All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. This is in the style of a 13th century chanson de geste, with a strong fantasy element. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and adult situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. My heartfelt thanks to SueB for her feedback and encouragement. Oh, and her limitless patience for waiting as long as she does for each chapter. Thank you to everyone who has kept looking for this story to continue and on occasion felt the need to prod me (gently or no) to finish it.
CHAPTER TEN
Fire then ice poured through her, devouring her heart then freezing every drop of blood in her veins. Dimly, she heard the clatter of her fork as it dropped from her nerveless fingers, but she didn't care if she smeared sauces across the table and the floor. Her thoughts chased themselves in ever-faster circles until the room and the voices in it whirled in a death spiral.
Trumpets announcing the arrival of the next course broke Steph out of her reverie. She pushed back from the table, her chair scraping loudly across the floor. The Duke rose as well, his expression solicitous as he touched the inside of her forearm with his fingertips. "Stephanie?"
"I—" Steph paused and swallowed hard as the room tilted. "I need to find the restrooms. Maybe it was something I ate—"
Marcus appeared at her other side and steadied her when she swayed. "Are you sure you can make it? Maybe I should go with you."
"No! No, I'll be fine." Steph tempered her denial, trying to convey that she was merely embarrassed by her weakness. It didn't help that Angie was watching her with a worried expression, nor that Estrella's gaze could only be called piercing. But the Lady of Finncapall didn't say anything beyond a quiet word to Lisbet, who hurried forward.
"Pray allow me to aid you, my lady," she said in a soft voice. Marcus released Steph reluctantly and made room for them as they inched behind the Duke's chair and into the aisle. Just as they cleared the table, the Duke drew a crisp white handkerchief from his sleeve.
"Stephanie, please take this. I am certain you will have need of it."
"I—thank you." She instantly recognized the quality of the simple square of material. Maybe there was an Armani equivalent for handkerchiefs, but she was quite certain that the scrap that she held was never mass-produced in a factory somewhere in Newark. This had a weight to it that no common handkerchief could hope to duplicate, and the way it draped from her fingers in gentle folds told more about its origins than any gauche or vulgar label sewn into the seam. She tucked it into her front pocket and took a deep breath as she passed between the tables on the way to the doors.
They slipped past the master of ceremonies and into the hallway. Lisbet adjusted her support, clearly intent on escorting Steph to the restrooms and wherever else she felt the need to go. Unfortunately, Steph wasn't the kind of person who needed a cheering section as she emptied her stomach for the second time that day, nor a servant to wave ammonia capsules under her nose if she fainted.
"Uh, I think I can handle it from here," she said, trying to extricate her arm.
Either Lisbet was slow on the uptake, or she was ferociously devoted. "My lady, allow me to be of help. The restrooms are this way."
Steph glanced down the hallway in the direction indicated and a shiver ran across her skin. Bingo. Normalcy and safety were but a few steps away, and she didn't need help getting that far.
"Lisbet, I'm feeling better. Why don't you wait for me near the door, and that way you can help if you see me needing it on the way back."
"I will not abandon you," the girl answered, her chin set in a stubborn line Steph recognized all too well.
Her shoulders slumped and she couldn't help a long-suffering sigh as they passed the front doors. A flicker of light from the huge bonfire still burning outside threw dark shadows against the wall, and Steph couldn't help shivering again. Something was going on; her spidey sense had never been ratcheted this high, and had never screamed so loudly that she needed to grab Angie and get the hell out of this medieval nightmare.
The smooth varnished wood of the door panel was reassuringly solid underneath her fingers as Steph pushed open the door to the restroom. The door thudded closed behind Lisbet, cutting off the sounds, excitement and disappointments of the Renaissance Faire, replacing them with the leaden quiet of the small room. The silence echoed off the white porcelain sinks with their gleaming aluminum hardware and the one long mirror that ran from the high frosted window to the light switch by the door. Two large globe pendant lights hung from the bare rafters, more suited to a library than a restroom planted between the modern and medieval worlds.
