Her thoughts must have reached him for he slowly lifted his head and when he did, his gaze locked with hers.
Such sad eyes, she thought, looking into those warm brown orbs. Her pity escalated for in those eyes she believed she saw the fear of rejection, the fear that she would view him with disgust. So lost was she in the pull of that heartrending gaze, she did not take in the whole picture of his still face. When she did, she faltered, coming to a stop three feet away, her eyes wide, her lips parted, her breath held.
“Lady Jameela,” Brother Qutaybah smirked, “I have the great honor to present you to your husband, Grand Master Hagan Kiel.”
“Hagan?” Jameela questioned, her gaze moving quickly over the features of the man in the chair and comparing them to those of her beloved Dagan. So close was the similarity, she would not have been able to tell them apart. It was as though she was staring into Dagan’s handsome face and she looked to Brother Qutaybah for an explanation.
“Identical twins,” Brother Qutaybah said with a sniff. “I thought you knew.”
Twins! Jameela gasped to herself. Once more she was rocked by the revelation and she blinked several times to rid her eyes of the telltale moisture that threatened to overflow. How could she lie beside this man, mate with this man, bear children to this man who bore such an uncanny exactness of resemblance to the love of her heart and not go mad?
Shaking her head, retreating a few steps, Jameela looked for a way out. All around her, men were pressed shoulder to shoulder, blocking any escape. If she attempted to run, they could easily restrain her. She looked back at the Grand Master and saw understanding in his sad eyes and she reacted to that knowing look. Rushing forward, she fell to her knees before him and reached out to grasp his hand in hers.
“Please, Your Grace,” she said urgently, tears running down her pale cheeks. “I can not…”
“Wed me?” the man in the chair interrupted. He reached out to cup her cheek and she was surprised that his hand trembled as he did so. “Milady, neither of us has a choice in this. Before this night is o’er, we will be man and wife whether we like it or not.”
“But I love another!” she protested, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss. “It would be wrong for me to…”
He firmly pulled his hand from her grip. “The Joining will stand so there is nothing to discuss, Jameela. Get up and let’s be done with this.”
There was no escape for her, she thought as she stumbled to her feet. His gaze was steady on her, daring her to go further with her protests. There was something very strange in the look he was giving her and she feared that look but her concern over Dagan’s fate lifted her chin.
“I ask only that you tell me of Lord Dagan,” she said, holding that fearful gaze. “Is he…?”
“He is as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” the Grand Master mumbled. “He is in good health if not in a particularly good state of mind.”
Jameela put her hand to her heart. “He was not whipped?”
A faint smile eased over the Grand Master’s face. “Nay, Wench. Not in the physical sense at any rate.” He cocked his head to one side. “Is it Dagan you fancy you love?”
“I have no doubt that I love him,” she replied. “With all my heart.”
“Huh,” the Grand Master grunted and shook his head. He looked down, his hands clenched into fists. “I love my brother but sometimes he does things that make me dislike him completely.” He looked up. “Tonight is just such a time.”
Terror raced through Jameela’s heart. “Please,” she begged. “Do not blame him for my wayward heart, Your Grace. He has not once…”
The Grand Master held his hand up. “It matters not what Dagan feels, Milady. He is as much a pawn in this matter as you.” He turned his attention to the Lord High Abbot. “Get on with the ceremony, Teazel.”
Nodding respectfully, the Lord High Abbot instructed Jameela to kneel at her betrothed’s feet.
“Let her stand,” the Grand Master snapped.
“Milord, it is not…”
“It is my Joining and it will be performed in the manner in which I decree!” the Grand Master commanded through clenched teeth. He put a hand out to Jameela. “Take my hand and stand beside me as my equal, Wench.”
There were muted mumbles of protest among the gathered Brothers but none dared gainsay the Grand Master’s orders. They cast the lovely woman who took the proffered hand a look but their whispering stopped when the Grand Master swept his hawkish glower over them.
