Authors: Sarah McKerrigan
"Are
you... are you..." she began, breathless.
He
mentally finished her sentence for her. Going to tell my family? Going to turn
me in? Going to see that I hang for my crimes?
"Are
you
The
Shadow?" she whispered.
"Me?"
Her
eyes were wide with fear as she nodded.
"Me?"
How
she'd twisted his intent around so quickly, he didn't know, but the absurdity
of her assumption made him laugh out loud. "Of course not!"
"Are
you sure?"
"I'm
not
The
Shadow, Miriel."
She
looked at him with wary eyes. "Then what do you have to confess?"
Lord,
she was either genuinely puzzled or brilliantly dissembling. He couldn't tell
which.
"Wait!"
she said suddenly, placing her hand upon his forearm. "Don't tell me. I
know."
He waited.
Perchance she was going to reveal herself now. Outlaws often blurted out
confessions when their perfidy was discovered.
She
shyly lowered her eyes. "You wish to confess that your recent encounter
with The Shadow, your close brush with death, has made you realize how valuable
life is."
Rand
furrowed his brows. What was the maid going on about? 'Twas not at all what he
wished to confess.
She
leaned in closer and looked coyly up at him. "You've learned that what's
precious to a man can be swept away..." She snapped her fingers. "In
the blink of an eye."
He
smiled uneasily. Where was she going with this?
She
returned his smile, then inclined her head against his with an affectionate
sigh. "I know, my dearest Rand.
You
wish to confess that you
cannot bear the thought of
living
the rest of your years apart
from the woman you
love."
Rand
almost choked on astonishment. He was still reeling in speechless surprise when
Miriel circled her arms about his neck and planted a deliberate kiss upon his
mouth.
Now
what the bloody hell was he supposed to do? The conniving little imp had
deliberately cornered him.
Not
that 'twas an uncomfortable corner. Indeed, her arms felt wonderfully right
about him, her lips sweet and warm, her soft, adoring gaze most flattering.
But,
damn the wench, she'd backed him into a spot where he couldn't budge. She might
have used mere words to do it, but she was no less deft than The Shadow when it
came to rendering a man helpless.
"Miriel."
"Rand?"
She lowered her gaze to his mouth and hungrily licked her lips.
He
sighed. "That's exactly what I wished to confess."
************************************
Miriel
decided she must share her father's penchant for gambling. She'd taken a huge
risk, using her feminine wiles, wagering everything to pull Rand away from the
subject of The Shadow and steer him toward the subject of marriage.
Thankfully,
the wager had paid off.
And
as Rand obliged her with a deep, soul-melting kiss, the reality of what she'd
won began to sink in.
"Marry
me, my lady," he murmured against her lips.
She
flashed him a mischievous grin. "I'll have to think about it."
He
lifted a menacing brow. "Think quickly, else I shall withdraw my
offer."
Before
she could gush out a reply, he began to rain kisses all over her face.
"Well?"
he said between feverish pecks. "What say you?"
So
intense and overwhelming was his assault that she could scarcely gasp for
breath betwixt his kisses.
"No
word, wench?" he demanded. "Will you say me aye?"
"Aye!"
she managed to cry at last, laughing in delight as he nuzzled at her ear. Her
heart felt as if it danced for joy, and her body felt lighter than air.
Finally,
he paused in his attack long enough to clasp her face between his palms. His
expression was very serious, but his gaze was soft and adoring, and as he
continued to stare deeply into her eyes, his mouth slowly widened into a
brilliant smile, complete with irresistible dimples.
Then,
as impulsive as she, he grabbed her wrist, hopped to his feet, and tugged her
up. "Come on."
"Where
are we going?"
"I
believe I owe you a love token, my lady."
Pausing
just long enough to grab her
shang chi,
she trailed gladly after him
toward jewelers' row.
His
gift was a wedding ring, a beautiful entwined silver piece that the jeweler
said was a lover's knot. It looked curiously foreign on her hand, but knowing
what it meant, that she belonged to Rand and that he belonged to her, made it
seem perfect encircling her finger.
Of
course, Rand wouldn't let her wear it. Not yet. On the day they were wed, he
told her, when they made their marriage vows before the people of Rivenloch and
the priest, then he'd slip it on her finger and promise his everlasting love.
She
could wait. After all, once he placed it on the finger leading straight to her
heart, once they became man and wife before God, she knew she could no longer
harbor secrets from him.
************************************
The
grin wouldn't fade from Rand's face as he held Miriel's hand. What was
happening between the brightly painted players on the stage before him, he
didn't know. He was preoccupied with the lovely damsel sitting beside him, who
watched the performance with rapt fascination.
'Twas
the most amazing day. A fortnight ago, he'd never imagined that the Lord of
Morbroch's mission would earn him such a priceless reward.
That
Miriel had coerced him into asking for her hand seemed somehow appropriate. The
lass was completely unpredictable and impulsive, just as when she'd seized him
that first day and demanded a kiss. Marriage to her would be an endless series
of adventures and surprises, he was sure.
