while Brinna struggled with what to do. She knew what she
should
do. Throw off the veil that half-hid her features and proclaim who she really was before this went any further. Unfortunately, fearwas riding her just now. While Brinna loved Royce, she certainly did not think that she could not live without him. She was quite attached to living actually. In fact, the more she considered how some poor smithy had been killed for daring to misrepresent himself as his lord, the more she loved life.
“Do you, Joan Jean Laythem, take Royce to be your …”
A rushing in her ears drowned out the priest’s voice briefly, and Brinna felt the sweat break out on her forehead as she swallowed some of the bile rising up in her throat.
“Love, honor, and obey …”
Love, she thought faintly. Aye, she loved him. And she thought he might actually love her, too. But how long would that last once he realized how she had tricked him? Good Lord, he would loathe her. How could he not when she was taking the choice away from him. Tricking him into marriage with a scullery maid.
“My lady?”
Blinking, she peered at the priest, suddenly aware of the silence that surrounded her. They were waiting for her answer. Her gaze slid to Royce, taking in the expression on his face. It was two parts loving admiration, and one part concern as he awaited her response. Swallowing, she tried to get the words out. I do, she thought. I do. I do. “I don’t.”
“What?”
Brinna hardly heard Lord Laythem’s indignant roar as she watched the shock and alarm fill Royce’s face. Shaking her head, she gave up her slouching and stood up straight and tall, wondering even as she did what madness had overcome her. “I cannot do it.”
“Joan?” The confusion and pain on Royce’s face tore at her.
“You need the dower for your people. If that were not so … But it is, and I cannot do this to you. You would never forgive me. And you shouldn’t forgive a woman who could do that to you.”
Royce shook his head in confusion. “What are you saying?”
“I am not Joan.”
There was silence for a moment, then Royce gave an incredulous laugh. “You jest!”
“Nay. I am not Joan Laythem!” Brinna insisted, and her heart thundering in her chest, she ripped the veil from her head. As those there to witness the occasion leaned forward in confusion, wondering what they were suppose to be seeing, she whirled to face Lord Laythem. “I am naught but a scullery maid. I—your daughter—I was sent to tend to Lady Laythem when she arrived because her lady’s maid was ill. When she realized how similar we were in looks, she insisted I take her place for Lord Royce to woo,” she ended lamely, despair and resignation on her face.
“Joan.” Lord Laythem turned her to face him, then paused in surprise as he noted the extra inches she suddenly sported. Frowning, he shook his head and looked her grimly in the eye. “Joan, I—green,” he declared with dismay.
Royce frowned, his stomach clenching in concern at the expression on the man’s face. “My lord?” he asked warily.
“Her eyes are green,” Lord Laythem said faintly.
“Nay, my lord.” Royce frowned at him, his own eyes moving to the lovely gray orbs now filling with tears of fear and loss. “Her eyes are as gray as your own.”
“Aye, but my daughter’s are green.”
Royce blinked at that, then shook his head with horror. “Are you saying this is not your daughter?”
“Aye,” he murmured, his gaze now moving slowly over her features, taking in the tiniest differences, the smallest variations with amazement, before he recalled the problem before them and asked. “Girl—what is your name?”
“Brinna,” she breathed miserably.
“Well, Brinna, are you saying that since my daughter has arrived here, you have been Joan?”
“Aye,” she confessed, shamefaced.
“Even in the stables?”
Her face suffusing with color, Brinna nodded, wincing as Royce cursed harshly.
“And where
should
do. Throw off the veil that half-hid her features and proclaim who she really was before this went any further. Unfortunately, fearwas riding her just now. While Brinna loved Royce, she certainly did not think that she could not live without him. She was quite attached to living actually. In fact, the more she considered how some poor smithy had been killed for daring to misrepresent himself as his lord, the more she loved life.
“Do you, Joan Jean Laythem, take Royce to be your …”
A rushing in her ears drowned out the priest’s voice briefly, and Brinna felt the sweat break out on her forehead as she swallowed some of the bile rising up in her throat.
“Love, honor, and obey …”
Love, she thought faintly. Aye, she loved him. And she thought he might actually love her, too. But how long would that last once he realized how she had tricked him? Good Lord, he would loathe her. How could he not when she was taking the choice away from him. Tricking him into marriage with a scullery maid.
“My lady?”
Blinking, she peered at the priest, suddenly aware of the silence that surrounded her. They were waiting for her answer. Her gaze slid to Royce, taking in the expression on his face. It was two parts loving admiration, and one part concern as he awaited her response. Swallowing, she tried to get the words out. I do, she thought. I do. I do. “I don’t.”
“What?”
Brinna hardly heard Lord Laythem’s indignant roar as she watched the shock and alarm fill Royce’s face. Shaking her head, she gave up her slouching and stood up straight and tall, wondering even as she did what madness had overcome her. “I cannot do it.”
“Joan?” The confusion and pain on Royce’s face tore at her.
“You need the dower for your people. If that were not so … But it is, and I cannot do this to you. You would never forgive me. And you shouldn’t forgive a woman who could do that to you.”
Royce shook his head in confusion. “What are you saying?”
“I am not Joan.”
There was silence for a moment, then Royce gave an incredulous laugh. “You jest!”
“Nay. I am not Joan Laythem!” Brinna insisted, and her heart thundering in her chest, she ripped the veil from her head. As those there to witness the occasion leaned forward in confusion, wondering what they were suppose to be seeing, she whirled to face Lord Laythem. “I am naught but a scullery maid. I—your daughter—I was sent to tend to Lady Laythem when she arrived because her lady’s maid was ill. When she realized how similar we were in looks, she insisted I take her place for Lord Royce to woo,” she ended lamely, despair and resignation on her face.
“Joan.” Lord Laythem turned her to face him, then paused in surprise as he noted the extra inches she suddenly sported. Frowning, he shook his head and looked her grimly in the eye. “Joan, I—green,” he declared with dismay.
Royce frowned, his stomach clenching in concern at the expression on the man’s face. “My lord?” he asked warily.
“Her eyes are green,” Lord Laythem said faintly.
“Nay, my lord.” Royce frowned at him, his own eyes moving to the lovely gray orbs now filling with tears of fear and loss. “Her eyes are as gray as your own.”
“Aye, but my daughter’s are green.”
Royce blinked at that, then shook his head with horror. “Are you saying this is not your daughter?”
“Aye,” he murmured, his gaze now moving slowly over her features, taking in the tiniest differences, the smallest variations with amazement, before he recalled the problem before them and asked. “Girl—what is your name?”
“Brinna,” she breathed miserably.
“Well, Brinna, are you saying that since my daughter has arrived here, you have been Joan?”
“Aye,” she confessed, shamefaced.
“Even in the stables?”
Her face suffusing with color, Brinna nodded, wincing as Royce cursed harshly.
“And where
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