Steph stumbled to a sink and leaned her elbows on the rim, her forehead resting on the cool porcelain. Her head still spun, and everything was surreal, like a morning that came too early after an all night bender. That usually meant a splitting headache wasn't far off, and somehow she knew that McDonald's didn't put nearly enough salt on their fries to make this one go away. With a deep sigh, Steph raised her head and looked in the mirror.
Train wreck was a compliment. Natural disaster was a polite dodge from a kindly old lady too blind to see the difference between her pet Papillon and a rabid raccoon. Her eyes moved from the purpling bruise on her forehead to the angry red scratch marring her cheek and the bigger bruise partially hidden by the collar of the tunic.
Her fingers brushed the edges of the bruise on her neck as she swallowed. She stared into eyes that were tired beyond belief, with shadows edging them that were deep enough to be bruises, and lines that pulled down the corners of her mouth.
A movement behind her reminded her of Lisbet's presence, and Steph blinked a couple of times. "Um, could you get me some ice water from the kitchen?" she asked, her voice softer than she wanted it to be. At this point, she probably couldn't fake a cheery smile if her life depended on it. "My throat's a little scratchy."
"Of course, my lady." Lisbet didn't hesitate. She bobbed a little curtsy and slipped through the door. Steph covered her face with her hands to block out the rest of the world and this crazy, mixed-up day.
Electricity spun across her skin and Steph suppressed an instinctive shiver. "Ranger?"
Warm fingers brushed the nape of her neck, and this time she did shiver. She couldn't help it. Either Ranger affected her like the first cold wind in fall, or like the full heat of a midsummer day at noon. There was no in-between with him, no middle ground. Sometimes she wished there was something that she could hold on to, something that would give her an anchor to reality while he worked his magic, wicked way with her.
"Steph," he whispered, his breath running lightly against her ear. His presence was like a shadow next to her. "What happened? You were off-grid for six hours."
Unbidden, Steph raised her head and her eyes sought his in the reflection of the mirror. His expression was blank, as unknowable as the surface of the lake in the maze. A chill of a different kind swept through her as she searched for some scrap of warmth or humor in the dark depths of Ranger's eyes. Light glittered back at her, cold and hard.
"I fell asleep," she said, then frowned. Lying didn't work with Ranger. He had some sort of Bat radar that always knew when she wasn't telling the truth. Half truth or complete non-truth, he always knew.
"You need to be more careful," he said, drawing back from her. She stared hard at him as he backed up to the far wall and crossed his arms loosely. There was nothing even remotely amused in his dark gaze, not even a twitch of his lips to indicate that he found her pathetic attempt at lying humorous. There was nothing. She couldn't tell if he was pissed at her for being careless or didn't care at all.
"I needed some time to think," she said, trying to force her mind to do just that. "Are you okay? Palamon beat on you pretty hard this afternoon."
Ranger didn't move. "I'm fine. I think you should get Angie and leave. You're done here."
The utter flatness of his voice kicked her intuition up several alert levels. Ranger could do flat with the best of them, but the complete deadness of tone was so not him. Steph turned around, mirroring his pose with crossed arms of her own. She tilted her head to the side and studied him, noting the bruising visible just below his collar and the stiff way he held his shoulders.
"I could say the same for you," she said, proud of her even tone. "The horse doesn't seem to like you very much. I can't say I'm all that crazy about this side of you either."
"I don't pay you to like me. I pay you to get the job done, but it looks like that's not going to happen." The corners of his mouth were pulled down and he was pinning her with a stare that had nothing to do with the warm-hearted lover who had paid for her dress and picked out an exquisite parure. Steph's eyes widened as she backed up a step.
Ranger barked out a laugh. "Scared, Babe? Did you finally realize that you've been standing too close to the big boys and are about to get burned really, really bad?"
He pushed off from the wall and Steph kept backing up until she ran into the edge of the sink. She grabbed the cool surface with fingers that were slick with sweat, and she gasped for breath that didn't make it into her lungs. The world tilted and spun again, and her stomach heaved as Ranger took one more step towards her.
