The Night Side (16 page)

This quiet dust was gentlemen and ladies
And lads and girls.

—
Emily Dickinson, “This Quiet Dust”

Frances watched the tenebrous passageway, waiting for Lucien de Talle to leave Colin’s chamber. Her own room was dark and growing cold, as the hearth had been allowed to die down to embers. She had known it would be a sacrifice sitting in the dark without a fire and had prepared herself by dragging a stool to the door and supplying herself with a blanket. But the night was proving to be both longer and colder than she had anticipated.

Finally there was a crack in the blackness, and the silhouette of the Frenchman could be plainly seen in the doorway. Frances leaned forward impatiently, stilling her breath lest he somehow hear her as he stood alone in the echoing passage, as though listening for something. She willed him to be gone with thoughts fierce enough to bludgeon, yet Lucien turned back after a single step and said something in parting that gave her pause, even through her single-minded desire to see Colin again.

“You’ll remove her as soon as you may,
oui
? Then see about securing the boy’s inheritance?”

“Aye, I’ll have her away. There are things afoot here of which she is best left in ignorance.”

Frances frowned, feeling vaguely troubled.

“That is best. Females, even the finest of them, are not good repositories for men’s confidences.”

“I’ve not forgotten my calling, Sir Worry. Be off with you and leave matters in my hands.”

Frances quickly eased her door shut as the light of Lucien’s candle came wavering down the hall, forerun by the echo of his catlike footsteps.

Could the Frenchman have been speaking of her—saying that she was unworthy of trust? It was rude of him to talk so of her when they were barely acquainted. And worse still that Colin did not defend her virtue to him!

But surely this was not what they meant. It had to be someone else they spoke of.

Frances’s brow cleared, and she rubbed a hand over her thudding heart, trying to soothe its alarm. She was being silly. Of course they had to have been speaking of the traitor in the castle. That spiteful person seemed to always be in Colin’s thoughts.

As for the talk of Colin’s calling and George’s inheritance—well, she had not heard what had passed before it. Surely if she had heard the entire conversation she would not be feeling this vague alarm, because certainly all would be explained.

Still, perhaps now was not the time to go and speak with Colin. A calm mind was still far from her command. She should perhaps wait, reflect…If she went to him now there was only one way that things would
end. And suddenly, she was uncertain if this was what she truly and forever wanted.

Colin frowned at his door. He had been almost certain that Frances would seek him out as soon as Lucien left. She had to be consumed with curiosity about what news he brought. And yet she did not appear.

Either she had fallen asleep while waiting, or she had come creeping down to listen at the door and overheard something that had awakened caution in her breast. Colin thought back to his final exchange with Lucien when his door was ajar and then cursed beneath his breath. If she had heard that, she might very well be suffering from pique. Or perhaps giving birth to new damning and inconvenient distrust.

Lighting his lantern, Colin pulled on his dark cloak and started preparing soothing fictions to pour into his ladylove’s troubled ears. Oddly enough, for once in his life he’d have preferred to tell the truth, but couldn’t risk the delay that might follow if revelation of his true vocation gave her pause. Let them be wed first. He would make his confessions after.

He scratched at her door and then immediately slipped inside. It seemed wisest to give her no time for denial. Frances looked up from the hearth, where she was stirring the fire to life. Her expression was for one moment startled, but quickly smoothed into polite blankness, except for her eyes, which were unusually large and troubled as they studied him. He was not accustomed to such reserve in her expression and did not like it.

She stood up slowly, her golden gown painted almost red by the fire as it rustled into its proper place. An impatient hand twitched her long dark braid tucked back behind her shoulder. He supposed this was not
the moment to mention that her golden skin shamed the sun, nor that he would be unsurprised to discover that she could arouse even inanimate objects to desire simply by touching them, so lovely was she when gilded in firelight.

“So,
cherie,
are you prepared to essay an adventure?” he asked quietly.

The question got a slow blink and then the tight pressed lips relaxed slightly. “You have news to share with me?”

