She nodded and crawled into the shelter, lay down next to him as rigidly as her favorite parasol. Then she heard the bedcovers move and felt the heat of him against her back. He pulled her against him, his mouth nuzzling her hair, his arms enfolding her in a gentle cage of firm muscle. He sighed and slowly resumed the deep, even breathing of sleep.

Ca.s.sandra lay awake for a long time, listening to that oddly comforting sound.

She awoke the next morning alone. Parted the curtains around the bed and squinted at the brilliant sunlight. It looked as if she'd slept half the day away, an unusual occurrence for her. She slipped from the bed, donned a robe, and padded through the rooms. No sign of her new husband, not even the slightest trace of a dropped glove or a dirty teacup. Faith, he did manage to take care of himself without need of a servant.

She returned to the bedchamber and stared at the black velvet curtains. Had she dreamed it then? That night of lovemaking with a pa.s.sionate yet gentle lover? If only he had been here this morning, she wouldn't be so confused. He would touch her with familiar intimacy and then she would know it had been real. Perhaps they could even... perhaps she could go find him and then...

Did she so long for him to make love to her again? Had she no shame?

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tingled and she crossed her arms over her chest. Apparently not. But she rea.s.sured herself it had nothing to do with the general or his extraordinary beauty. He had just introduced her to a new delight and her body craved more. Quite simple, really.

A knock sounded at the door and she nearly ran to open it. But only Gwen stood outside in the hallway and Ca.s.s struggled to suppress her frown of disappointment.

Gwen performed her awkward curtsy. "Morning, my lady. I got to thinking ye might need help with yer b.u.t.tons. 'Cause how can ye come fetch me if ye can't get dressed proper?"

"You were right to come," replied Ca.s.sandra, stepping aside to let the waif in. The child followed her to her trunks and watched with wide eyes as Ca.s.s pulled forth one gown after another, finally choosing an ivory sacque dress of heavily embroidered linen. Burgundy, pink, and lavender roses climbed up the loose skirt and pleated back, creating a garden of summer color. Ca.s.sandra loved it. Her father had exquisite taste in clothing, but she'd chosen it for its lack of b.u.t.tons and ease of movement.

Gwen found it difficult enough to lace Ca.s.s's stays, which remained looser than she usually wore them, and she could see the tip of the girl's tongue as she concentrated on lacing her stomacher to it. But in a surprisingly short time Ca.s.s was clothed and searching the trunks for shoes.

"My dear papa," she said, tossing another set of high-heeled shoes over her shoulder, "provided a most fashionable wardrobe. But I refuse to wear"-and she tossed out another pair st.i.tched with fleur-de-lis- "heels that I can barely walk in." Ca.s.sandra sat back, brushing her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. "Somewhere among these trunks are my sensible shoes."

Gwen's crystal eyes sparkled with an ethereal light, a hint of gold within the hazel, and then she pointed to the third trunk on the left. "They's in there, my lady."

Ca.s.sandra's eyebrows rose but she opened the trunk the child indicated, and down near the bottom sat her collection of low heels and slippers. "Your finding magic is most impressive, Gwendolyn."

The girl beamed.

"Now, then." Ca.s.s slid into her shoes. "I must find a vanity for my cosmetics, as I suppose I'll have to get used to using them now that I'm at court." She shoved her hair up off her forehead again. "And a hairdresser."

Gwen practically leaped to her toes. "My friend May does weaving near as fine as ye can get."

"I'm not sure-"

"Oh, she does all the horses' tails for the grand processions. And," Gwen lowered her voice to a mere whisper, "I've seen her weave the sunlight, my lady. Truly I have."

Ca.s.sandra smiled. "Magic appears to run strongly in the kitchens."

"La, it does. The looks too." And Gwen preened her silvery hair.

"Well then, let's go find your May and see if her talented fingers can be trained to a lady's coiffure." Ca.s.s ran a quick brush through her hair, twisted it into a simple bun, and then followed an eager Gwen from her rooms.

