Kidnapped and Claimed
By
Dinah McLeod
Prologue
I almost didn’t make it to the dining hall for the evening meal. My stomach was tied up in knots that I felt keenly with every step I took, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest. But I took my duty as the Duchess of Württemberg very seriously and felt that I must be seen with my husband as often as possible.
It was a decision that I regretted almost instantly upon entering the dining hall. As soon as the smells of cooked meat and fish reached my nose, I nearly lost my balance, and would have, if not for the steading arm of my lady-in-waiting at my elbow. I gave her a small smile of thanks, the best that I could summon, and collected myself before walking down the length of the room. Since I was a child, I had become accustomed to being looked upon, which made it easy to disregard the stares that followed me. Only when I approached the head table did I realize that these were not the usual cursory glances.
There sat my husband, the duke, at the head of the table, as was his right. My chair on the other end was empty, of course, though I could not say the same for my husband’s lap. I stood stock-still, taking it in and refusing to let even an ounce of emotion show on my face, even though I longed to drop into a faint or turn and flee. I could do neither. I was not common-born, and I had a responsibility in every moment—even horrid ones such as this—to maintain a certain level of dignity.
“Good evening, my lord husband,” I called out to him when I was confidant I could keep my voice from shaking. I could let neither anger nor shame show, though I felt them both.
He took his time acknowledging me. It shouldn’t have surprised me; Wallace was always content to cause a scene. The woman perched upon his lap, however, had frozen the moment I’d spoken. It was Anne Clover, the maid who handled the chamber pots every morning. She was looking at me, as was every other person in the dining hall, courtier and servant alike. She did not have my gift for hiding her emotions and her shame-stained cheekswere visible to all who cared to look.
Good,I thought, rather meanly.Let her be ashamed. She should be.Yet, Anne Clover mattered little. I knew that. It was my husband who should truly be repentant.
Lazily, he sipped his small ale before turning those piercing gray eyes of his onto me. When he smiled, I dipped my head and curtseyed, though I was acting out of habit as much as out of a need to avert my eyes. His smile had been full of menace, as though he knew he was hurting me and had not the energy to care.
When I’d collected myself once more, I rose and returned his smile with one of my own. “I hope you fare well this evening,” I said, speaking loud enough for the entire hall to hear. I didn’t know what I hoped—perhaps that he would remember himself and shake the servant girl from his lap.
But if anything, his hold on her seemed to tighten, and right in front of me, right before the eyes of the court, he leaned over and kissed her. Anne made a strangled sound, as though her throat was closing up, and perhaps I could have felt sorry for her, if it were any other man’s lap she was perched upon.
I surveyed Wallace with cool eyes that belied the heavy pounding beneath my breast. He was a handsome man, of that there was no doubt. He was tall and muscular from the hours he spent fencing and jousting. His hair, which he kept neatly tied back, was long and the color of straw. His most notable feature was not his long, aristocratic nose, but his dark gray eyes which could pierce you with no more than a glance. I longed to be able to copy his cutting manner, but I knew myself to be hopeless at such imitation, else I would have cut him to the quick right where he sat.
“Will you join us, my lady?” he asked smoothly, as though naught a thing were amiss.
I found myself stuck—I couldn’t let the court know how seriously this slight vexed me, and yet, my feet felt like lead, so heavy that I could not move them even if I wanted to do so. “Is there a shortage of seating?” I asked at last. “Shall I find a chair more suitable for Miss Clover?”
The girl in question flushed scarlet, much to the delight of onlookers who laughed to see her embarrassed so. I myself felt my lips twitch, but I did not give into the smile.
“She is fine right where she is, aren’t you, sweeting?”
The knots in my stomach tightened to hear him coo to her so. When was the last time he’d ever spoken so kindly to me?
“Then I shall take my meal in my rooms,” I replied. “Good night, sir.” I bobbed a quick curtsey and turned to leave when Wallace’s laughter rang out.
“Don’t play the fool, Cecily. Come and take supper with us.”
My spine froze upon hearing how casually he would speak to me, his own wife. Did he have no regard for my station?
“Thank you, no.”
I had taken but one step further when I heard a commotion behind me. I turned my head to see that Wallace had indeed shaken the girl from his lap and was now stepping toward me.
“Youwilleat where and when I say you shall!” he commanded, his booming voice giving the stunned courtiers plenty to gossip about.
“Perhaps, if your dinner companions were chosen in better taste…” I spoke so that only he could hear, trying not to tremble as his eyes narrowed into slits.
“You’d do better to obey your husband,” he growled, stalking closer still.
Even though he was still a few feet from me, I could smell his breathe, pungent with drink. “You are not yourself, my lord. You do not realize the scene you are—”
“Why in all hells do you concern yourself with what they think?” he bellowed, sweeping an arm out to indicate the courtiers who dined. “I never do.”
“Then perhaps, my lord, you might concern yourself with whatIthink.” I was doing my very best to keep the emotion out of my voice, but it trembled despite my efforts. It was a hard mask I was trying to wear, and the mounting shame of this moment was making it harder to maintain.
