Fourteen

 

The moment the door to the great hall closed behind Penelope, Margareta slowed her steps. Her feet hurt after being stomped on by that boor. What had possessed him to ask her to dance when he was so abysmal at dancing, and he didn't even know the steps?

The water in the ewer splashed over the side with the force of the waves Margareta's fury had created. She forced herself to calm down, at least a little.

"From the moment he entered the room, he fell under your spell," Penelope said softly. "He could think of no one and nothing else but you."

That made him no different to any other man present tonight, Margareta knew. The lure of a siren was almost impossible to resist, which was why she'd refused to dance with him. What had her father been thinking, telling her to dance with him? If she killed some king's ambassador, there could be war. Already she seethed at his touch.

"I didn't read your father's thoughts, so I don't know the answer to that," Penelope replied. "I was too busy keeping an eye on you and your lover boy."

She would never take that boor as her lover, Margareta fumed. His thoughts had undoubtedly been filled with all the things he dreamed of doing to her if he could get her alone and naked. Margareta's money was on him being the forceful sort, who dreamed of pinning her to a bed beneath his weight and forcing himself between her legs. Marginally better than the ones who delighted in the dream of forcing her to her knees to pleasure him with her mouth.

"Neither of those," Penelope said cheerfully. "His thoughts were quite refreshing, really. Yes, they were of you, but mostly he focussed on your face. And the light was sort of blue, like you were under water. There's something different about him. Not that it really matters. You probably won't see him again. He's here on some sort of quest, but he keeps those thoughts hidden. At least, he did last night, when you were there to distract him." Penelope dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Judging by the tone of his thoughts, he'd make a more attentive lover than most men. He was genuinely sorry when he stepped on your feet."

Not as sorry as Margareta intended to make him if he ever touched her feet again, she resolved grimly.

Penelope laughed. "I'm sure you'll think of some truly diabolical torture for the man. You can tell me what you've decided in the morning. I am going to return to my chambers, where I hope the sisters have managed to get Melitta to sleep, and where I intend to do the same."

Margareta wished her friend a silent good night. When she was certain Penelope was far enough away, Margareta left her room and headed for the beach. A swim in the cool water would do her good. She could dive down deep and change the currents to her heart's content until she felt better. Damn her father for putting her too close to that man. It was almost as though he wanted her to kill the ambassador.

No, surely not.