'Twould
also be a serious responsibility. He'd never been responsible for another
person. On his own, he'd always made his bed where he lay, found supper where
he could, lived each day at the whim of the wind. He was unaccustomed to the
rigors of castle life, where one kept regular hours and followed strict codes
of conduct.
But
he looked forward to the discipline. Perchance 'twas what had been missing in
his life—a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging. He belonged now—to the
lovely damsel clinging to his hand with childlike trust. And he intended to
become worthy of that trust.
His
heart swelled with a reckless longing to please Miriel. He wanted to bring
light to her eyes, to make her world safe and blessed and bright. Was that what
love felt like? If so, he could see why men did foolish things in the name of
love. For at the moment, he'd gladly do anything to bring a smile to her face.
The
first thing he'd do was befriend Sung Li. For reasons known only to her, the
old maid seemed to detest Rand. Ordinarily he wouldn't care. She was only a servant,
after all. But the grumpy old woman was obviously beloved by Miriel. 'Twas
important that Rand learn to care for her, even if she never warmed to him.
Second,
he'd settle his doubts concerning The Shadow once and for all. He needed to
catch the outlaw, to uncover his identity, to complete his mission.
And
one day, he'd reveal his secrets to Miriel. But for now, did it matter he was a
bastard? Did it matter he was a mercenary, not Sir Rand of Morbroch, but Rand
la Nuit? Did it matter he'd come to Rivenloch, not to court her, but to catch
an outlaw?
Nay,
he decided. All that mattered was that he loved Miriel, and he wanted to make
her his wife. The rest he'd tell her soon enough.
He
raised Miriel's clasped hand to his lips for what must have been the fiftieth
time. She giggled over something the players were doing, and he turned his
attention to the stage.
The
two ruffians were having some sort of mock quarrel involving a huge fish,
slapping each other with the thing. Rand thought their play looked familiar.
Aye, he'd seen the men before, shared ale with them, in fact. In Stirling
mayhap. Or Carlisle. As he continued to watch the humorous spectacle, grinning
as the players punched and dodged, leaped and collided in a well-practiced
dance, the most brilliant idea began to worm its way through his brain.
Chapter 20
W
hen
Miriel returned
to the now-deserted stage with the pair of
ales she'd fetched for herself and Rand, she was surprised to find him chatting
with the gaudily dressed players. Curious, she held back, watching their
interaction at a distance. The three of them seemed to be conducting some
serious surreptitious transaction, made ludicrous by the fact that two of them
had faces painted in as many colors as a bastard's coat of arms.
While
she watched, Rand slipped something into their palms, gave them a nod farewell,
then glanced up to see her approach. He beamed at the sight of her, and the
instant she beheld those enchanting dimples, all her suspicions vanished.
She
handed him his ale, deciding she was too cynical by far. Rand wasn't up to
mischief. He'd probably given the players a few coins for their entertainment,
no more.
She didn't
give the matter another thought.
They
spent the rest of the afternoon in bargaining and feasting, watching wrestlers
and pipers and mummers, strolling hand in hand down the winding lanes of
leather-workers and jewelers, swordsmiths and chandlers, spice merchants and
vendors of holy relics. After a delightfully exhausting day, they sauntered
home to Rivenloch, as Sung Li wished, before nightfall.
Rand
announced their wedding plans at supper. With perfect chivalry, he first
formally asked her father's permission for her hand. Unfortunately, Lord
Gellir, his wits more rattled tonight than usual, seemed highly confused by the
whole affair, unclear as to who was to wed whom. But where Lord Gellir
faltered, Pagan, Colin, Deirdre, and Helena intervened. They gave Rand and
Miriel their enthusiastic blessing and hearty cheers.
Sung
Li, too, offered quiet congratulations, but Miriel could tell his words were
empty. He was displeased. And that angered Miriel immensely.
She
silently cursed the peevish old man for his rudeness to Rand. After all, Rand
was making a great effort to be kind this eve. He'd helped Sung Li to his seat.
He'd assured Sung Li that Miriel would still require the maid's services after
they were wed. He'd even told the surly old worm that if he truly disapproved
of their marriage, Rand would gladly listen to his grievances.
Still
Sung Li offered him a cold reception, and by the end of supper, Miriel was
becoming sorely tempted to use her new
shang chi
on the rude old fool.
After
supper, Rand disappeared briefly. When he returned to the hall, he was
accompanied by none other than the two players from the fair, their faces still
garish with paint.
Miriel
frowned. What the Devil were they doing here?
With
a wink at Miriel, Rand directed the kitchen lads to move some of the tables to
make space for a pleasant diversion. Then he introduced the players to the folk
of Rivenloch.
The
entertainers, Hob-Nob and Wat-Wat, with a flamboyant flourish of their arms,
saluted the high table and took to the makeshift stage. Within moments, their
unbridled antics had the hall erupting in uncontrollable laughter. Soon even
her father was chortling in delight.
When
Rand returned to the table, Miriel leaned toward him, astounded. "You
hired them? But how did you... ? What...?"
He
smiled and whispered, "'Twas insurance, in the event your father refused
me your hand. What man can say nay when his belly is rolling with
laughter?"