"He's in there." Olivia jerked her chin toward a door. When Annalía's feet wouldn't move of their own volition, it seemed, Olivia snapped, "Go on!"
Annalía pushed open the door, making her manner brisk. And was dumbfounded when Pascal turned to her.
Annalía had never seen a more beautiful man in her life.
Court stared into his just-poured glass, sinking back and propping his boots on a low table, attempting to relax after a day that had started out...wrong and had only gotten worse. At a table nearby, Liam, Niall, and Fergus played cards, though Fergus yawned repeatedly, while Gavin smoked a pipe full of expensive tobacco. MacTiernay rocked with his eyes - or rather his eye - closed, probably reliving old battles.
When Court had finally gotten control of his temper after the wine incident and had shaken his dogged hangover, Niall had suggested he put himself in Annalía's shoes. After all, they'd hit her property in a manner a plague of locusts would aspire to, and Court had spoken to her in a way that clearly no man had ever dared. Court also suspected that being fondled by his crew had made her...skittish. Creatures that got skittish always came out biting if backed into a corner, and she had.
So he'd taken Niall's advice and left her alone for the day. Though he'd wanted to see her later, Vitale had told him that the people here would "give" them until sundown to leave, and that the mademoiselle was so upset by "MacCarrick's vile proposition" that she was staying on the other side of the mountain for the night.
He could swear the chit was put on the earth just to make him feel guilty. Or try to. Luckily, he wasn't one to wrestle with guilt.
Usually on a night like this when they weren't working, Court would sit and dream about Beinn a'Chaorainn, his run-down estate in Scotland. He would picture the possibilities that no one else could seem to see, and he would count the days until he'd paid for it completely and all those hills, trees, fields, and the ancient stone keep would be his.
For a man cursed to have little else, Beinn a'Chaorainn kept him living. Yet now thoughts of Annalía somehow overrode dreams of his land. Damn it, so he'd treated her poorly. He was most likely going to get her brother for her tomorrow night, if Llorente was still alive....
A violent pounding on the front door interrupted his brooding. "Liam, go answer the bloody door."
Liam laid down his cards, then tromped from the room. Minutes later, he called out in a bored tone, "Court, there's a pitchfork rebellion here to see you."
"What?"
"A collection of doddering old men, torches, and farm tools. I fear for our safety and advise fleeing posthaste."
With a weary exhalation, Court kicked his feet down to stand. When Gavin raised his eyebrows, and MacTiernay and Niall laid hands on their pistols, he shook his head. "I'll take care of this."
At the front door, he found Vitale with a half-dozen men standing behind him, spread out like a rickety fan. Their faces blanched at their first glimpse of Court's expression, and he thought he heard their knees knocking.
"We've had enough of your ill-treating the mademoiselle and stealing the master's belongings and we want you gone," Vitale declared in a moderately even voice. "You've no right to stay on here."
He almost answered, "Might makes right," and slammed the door. Instead, he asked, "Does she know you're doing this? Did she put you up to it?"
"Of course not! She warned everyone to stay clear of you, fearing what you would do."
Did she think he would hurt the people here? Did she fear him? Is that why she'd avoided him when they were alone in the house? He'd kind of thought of the last few days as a game they played. "Vitale, if you leave now, we'll no' hurt you. You know you canna fight us."
"We might not be able to, but we'll gather more and then you'll be sorry."
Liam piped in over Court's shoulder, "We're all aquiver."
Court gave him a look that made him skulk from the foyer. When Vitale opened his mouth to say more, Court's patience wore thin. "Vitale, doona make me kill you." Seeing the old man's eyes fill with dread, he felt like the bully he was. For the first time in many years, the feeling grated.
As he was shutting the door, Vitale cursed him in a diatribe of French. Court narrowed his eyes. His French was not as strong as it could be, but he thought Vitale had said...le mariage.
The wedding?
"Lady Annalía," Pascal said in a deep voice. "Welcome to my home." The room's lantern light reflected off his shining medals and his thick, dark hair.
He walked toward her with his perfectly manicured hands outstretched to grasp hers. He was so debonair, his heart-stopping smile so engaging, she raised them to him, until she remembered this man was a murderer and abruptly dropped them.
He took them anyway, though she turned her face away, recoiling.
"My dear, Annalía." He rudely called her by her first name as though their engagement had lasted more than one week and wasn't born of coercion.
"Pascal." Her tone was scathing.
He drew back, releasing her hands to scrutinize her. "I didn't think you could be as lovely as they've said, but you are."
She stared at the ceiling and he tsk-tsked. "Won't say thank you? Now where are your famed manners?"
"Famed?"
"Quite. All the Andorrans love to whisper about the royal concealed in their midst. How else do you think I found out about you?"
She gave him a blasé look.
"They say other things about your simmering Castilian blood," he murmured, drawing closer. "I can hardly wait to get to the bottom of the rumors."
"My manners?" she hastily asked. "Is that why you chose me?"
He moved to a polite distance, but gave her a look that let her know he was patronizing her. "No, I will wed you because marrying the daughter of the oldest family in the land is strategic."
"Why all this trouble for tiny Andorra? I can understand why someone like you would set your sights so low, but why not Monaco?" She tapped her cheek. "Isn't the Vatican a country?"
He chuckled. She hadn't meant to entertain him - she'd meant to make a point.
Taking a seat behind his desk, he motioned for her to sit as well. She didn't. He motioned more sharply, and something unsettling flashed in his eyes.
Gritting her teeth, she sat. "You want Spain, don't you? Those are the rumors."
"Yes. After I've solidified my place here."
She gave a sharp scoffing sound. "How original. What would you be? The sixth general du jour to try in the last two decades?"
He laughed again, seemingly delighted with her, and the smoothness of the sound grated on her nerves. "I'd be the sixth general to succeed in the last fifteen years. But unlike my predecessors, I will have something that the others didn't." He stood to approach once again, then touched her face, and she knew every fear she'd had about him was true.
The queen and her general weren't good rulers, but they had to be better than Pascal. If she could get a message to Aleix, he could warn the outside. "You said in your letter that you would free my brother and his men as soon as we marry. How can I trust you to keep your word?"
"Because my first priority will be your happiness," he said so suavely.
She raised her hand to stop him. "I've agreed to this charade, but I refuse to pretend when it's only you and I."
He inclined his head. "Very well. Llorente will be my supporter. He's descended from kings - he'll be a worthy enticement in the eyes of the people."
"Never."
"Just as you would never agree to marry me?" He smiled down at her. "I've found that all it takes is the right incentive to make anyone do as I wish." When he touched her lip with a too-soft finger, she cringed. "Now there's a dress laid out for you in your room. Go upstairs and get ready for a dinner tonight. We are having guests."
Ordered. Another cretin was ordering her. She rose and regarded him with all the arrogance bred into her, then turned to leave.
"And Annalía?" She froze, shoulders tensing. "Any servant found helping you communicate with your brother will be publicly eviscerated."
She turned back to him, lips parted, aghast. His seemingly genuine smile was still in place, his expression earnest. His broad shoulders filled out his uniform and his medals were colorful and proud. Her future husband was perfect.