"Stop," she said weakly, and tears stung her eyes as she heard her voice echo off the tile like a dying man's whisper. "This isn't you, Ranger. I don't know what angle you're working, but this isn't the man I know and love."
Ranger didn't react beyond his eyes darkening to the color of endless night. Without the warmth that was always lurking in his gaze, they were as empty and cold as a shark's, with just as much mercy in them. Without that life, they were nothing.
"Marcus hasn't given me the information yet," Steph said, desperately grasping at anything to say.
Ranger raised an eyebrow at her. "Why would Sir Marcus give you anything? He couldn't give his horse's broad ass about you."
"But—"
A sharp rap on the door interrupted her.
"Stephanie? Are you well?"
She flinched as Marcus's voice, muffled by the solid wood, broke the standoff. Before she could answer, the knight opened the door and walked in, his sheathed sword rattling against the tiles.
Ever aware of the deadliness that was Ranger, Steph pushed herself even harder against the sink and silently prayed that she wouldn't do anything stupid. She glanced at Ranger's impassive expression and Marcus's grim one and amended her request. Please, God, don't let me do anything too stupid.
"What are you doing here?" she asked when the silence had gone on too long. "What happened to Lisbet?"
The knight flicked his gaze past Ranger, dismissing him from consideration. "Lisbet was worried that you might be taking seriously ill. I came to aid you."
"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. You can go now." Steph stared hard at Marcus, trying to convey with raised eyebrows that he should take the hint and leave. He didn't move, and she flipped a hand at him. "Shoo."
Both men looked at her, but only Ranger spoke. "Babe, maybe you should be the one to 'shoo'. It's time I had a few words with the big, badass knight."
Marcus reached out and picked up Steph by the arms, placing her so he stood between her and Ranger. Then he turned back towards Ranger and the tone of his voice when he spoke made Steph glad she couldn't see his face. "Go back to your mistress, little dog. Felise keeps a tight leash on her toys."
"I'm not leaving yet," said Ranger. He didn't seem to move, but the air clogged in Steph's lungs as her heart beat faster. She knew that he was coiled like a spring, ready to act within the blink of an eye.
Marcus shook his head slowly. "Tell Harecote she will not win this battle. She was warned the last time; there will be no forgiveness again. Is Hell so little a consideration that she would risk its choice as her final fate?"
Ranger settled back on his heels ever so slightly. "You're the one who will see Hell first, malparido."
"I crawled through Hell on the day of my dying," Marcus said. He closed the distance between him and Ranger, crowding the other man back with the intensity of his voice alone. "They tortured anyone they found alive until even the carrion eaters fled from that place of death."
"Did you hide? Were you scared?" Ranger taunted.
Marcus leaned in and his voice dropped to a conversational tone. "Someone else found me before I died, and that is why Harecote will fail. I know what waits for her in Hell, and if she does not forswear this path, I will escort her there myself."
Surprisingly, Ranger didn't answer. He didn't move either, other than to slowly raise his eyebrow in mute challenge. Marcus held his gaze for a long beat before holding out his hand to Steph. "My lady, if you would return with me to the feast?"
Her fingers shook as she took his proffered hand. Her gaze slid towards Ranger, willing him to stop her from leaving, but he was silent. As Marcus slid a protective arm around her, Steph felt a tiny catch in her throat. Somehow turning her back on Ranger felt final, like she was abandoning the last friend she thought she could count on. For whatever reason, he had decided to quit acting like she was important to him, and she was a drowning swimmer losing her last grip on the ice before being dragged underwater into the darkness.
As Marcus opened the door, Ranger finally spoke. "If you're so enamored with Stephanie, you're welcome to her. Just don't lend her your horse if you want him back in one piece."
"If I lend her my horse, it is not Palamon who will be in danger of bodily injury." With that parting shot, Marcus guided Steph through the door and into the hallway. He urged her into a fast walk that was almost indecent in its haste.
"What's your rush?" she asked as she broke into a trot to keep up with him. "You should have thought of the consequences before you pissed off Ranger. He could rat you out to the Faire management."
