So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)

Stefan shook his head. “We call it Rupert’s Island because he discovered it, but when our crewmen asked if they could bring their families and settle here, Rupert told them he would not be their landlord. They would be the lords of their own lands and decide their own destiny.”

Brigitta’s heart squeezed in her chest. How could she not fall in love with such a man?

“But what if there is disagreement among the people?” Sister Fallyn asked. “Surely someone must be in charge.”

“They vote for someone to be the village chieftain,” Stefan replied. “For the last few years, that’s been Granny Hargraves. She’s considered the oldest and wisest.”

“A female chieftain?” Sister Fallyn exchanged a smile with Brigitta. “This may not be that different from the convent.”

“Oh, it’s different.” Stefan motioned toward the crewmen who were rushing about on deck. “These men are in a hurry to get ashore. Those are their wives and children on the pier. Granny Hargraves will be watching over the children this afternoon while the men—” He stopped with a wince. “Well, it’s not a convent.”

Sister Fallyn blushed.

Brigitta smiled to herself. “And ye were never tempted to marry, Captain?”

His gaze slid to Sister Fallyn. “I’ve been waiting for the right woman. Excuse me.” He inclined his head. “I’ll see about getting you into a dinghy.”

As he strode away, Sister Fallyn pressed a hand to her chest.

“Are ye all right, Sister?” Brigitta asked.

“Is it all right for me to feel this way?” Sister Fallyn whispered.

“You like him.”

She nodded and tears glimmered in her eyes. “I’m falling for him. How can that be when I’m a nun?”

Brigitta sighed. It was a problem, she had to admit, but it didn’t seem as daunting as the problem keeping her and Rupert apart. If her father had actually killed his—she pushed aside that horrible thought. “Why did ye take yer vows?”

Sister Fallyn hung her head. “I thought I had caused Kennet’s death. So I thought I should spend the rest of my life in atonement for my sins.”

“But Kennet is alive. Ye never did anything wrong.”

“I disobeyed my father.”

“He was using you for his own financial gain.”

Sister Fallyn sighed. “I followed my heart and did something reckless.”

“Ye did it for love. Even if it was a one-sided love, how can love be wrong?” Brigitta patted the nun’s shoulder. “If you and Stefan love each other, I think ye should grab on to it and never let it go.”

A tear ran down Sister Fallyn’s cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “We shall see.” Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the island. “I have a feeling we will soon know which paths we are to take.”

“I hope so.” For right now, Brigitta was feeling very lost.

*

It seemed like the more joyous everyone was, the more Brigitta felt a sense of upcoming doom.

After rowing them to the island, Stefan had proudly shown them his stone cottage.

“’Tis lovely!” Sister Fallyn exclaimed with a grin.

“You are both welcome to live here as long as you wish,” Stefan claimed. “I can bunk down in Rupert’s house.”

Rupert had a house? Brigitta’s heart sank a bit more. She hadn’t been invited to see it.

While Sister Fallyn busied herself cleaning the dusty cottage, Brigitta wandered about the small village. The reunions on the pier had been joyous with the men hugging their happy wives and tossing their laughing children in the air. But it hadn’t taken long for the men to whisk their wives off to the cottages. Some had even carried their wives over the doorsteps.

Brigitta sighed. She didn’t even know where Rupert was. Up in a field, the children were running about, playing tag, while Granny Hargraves sat on a rock, keeping an eye on them as she knit. Over time, Brigitta figured she would learn everyone’s name, and eventually it might feel like home. Instead of an exile.

She walked in a southerly direction down the beach, then found a log to sit on. A pelican swooped down and sat beside her.

“I guess it’s just us,” she muttered, and the bird gave a small squawk.

The bay faced west, so she had a lovely view of the sun lowering in the sky, painting the sea with shimmering shades of pink and gold.

She heard voices in the distance and saw people emerging from their houses. After a while, she realized they were setting up a celebration on the shore. A fire was built, and they began roasting a lamb on a spit. Tables were carried out, along with plates and goblets. A cask of ale was rolled out. Canopies were erected on poles and lanterns hung.

The children arrived, accompanied by Granny Hargraves. A man began playing a fiddle, and another, some sort of pipe. Brigitta spotted Sister Fallyn and Stefan joining the party. She looked so happy.

Rupert was nowhere in sight.

With a groan, she glanced at the sun. It sat on the horizon now, as if it were melting into a sea of red fire. And her feeling of doom grew heavier.

After all the thinking she’d done, she hadn’t been able to rearrange the puzzle pieces. Every time she replayed the visions in her mind, she came to the same conclusion. Rupert was from a noble family. A noble Tourinian family. And most likely, her father was responsible for the deaths of his loved ones.

She picked up a stick and stabbed at the sand. That had to be why Rupert found it so difficult to trust her. He considered her family the enemy.

Who was he exactly?

She stood and used the long stick to scratch letters in the sand. Ni Rupert. “I am Rupert” in Tourinian. That was how he had introduced himself. As she crossed the last t, she looked back over the words. Backward.

She gasped, and the stick tumbled from her hands.

Trepurin.

“No,” she breathed. The House of Trepurin? The house that had given Tourin its first king and a long line of kings?

The house her father had destroyed.

Her mind raced back to the terrible story Sister Fallyn had told her. King Manfrid had come south with the prince. The lost prince!

“Rupert,” she whispered as tears burned her eyes. Just like the cogs and wheels of one of Rupert’s inventions, all the clues fit neatly together and locked into place.

The ambush had been her father’s plan to kill the rightful king, Rupert’s father. The wheel in her mind turned and clicked onto the next vision. The battle had been her father’s army attacking the king’s army. Click. Rupert had cried over his mother’s grave, the queen’s grave. Click. Rupert had hid in caves and basements because her father’s soldiers wanted to kill him. Click. All the grief and despair that Rupert had felt, it had all been caused by her father.

With a cry, Brigitta fell to her knees. Tears ran down her face as more memories made sense. That was why Rupert had referred to her as a so-called princess. He knew her father had stolen the throne.

That was why he said her name as if he knew her. Another one of his hidden memories flitted across her mind. A baby in a crib festooned with white lace.