“Aye, but more importantly, thanks to the bishop I have the means of executing a workable plan. A plan that shall make you and George safe even after the men return home.”

The dark eyes blinked again. “You do not believe we shall be safe after the men return?”

“From your neighbors? Perhaps, unless one is still determined to wed you. I suspect that the MacLeod at least will not stop pressing you until you are finally beyond his reach.” Colin walked toward her, being careful not to move too quickly or appear at all menacing. Even so, Frances remained unusually stiff and wary. Her posture was a subtle accusation.

“But once the men return, we can defend the keep from the MacLeod!” she protested.

“From danger without. But from within? It would not surprise me if some of the men were of a mind to encompass a marriage with you. There would be a great deal of pressure to have such an event come about to secure your fortune for the upkeep of the castle.” He let the words sink in and then added: “And have you forgotten that we have a traitor in our midst? What is to stop this person from opening the gate some night and letting the enemy within these walls?”

“
Mon Dieu,
” she sighed, turning from him. She rubbed at her heart as though it pained her. “I have not forgotten. I was simply keeping the memory at a distance as I prepared for bed, for I like it better far from my dreams.”

“That is most understandable, if not perhaps wise.” Colin stepped closer. He asked whimsically then: “Tell me,
cherie,
will you call out for help if I kiss you?”

Her lips twitched once. “Nay—why cry for help? Unless you need assistance in this endeavor. But is this why you have come? To make love to me?”

“Only in small measure. I have come, first and foremost, to entreat for your heart. And if I cannot have that yet, then for your hand. We can be wed on the morrow.”

For a third time, the lady blinked. Any burgeoning playfulness left her as she considered this. “But…but how is this possible?”

“The bishop has sent us a minister. Angus MacBride can marry us.”

Frances sank onto her stool, a frown between her brows. “He did this at your urging?”

“Aye.” Colin knelt beside her and took her hand. “I know it is sudden—and that you have long thought of yourself as Catholic. But consider, Frances. Marry me and there will be no more attempts made on George’s life, for our enemies shall doubtless expect me to kill him for them. They will also believe you subdued to my will. This gives us time to discover the entire plot and act against it. It will also prevent anyone else pressuring you into a marriage for reasons of finance.”

Frances looked away. “And finance is not a consideration for you?”

“Nay, I’ve wealth aplenty.”

“You speak most sensibly, Colin.” Her voice was small and maybe a little hurt.

He snorted. “Good sense be damned. Marry me because you would enjoy it, if you’ll not marry me for my money, or to be safe.”

“Perhaps it shall be damned. Regardless, I would have some inkling of what is in your heart.” She flung out a hand. “Why do you even concern yourself in our affairs? Came you here with this intention to wed me? Is this proposal some plot?”

“A plot? Never.”

“Then what?”

Colin hesitated. He did not want to appear irrationally hasty by speaking of the tidal emotion that moved him. Nor did he wish her to think him one of the courtiers who routinely practiced making love to pretty women for the sheer sport of it. That might happen if he answered too poetically.

And there was also the matter of his occupation to consider. He flattered himself that he knew the female mind, at least a little. She might well think later that his omission of information now was a lie. And if he had lied about that, she might believe he had also lied about his feelings for her.

Yet, she waited for an answer, her gaze so solemn and expectant. He had to say something.

He wished he could delay this reply until it might be answered in full, but time was running out for them. There was no time for a courtship. The marriage needed to be encompassed before the Balfours returned home. He had not lied about that. Their traitor would probably assume that he meant to install himself as a
master of the keep, and therefore that George Balfour was not long for the earth. It would stay the murder’s hand for a while.

“I’d no plans to wed you when I arrived. Nor did my cousin MacLeod suggest it,” he added, forestalling her next question. He said lightly but with truth: “As to what is in my heart…From the moment I saw you, thought I to myself, this is the loveliest creature I have ever seen. How could I not wish to have you as wife?”