“Let it be known that I am accepting this woman not only as my mate but as my helpmeet, my friend, and the keeper of my heart. Any Brother who would dare insult her or cause her the first moment’s agitation will have my undying enmity. Is that clear?”
Quick nods punctuated the shout of “
Aye, Your Grace
” from amongst those men gathered.
The Grand Master turned his stern look on Brother Qutaybah. “Do you understand?” he demanded.
Brother Qutaybah inclined his head though his eyes were bright with anger and the fingers of the hands clasped at his waist had bled of color so tightly were they clenched.
“Under penalty of being stretched upon the Lord High Executioner’s post and lashed until there are no strips of your flesh left hanging on your lifeless body and every drop of your worthless blood is pooled at your feet?” the Grand Master pressed. “Speak to me!”
The anger in Brother Qutaybah’s eyes fled to be replaced with shock. “I am here to do your will, Your Grace,” he replied. “Your wish is my command.”
“Then swear to me before those assembled that you will not cause my Lady-wife one moment of distress. That you will attend to her commands and instructions as though they came straight from my lips!”
Brother Qutaybah swallowed hard, the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbing. He cast Jameela a fleeting look then his shoulders slumped. “It will be as you have decreed, Your Grace.”
“Lie to her ever again, frighten her with any implied mistruth and I swear to you before these good men that I will retaliate in ways you will rue to your dying breath!” the Grand Master stated.
His head lowered, hanging as though the weight of the world were pressed atop it, Brother Qutaybah closed his eyes.
Satisfied that he had cowered the coward, the Grand Master looked up at his betrothed. “Have I covered what needs be said, Milady?”
Jameela smiled tremulously. “I believe you have sufficiently chastised Brother Qutaybah, Your Grace, and for that I am eternally grateful. He has not been very nice to me.”
“I am aware of that, Wench,” the Grand Master acknowledged. “Should he treat you in that fashion in the future, his life will be forfeit.”
The Brothers looked at one another with surprise stamped upon their faces but they nodded at one another, having understood the implications of not giving the Grand Master’s Lady-wife the respect he demanded they show.
“Now, Join us together, Lord Abbot, for I am growing weary of this hellish chair,” the Grand Master stated. “My shoulder is killing me.”
“Perhaps,” Jameela said softly, “I could sit beside you, Your Grace.” She held his gaze. “There would be less strain on your arm.”
The Grand Master threw his head back and laughed then brought Jameela’s hand to his lips. He placed a hard kiss to her wrist then motioned for a chair to be brought.
Brother Qutaybah jumped to the task and brought a chair quickly, placing it gently behind Jameela’s knees and holding it steady until she was seated. Silently he backed away, his hands once more at his waist.
The ceremony was not overly long but it was intricate. Explanations were given on the accepted conduct of a Grand Master’s mate and instructions on her duties were clearly stated. When at last the actual Joining was pronounced, Jameela’s head was spinning with all the information she had been given.
“I present to you His Grace, Lord Hagan Kiel, Grand Master of the Conclave and his Lady-wife, Her Grace Lady Jameela!” the Lord High Abbot exclaimed.
There was a hearty round of applause, vigorous nods of the Brothers’ heads and an actual smile or two here and there.
Once more the Grand Master brought Jameela’s hand to his lips, sealing their Joining with a kiss as light as a butterfly’s winds. “Milady, I am honored to have you to wife,” he said.
Jameela breathed easily for the first time that day. She managed a smile though she wished with all her heart it was Dagan Kiel to whom she had been Joined in matrimony.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” the Grand Master said. “I need to refresh myself before we retire for the evening, Milady.” He glanced at Brother Qutaybah. “Escort Her Grace to her new quarters and send her ladies to help her ready herself for…” He faltered then lifted his chin. “For the consummation of our Joining.”
She watched her new husband being rolled away and wondered at the break in his voice on his last words to the assembly. Her heart went out to him as she looked at his bent head, his hands clutched almost desperately on the arms of the rolling conveyance.
“He looks tired,” she said to no one in particular.