"I do not care about the Faire management. I owe allegiance only to His Grace, and he is the only one I serve." Marcus didn't slow down. He slid a hand under her elbow and nearly propelled her off her feet.
"Whoa! Wait a minute! I thought you were working with Ranger!" Steph got one foot on the ground and dug in as hard as she could. Marcus stopped rather than drag her, and swung her around so her back was to the wall. Over his shoulder, she could see part of the bonfire still burning outside, and the dark figures that danced around it.
Marcus studied her. "I work only for Westborne, Stephanie. Maybe in your world it is no small thing to divide your loyalties, but I am a simple man. I gave mine to those who saved my life at considerable risk to themselves. I will not be forsworn."
Steph stared at him in surprise. "But you're Mark. Ranger said the name of his informant was Mark. You were supposed to make contact with me and give me information to pass along to Ranger. He said that you would find me."
For a very long moment, Marcus stared at her, his hand braced against the wall above her head. Finally he blew out an exasperated breath. "My name is Marcus Vergilius Cassianus. No one ever calls me 'Mark'. And I would hope to God Almighty that Palamon sits on me until I expire before I ever consented to work for that pretty plaything we just left in the women's restroom."
Her face grew hot as she stared at him, her mind spinning with the enormity of what she'd just done. After all of Ranger's careful work to get an inside informant, after all of the hours of surveillance and groundwork, she had just blown RangeMan's cover so thoroughly that they would never be able to crack this close knit community again. With just a few careless words, she'd managed to bring the whole house of cards tumbling down.
"Oh, no," she whispered, closing her eyes and wishing desperately that this day had never been. "Oh, God damn . . ."
His callused hand muffled the rest of what she was going to say, and Steph's eyes flew open. She peered at him over the edge of his hand, and Marcus shook his head at her. "Forbear. Please. That is definitely the last thing we need right now."
Even though she couldn't talk around his rather large hand, there was nothing wrong with her eyes. Steph gave him a super charged Burg death glare, and was slightly reassured when he took a step back and removed the hand.
"Let's just forget this all happened, okay?" Steph said. She swallowed hard. "You can go back to your Let's Pretend, and I'll take my niece and go back to my pathetic excuse for a life. If I'm lucky, this will be a bad dream when I wake up tomorrow morning and the only souvenir will be a case of indigestion."
"No one is that fortunate," said Marcus wearily. He stared down at her, his dark eyes troubled. Then he dropped his head in defeat. "I am assuming that boy is a friend of yours?"
She stifled the urge to look towards the restroom. The last thing she wanted was to remind herself of that particular chapter of the Stephanie Plum Disaster. "I used to think so. Now I'm not so sure."
"Stay away from him."
"What?" The death glare was back, and this time it brought Jersey attitude with it. "Don't even think you have any right to dictate who I see and who I don't. If my mother and Joe Morelli can't tell me what to do, you sure as hell aren't even in the running."
Marcus winced. "I do not mean forever. Harecote will use the boy to hurt you, if only for the pleasure of doing so. Stay away from him until she tires of playing with him. He will have but a vague memory of these days, and no idea as to why his friends and acquaintances treat him differently."
"What are you trying to say?" This time Steph did look towards the restroom. "Ranger doesn't do anything he doesn't want to."
"In this case, he chose to accept Felisse's gift. In doing so, he accepted whatever hold she chose to exercise over him." Marcus hesitated. "Stephanie, I know you have accepted talismans from Estrella and from the Duke, but you must be careful. The power that is in this place may require your life and your soul as the price."
"Neither is worth that much," she said miserably. No matter how stubborn Marcus was about keeping in character, there was no hiding the fact that she had not only outed RangeMan's investigation into the Faire, but had been told by Ranger himself to go home. Through explosions, firebombings, kidnappings and many, many broken Merry Men, Ranger had never given up on her in the middle of an operation. That alone was an indication of how badly she had screwed up everything.
Marcus slid his hand around her upper arm and hoisted her upright. "I should know by now that you, Stephanie, are beyond this knight's ken. All I can offer is my protection. For the rest, I must defer to those who can See more than I."
