Threads of Gold (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 6) Page 13

  An awkward silence fell. Perhaps Tobyn finally had begun to comprehend that my gratitude was of a slightly different nature than he had first believed, and did not know quite what to do about it.

  I took in a breath, then asked, “Why ‘Rumple’? Why did you not give me your true name when first we met?”

  He chuckled. I fancied I heard something of relief in that low laugh, but I did not look over at him, but rather continued to feed straw onto the guide thread in my left hand as if it was the most important thing in the world.

  “That was an old nickname of mine,” he said. “I fear I was not the tidiest of little boys, and would sometimes wad up my shirts and stick them under my pillow when I went to sleep, rather than put them in the hamper as I was taught. On several occasions I pulled them out from under the pillow the next morning and wore them down to breakfast, whereupon my mother laughed and called me ‘Rumple.’”

  “Where is she now?” I asked, for there was a note of sadness in his voice as he spoke of his mother.

  “The same place yours is,” he replied. “With the gods, in the next world. As is the rest of my family.”

  The words slipped out. “Because of the pox?”

  Tobyn had been sitting quietly enough in his chair, but at that question he seemed to startle, the black-gloved hands clenching on his knees. “Did Master Jamsden tell you that?”

  “He mentioned something in passing. That is all.” As I made that reply, I hoped I would not be getting that worthy gentleman in any kind of trouble with his employer. But neither did I wish to lie. Perhaps I hoped that if I let Tobyn understand I already knew of what he was attempting to keep hidden, it would not be such a barrier between us.

  With a sudden, abrupt movement, he got to his feet and once more crossed to the window. His back to me, he said, “Yes. Because of that. I was an only child, but that particular…misfortune…came to visit both my parents as well.”

  “When?” I asked quietly.

  “I was eighteen.”

  Eighteen. Only a few years younger than myself, and yet an event that had happened far enough back in his past that he’d had more than a decade to come to terms with it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged, but even I could see the studied nonchalance of that gesture. “That was a long time ago. It could have been worse, I suppose — I did recover, after all. And although I had been left alone in the world, I could use my magic to give me the semblance of a trade, which meant I was able to support myself. There are many who did not fare nearly as well.”

  Even so, I had the impression that he would have given a good deal of that stability to have escaped the pox unscathed. I thought it best not to say such a thing, though. Instead, I lifted my foot from the treadle and stood, then went to pluck the shining mass of thread from the spinning wheel’s bobbin. “Another good night’s work,” I told him, hefting the golden strands on my palm.

  “Well enough,” he replied. But I saw that he did not even turn to look at the fruits of our labor.

  True, the amount had not varied much from night to night. However, this was the first time he had not bothered to inspect the gleaming gold thread.

  I fought back a sigh and slipped the mass of thread into the pocket of my dressing gown, which sagged dangerously but did not, thankfully, show any signs of tearing. Wishing to change the subject, I asked, “What should I say to the duke when he comes to retrieve the thread tomorrow morning?”

  At last Tobyn did shift away from the window. His change in position did not provide me with any particular relief, though, for I could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders that he did not deem my new topic of conversation any more welcome than the last.

  “That, I suppose, is up to you,” he replied. “Do you wish to be a duchess?”

  “Of course not!” I snapped. “I thought I had made my opinion on the matter sufficiently obvious. But if you need me to spell it out for you, then no, I do not wish to be Lord Edmar’s wife, nor the wife of any other peer.”

  Another of those pauses. I thought he studied me closely, but I could not tell for certain. “And what do you wish?” he inquired, his voice dropping lower. It had softened slightly, and something about those smooth, warm tones made a shiver go down my spine.

  I swallowed. I could not tell him what I truly wished. It would be so very forward of me. Worse, I knew he would never believe me, even if it was the truth of my heart. For of course, how could a woman like me desire him, scarred as he was?

  It seemed better to choose the most obvious answer. “I wish to — to return to my life,” I told him. “That is all.”

  “That is a very simple wish.”

  “Not so simple as it sounds, I fear.” He did not move, and I pressed my lips together, willing myself to find the courage somehow. To do just one simple thing. Not a kiss; no, nothing so forward as that. But….

  I reached out and laid a hand on his arm, finding it beneath its concealing layers of wool. Despite the thick fabric, I could feel the strength of him, the solid muscle under my fingers. One would have thought he spent his days at a forge, rather than willing those beautiful pieces he created into being from the very air itself.

  My heart beat once, twice, thrice. He stood still, not stirring, and I hardly dared to breathe. Then at last he reached up with his free hand and laid it on top of mine. No, I could not feel his flesh, for the leather glove which covered his skin prevented that. But I could at least sense the heat of him, the power in those fingers as they rested against mine.

  We stood that way for a long moment, neither of us speaking. In a way, that was enough. I had never been kissed, but even so, this — merely resting my hand on Tobyn’s arm, and feeling his hand on top of mine — somehow felt far more intimate.

  Finally, he spoke, although his voice was barely above a whisper. “Annora, what is it you are doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “All I know is that I very much do not wish to marry the duke.”