Thank heavens she had the girl for a guide, for she couldn't yet make sense of the sprawling layout of Firehame Palace. It seemed to be designed purposely to confuse, and magical artifacts and items lay around every corner. Stationary walls appeared to breathe and shift, mirrors reflected imaginary scenes with her face floating inside them, carpets flowed like water, and ceilings trembled, threatening to come down upon her head. Gwen cautioned her not to touch this or that, and Ca.s.s could only wonder if the griffin statue would have come alive and pecked off her fingers if she had stroked that mighty beak. Or would it be capable of doing something much worse? The elven lord protected his palace in subtle ways and had an odd sense of humor, so Ca.s.s obeyed the young slave girl's advice.

Her unusual companion drew only a few startled looks from the n.o.bles they pa.s.sed, but Ca.s.s still breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the bas.e.m.e.nt kitchens. She must get Gwen suitably attired before any gossip spread.

Cook stood nearly as tall as the general, a robust woman with red cheeks and matching hair. She wielded her spoon like a sword, but it seemed most of her helpers had acquired a certain skill at dodging it. Roasts stewed and pastries baked, and the delicious aromas made Ca.s.s think that Cook had a bit of elven magic herself.

"So," she said, eyeing Ca.s.s with a frown, "yer the champion's new bride."

Ca.s.sandra froze, feeling as if the other woman sought to strip her bare and expose her soul.

"Ye just might do."

"Indeed?" snapped Ca.s.s, refusing to let a servant weigh her worth.

"No offense, my lady. It's just glad I am that the champion has someone to take care of him now."

Ca.s.s's annoyance evaporated in the hopes of finding out more about her new husband. "I've never met a man less in need of being taken care of, Cook. Why would you say such a thing?"

Cook leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, strands of red hair flopping over her forehead. "Have ye not heard that appearances can be deceiving? Haven't ye wondered what made the man so cold?"

"It's the elven blood."

"Aye, so do many think. But consider his father, lady, and why he might need to act the way he does. Ask the general about Jack... Nay, he wouldn't speak of his best friend. Ask him about Mongrel, my lady. He might talk of him."

Ca.s.s's head spun. General Raikes had a friend? The elven did not make friends, possessed with such cold hearts. And Thomas had told her that her husband had no friends. Jack must be a part of the general's childhood, yet what had happened to alter him so in his adulthood that he now spurned all friendships? And who might this Mongrel be?

"A dog," said Lady Ca.s.sandra. "General Raikes has a pet?"

"Oh aye, he once had-" Cook spun and whacked a small lad with her spoon. "'Ere, now, none of that. I told ye to keep yer fingers outta the pudding." She cast her gaze about the kitchen suspiciously. "The champion once had many things, my lady. And perhaps ye will be the one to give them back to him. But, please, don't breathe a word of what I said to none other than himself."

The big woman straightened and raised her voice. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but what with the champion's marriage guests, I don't have the time to sit and chat. Been cookin' near round the clock, I have."

Cook had looked at the brick walls as if they had ears. Ca.s.s took the hint. "We've come only to find May."

Cook's red brows climbed up her broad forehead. "Has she done somethin' wrong? That girl's forever neglecting her duties and-"

The kitchen door flew open and an older girl with Gwen's coloring flew into the room. "Cook, look what I made fer ye!" And she held out a shawl that glittered in the morning sunshine flooding through the open door. Ca.s.s had never seen anything like the pale gray material before. May draped it over Cook's shoulders. "See there, it will not fall off while yer stirring the dough."

Cook eyed the thing suspiciously. "What's it made of this time?"

May's hazel eyes sparkled. "Spider's webs. Ah, they're tricky to weave, mind, but I managed to figure out how. Ye see-"

"Ugh," said Cook, removing the scarf from her shoulders with the handle of her spoon. "Ye were supposed to be fetchin' parsley fer the stew."

May's lovely face fell. "Oh dear, I forgot. I'll go back to the garden right now."

"Never ye mind," huffed Cook. "Ye'll probably come back with a fine green hat fer me to wear. Besides, this here lady wishes to speak with ye." She turned back to her oven while May's eyes widened as she looked at Ca.s.sandra.