"There's not much to s-" A flare from the bonfire outside caught her attention, and she peered around Marcus through the door. "Isn't that bigger than it was a while ago? It's not going to get out of control, is it?"
He glanced over his shoulder, the firelight striking deep into his dark eyes. "It is time for us to rejoin the others. We run hard against the deadline."
"I'm thinking I'll just collect Angie and-" Steph broke off again as the knight pulled her down the hallway. "Easy! You're the second guy today to think that he has free rein to manhandle me."
"Pray to God that I am the last," Marcus said, and halted in front of the double doors. He took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on Steph to one that was more genteel, and pushed open the right hand door.
The conversation swirling around the hall seemed too loud and too forced, and it fell around Steph like hail in a storm. Her footsteps lagged and Sir Marcus glanced down at her as she slowed to a stop.
"Stephanie?"
"I-" She shook her head and tried to find her equilibrium without success. Usually when events and incidents hit her at such a swift pace, she always had her link to Ranger to fall back on. Thinking of him was like finding an island of calm where she could catch her breath and decide on her next move. But now the thought of him brought only sadness and a pain that shot straight through her heart.
Beside her, Marcus muttered something that sounded less than happy. Steph glanced up to see the Duke rise from his seat and walk towards them. "Sir Marcus?"
"The Countess Harecote, Your Grace," said the knight. "She seeks to throw us off the scent while Gallus has free rein amongst the innocent."
The Duke's gaze fell on Steph and he frowned. Before she could protest, he smoothly lifted her hand from Sir Marcus's arm and tucked it into his elbow. Without a word, he steered her towards their table, pulling her haplessly along by virtue of her attached hand. Then she caught a glimpse of the Lady Felise smirking at her from the royal table, and her Italian temper flared like the fire outside.
His Grace the Duke slowed to ease past a couple of waiters and Steph set herself to pull free. Even though she put all of her strength and more than a little weight behind it, the Duke showed absolutely no sign that he even noticed her escape attempt. He guided her to her chair and planted her in the seat with a firmness that she recognized from her childhood. It was the universal definitiveness each parent used when the miscreant in question was to stay put, without argument, until permission to move was granted.
It hadn't worked back then, either.
The Duke's hands had barely left her shoulders before she was on her feet, the Hungarian fire burning hotter with each passing second. After a long day and too many snubs, cuts and criticisms, Steph was no longer taking it. She took a step towards the royal table, where she could see Felise laughing merrily at the attention of some fair-haired Adonis.
The Duke glanced at her. "Stephanie, sit."
Her mouth opened to give him a piece of her mind, but her body had other ideas. Before Steph could blink, she found herself back in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. It took the space of a second blink for her to process the change in position, and by the third blink she had several choice Italian words picked out that she'd never used in her arguments with Joe Morelli.
In a swirl of silk velvet, Estrella rose from her place beside Angie and hurried over to their side of the table. Istvan started forward, but she waved him off as she knelt by Steph.
"Stephanie, please. Temper will not help us here."
Tears stung at her eyes as she looked into Estrella's earnest blue gaze. "I can't let her get away with it. Ranger is my friend. He deserves better than this."
Estrella smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as she patted her hand. "He deserves the best, and we will make sure he gets it."
With a last pat, she rose and turned towards the Duke. He gazed down at her, his expression changing from a carefully neutral one to something far more solemn. His Grace nodded once. He switched his attention to Steph for a long moment, and she felt his study strip away every one of her denials and pretenses. His dark blue eyes did not allow any secrets, and by the time he released her from his regard, Steph knew she no longer had any. At least, not from him.
"Lady Finncapall, if you would be so kind?" he asked.
"Of course, Your Grace." Estrella curtsied to him, a slow gesture of deep respect. As she straightened, Marcus came up behind her and stood like a silent sentry, waiting. In their little corner of the Hall, cut off from the music and the laughter of the other diners, Steph felt them all surrounding her and just . . . waiting.
"I'm sorry," she said to the Duke. "Things are getting really complicated really fast. I don't know what to do anymore, because everything I try to do winds up making things worse."
