A second later the curtain rose to whistles and jeers and shouts from the noisy crowd. An actor walked onstage and shouted, "
Scotland
! An open place."
Prinny smiled and nodded at her, and Alec watched closely for a sign of her reaction. The requisite crash of thunder and flashes of lightning streaked across the stage, and the witches entered.
This time Alec did groan. He'd forgotten how haggily garbed and made up they always were. The prince with his impeccably rotten timing said, "See there! The Scottish witches. Ugly as sin, ain't they?" Everyone around him nodded. Everyone except Joy.
She turned from the prince and took another long look at the waited faces, at the wild straggly white hair, at the ill-fitting black gowns, at the sheer ugliness of the Three Weird Sisters, and slowly turned a pair of angry green eyes toward Alec.
He leaned over and warned, "Remember who you are and whom you are with." He gave a quick nod toward the regent. For the next few acts, she watched the play. He didn't. He watched her. She appeared to accept the play, stiffening only when the witches plodded onto the stage to deliver their dire predictions, and he felt somewhat relieved, until one of the later acts.
He should have taken the thunder as warning. The witches came out, hovered around a bubbling cauldron, and chanted, "Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble."
A moment later the cauldron skidded across the stage, leaving the witches with stirring sticks in hand and stunned expressions on their faces. He had to look twice to assure himself he'd seen it. The witches exchanged confused looks, then ran over to the cauldron and went on shouting ingredients and pretending to drop them inside. "Scale of dragon!"
A column of flame burst from the cauldron, causing the witches to shriek and back away. It continued to bubble and steam and sputter.
"Tooth of wolf!" the most stalwart witch continued, standing back an extra few feet before pretending to toss a tooth into the pot.
A wolf howl echoed louder than the thunder in the theater's rafters. Alec whipped his head around to stare at his wife. She looked innocent. Her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were narrowed, but she was staring straight at the stage.
By the time Alec turned back to the stage, Macbeth had entered saying, "How now, you secret, black, and
hags!"
The actor took two steps and tripped over thin air, landing face down on the stage. The audience gasped and Alec grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "Stop it"
She gave him a false smile. "Stop what?"
"You know what."
Macbeth managed to regain his composure and shouted, "Though you untie the winds and let them fight—"
Joy coughed and a blast of air whipped across the stage, forcing all the actors to grab a hold of the cauldron. Wigs blew off, costumes were plastered against their bodies, and props skittered around like leaves in a whirlwind.
"I said stop it!" Alec said through his teeth.
The wind died suddenly.
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," she said.
Macbeth straightened his clothing with a sharp tug and jammed his wig atop his head. He stood straight, arms in the air, and said, "Though castles topple—"
The set behind him clattered to the ground in a cloud of dust. The audience began to laugh.
Alec grabbed her just as Macbeth finished his lines in a whisper, his worried gaze darting left then right.
A witch cried out, "Pour in sow's blood!" He felt Joy wiggle, then giggle, and he looked down at the stage. Three pigs waddled onstage to join the fray, snorting and wallowing, knocking over the cauldron and snorting around Macbeth.
"Is that what you meant." She giggled against his chest.
"Damnation, woman," he whispered tightly, his arm clamped viselike around her. He shifted so he could speak to the prince. "My wife is ill, Your Highness."
The enthralled prince was laughing so hard he barely looked at them. "Yes, yes, whatever, Belmore." He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
But by then Alec was dragging her out of the box, doing his best not to kill her with his bare hands. He pulled her over near the statue of Shakespeare and he shook her. "What the devil were you doing?"
"Teaching them a lesson about Scottish witches." She smiled, then hiccupped, whipping a hand over her mouth and looking at him through eyes that held only mischief.
He studied her. The gleam in her eyes did it. She hiccupped again. He sniffed her mouth. "Have you been drinking?"
"Coconut milk," she answered. "'Tis delicious with a wee"—held up two fingers to show him how much—"spot of rum."
She was sotted. As if to confirm his conclusion she hiccupped again, then fluttered her eyelashes at him. At the sound of another round of laughter from the theater, she gave a wave of her hand. "They seem to like it"
Livid, he scooped her up in his arms—a gesture that held no romance, but only the desperate need to get her the hell out of there—and he stormed away.
"Mr. Shakespeare," she called out over his shoulder. "Double, double toil and trouble!"
"Be quiet," he ordered and strode toward the stairs, never seeing the warts break out on the statue's face.