But before Ca.s.s could speak, Gwen darted over to May's side and yanked on the older girl's ragged dress. "I told the lady that ye could fix her hair right fine and she wants to bring us upstairs to wait on her."

May's eyes widened even farther. "But the servants-"

"The lady says she don't see no servants in her rooms to bother with."

"Gwen," admonished Ca.s.sandra, "allow me to get a word in. I find myself in need of a.s.sistance, Miss May, and if Cook doesn't mind, I would like you both to come and live in my new apartments."

May gasped, wavered on her feet for a moment, then settled a wistful gaze on Ca.s.s's hair. "Oh my, ye have a lot, don't ye?" And her fingers began to twitch.

Cook glanced up at the three of them and harrumphed. "Both of those girls are nothin' but a bother to me. If ye want them, I have no objection."

Gwen ran to Cook and gave her a quick hug, then darted back to May's side, yanking at her hand. "Let's get our things afore either one of them changes their mind."

Ca.s.s followed them to the back of the kitchen, into a small storage room that held two cots made of woven gra.s.s. She waited while they gathered their meager belongings, trying not to breathe too deeply of the musty smell of rotting potatoes. "Are you sisters?" she wondered aloud.

Gwen shrugged. "No, m'lady."

"You look so similar."

"'Tis the elven blood. We both got too much of it in our looks." She sighed. "But not enough in our magic to be sent to Elfhame, eh, May? I wonder what it's like there, with trees that weep honeyed fruit and skies that rain wine and-"

"Are ye sure we should be doing this, Gwen? What of the champion?"

"Ah, May, ye know he doesn't give a fig 'bout anyone."

"But he notices everything. And the steward knows he goes to the kitchens, so he makes sure we're tidy and have proper beds and Cook has clean kitchens..."

Ca.s.sandra kept her mouth closed and let the girls continue to talk, although her mind spun with questions. Dominic had grown up in the kitchens, neglected by all accounts. Did he visit to make sure the other slaves weren't treated as badly as he had been? Or did he just come here from habit? Rumor had it he cared for nothing but the games, and yet his lovemaking had been so gentle. Was she trying to credit him with some human feeling because of that? What manner of man had she truly married?

"Ye worry too much, May."

"But when he finds us in his rooms... Ye know he doesn't like servants about."

"But I do," interjected Ca.s.s. "And I've quite made up my mind. Now, if you've got your things, we shall call a coach."

Gwen clapped her hands. "I've never ridden in a carriage before. Where are we going, my lady?"

Both of their hazel eyes widened when Ca.s.s replied.

"Shopping."

When Ca.s.sandra joined the court at dinner later that evening, she felt exhausted but entirely pleased with herself. Gwen and May looked lovely in their new gowns-although Gwen had stubbornly fought the need of stays. But they both vowed they would happily get used to their uncomfortable new shoes, and admired the shiny buckles at every opportunity. New feather mattresses and linens for their beds had sent both girls into complete rapture, and Ca.s.s had made all the rooms much more comfortable with the addition of mahogany tables and plush velvet chairs and soft tapestries to adorn the walls.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Lady Ca.s.sandra entered the dining hall, smoothing the folds of her satin dress and knowing she looked her best. May did indeed have magical fingers, arranging Ca.s.s's hair into curls and weaves without benefit of an iron or a single hairpin. Her lace cap had long lappets that trailed down past her shoulders and matched the trim on her skirts and sleeves. She missed the comfort of her wool gowns but decided the look on her husband's face when he saw her would be worth the trouble.

She'd been entirely wrong.

When the general looked up at her standing in the doorway, he looked right through her. Ca.s.s's own heart did a leap at the sight of him in a white satin coat trimmed with silver, his pale hair brushed in a smooth fall about his broad shoulders. His handsome face looked hard and implacable, but she remembered the gentle softness of his lips on hers and started toward him as if pulled on a string.

She wanted to be near him. She yearned for just the touch of his hand upon her skin.

He stood. She sucked in a breath as he headed in her direction. And then let it loose with a gasp as he strode by her and picked up the hand of the Lady Agnes, leading the woman over to his chair to sit beside him.

