubbed damp palms on the skirt of her borrowed gown. In fact, Meredyth realized as she made her way to Celeste’s chamber, they need tell Kirkland nothing. Celeste would simply take the place she had been meant to. Meredyth had married the man using her sister’s name. No one need be the wiser.
As far as Celeste’s unchaste state was concerned…well…surely she must have some idea of what she might do to fool her husband into thinking she was a virgin. Meredyth had heard that such things were possible.
As she reached the door to her sister’s room, Meredyth threw it open in relief, knowing things would soon be set to rights. But she stopped on the threshold. Celeste was not there.
A prickling sense of unease made Meredyth search out her sister’s cloak where it usually lay in the top of her clothing chest. It was not there. She bit her lip, turning to survey the rest of the chamber. It was then that her eyes lit upon a small scrap of parchment on the table near the bed. Hurriedly Meredyth rushed to take it up, and read the words scrawled there in her sister’s childish hand:
I will return on the morrow, when all is done. I have told no one, not even Agnes, and neither must you. My thanks and love. Celeste.
Meredyth crumbled the scrap in her trembling fingers. She had been left to face St. Sebastian alone.
Whatever was she to say to him? “Forgive me, my lord, my sister is in love with another and I took her place.”
’Twas unlikely that any man would be satisfied with such a substitution. Celeste was an acclaimed beauty, known for her grace and lovely voice. Meredyth was, well, simply herself, small, scarlet haired, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was in no way a replacement for a woman like Celeste. Though she did not believe she was completely without charms of her own, no man had ever been able to see far enough beyond her sister to notice.
Just as that thought passed through her mind the door opened and Agnes appeared. She hesitated there, bearing a laden tray. Her gray eyes were filled with concern as she came inside. “I have brought food and wine, my lady.”
Meredyth felt her heart rise up in her throat as she clutched the crumpled note close against her midriff. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I have need of nothing.”
The maid scowled with worry. “But you must take something. You have not eaten all this long day.” She moved to place the tray upon the table. Agnes then swung around and pointed toward the nightdress that lay across the foot of the bed. “I will help my lady to disrobe.”
“Nay,” Meredyth cried, stepping backward.
The woman looked closely at her. “Is there something wrong with my lady’s voice? You sound…strange.”
Turning her back as panic gripped her, Meredyth spoke in that low husky tone again. “There is nothing wrong other than the obvious. I have just married Father’s enemy. Please leave me alone. I do not wish to see anyone right now. I will see to my own needs.”
“But…” Agnes started forward, her hand outstretched with sympathy.
Meredyth stopped the maid by swinging to face her with a determined shake of her veiled head. “Nay. I beg you to leave me some small amount of dignity. I will see to myself.”
The maid seemed less than content with this, as her eyes remained filled with concern. Then her shoulders slumped as she moved toward the door. Meredyth was sympathetic to the other’s sadness, knowing how the maid cared for her sister, but she could not relent.
Agnes opened the door then halted for a brief moment. “I will stay by, my lady, in case you have need of me.”
Meredyth nodded, but said nothing. She sighed with abject relief as the door closed behind her, her throat dry with anxiety at the possibility of being discovered. Immediately she went to the table and poured herself a glass of the wine. She drained it quickly. This whole day she had been too occupied to consume more than a cup of water and the wine soothed her tight throat.
That had been too close. She took another cup, this time sipping more slowly as she told herself to think clearly.
Meredyth realized she must pretend to be her sister until she had an opportunity to speak to Kirkland. It was her only hope of making sure that he was the first one to learn what had occurred.
Meredyth squared her shoulders with determination, as she took another long sip of wine. First things first, she told herself, as a feeling of relaxation began to ease her tense muscles. She could not chance another meeting with Agnes. Her gaze came to rest on the new gossamer-thin night rail that had been laid across the end of the bed. She would change into the gown, climb into the bed and wait for St. Sebastian to arrive. That way if Agnes came again she would see that her charge was already abed and she would leave. The discarded wedding clothes would be proof that she needed no assistance.
The idea seemed quite clever even if she did say so herself. Quickly Meredyth began to disrobe.
Roland turned to the serving woman, who had moved between himself and his new father by marriage to refill their cups. He reached out and took the full pitcher from her hands. Startled, she backed away as he placed it before himself at the high table. Penacre said nothing, but Roland could feel his disapproving gaze.
Ignoring him as well, he poured out for himself. Roland then raised his glass as he surveyed the occupants of the great hall with only half his attention. He was more fully occupied with asking himself why he had agreed to forgo the bedding ceremony. Surely it was because the girl had seemed much more terrified than willful. Her small hand had been like ice, the fingers trembling in his, her voice a hoarse anxious whisper.
He did not wish to acknowledge the strange ripple of sympathy he had felt as he held those tiny fingers in his own. Under no circumstances did he mean to begin allowing his wife her way with him. Firmly Roland told himself he had acquiesced simply because he did not want the woman frightened out of her wits this night.
His sudden concern for her had to do with his own, as yet unslaked, desire. It had been some weeks since he had last bedded Einid at Kirkland. Much longer than was his wont. Not that he felt he owed his former mistress any loyalty in that respect. Both of them had been quite aware that theirs was an arrangement of convenience for each. He enjoyed her beauty and body—she enjoyed his protection and the pleasure of their couplings.
Even now he felt a stirring at the thought of the bed sport he and Celeste Chalmers would enjoy this night. His instincts as a lover told him that with care she could be brought to respond to him. For this too he had sensed in her trembling form.
A sudden burst of harsh laughter drew his attention back to the room before him. The trestle tables groaned under the weight