  Tobyn laughed at that, although the sound seemed almost shaky to my ears. “Then we will have to make sure that does not happen.”

  He moved then, so I was compelled to remove my hand from his arm. I could not be angry with him for that, however, because immediately afterward he took both my hands in his, and held them tightly. We stood there for a long moment, my hands encased in his, while I breathed in the sweet woodruff of his cloak and reveled in the warmth of his body, so close to mine. And then, at last, he let go. The silence was very loud, and I did not know how to break it. So I stood there, until at last he said, “Good night, Annora,” and was gone.

  Perhaps I had wished for more than that. But it was a beginning at least, and so I was content.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, I prepared myself as best I could for my meeting with Lord Edmar. I arose early, and chose the most becoming of the gowns the king had bestowed upon me, the rich crimson one with the golden embroidery. If it perfectly showcased the pendant Tobyn had created for me the night before, well, perhaps that was my way of sending a subtle message.

  Not that the duke would recognize the pendant for what it was, of course. He would only think it yet another of the pieces the king had given me on loan. But I knew that Tobyn had given it to me, and I would wear it as my sigil of what had passed between us the previous evening. Perhaps some might think it no very great thing, to have simply held hands as we did, but I knew better. It had changed something between us. Before, he had made sure to keep his distance. Now, though, I had taken a step or two toward him. Not all the way, of course. That would take some doing on my part, for it was clear that he thought himself irretrievably damaged.

  I would not lie to myself. Of course it would have been better if he was whole and unblemished. I had seen the scars the pox left behind, and they could be quite terrible. But my feelings for Tobyn had awakened without my ever seeing his face. I loved the sound of his voice, the subtle ironic edge to his laughter. And I loved e
ven more the impulse that had driven him to give me succor. He had not known who I was. He only knew I was someone facing an unjust punishment, and so had come forward to bring his most unusual skills to my aid.

  Indeed, it seemed that I loved him, strange as it felt when I admitted that truth to myself. Or rather, I thought I loved him. Having no experience of the emotion before — at least in terms of loving a man, rather than a member of my family — I could not say for certain if the way my heart beat a little faster when I thought of him, or how a delicious kind of heat passed through my body whenever I remembered how it felt to have his hands clasped around mine, meant that I was in love with him. But from everything I had heard and read, it did seem that somewhere over the past few days, I had given my heart to Tobyn Slade.

  Which meant that of course I could not marry Lord Edmar. It would have been impossible before, and now, with this new realization dawning in me, I realized that it would be even more wrong.

  I had arrayed myself this morning rather the way a knight might don his armor before he went into battle. The finery was not intended to make me more attractive to the duke, but rather to gird me with the outward appearance of an equal, even though I knew we were anything but alike when it came to our relative ranks in the world.

  The ball of shining thread sat inside a small carved box on top of a side table. Rashelle had already tidied up the main salon, and so I knew there was little chance of her discovering it. Besides, I had told her that I would be meeting with the duke this morning, and that I must do so alone.

  At that confidence, her eyes had lit up, and I guessed she thought I intended to accept his suit. For of course there could be no secrets at court; I had not said anything to her directly, but she appeared to know that the duke wished to make me his wife. In her manner, there was something of an air of anticipation. Perhaps she thought I would keep her in my service once I was the Duchess of Lerneshall, and that would be quite the elevation for her, to be lady’s maid to a great duchess.

  I could not disabuse her of these notions. Even if I had tried, I was not sure she would have believed me. After all, who would be foolish enough to refuse a duke’s offer of marriage?

  A knock came at the door, and I took a breath, then went to answer it. With Rashelle gone, I must be my own servant.

  Lord Edmar waited outside, looking quite resplendent himself in a black velvet doublet trimmed in gold, and with a heavy chain of gold around his neck. I offered a curtsey, then said, “Do come in, Your Grace.”

  He moved past me to head into the main salon, which was where we always held our conversations. The door to the study with its spinning wheel was shut and locked, and I found myself glad of that. Every time I looked at that spinning wheel, I could only think of Tobyn…where he was, what he might be doing at that same moment. No doubt he was safely home, creating another of those beautiful pieces of his. Did he take off his gloves to work, so he could feel the gold and silver under his fingertips as that wondrous gift of his molded the metal?

  I wondered what his hands looked like.

  But there I was, distracting myself when I should be focused fully on the duke. He had stopped in front of one of the divans, and was sending me a rather quizzical look.

  “Here is the gold,” I said hastily, then went to the box where I had concealed the thread. After I pulled it out, I went to him, the gleaming mass resting on one outstretched hand.

  He did not take it from me, though. For a long moment, he stared down at it, and then his grey eyes flicked back up to my face. “That is not why I came here, Annora.”

  “I know,” I said. “But the king will expect you to bring it to him.”

  A nod, and he reached out and took the thread from me. He hefted it in his hand, as if weighing the amount, before slipping it into a pocket of his breeches. “You are very conscientious.”

  “I am only doing as the king bade me.”

