Page 273

Only a level head would.

Josephine had never backed away from a fight in her life and she was not about to start now. She had to hold the earl off until Andrew arrived, wherever he was, and she was grimly determined to do just that, by any means necessary.

Now, the true test of her strength would begin.

“My Lord Earl,” she said steadily. “If you wanted to visit me, you did not have to break my door down or gore my friend. That was truly unnecessary.”

Alphonse staggered a couple of steps and let his bloodied sword clatter to the ground. His eyes blinked slowly. He appeared dazed. It occurred to Josephine that after the initial burst into her chamber, he didn’t look the least bit agitated. In fact, he seemed oddly calm.

“I told you we had much to speak of at the feast,” he said, slurring his words. “Now, we will speak.”

“Of course. What do you wish to speak of?”

Alphonse wasn’t expecting such a calm, level-headed woman. He was used to women cowering when he was around. He thought he might yell at Josephine, or even grab her, but he couldn’t seem to do either. All he could do was stare at her and say the first thing that came to mind.

“Do you know that I have never in my life had anything pure and untouched?” he said. “I have decided that I will not touch you before our wedding.”

Josephine was astonished to hear that. Her knees suddenly became weak and she whispered a silent, heartfelt prayer of thanks. Hopefully, he truly meant it because that declaration made all the difference in the world to her.

“I am pleased that you would respect my wishes, milord,” she said, her voice trembling with relief. “Please sit, and I shall bring wine.”

Alphonse looked around the room for a chair, staggering over to one near the hearth and falling into it. With a sharp crack, the chair disintegrated, depositing the earl onto the stone floor.

Josephine’s eyes widened. She was positive he was going to rage. Instead, he laughed loudly.

“Can’t the Scots do anything right, even fashion a decent chair?” he said, rising like a drunken sailor. He was so large that Josephine dared not help him for fear of being squashed. “I need another chair!”

Josephine pointed to a bigger, heavier chair but he ignored it. Instead, he lumbered over to the bed and sat heavily upon it, looking at the furniture before shrugging.

“Very well that this can hold me,” he said, then looked to Josephine. “Now, you will tell me of my brother. I understand you were pledged to him.”

Josephine tried not to show her surprise at the question and, honestly, the apprehension.

She was shocked that the earl had been told of her betrothal to Andrew and she knew, instinctively, that she must be very careful what to say.

Alphonse had run off Andrew many years ago and she was afraid that hatred was still there. It was a very tricky situation.

“He is a fair and honorable man,” she replied steadily. “He commands an army of a thousand men.”

Alphonse pondered that in his drunken mind. “I am told he is The Red Fury.”

“He is.”

More silence as Alphonse mulled that over. “You know that he hates me.”

“I know,” Josephine answered honestly.

The earl looked at her for a moment, and then laughed. “Good,” he said. “I hate him, too. He was always father’s favorite son.”

Josephine didn’t say anything. Truly, she didn’t know what to say, afraid that anything she said might enrage a man who was already dangerously off-balance. But Alphonse remained calm as he continued.

“Andrew was a quiet child, and very serious. I, on the other hand, was more assertive. Father never liked that,” he said.

“When father died, I was going to kill Andrew. Do not look appalled; it is true. He reminded me of what a failure I was in our father’s eyes, so I swore to be rid of him.

But the little bastard escaped me when I banished him instead. ”

Josephine watched him silently. Wine certainly seemed to loosen him up, she noted. He was a pitiful creature and was absolutely terrifying at the same time, making it an odd paradox. But she had no sympathy for him. It would be misplaced as well as unhealthy.

“And what of your mother?” she asked quietly, leading him into a subject she was very curious about. “Surely she did not have favorites among her sons.”

Alphonse waved a sloppy hand at her. “Of course she did,” he said. “The bitch loved Andrew more than she loved me. In fact, she hated me.”

It seemed to be a sore subject. Josephine knew it was probably dangerous to speak on his mother, but she couldn’t help herself. For Andrew’s sake, she found that she had to know.

“Does she live in your home?” she asked, pretending to be ignorant.

Alphonse shook his head, very nearly losing his balance. “She lives in my dungeons, which is where you shall end up if you do not please me.”

