A Brother's Price (4 page)

The last made Ren laugh, but she conceded the point.

‘‘Okay. Okay. Halley, though, is two months older than Odelia.’’

‘‘No one has seen Halley for four months,’’ Raven said quietly.

Ren sighed, closing her eyes against the pain that truth triggered. ‘‘There is that.’’

Jerin and the boys moved to his bedroom to ride out the royal storming of the house. Heria brought him prog-
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ress reports, as well as complaints of hunger growing among their younger sisters.

The Princess Ren was pleased at finding her sister alive and well. When Princess Odelia had gone missing, she had feared the worst. Seeing that the younger princess was not fit to ride, it was decided that the royal party would spend the night. Knowing their mothers would have a fit if Princess Ren was housed in the barn, Corelle offered up both the youngest and the older sisters’ bedrooms. They were graciously accepted. Nothing had been said, Heria complained, about dinner, and all the baby sisters were starting to whine and cry. Knowing full well that his sisters couldn’t organize dinner to save their lives, Jerin came down from his bedroom to take control of the kitchen. Heria had only one pot on the stove, just breaking into a boil. It contained peeled and sliced potatoes. The youngest were divided between raiding the pantry and peering in at the goose, trying to decide if it was done.

‘‘Is that enough potatoes?’’ Heria asked, chasing girls out of the pantry.

Jerin dodged the little girls to consider what they had on hand for dinner. ‘‘How many are in Princess Rennsellaer’s party?’’

‘‘Fifteen. Ten privates, two lieutenants, a captain, and the two princesses,’’ Heria reported. ‘‘All of the guard are fathered out of the military cribs—Order of the Sword tattoos range from second generation to sixth. One of the privates is sister to the younger lieutenant; otherwise, there are no other sibling pairs. All but Princess Odelia are currently armed with a pistol, a brace of knives, and a saber. They also have standard-issue rifles and bayonets, but those are geared with their personal items upstairs.’’

‘‘They each have a hundred rounds of rifle ammunition, and only fifty rounds of pistol ammo.’’ Blush’s tone indicated she thought it was a paltry supply. ‘‘They have
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no food supplies nor grain. Each woman has a personal purse, totaling sixty-seven crowns, eighty-six gils, and fifteen quince between them, but they’re not carrying a cashbox.’’

‘‘Blush!’’ Jerin hissed in surprise. ‘‘You didn’t search their gear?’’

Blush looked at him with surprise and hurt. ‘‘They won’t be able to tell.’’

Leia, who was younger than Blush by an hour, and twin-close as a result, added in, ‘‘Princess Rennsellaer has a royal seal in her traveling desk, and Captain Tern has hers secured against spies.’’

It was difficult to tell which desk created the most interest. Immediately plans were laid for a series of reconnaissance missions to see said desks by the rest of the youngest siblings, Doric included.

‘‘No!’’ Jerin stated firmly. ‘‘You will not invade the princesses’ privacy or that of their guards any further. They’re guests in this house, and they will be treated with respect.’’

‘‘Oh, pooh,’’ Heria risked grumbling, but the rest held their tongues in the face of his glower.

‘‘And that’s plenty of potatoes,’’ Jerin told Heria. Fifteen hungry women. There would be no leftover goose for lunch tomorrow. The potatoes would make things stretch, but one could eat only so many before getting bored. ‘‘Get a bushel of sweet yams scrubbed up, and we’ll put them in the oven after the goose comes out.’’ He handed out gathering baskets. ‘‘The rest of you, out to the garden. Pick a full basket of peas, and cut a quarter row of asparagus—make the stems long as possible.’’

Summer hurried into the kitchen just as he set the goose out. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ she whispered fiercely, throwing a look toward the front of the house, where the royal party gathered in the parlor.

‘‘I am cooking dinner.’’ Jerin picked up the tray of
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now scrubbed and pierced sweet yams and slid them into the empty oven. ‘‘Roasted goose, sage dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, blanched asparagus, boiled peas, sliced winter apples, cheese, fresh bread, butter, and yams.’’

‘‘They’re going to see you and the boys!’’ Summer cried.

‘‘Not if they don’t come into the kitchen,’’ Jerin said.

‘‘And you middle sisters handle the serving in the dining room.’’