  “True.” His gaze had never wavered during that exchange, and it was more difficult than I imagined to keep from glancing away. I did not much enjoy being on the receiving end of such a gaze…at least not when it was Lord Edmar concentrating on me so closely. Perhaps if it had been Tobyn, I would have felt much different.

  “Some spiced cider?” I inquired then, remembering that I had asked Rashelle to leave some refreshments for us before she went. Offering the drink gave me the excuse I needed to break the contact, to make it seem perfectly natural that I should turn away from him.

  “I think not.” He crossed his arms. “I have given you the night to think on what I asked of you. I would like to have your answer.”

  Although the room was comfortable enough, with a cheery fire in the marble hearth to dispel the chill of an autumn morning, my hands felt like ice in that moment. To buy myself some time, I picked up one of the pewter mugs filled with hot cider and took a sip. That was a little better. At least the heat from the warm metal helped to penetrate my cold fingers.

  Then I turned back toward the duke, who watched me, arms crossed, one eyebrow at a slight angle, as if he already knew what I intended to say but wanted to hear how I would say it.

  “Your Grace.” My voice shook somewhat, and I drew in another breath, hoping that would steady me. “Please believe that I understand the honor you have done me by asking me to be your wife. But at the same time, I feel it is impossible for me to accept your offer.”

  Quiet then, for a long, long moment while the fire crackled away into the silence, one log breaking apart and settling against the grate with a soft thump.

  He spoke. “That is your answer to me?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Truly, there are many more women here at court better suited to be the wife of a duke. I know nothing of how to be a grand lady, after all.”

  Then I held myself still, for he was watching me with narrowed eyes, eyes the color of a frozen lake, and I was chilled all over again. Perhaps it had been foolish of me to send Rashelle away. But what could a simple maid do against the wrath of a man like Lord Edmar?

  He took a step toward me, and another. We stood very close, so close that I knew I could not get away, should he decide to reach out and seize me. So I remained where I was, hoping that he could not hear the frightened beating of my heart.

  “A bold stratagem, my lady,” he said, and gave me a mocking little bow, barely more than a brief nod of his head. “It is not every woman who thinks she can fare better on her own, rather than shelter herself with a title and a husband who seeks to protect her.”

  “So you would protect me?” I inquired. Skepticism laced my tone; I saw no reason to conceal my doubt from him. “From what, pray? Your king?”

  “He is your king as well, Annora.”

  Much to my misfortune, I thought, although that was one sentiment I did not dare utter aloud. “True. But it is because of him that I am here at all, and so I am not sure why you would think it strange that I desire protection from him.”

  Lord Edmar shifted his stance slightly and I stiffened, worried that he would reach out to me, do something to force an intimacy I most certainly did not desire. But he did not, instead saying, “You think it is the king’s fault that you are here night after night, spinning gold for him? Rather, the blame should be laid at your father’s feet, for if he had not spoken so rashly at Baron Levender’s birthday gathering, none of this would have come to pass.”

  Well, I could not deny that. I lifted my chin and replied, “Perhaps the two of them can share the blame equally. Not that I care much for assigning blame, as what’s done is done. And as for protection, I believe I will wait to see how my counsel fares when he goes before the High Court tomorrow. All of this will be moot if he wins me my freedom.”

  That comment angered him, I could tell, for his jaw set, and his eyes glittered. “You may be placing your faith in a spurious hope of rescue, Annora.”

  I began to think that I should have been more careful about provoking him. But then, what else could I have done? I feared my only utteran
ce that would have pleased him would have been for me to accept his proposal, and of course that was something I would never do.

  “If I am, then I will face the consequences when the time comes.”

  “Will you? Are you prepared to spend the rest of your life locked in these chambers? For I assure you that His Majesty has no intention of letting you return to the life you once knew. I am offering you some form of escape. And I believe,” he added, gaze lingering on my lips, “you may not find it quite as distasteful as you now think.”

  Somehow I kept myself from shuddering. Oh, this duke was very sure of himself. But then, why should he not be? For his entire life, he had had his wealth and his title and his looks on his side. To be refused by a commoner such as myself must have been quite a blow to his pride.

  “That is a word you have chosen, not I,” I replied. “I do not believe I have ever said such a thing. True, you are a good deal older than I” — his face darkened when I uttered that remark, although he did not interrupt — “but that would not be a hindrance in many cases. No, it is simply that you do not love me, Lord Edmar, and I do not love you, and so becoming man and wife is quite out of the question.”

  Almost as soon as those words had left my lips, he threw back his head and laughed. “Love?” he said with some derision, once he had recovered himself. “When has love had anything to do with marriage? It is a contract involving wealth and property, and the getting of heirs. Nothing more.”

  My own jaw clenched. “Perhaps that is how you view the matter, Your Grace, but I see these things very differently. And that is why I know we would not suit.”

  His eyebrow was cocked at an ironic angle, and I knew he was no longer angry with me. No, I had just given him a reason to think me a fool. A naïve child, with no knowledge of how the world really worked. It could be that I was, but I would rather be a foolish child than a world-weary adult.

  “Would it change your mind if I were to woo you, to write you poetry and bring you flowers and say that no other woman exists on this earth besides you?”