Ca.s.s heard the t.i.tters of the other n.o.bles at the blatant rebuff. It took all of her courage to settle into the same chair she had the previous day. Across from her husband and mistress. Next to the smiling Lord Mor'ded.

Had she truly given some human attributes to her husband's character? If he'd shown some gentleness in his lovemaking it had been only a ruse... or her own imagination. He had awakened her body to pleasure and she'd overreacted, thinking some feeling must lie behind the act. She felt like a fool for thinking he'd allow her to rush into his arms this evening. That he'd been as enchanted with her as she had been with him. She'd even thought he had some generous motive to his visits to the kitchens.

His blood ran as cold as his father's. She'd best get over her attraction to his angelic beauty and remember that he was the devil in disguise.

"You've barely touched your plate," said Lord Mor'ded, leaning close to her. "You'll need your strength, dear girl."

Ca.s.s fought the urge to move away from him. Two devils sat at the table, and she'd best not forget it. With a nod, she lifted a spoonful of pudding to her mouth, trying not to choke as the greasy ma.s.s slid down her throat.

"That's better." He sat back, those black glittering eyes studying the guests, his mouth twisted into a mocking smile. "Lords and ladies," he began, barely raising his voice. Yet they all turned to him as one, even those at the end of the long table. "On the morrow your champion will fetch the king and his ministers. A toast to General Raikes!"

They rose, a clatter of screeching chair legs and clinking gla.s.ses. Apparently Ca.s.s didn't stand fast enough, for the gentleman at her side scowled and hissed at her, "Get up, you fool."

Lady Ca.s.sandra bristled at his tone. How dare he speak to her that way? And yet, what better treatment could she expect when her husband set the example for the court? She rose and pretended to sip her wine until the full implication of the elven lord's words. .h.i.t her; then she drained the gla.s.s.

Not that she cared a whit about the king's coming to Firehame. But his prime minister, Sir Robert Walpole, would be with him. Even to speak to the leader of the Rebellion would bring her a great amount of comfort, which she most a.s.suredly needed right now. And it might be possible to have a private moment alone with him on the road, something she might not manage within the walls of the palace.

Ca.s.sandra suppressed a smile. She could turn her obvious fascination with her new husband to her advantage. She looked over at Dominic, who had studiously avoided her gaze, and allowed the newly awakened l.u.s.t of her body to show in her brown eyes. "But surely you won't leave my bed so soon?"

A startled silence followed, and then Mor'ded chuckled and the entire a.s.semblage broke into mocking laughter.

"Egads, you broke her into her traces good, eh, Raikes?" said the man who'd made the wicked smoke creatures, leering at Lady Agnes. "Now you've got two of them panting after you."

"Three," the woman to his left said, laughing and coyly smacking Lord Blevin with her closed fan.

Dominic sat stone-faced, not a blink of his thick lashes to acknowledge their words. Ca.s.sandra spoke again before the conversation could degenerate any further, transferring her gaze to Lord Mor'ded. "May I be allowed to go with him? Surely the more we... well, the quicker you will have your new champion."

The elven lord appeared to be proud of his son's prowess, whether on the battlefield or in the bedroom, because his eyes showed no suspicion as he shrugged. "Go with him if you wish. I care not."

"But that's preposterous," said the Lady Agnes, her voice at odds with her beauty, a nasally squeak to her words. "There's danger on the road. Bandits, wild magic. And I vow I will not sleep upon the hard ground."

Ca.s.s smiled at her sweetly. "Then you need not come."

Dominic turned to his father. "She will be a nuisance."

Ca.s.sandra knew he referred to her and not Lady Agnes.

Mor'ded rolled his black scepter between his palms. "So will the king. Surely you can protect them both?" His eyes searched his son's face, as if looking for something.

"Of course. But I value the king more than I do her. Do not blame me if your breeding mare is harmed."

Mor'ded smiled with satisfaction, as if some unspoken question had been answered, and threw back his head with a laugh. Ca.s.s couldn't figure out what had pa.s.sed between the two, but she felt the silent battle of wills as if it were a solid wall. How would she ever discover the secrets between them?

But she had gotten her way and counted that a small victory.

Five.