“He tires easily,” Brother Qutaybah said in a haughty tone then cleared his throat. His next words were almost normal. “He will not overly abuse the privilege of being your husband.”
Somewhat confused by such a statement, Jameela said nothing as the Grand Master’s Chancellor swept out a hand for her to precede him. As they passed the members of the Conclave—parting before her advancement—she met the eyes of a few and was relieved to see no overt hostility aimed her way.
“Where is Lord Dagan?” she asked Brother Qutaybah and felt—rather than saw—the lanky man stiffen.
“I do not know. He did not deign to attend as you no doubt noticed, Your Grace,” Brother Qutaybah replied and the smug satisfaction in his voice made it clear to Jameela that the awful man was glad Dagan was no doubt suffering in some way.
“Would you find him for me and ask him to come to my quarters?” Jameela queried and thought the man walking slightly behind her now that she was a person of authority was going to refuse.
“With all due respect, Your Grace, but perhaps you should ask your husband’s permission to have Lord Dagan…”
“I shall,” Jameela interrupted him, “but please do as I ask.” She cast a side look at Brother Qutaybah. “I will make sure my husband knows you voiced your caution.”
She could hear Brother Qutaybah’s teeth grinding but he did not respond to her words. Once they reached the new quarters provided for the Lady-wife of the Grand Master, he opened the door for her and ushered her inside.
“I will do as you command, Milady,” Brother Qutaybah told her then clapped his hands to the two guards who flanked the portals of Jameela’s new home. “Fulid, fetch Her Grace’s attendants. Yareon, see to whatever her needs may be until the women arrive.”
The guards snapped to attention and the younger of the two made haste to seek out Jameela’s ladies-in-waiting. The older man arched a brow at his new mistress, not having received permission to speak.
“I would like a glass of lemon water if it is not too much trouble,” Jameela said. “Yareon, is it?”
The guard smiled widely. “No trouble at all, Your Grace, and aye, it is Yareon.” He left Jameela looking about the sumptuous room that had been provided for her, quietly closing the door behind him.
Jameela flinched as she heard the portal’s lock engage. For a moment she feared being locked in then realized her safety was the guard’s concern and relaxed. Her feminine curiosity aroused, she began inspecting the extravagant room that had been designed especially for her. So engrossed in her tour of her quarters, she paid scant attention to the lock disengaging and the door opening.
“Is it to your liking, Milady?”
Jameela spun around, her eyes wide as she beheld Dagan standing in the opened doorway, a glass of lemon water in his hand. She rushed to him, coming up short at his slight frown.
“You are…” she said then cleared her throat. “You are well, Milord Dagan?”
“Quite well, Milady,” he replied, closing the distance between them. He extended the frosty tumbler of lemon water. “You have developed quite a liking for this brew, haven’t you?”
Jameela grinned. “It quenches my thirst better than anything I’ve ever encountered.” She took the glass and brought it to her lips for a quick sip.
“Some thirsts are easily quenched,” he replied. “While some will never be.”
She slowly lowered the tumbler. “Why did you not tell me the Grand Master was your brother?” she inquired softly. “Or that he and you were twins?”
Dagan shrugged carelessly then thrust his hands into the pockets of his black breeches. “It didn’t seem of any great import.” He shrugged again. “There is nothing neither he nor I can do about the circumstances of our birth.”
“I wish you had told me he was handicapped,” she said.
“Hagan isn’t handicapped, Milady. He is crippled. There is nothing soft nor lacking in him save the use of his legs.”
“How did that happen?” she asked. “Was he born that way?”
Dagan shook his head. “No. He was injured as a boy, a fall from his steed.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“So is he, but it will not interfere with his marriage rights.”
Her face red at his remark, she took another sip of the chilled lemon water, looking over the rim of the tumbler at her companion. He seemed at ease in his surroundings so she reckoned he had his brother’s—his Grand Master’s—permission to be in her quarters. He held her gaze. Lowering the glass, she held it with the bottom in her free hand.