If Summer’s hair had been longer than the military crop, it seemed she would be pulling it out by now.

‘‘How are we going to keep the royal guard out of the kitchen? They’re probably going to check the food for poison.’’

Jerin got out their largest platter and dual meat forks.

‘‘Like we keep poison on hand to kill off visiting princesses.’’

‘‘Jerin!’’ Summer wailed.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. ‘‘Summer, the goose was going to burn if I didn’t get it out, and the youngest are hungry, and we have guests—royal guests. If Corelle did the cooking, truly we would be poisoning the princesses.’’

‘‘What if they see you?’’ Summer frowned at the door as if she expected the royal guard to burst through it any moment.

‘‘Then they see me!’’ He lifted the goose out of the roasting pan and onto the platter. ‘‘She’s the crown princess. She’s not going to ride off with me.’’

‘‘One of her guards might grab you and desert,’’ Summer said.

‘‘I’m sure the army knows where their families are located,’’ Jerin said.

Summer glared at him. ‘‘Jerin, will you take this seriously!’’

‘‘I am!’’ He drained the drippings into a cook pot and set it to boil. ‘‘Only the cre`me of military are picked for royal guard. If they see me, the worst that will happen
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is that they’ll offer for me—and frankly, I think that’s a better fate than the Brindles.’’

‘‘Don’t be naı¨ve, Jerin.’’ Summer crossed her arms and gave him a level look. ‘‘There are things to be done with a boy that have nothing to do with marriage.’’

He stared at her, and then blushed hot. ‘‘I wouldn’t do anything like that.’’

Summer glanced at the little girls around them, listening intently, and whispered, ‘‘You wouldn’t have much of a choice. It’s why they call it rape.’’

He rolled his eyes at that. ‘‘Trust me, if any of them were carrying crib drugs, our little sisters would know.’’

As a distraction, it worked. Summer turned on the youngest in a full rage. ‘‘You little brats! You stay out of their rooms!’’

Jerin moved on to the potatoes, which needed to be drained by now, and mashed. ‘‘Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes or so, though the sweet potatoes will be coming out later. The boys and I will eat in the keeping room, and then go upstairs right afterward. Heria can make sure the little ones eat, and Corelle can clean up with the girls.’’

‘‘I will make sure you have a clean kitchen for morning,’’ Summer said.

‘‘Thank you, Summer. I’ll make sure our mothers know who acted the idiot and who didn’t today.’’

Summer suddenly caught him into a hug. ‘‘Oh, Jerin, I was an idiot! I knew we were leaving you and the babies alone! I let Corelle bully me into going. What if they had been raiders? We could have lost everything.’’

‘‘I know. I know. Now, let me finish dinner.’’

Jerin had picked at his dinner and then left the kitchen without thinking of taking a snack. Later, he found himself so hungry that he couldn’t sleep. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. The house was silent. No one was up. He could slip downstairs, he told himself, grab some-
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thing to eat from the pantry, and return with no one being the wiser.

He crawled out of bed, and stood a moment in darkness. Normally he’d pull on his trousers in addition to his nightshirt before going downstairs. Tonight, though, his three younger brothers were in his room, restless in their strange beds. He would have to light the lamp to find his trousers. He could imagine a cascade of events, starting with the lamp waking the boys and ending with the rest of the house awake.

It would only take a minute to run downstairs and raid
the kitchen. I don’t need trousers. My nightshirt reaches
my knees—it’s nearly a walking robe
. The kitchen seemed huge in the darkness. Flames still danced in the hearth; Summer must not have properly banked the cook fires. He frowned, crossing to the hearth, not sure if he should take the time to settle the fire.

‘‘So my sister isn’t imagining things,’’ a female voice drawled in the darkness.

Jerin startled backward, almost into the flames of the open fire pit. There was motion, and arms pulled him away from the fire with a low croon of ‘‘Careful, careful.’’

‘‘Your Highness!’’ His heart hammered in his throat as he recognized a gleam of red hair and delicate features before his body eclipsed the firelight.

‘‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’’ the princess murmured, a dark form with strong arms about him. ‘‘My sister claimed a beautiful man carried her up from the stream, but I thought she imagined it. Who would let a man risk his reputation so?’’

‘‘A sister who will soon be in deep trouble with her mothers and older sisters.’’

