In The Beginning, Gail Daley [red white royal blue .TXT] 📗

of the bathing chambers with the new soaps and bath oils she and Catrin had just made when Serle found her. He had dispensed with the cast, but still looked pale.

"There you are," he said. "I’ve been looking all over for you."

"Women’s work is never done," she told him. "Did you need something at the school?"

"No," he said. "But I wanted to talk to you alone."

She looked up at him warily, not anxious for any kind of conversation that would require being alone with him. Her eyebrows rose. "What about?"

"This engagement. It was rather sudden, wasn’t it?"

"Not to us." She turned back and continued to fill the slots for soap bars and oil sachets. A more perceptive man would have let it go, but Serle had been encouraged by his grandfather to think one day Rebecca would belong to him, and he had rigid ideas about how proper women felt and acted. This conceit had allowed him to ignore the fact that Rebecca didn't fit into his preconceived mold and had no intention of doing so. He was also accustomed to getting positive interest from young women, and it was inconceivable to him that Rebecca wasn't attracted to him or flattered by his attention. He continued to talk despite her obvious unwillingness.

"Rebecca, this Andre isn’t the man for you. He may be a good fighter, but he's not a fit husband for you. I didn’t want to tell you this, but Andre Benoit isn’t his real name—"

"Actually, it is," she retorted. "Andre used another name when he hired out as a Merc."

He looked a little disappointed his big reveal had fallen flat. "You knew about his past? What he is?"

"What I know isn’t any of your business, Serle. Any more than my engagement is," she said firmly.

"How can you love a man who hires out to kill for a living?" he demanded. "He simply isn't our class, Rebecca. I realize living as you have away from civilized society must have lowered your standards, but a well brought up lady wouldn't consider a liaison with a Merc! Face it, he's just another hired dog."

The smack of her hand across his face echoed like a clap of thunder in the underground room. Rebecca was no weak, inner court damsel. She had driven a four-unicorn draft team since she was ten, and the blow rocked Serle back on his heels.

"I won’t allow you to speak of Andre like that!" she said, icily. "I think it would be best if you consider this subject closed."

She turned her back on him and walked down the hall to the storerooms to return the unused soap and oils.

Serle stared after her in shocked fury, his hand rubbing his cheek as an unwelcome idea presented itself. The woman who had just turned her back on him was certainly not the meek, ladylike bride he had been anticipating. He had looked forward to marrying a Rebecca who docilely allowed him to guide her decisions. Even if she hadn't already accepted Andre, it was now obvious she was much too independent for a proper lady. If he had married her he would have needed to spend a lot of time schooling her to proper behavior.

Rebecca dropped her basket on the work counter in the storeroom and went out the side door into the flower garden. There was a bench seat under the blooming trees. She brushed it off and sat down to wait until she had better control of her temper.

It wasn’t Serle’s sneer at Andre that had upset her; his comments about Andre's former profession had irritated her, but he had been partly right, she acknowledged. If she and Andre had met before Lazarus had attacked her, she might not have appreciated his strength and courage as she did today. The attack had changed her. The young, malleable girl who had mistaken Serle Corkian's arrogance for strength, was gone as if she had never been. In her place stood a woman who desperately wanted and needed the trust and safety Andre could provide. His courage wasn't superficial either. It was an integral part of who he was. When he faced down Jokan the Merc at the Trade station and the Sheriff and the posse who came hunting Selene, she had never doubted he would keep them safe. Since the day her mother had been taken, Rebecca had unconsciously lived with a deeply buried fear. Andre had made her fear disappear, she realized. When she had seen her Grandfather and Owen collapse, she had instinctively screamed for Andre, knowing he would come without hesitation.

She was troubled about her engagement for reasons other than Serle's snarky remarks. Andre had asked her again to set a date for the wedding ceremony, but the lie the engagement had started with weighed heavily on her.

She sometimes suspected his memory had returned, and Andre already knew the truth but he never said so, and she couldn't help wondering why.

Grandpa thought Andre wanted her; he certainly behaved as if he did, and she wanted him as well she admitted to herself. For a long time after being almost raped, Rebecca had flinched when a man touched her, even if the touch was accidental and innocent, but that had never happened with Andre. Rebecca had discovered she wanted Andre's caresses and wanted to touch him in return. She grimaced to herself. Their engagement had started with a lie. Andre was owed the truth about their engagement before they became bonded for life. She didn't want to lose him, but she knew she had to tell him the truth. She lifted her shoulders in resignation. She would have to face his justified anger with her and all of them for the lie.

She could only hope the bond forged by fighting side by side would be strong enough to counteract the lies she had told.

"A copper for your thoughts?" the man himself said, and she jumped.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked. "I didn’t hear you come