Queen Claudia, the dowager queen of Beau montagne, sat huddled in a blanket in her bedchamber, watching the snow whip across the courtyard below. She hated winter. She hated the wind, the snow, the cold, the icicles hanging off the eaves, the starving deer, the dead flowers…. When she had finally finished her task here and turned the kingdom over to her granddaughter, she was going to move somewhere warm. Italy, perhaps, or Spain. She would sit on a veranda in the middle of winter. She would smell the roses and watch the peasants beg for money. If they impressed her with their story, she might even give them a coin or two.
She was an excellent judge of a good story well told. Since the rumors started whirling that Rainger and Sorcha had been married and were returning, the imposters had been scuttling out of the woodwork to tell their tales. She had heard more melodrama and nonsense in the past two months than any normal woman heard in a lifetime.
And why did she listen to them?
Because it was winter, it was cold, and nothing could heat her old bones except a good bout of laughter.
There. Outside at the gate. There was another young couple. They spoke to the guard and, as usual, the guard looked up at her for direction.
And, as usual, she indicated that the guard should allow the couple to cross the courtyard and enter the palace.
The strange man took the woman’s arm and pointed out where Queen Claudia sat.
The woman jerked her arm away from him and stalked along the shoveled walks.
Interesting. Either they were playing a different version of “Rainger and Sorcha are Reunited” or the female was fed up with the male.
Queen Claudia certainly understood that sentiment. A queen surrounded by males spent most of her time quashing grand male pretensions and petty male vanities.
But about the couple…she could judge nothing about them and their looks, for they were covered from head to toe in capes and hats and gloves.
The woman headed not for the grand and formal double doors that led into the foyer, but for the family entrance, a smaller door on the side of the terrace. A pretty bit of authenticity, and Queen Claudia was impressed enough to come to her feet, gather her cane, and hobble—these days, she always hobbled for a few minutes before she worked the kinks out—toward the door in her sitting room. It took more time than she liked. That infuriated her and made her rap on the wood harder than normal.
The door was opened at once by a young footman, still quaking from the last time she’d given him a tongue-lashing. He’d had the audacity to try and assist her when she had one of her spells. She had informed him that footmen did not touch the queen without permission.
Then she’d made him help her into her bed, thus assuring he would never lay a hand on her again.
She ought to have a bevy of ladies-in-waiting attending her, but she’d outlived them all and she didn’t have time to train new ones who were her age.
Besides, there was no one left who was her age.
Her gait was loosening now. By the time she got to the throne room, she’d be the freakishly healthy old crone feared and respected across Beaumontagne, Richarte, and beyond.
The footmen stationed at every door froze at attention as she passed. Peter opened the throne room for her and bowed as she entered. “Give me ten minutes, then show them in,” she told him.
He bowed again and shut the door behind her.
She eyed the throne and the steps leading up to it with virulent hatred. What short, insecure milquetoast of a king had designed those steps? And in marble. If Rainger and Sorcha didn’t appear pretty soon, Queen Claudia was going to fall down and break her neck. And then her grandchildren would have trouble, for she’d haunt them with a virulence that made her previous stringency seem like kindness.
Taking a breath and using her cane, she climbed the two steps, groaning from the pain in her hips, and lowered herself onto the throne.
Damn thing. It was covered with gold paint and colder than sitting on an ice sculpture. But it looked impressive, and when Peter opened the doors for the imposters, that was all that mattered.
The female stalked in first, head high, fists clenched, chin outthrust. She walked like the epitome of offended royalty—and Sorcha, dear, kind Sorcha, would never walk like that.
Queen Claudia’s heart sank. It always sank when she realized it wasn’t Sorcha, for no matter how much she denied it to herself, she always hoped that it was.
“Grandmamma—”
The girl’s voice was very good. Noble, clear, and she had a bit of an accent like someone who had lived in England too long and picked up bad habits.
“Did you really send that dilberry to find and marry me?” She pointed back toward the door, toward the rumble of two men’s voices.
“You sound like the princess Sorcha,” Queen Claudia said in a cold, clear voice. “You’ve only made one mistake. Sorcha would never burst into the throne room and speak to me in such a manner.”
“She would if she’d been through what I’ve been through.” The female removed her hat.
She sported hair the same color Queen Claudia’s had once been, and for a moment, a wave of memory dragged Queen Claudia back to the past.
“Darling, your hair…I must paint you, naked and glorious, with your hair draped around you. It is the color of sunrise.”
The pain bit deep into Queen Claudia’s shoulder, pulling her back to the present.
What a hell of a time for the old body to betray her.
She breathed deeply, waiting for the spell to subside and staring at the girl’s stormy face. When she could, she slowly rose to her feet. The female’s complexion was chapped with cold, her blue eyes were furious, and she wore the expression of a woman who had fought many battles—and won at least a few.
This was not the Sorcha Queen Claudia expected to return.
But she was definitely Sorcha.
Thank God. Thank God.
In a voice that revealed none of her exultation, Queen Claudia said, “Yes, I did send a dilberry to retrieve you.”
As she spoke, Rainger stepped inside, and he groaned. “Already?”
With a lightning glance, Queen Claudia checked him out. Yes, it was definitely Rainger. “I sent a princely dilberry. I’m sorry, but he was the only one available.”
“Obviously.” Sorcha removed her gloves and cloak and cast them on a side table.
Queen Claudia hadn’t expected to enjoy her granddaughter. Sorcha had always acted as if she feared the south wind. Now she looked ready to embrace the north wind himself. “Come, greet me properly.”
Sorcha strode up the stairs to Queen Claudia, pressed her lips to each of the queen’s wrinkled cheeks, and offered her arm.
“I ordered refreshments to be laid in the upper drawing room.” Rainger stood with his hands behind his back and watched the two women descend the steps.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sorcha said. “Can’t you see she can’t climb the stairs to the upper drawing room?”
He looked at Sorcha as if he wanted to strike her.
No, wait.
That wasn’t fury. That was hunger.
How fascinating.
“Rainger always was a snotty little scion of a noble family.” Queen Claudia gave him a toothy grin.” So tell me, what has he done now?”
“He’s married me.” Sorcha glared at him. “And I want an annulment.”