He placed his hand over hers. "This is not an easy path, my Stephanie. I cannot walk it for you, but I can do what is within my power to make it easier for you. Dance with me."
The words didn't penetrate right away, and Steph was nodding before she figured exactly what he meant. Her eyes opened wide as she whipped her head around to stare at him.
"What the hell—"
He held up a finger. "Do not fear. This is something that must happen. I will not allow the Countess of Harecote to doubt where you stand with Westborne. You have my protection, for as long as it means aught."
"And mine as well," said Estrella, her voice firm. "Finncapall stands with you, Stephanie Plum."
"As do I." Marcus nodded once, his dark gaze somber.
"Good. Then we are agreed." The Duke beckoned to Istvan. "My compliments to the Master Bard, and Westborne requests a dance tune. The karabushka, an he pleases."
The page bowed and scurried through the crowd. Steph followed him with her eyes, watching as he ducked past a couple performing intricate dance steps along one side of the open square left by the dining tables. He waited until the musicians finished their song before hurrying forward to whisper in the chief harp player's ear. The man listened for a moment, spoke a couple of words, and Istvan bowed and came back.
A chill swept through Steph as she watched the Master Bard look long and steady at the Duke across the crowded room. The Duke nodded once, to which the Bard answered with a single nod of his own before turning and giving directions to the other minstrels in the group.
"Come, Stephanie. I beg a dance from you tonight." The Duke of Westborne offered his hand to her.
Steph stared at it for a long moment before shaking her head. "I can't. I don't know the steps. I'll screw it up and make everyone look stupid."
"My dear Stephanie." The Duke leaned over and gently kissed her temple. He dropped his voice to a whisper so only she could hear. "I will not allow it. Tonight, they will see you with new eyes, and they will forget the old things. Please. Share this dance with me."
She tried to look away from him, but she was caught in his gaze like a moth pinned to a board. Slowly, she nodded. "If you'll answer one question, I'll trust you to make sure I don't make a fool out of myself on the dance floor."
"Fair enough. Ask what you will. If it violates none of my oaths, I will answer you truthfully." The Duke straightened, giving her room to breathe.
"Why me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. Surprisingly, it didn't have the whiny tones that she often associated with her mother's favorite phrase. She kept her eyes steady on the Duke, waiting in an agony of suspense that he would laugh at her, or brush away her question with a witty, cutting remark.
The Duke smiled at her and held out his hand. There was a heartbeat of hesitation as she stared at it, but Steph finally placed her hand in his and let him bring her to her feet. His fingers curled around hers with a surprisingly firm but gentle grip, and he led her through the tables towards the dance floor, with Estrella and Marcus close behind. Lady Wainhill rose from the table as well, and Sir Henri offered her his arm as he escorted her through the crowd of departing dancers.
"Ah, here comes your answer," said the Duke suddenly, and then Lady Felise, Countess of Harecote, stepped in front of Stephanie to bar her way.
"Your Grace is most welcome to our little celebration," she said as she swept him a low curtsy. "Has all been to your satisfaction this evening?"
The Duke gave her the merest of nods, nothing that could ever be mistaken for an acknowledgement of anything beyond her mere presence. "Countess Harecote. I will see you and your husband in the King's presence within the fortnight. Do not presume to be lacking in haste."
The smile fell off her face, but she managed to keep her composure as she curtsied again. "It will be our pleasure to wait upon His Grace. I look forward to being of service."
There was no doubt in any one's mind why Felise put a peculiar emphasis on the word service. Steph felt the bile rising in her throat, but a gentle squeeze on her hand from the Duke made it subside.
"You will find no pleasure in this, Countess," said the Duke with just a hint of frigid ice in his voice. "Did you think Westborne had forgot? I will see your work of this day amply repaid, as is my right."
"You cannot. The King ruled on my part. You dare not gainsay the King." Felises's voice had risen to an unpleasant shrillness, like fingernails on a chalkboard.
The Duke didn't seem to notice the change in tone. Instead, he stared at a point directly above Felise, his air one of a man disinterested beyond all thought by her complaints. Then he flicked his gaze down, and Felise faltered and took a step backwards.