Josephine was shocked to hear that. “She is still alive?”

“Of course.” He waved another sloppy hand at her. “Her every need is tended to.”

Locked up in a dungeon for years on end. What a horrible fate , Josephine thought. “It is cruel to keep your own mother locked away,” she said boldly. “After all, the woman birthed you.”

Alphonse didn’t reply. He simply lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Josephine watched him closely, wondering if he was going to fall asleep in her bed. If he did, she was going to run and run fast. She found herself praying he would fall asleep but, after a few moments, he spoke again.

“Talk to me,” he mumbled. “What have you been doing since you left the feast? That big knight took you away. Who is he?”

“He is the king’s bodyguard.”

Alphonse’s eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her. “Do you know what I have been doing since I left the feast?”

She already knew but she didn’t want to tell him that. “What?”

“Fucking,” he said as if he were proud of it. “Did you not hear the screaming earlier?”

Josephine felt sick to her stomach. “I did,” she said reluctantly. “What happened?”

He suddenly rolled onto his side, struggling to sit up.

“You see, my lady, I have a problem,” he said.

“My problem is that my male organ is as large as a prized bull’s and women, as a rule, cannot accommodate me.

So what am I to do? Give up fucking altogether?

Of course not. Women are like chickens; a penny for a dozen, so I shall never go hungry.

What you heard tonight was just a dying chicken. ”

God, was he truly so callous? Josephine had never felt such horror in all her life. “And what about me?” Josephine demanded. “Am I a chicken, too? Do you intend to use me and watch me die?”

He scratched his chin. “I have not decided yet,” he said. “Mayhap not. You are to be my wife, after all, and I should like to have sons someday to inherit my title. I suppose I shall have to be careful with you.”

Josephine was so appalled at the whole line of this conversation that she was beginning to tremble. “It would be kind if you were,” she said. “I… I will be a worthy wife, my lord. I… I am sure I would give you fine sons.”

She hated how she sounded as if she were pleading with him, trying to sell herself to him so he wouldn’t think she was another “chicken” to be plucked.

Anything to keep the man talking, to keep him away from her, until Andrew or the king or someone else with a big sword and the ability to overcome the earl could arrive.

But Alphonse seemed too drunk to really care. He managed to push himself off her bed, standing next to it and weaving dangerously as he looked at her.

“You had better,” he said, his manner turning threatening. “If our firstborn is a daughter, I will drown both of you in the river. Remember that.”

Josephine could feel the evil radiating off of him. She knew he meant every word. “I will, my lord.”

He stared at her a moment longer. He could have been thinking about anything at that moment; it was difficult to tell.

Josephine waited for the next vile thing to come out of his mouth but, instead, he simply turned for the door.

As he walked past her, he reached out to pat her on the face.

He probably really only meant a gentle pat, as one would pat a child or a pet, but with his strength and bad manners, he ended up slapping her.

Josephine’s head snapped sideways as he headed for the door.

“I will be taking you back to Haldane Castle on the morrow,” he told her.

“Be ready to travel at dawn. I will send my men to collect your baggage before sunrise, so be prepared. If you are not ready, I shall not wait. I will bundle you up in whatever state you happen to be in and toss you onto the wagon. Is that clear?”

Hand to her stinging cheek, Josephine looked at the man as he neared the door.

So he was planning on taking her immediately from Edinburgh?

Her thoughts rapidly turned to the plans Andrew had spoken of, how he’d assumed the wedding would be at Edinburgh.

He’d been wrong, but that wasn’t a bad thing– he wanted to challenge his brother on the open road.

So if Alphonse was planning on leaving on the morrow, then that was perfect for Andrew’s purposes.

At least, she hoped so. If they could find the man in time.

“It is, my lord,” she said. “I will be ready. Good sleep to you.”

Alphonse paused by the door, turning to look at her.

But he was so drunk and so weary, that he simply stood there and weaved about.

Unable to answer because she had given him the exact answer he had expected, and therefore had nothing more to threaten her with, he pulled back the broken panel that he’d come smashing through only to be met head-on by Alexander and several heavily-armed men out in the corridor.