“You’ve taken care of your sister and me for a long time, and while Cinnia has rebelled against it, I came to expect the coddling—relied on it even.” Mercer’s gaze fell away, and he stared hard at the scarred tabletop. “I’m a weak man made stronger by the women I keep close, but that weakness has robbed you of a life these past years. Except for the short time you were married to Thomas, you devote your days to caring for me and playing mother to your sister.”
Stung by her father’s rejection, Louvaen took a steadying breath. “I tried to be a good daughter,” she said in a thick voice.
He flashed her a startled look, and his face softened at her distress. “My beautiful, ferocious child,” he said softly. “You are the best of daughters and always will be. But it’s long past time for me let you go. I’ll be fine on my own in Monteblanco.”
“With the Widow Cooper next door,” Cinnia added.
Mercer lowered his head into his hands. The heavy weight in Louvaen’s chest evaporated in an instant, replaced by a slow burn. Her eyes narrowed on her father. “Wait a moment. Are you throwing me over for Niamh Cooper?” She stood to loom over him, outraged. “Well?” She whirled away from the table. “You’re tossing me out of the house—my house, mind you—so you can diddle Niamh Cooper in the parlor?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Louvaen.” Mercer rose from his chair as well and exchanged glare for glare with his indignant daughter. “I’m still your father. Show some respect.” He gestured to the seat she vacated. “Now sit down, be quiet and let me finish.” He pointed a finger at Cinnia who leaned away. “You do the same.”
Louvaen sat, still affronted but also shocked into obedience by her father’s uncharacteristic dominance. She wasn’t the only one. Cinnia gaped at him, slack-jawed.
Mercer took a breath, struggling to regain his customary mild manner. “I’m too old to be diddling anyone anywhere other than a comfortable bed. Your parlor’s sanctity will remain intact.” Louvaen couldn’t help herself. She sputtered with laughter, and Mercer smiled in return. Their amusement dispelled the tension between them, and he continued in an easy voice. “It is your house—a comfortable one I’ve grown to like. With Cinnia and Gavin’s help, I’ll be more than glad to purchase it from you. If you don’t want to sell, I’ll search for another house.”
Cinnia nodded. “With Jimenin dead, Papa doesn’t need to leave Monteblanco. Gavin and I decided to stay in Monteblanco for a while. I’ll be close enough to make sure Papa doesn’t beggar himself with another bad trading scheme.” A sly grin curved her mouth. “Plus, he’ll be close enough to help Niamh if she needs without getting in her way. The neighborly thing to do of course.”
Louvaen cut her a look. “Of course.” She turned her attention back to Mercer. “I’ll give you the house, Papa, but there’s a question of some importance here—at least to me. Where will I live now that you and Cinnia have evicted me?” She was still reeling from his announcement that he didn’t need her anymore.
He sat silent, considering her question. “There is a man upstairs for whom I wholeheartedly believe you’d fight to the death. Cinnia told me of de Sauveterre and your relationship with him.” Cinnia raised her chin in challenge at her sister’s accusing scowl. “Don’t admonish her,” he continued. “She didn’t volunteer the information until I asked.” His lined face drew down into deeper ruts, and sorrow bowed his mouth. “Louvaen, I lost two wives I loved very much. As you know from your own widowhood such a grief never dies. I suffered the heartache because for a short time Gull and Abigail were mine. Not everyone is as fortunate as I was—as Cinnia is and as you are. The only things for you in Monteblanco are a house and memories of the dead man who once lived there. Are you willing to walk away from de Sauveterre just to play nursemaid to me?”
She sat nailed to the bench, made speechless by her father’s words and the bleak picture he painted of her days if she returned to Monteblanco. She licked dry lips. “De Sauveterre hasn’t offered for me.”
Beside her Cinnia shrugged. “So? That didn’t stop me. I offered for Gavin, and anyone with a pair of eyes can see his lordship is sprung on you. I’d wonder if you actually shot him in the head instead of the leg if you offered and he said no.”
Mercer choked into his cup. “You never cease to surprise me, Cinnia,” he said once he caught his breath.
Not nearly as surprised by Cinnia’s remarks as Mercer, Louvaen stared into space. For one brief, glorious moment—in the warmth of the stables—Ballard had leaned his forehead against hers and asked her to stay. They both knew she’d refuse, but he would have married her that night if she’d said yes. There was no reason to believe his feelings for her had lessened. Hers for him were just as strong. Only the expectations of tradition made her pause, and those were poor reasons at best.
“If there’s to be a wedding, will you stay long enough to witness it?”
Mercer coaxed her up from her seat and drew her into an embrace. He felt fragile in her arms. “I missed Cinnia’s. I won’t miss this one.”
They embraced a second time before Louvaen strode toward the great hall. Cinnia called to her. “Are you doing the deed now?”
She paused and shrugged. “Why not? He’s probably stewed to the eyebrows from one of Ambrose’s vials of swill. No time like the present.” She left the kitchen, the sound of her family’s laughter following her.
Ambrose’s bedchamber had become a crowded meeting hall. Gavin commandeered the stool by the bed as Ambrose argued with Magda over who should brew the next tincture. Joan and Clarimond stood sentry on either side of the bed, one fluffing the bolster and pillows while the other smoothed the bedcovers over Ballard. The master of this domain reclined against the pillows, glassy eyes and a vacant smile sure signs that he was indeed stewed to his eyebrows.
They all turned to stare at Louvaen. Her bravado in the kitchen faded. She had once rejected Ballard’s request to stay with him at Ketach Tor because of her father. What if he rejected her? Did she gather the tatters of her dignity around her and walk away? She frowned. He better not reject her or she’d smother him with one of his pillows! “May we have a moment?”
Magda exchanged a telling look with Ambrose before shooing Gavin and the girls out of the room. The sorcerer followed last. He paused beside her, eyeing her grave countenance. “Whatever grim news you’re about to drop on his head, can’t it wait?”
“No.”
“Louvaen...”
“Ambrose,” she said in a harsh whisper. “If you must know, I’m plighting my troth.” Her cheeks went hot at his rounding eyes and climbing eyebrows. “Now go away.”
The wizard’s lips thinned to a tight line—one made from smothered laughter instead of anger. His shoulders started to shake and his eyes glinted. He finally resorted to covering his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter. He was still chuckling when she bodily shoved him out of the bedchamber and slammed the door behind him. She snapped her skirts straight, turned and glared at Ballard.
He simply smiled at her. “You came back, my beauty.” He turned the blankets back. “I’ve saved a place for you.”
Louvaen skirted a basket of bandages and a tray of ointment to stand at the foot of the bed. “I wish to say something.”
He lost his easy smile, and the dreamy-eyed look vanished, replaced by a stare sharp as a bird of prey. His shoulders tensed and his gaunt features thinned a little more. “What is it?”
She clasped her hands behind her back to hide their trembling. Her words tumbled out of her mouth in a breathless rush. “I’ve no wish to leave Ketach Tor again, Ballard. I want to be your wife and bear your children. Will you wed me?”
