Page 4 of Edge of the Wild

Katherine gave the tiniest facial shrug. “I don’t see why any of their daughters should be more attractive than Tessa.”

Not that King Erik was interested in anyone’sdaughter, Amelia thought with an inward chuckle.

“She’s beautiful and gracious to be sure,” Reginald said. “With the loveliest manners.” This with a pointed glance toward Amelia. His features tweaked with regret, and it might have been true, but he was the consummate actor. “I had hoped…” He trailed off, and his gaze dropped to the tabletop.

Lady Daphne touched his arm and said, “Reggie has always been very fond of Tessa.”

Amelia remembered a May Day tourney, and Tessa’s blushing face as she leaned down from the stands to tie a ribbon to Reginald’s lance. He’d winked at her, after, with the lazy, roguish, disingenuous flair of a womanizer. Amelia fought to keep her lip from curling.

“It would have been a smart match,” Katherine agreed. “But with you off to war, my lord, there was no way to be sure if it was a possible match.” A clever way, Amelia thought, of sayingwe thought you might die.

The scar on his throat proved that had been a correct thought.

“But now,” Katherine said, “Tessa is in Aeretoll and affianced. I cannot in good conscience rescind that offer. We must make do with the alliances we have available to us. Which is why I wanted to host this dinner.”

With a sudden, sick drop of dread in her stomach, Amelia set her fork down. “Mother.”

“Amelia, I propose that you and Lord Reginald wed.”

Silence.

Uncomfortable silence.

Mr. Whitman drew in a deep breath.

Amelia said, “Mother, that’s ludicrous.”

Katherine’s resultant look should have turned her to stone.

“I think it is plain, Mother – from this dinner alone – that we would not, wouldneversuit. It would be more of a war than a marriage.”

“A war?” Katherine’s tone went very flat, and her brows lifted. “Even now, we stay awake at night worrying when the Sels will finally march through Inglewood to come battering down our doors, but marriage would be awarfor you.”

Amelia frowned.

“You may dress up as a man, and go gallivanting through the forest all you like, but in this moment you sound every inch the child, Amelia, and I raised you better than that.”

The words hit her like a slap.

But Katherine wasn’t done. She was so stalwart, it was easy, at times, to forget all that she’d lost, too; that beneath her cold and commanding veneer, she was as jagged and raw-edged as Amelia, as all of them. “Do you think I wanted to marry when I was eighteen? No, but I did, and I found love and understanding with your father. You are a Drake of Drakewell, and it is your duty – to this duchy, to this people, to your family, and to the crown – to marry so that our lands and titles might be defended. Your sister – your younger sister – never protested, even when I sent her up to that barbarian twice her age.”

Amelia’s eyes burned. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue, and now was no exception. “Well, Tessa’s not marrying him, is she?” she snapped.

“She isn’t?” Lady Daphne said.

“No?” Reginald asked, much more eagerly. He sat forward in his chair, so that his neckcloth slid down, and the scar on his throat was brought closer to the candlelight, dark and ugly.

It was that, more than anything – the sight of someone she disliked so much having been marked horribly by their common enemy – that fueled the flare of rage in her chest. That had her turning to the L’Espoirs and saying, “No, she’s marrying the nephew. It’s Oliver who’s fucking the king.”

Reginald’s eyes flew wide with true shock.

Daphne gasped.

Katherine bolted to her feet, swaying with her anger. “Amelia.”

Amelia drained her wine and stood. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

She was still shaking, a half-hour later, when a quiet knock sounded at her bedroom door. She’d taken off her boots and stockings, but still wore her leathers: the brown jerkin and laced chaps over her linen tunic and breeches; the squeak of leather was oddly comforting as she paced the length of her carpet, worrying her rein-callused hands together, glancing out the window for – for she didn’t know what. For something to latch onto, perhaps.

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