***
The bedchamber door banged against the wall, eliciting a healthy scream from Polly, who was snoozing near the fire. Despite the fact that Joy was still in her husband's arms and still a tad tipsy, she gave Polly a little wave.
"Leave us. We need to speak privately," Alec said, glowering at the room in general.
She looked at the wide-eyed maid. "You'll have to excuse His Grace. He's a wee bit upset." Then she grinned up at him. "Aren't you?"
His neck turned purple. He spun around, glared at the awestruck maid, and shouted, "Out!"
As Polly scrambled out of the room, Joy waved a hand around dramatically. " 'Out, damned spot! Out, I say!'"
Through clenched teeth he said, "Shut. Up."
"Still no sense of humor, Alec." She shook her head, but stopped when she looked up and saw that he had two of those arrogantly noble Belmore noses. She squinted to try to focus her eyes.
"There was not one wit of humor in what you did tonight."
"The audience thought so," she argued, pressing one finger to her lips in thought. "I distinctly remember them laughing. I felt the pigs were a nice touch. My magic worked rather well, don't you think? Perhaps it was the rum."
He tossed her on the bed.
She bounced and giggled, staring up at his angry face with a delighted grin of mischief. "That was fun, Alec. Let's do it again. I can put my arms around your purple neck, and you can throw me on the bed. Then we'll count how many times I bounce. I'll let you do the counting, since you've had so much practice."
She watched his anger peak. His hands shook with it. Seething in his usual cold silence, he spun around and crossed into the sitting room. Barely two minutes later he appeared in the doorway, brandy in hand, and glared at her.
She gave him a sugary smile. He mumbled some swearword that made her want to goad him again and she quipped, "Fee fi fo fumble! Listen to Alec, he's starting to grumble."
He stiffened for a shocked second, glanced left, then right, and pinned her with his ducal glare.
She ignored him. He stalked toward her, placed the brandy on her night table next to her book, and slowly placed his fists on the mattress, leaning intimidatingly close. She tossed her head back in brave defiance. He would not intimidate her.
He almost spat out the words, "Did you just cast a spell on me again?"
"No." She returned his look. "If I cast a spell on you, believe me, you'll know it."
"What the devil is the matter with you?"
"I'm upset."
"Why?"
"You tell me why. Why did you marry me?"
"Is that what tonight was all about? You wreak havoc on a public play, in front of the prince, because you want to know why I married you?"
"No. Because I
do
know why you married me."
His eyes narrowed for an instant; then he jerked her up against him. "Because of this?" His mouth covered hers in a passionate kiss. The kiss was her undoing. All her bravado crumbled under the power in that kiss.
Tears trickled from her closed eyes, and she fought for some fleeting bit of control.
He pulled back and looked at her, the anger draining from his face, too. He looked at her eyes, then searched her face. "What's this, Scottish? Tears?"
She took a deep breath, and her misty gaze met his. She tried very hard not to choke on the words.
"She must have hurt you very badly."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Lady Juliet."
He swore, closed his eyes for a telling instant, then opened them. He reached out to touch her shoulder.
Thinking the gesture one of pity, she turned away.
"Just what did you hear?"
"That you were to marry her, but she married someone else. And that it happened only the day before you married me."
"That's true."
"Do you love her so very much?"
"No."
"Please don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying. I did not love Juliet." He forced her chin around so she had to face him. "Why does this concern you? I'm not married to Juliet. I'm married to you."
"You are married to me, but you don't love me either."
"I never said I did."
The truth of his words made her ask harshly, "Why did you marry me, then?"
He tensed and straightened. "It matters not. We are married now."
"It matters to me."
"Why should it? You have a home, wealth, the protection of the Belmore title—things that are important.
What more do you want?"
"I want love."
"Love doesn't enter into this. This is a marriage, not a play. I never made any promises of love nor will I."
He turned his back to her as if looking at her was too difficult
"I wanted part of your heart," she admitted so quietly she wasn't sure he heard.
"Is that all you foolish women think of—love?" He spoke the word as if he were swearing. "Women speak of half marriages, pieces of the heart. Is this where you get those ideas?" He grabbed her book from the table and held it up in front of her. "From these damned books?" He shook it in her face and when she didn't answer he turned suddenly and flung it into the fire.
Joy gasped, stunned. The flames burst upward, devouring the book. The fire crackled. Then there was nothing in the room but tense silence. She watched the blue and yellow flames, feeling nothing.
He looked at his hands as if he couldn't believe what he'd done. Then he looked at the fire. "God Almighty." He ran his hands through his hair, his expression bewildered and frustrated. "Am I mad or are you?"