I Died in His Arms, Now I'll Marry Another novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Smooth Offer

Lucian corners Bronwyn on the stairs and she takes him apart in front of the hall; Linnet gives her a wedding gift.

By noon the next day the Dunmere yard was full of guests.

Redmere had ridden in at dawn, Highgate an hour behind them, and the whole hall smelled of horse and wet wool and roasting mutton.

I was on the main stair with a steward who needed my signature on the wedding feast, when Lucian came up two steps at a time.

"Bron. A minute."

"I have a hundred and forty loaves to count."

"Then count them with me watching."

He took my elbow, pleasantly, and steered me up to the landing where the stair turned and half the yard could see us.

I let him.

"You did that last night to make me jealous," he said softly. "I know you, Bronwyn. It's sweet. But marrying a northern Alpha you've never met? Come on."

"Is that what you think?"

"I think you were hurt. I should have told you about Linnet first, and I'm sorry." He gave me the smile. "But nothing has changed between us. You know that. I'll find a way to keep you close, and in a year you'll be glad."

The yard had gone quiet beneath us.

Several of his riders were looking up. So were two women from Redmere, and the steward with the ledger.

Last time, I would have wept at that speech.

This time I took his hand off my elbow, and I raised my voice just enough.

"You'll find a way to keep me close, Lucian? You're engaged to Linnet Harcourt."

His smile held. "Bron, not here."

"In a year I'll be glad. That's what you just said. Is Linnet going to be glad too? Because she's standing right behind you."

He turned.

Linnet was at the bottom of the stair with a basket of cut ivy on her arm, and she had heard every word.

Lucian's face did something I had waited most of a life to see.

"Linnet. It's not what it sounds like."

"Oh, it's exactly what it sounds like," Linnet said brightly.

I held my breath.

She came up three steps, put the ivy basket on the rail, and kissed Lucian hard on the cheek.

"He says that to every girl who's ever liked him. It's practically a hobby." She smiled at the yard. "Isn't he awful? Don't worry, Bronwyn. I'll keep him on a short rope."

The whole yard laughed.

Lucian laughed with them, a little too late.

I felt my own smile go stiff.

She had saved him in four sentences and made it look like kindness.

"But he's all yours to scold on the way to the altar," she added, patting my shoulder. "Congratulations, you terror. You've finally gotten married before me."

"Technically," I said, "not yet."

"Details."

She went off down the stair, humming.

I stood where I was with my hands unclenching.

She had been generous, and I had no right to hate it.

"That was well done."

I turned.

Ronan was on the step below me.

I had not heard him come. He stood with his hat in his hands, the sandy hair mussed from the road, and he looked at me with such plain concern that my chest hurt.

"Lucian owed you a worse answer," he said. "And my sister is quicker than I am at covering for him. I apologize for both."

"You don't need to apologize."

"I'd like to anyway." He turned the hat. "Last night, before you walked up to Vaughn, you looked at me as if I'd hurt you."

I could not meet his eyes.

Once, in a life he did not remember, he had held my face in his hands and begged me to stay.

"I was tired," I said.

"Are you well?"

"Yes."

"Is it Vaughn? If he frightens you, you only have to say it. Redmere will take you in."

He meant it.

In the first life he had offered me the same thing, in the same voice, a year into a marriage I had never earned.

"I'm not frightened of him," I said, and my voice cracked. "Thank you, Alpha Harcourt. You're very kind."

His mouth twisted a little at the title.

"Ronan," he said. "It's Ronan."

"I know."

I went past him before my face gave me away.

On the lower landing a girl from the Redmere party caught my sleeve.

"Miss Ferrow? Miss Harcourt asked me to bring this up to your room."

She held out a bundle wrapped in brown cloth.

I unwrapped it standing on the stair.

Inside was a folded cloak, heavy wool, dyed a deep grey. The hem was stitched with white thread in a pattern of small wolf tracks.

There was a card.

"For the north. Wear it for him. Love, L."

The wool was soft and clearly new.

It was a lovely gift, and in twenty-four years, Linnet Harcourt had never given me anything at all.

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