The expression in her eyes when the firelight filled them, something beneath the anger and the hard glint of defiance—a shadow of uncertainty? Fear? Dread?
What would happen if he did scarper off into the night? What would the two men who’d schemed so fiercely together at the door of the solar decide? Would they make her marry Evan after all?
To be sure, they would. The agreement must be kept.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, she would be given to his brother.
Alan’s very soul flinched from that prospect. He did not know how long it would take for his brother to crush such a spirit as Mistress Annista’s. She had strength that showed in her backbone and in her gaze. It might take a while, but aye, Evan would destroy her even as he had her gentle sister.
Alan would have to watch it happen.
Not if he left. Indeed, if he did not wed the lass, he wouldhaveto distance himself because he could not stay and watch her being destroyed.
He told himself, as he stared out his window into the night, that he did not care.
He lied.
Where was his brother now? Drunk somewhere, no doubt. Father had not wanted him on hand to make a scene when their guests arrived. He might be out harassing a villager or a villager’s wife.
The ugly stories abounded.
Father had covered for Evan a long while. Father himself drank, sometimes to excess. Indeed, it might indeed be from him that Evan had picked up the habit.
The drink never affected Father the way it did Evan, though. Never turned him mean or violent.
But then, Father was a sane man. Alan had long ago decided the same might not be said of his brother.
Could Alan leave the redoubtable Mistress Annista in such a man’s hands?
Could he wed a woman he did not want?
In similar debate did the night pass, until gray light began seeping across the wild sweep of land he could see out his window and he knew it was too late.
The grooms rose before the sun, and his servant, Thomas, almost as early. He would arrive soon to prepare Alan for his wedding.
He longed briefly for a drink of his own before repelling the idea. Rarely did he touch the stuff. It was Father who had not slacked off since Mistress Robena’s death.
When he could no longer deny, even to himself, what Evan was.
Thomas slipped into Alan’s chamber not long after first light, appearing startled to find Alan already out of bed. He would help Alan dress and begin packing up his chamber, the one in which Alan had lived since he left the nursery as a boy. He would be moving to a set of rooms overlooking the gallery where he reckoned Mistress Annista must be already situated.
“Master Alan?” Thomas raked him with a look from bright blue eyes. “Are ye unwell?”
Alan grimaced. Did he look it?
Thomas had married last year to one of Mother’s maids, and seemed content in it. Would he understand that everything in Alan wanted to escape this union?
Receiving no proper answer, the servant went on, “I ha’ yer blue cotte brushed and ready, if ye wish to wear that, as ’tis yer finest.”
“Aye, all right.”
As if he cared what he wore.
What if Thomas had arrived this morning only to find him gone? What a hue and cry there would have been then. Panic and lamenting.
He’d missed his opportunity.
He submitted himself to his manservant as a doomed man to the executioner’s blade.