“
Oui
?” The delicate face finally turned his way. She seemed prepared to ponder deeply anything he might say.

It was an effort, but Colin forced himself to continue to speak frivolously and yet with as much truth as he could safely share: “But what is in my heart at this moment I cannot know, for it has gone missing. It seems that you have stolen it away.”

“Colin!” she scolded, but dimpled briefly. “This is no time to play the…the valet, the fop and flatterer. Can you not understand that I must know what you truly feel before I can give you an answer?”

“I
feel, mignonne.
I feel many things, none simple. Answer me true. Is this marriage not what you want,
petite cherie
?” he asked, turning her palm upward and stroking gently toward her wrist. He spoke more seriously. “Aye, it is sudden. But not so unnatural or dangerous for all that. Men and maids have always wed—most often not knowing what was in the other’s heart, or even in their own. And thou art surely bold enough to risk this. I have seen your courage many times.”

“And thou art bolder still to ask a lady in a night rail to wed!” she answered, retreating a step into formality.
“You might have had the decency to let me don my best gown before speaking of such matters.”

The complaint was merely a tactic of delay, but Colin answered it anyway.

“Nay, for then you would also don your father’s lordly dignity. Though I admire your public display of spirit and courage, I am more interested in the woman than the role you play with such distinction. This woman in her nightdress intrigues me…
seduces
me.” He pushed her lace cuff aside and pressed a kiss into her palm. Instantly, he felt the pulse beneath his lips hurl itself against the soft skin. Encouraged, he persuaded softly: “Is it not a tiresome responsibility, caring for all in this keep? A heavy one, which you have wished to escape? Then let me take this burden from you,
ma belle.
As my wife, I can protect you and your kin as well.”

Frances sighed, but she did not flinch or turn away.

Consent,
he urged her silently.
Consent, so that I need not accomplish this marriage willy-nilly. I had thought to seduce you into union with me, but now would have it be otherwise. Let me do this with honor and not trickery or force.

“Do you not long for the chance to share intimacies without the danger of scandal?” he murmured, tempting her with the hunger he knew she had for the unknown pleasures of the flesh. “For we shall end as lovers if not as man and wife. You know this is so. We have been nearly discovered once already.”

She colored, still looking at him with grave eyes that tried to fathom the meaning beyond the words. “You sweep all before you as if it were nothing: my duty, my plans. How can I marry a stranger?”

“It
is
nothing, just…just everything. Ah, Frances!
It is well enough to be a courtesan to duty—pay it court and be polite in observation of protocol—but be not its slave. No happiness will ever be found there. Duty is a cold bedfellow.” He spread his hands. “Though many would have you believe it is God’s will that we be placed where we are—and perhaps it is—we are also gifted with free will and minds that can see the way to other paths. We can take our destiny into our own hands. We can choose another road from the one where our births and parents placed us. Look into your heart. What does it say to you?”

“But my plans—” she began.

“Plans can be remade, even made better. Come, Frances, be not some milk and water maid. Have courage one more time. Say you will enterprise this adventure. We shall make a success of this marriage, I swear. Together we can do anything we can imagine. Come, be my consort.”

“A consort…” Suddenly she smiled. “Colin! I have doubtless been driven mad, but—”

“But?” He shook her gently. “Speak! If there is some bar, tell me so that I might put it aside. Tell me of this
but.
”

She laughed once, a sound closer to hysteria than amusement. “But: I shall wed thee—and make thy life a misery if you be not kind and fair and a gentleman.”

“A gentleman, I shall be,” he promised fervently. “But in a moment.”

Colin pulled her close, allowing himself a single, relieved kiss, which held much passion but not blind lust. Then, his smaller prayer answered, he put her from him and rose to his feet. He’d ask no more of her or fortune that evening.

“I must go now,” he said.

“But Colin…” Frances also stood, her expression confused. Her small hands fluttered toward him, clasping his sleeve. She protested: “You cannot leave. We…we have discussed nothing of Lucien’s news, or what we are to do to discover the traitor.”