‘‘Sister?’’ One arm lifted from his hip to run fingers through his waist-long hair. ‘‘You’re not a husband?’’

He bit his lip. Husbands were more dearly protected
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by the law than brothers. He shouldn’t have spoken—

each word he said was a danger to him.

‘‘Come, come,’’ Princess Rennsellaer coaxed gently,

‘‘I’m not going to carry you off like some husband raider.’’

‘‘I’m a brother. I’ll be of age in two months.’’

The princess turned him slightly so the fire was to her back, the light a gleaming halo about the nimbus of her shadowed hair. Her fingers touched his cheek, trailed down to cup his chin. ‘‘Your family runs to good looks.’’

‘‘Our grandfather was an exceedingly handsome man,’’

Jerin admitted, aware suddenly that he wore only one sheer layer of cotton, that she wore nearly the same, and then her left hand cupped his buttocks, pressing his body to hers. ‘‘I came down for a bite of something.’’

‘‘I have something here you can nibble on,’’ she murmured, catching his hand, guiding it under her sleeping shirt. Her skin was soft, warm, and firm. His body reacted to the touch while his mind floundered in panic. How much force could you use denying the crown princess without bringing trouble down on your head?

‘‘Your Highness, please.’’ He tried to sidestep, but she moved with him.

‘‘You desire me,’’ she noted, running her hand over his body.

‘‘I desire to marry well,’’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘‘For fifteen years I have stayed chaste and pure. I would not like to fail two months shy of the goal.’’

She chuckled. ‘‘I’m amazed that you’ve seen any women besides your sisters.’’

‘‘They take me to social events.’’ He was babbling now, unable to stop. ‘‘How else would families know we seek a marriage alliance? We go to fairs, festivals, and such. The girls compete in races and wrestling, and the boys talk about how their sisters make them crazy and how lonely it is, being the only man among so many women.’’ He moaned softly now, as her hand had not
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stayed idle. ‘‘That is nice,’’ he admitted, ‘‘but I wish—’’

Truthfully he didn’t really want it to stop. ‘‘I wish—’’

She stepped him back, pressing him against the stones of the hearth, and kissed him tenderly. Her mouth was sweet, and warm, and electric on his. He couldn’t find anyplace safe to put his hands; they tended to flutter like birds looking for a roosting place. He whimpered partially in delight of the many sensations bombarding him, partially in the helplessness of his situation.

‘‘Highness—um—I don’t think—we shouldn’t be—oh, gods—I—’’ While his mind raced to form some sentence, any sentence, he stumbled on an awful thought.
If not
for this once, the only intimacy in my life will be with the
horsey-faced, heavy-handed Brindle women. Who would
know what we’ve done? Who would guess? Who would
tell? Certainly not my sisters.
With those thoughts, he allowed his hands to alight on her hips, then explore upward, under her nightshirt.

In the last year of his life, Jerin’s father had told him how one man could keep ten women happy. It had been a frank, embarrassing, sometimes mystifying set of discussions. There hadn’t been an opportunity for Jerin to try any of the techniques outside of his increasingly erotic dreams. It was somewhat satisfying, judging by the princess’s reaction, to discover he remembered a goodly portion of his father’s lessons.

They could have taken the last step. They lay on the warm flagstones before the cooking fire, glistening with sweat. She reached for him, his body responded as before, but this time, the edge taken off his desire, he was able to stop her.

‘‘No.’’ He kissed her to soften the refusal. ‘‘To go this far was foolish. To go on would be stupid.’’

She gazed at him, her hair reflecting back the flamered firelight. ‘‘It was wonderful.’’

That pulled a wry smile out of him. He caught her
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hand before it could cause more mischief, and kissed her palm, nuzzling the sensitive spot on her wrist. ‘‘We can’t do more. It would ruin me.’’

She looked away, watching instead the dance of firelight on the whitewashed ceiling. She was silent for many minutes, to the point that he was afraid he had angered her. ‘‘You are right. You are not yet old enough to marry, and I seduced you in your mothers’ kitchen. It would be best that I don’t take your virginity on your mothers’ Hearth.’’

She gave it the old name. Jerin vaguely remembered that there were ancient rules of hospitality tied to the Hearth, remnants of days when starting a fire didn’t mean just using a match, and homes consisted of just one large room.