"Do not presume to dictate my path," the Duke said softly. "And do not presume that your husband's past service to my family and office will shield you an you dabble in these matters again. I know what you have wrought this day, and be assured that you will answer for it. Completely. To the last drop. I will see to it myself, or I will set Meredon loose on 't. Are we clear, Countess Harecote?"
"Perfectly clear." Lady Felise dropped another curtsy, this one slow and ponderous, dripping with irony. As she shot a murderous glance at Stephanie, the Duke made a quick gesture with his free hand.
"Countess, do you seek to compound your problems? Anything you set out against those under my protection will also see you passed to the King's jurisdiction. This time, there will be no one to plead clemency for you."
Felises's expression changed from simpering servility to outright hatred in a flash. Steph nearly took a step back away from the pure vitriol, but the Duke's solid arm held her captive. Rather than struggle like a rabbit caught in a snare, Steph swallowed hard and raised her chin, summoning every bit of Jersey attitude she'd ever been able to muster.
"Enjoy your brief moment in the sun of Westborne's favor," Felise snarled. "They will tire of you and cast you aside, and when they do, I will be waiting. Meanwhile, I will thoroughly enjoy myself with my newest pet. He should be worth at least a few nights of pleasure, think you not? Pity there will not be much left of him when I am finished."
Without the slightest acknowledgement of the Duke, she spun around, her skirts flaring out around her, and stormed off the dance floor. The Duke didn't react, just watched her with that steady gaze. Steph felt the coiled tension in the arm he kept around her shoulder, but outwardly he was the picture of calm, studied elegance.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Estrella, ma petit, remind me to have Donat draw up the legal papers. Lady Felise thinks she has called my bluff. It is to her discredit that I was not bluffing."
"Of course, Uncle," murmured Estrella. She gave Steph a look that she couldn't begin to decipher, then nodded. "Methinks the dance is more important than ever, now."
"Yes, it is." The Duke offered Steph his arm. "You wished an answer to your question, Stephanie. I give you but one. You have a good heart, and a generous one at that. It lies within our oaths as knights and ladies to ward these things wherever we may find them. It is part of our service."
"Service to what?" asked Steph. Her mind was still trying to process everything that was going on, and her anger was fading fast, leaving behind only a terrible, draining exhaustion. The Duke didn't reply. Instead, he took her hand and swung her wide in a circle around him in the open space of the dance floor. Her trajectory carried her into the middle, where she felt horribly exposed, then ended with her securely by his side once again. Gently, he drew her close and bent over to whisper in her ear.
"Trust me, Stephanie. I will keep you well. I swear it upon my house's honor, and before the Throne of God Himself."
Looking into the dark blue eyes, Steph felt the world around her drop away. All she could think of was the sincerity in his gaze, and the fatherly love that reminded her so much of her own father's best moments. Wordlessly, she nodded, and his smile warmed the blue until she could feel an answering warmth travel through her.
"Good," he said. "Look into my eyes, Stephanie, and I will show you what it means to be beloved of Westborne."
The warning of her rescuer in the forest flashed through her mind. "I don't want to get lost," she said.
He touched her temple lightly, drawing his finger across her cheek and tapping it on the end of her nose. "I promise you that you will not be lost. Your path is before you, and your feet will not stray from it."
A shrill chorus of pipes broke the strange spell, and Steph bit her lip as the other dancers took up their positions. It seemed odd to see Lady Wainhill so serious as she faced her husband, and Estrella's slight build dwarfed so completely by Marcus. Then the drums hit a staccato beat, and each lady sank into a deep curtsy as the men bowed.
Awkwardly, Steph followed suit, not quite sure how to pull off the graceful movement while wearing torn and dirty jeans and a squire's borrowed tunic. The Duke smiled at her and she glanced up at him, only to feel her insides freeze as his dark gaze went straight through her.
Still holding her gaze, the Duke turned her so she faced the same direction as the others, and as his arm slid across her shoulders, he leaned over and whispered softly in her ear. "Trust me, Stephanie. I will not let you fall."