Storyteller

By Bonnie Dee

Danger, conspiracy, love, and redemption combine in a steam-driven fantasy.

Lady-in-waiting to an impetuous princess, Lily Nightingale is banished from court after protecting her mistress’s reputation. The cause of her eviction, magnetic performer and charming ladies' man, Kier Rohann, becomes her unlikely traveling companion.

Footloose Rohann thought he’d put his miserable past behind him, until he spotted the man who destroyed his life. But any revenge plans are aborted when he’s banned from the palace along with the frustrating Lady Lily. This sensible, steadfast woman possesses all the qualities he’s avoided in his sexual dalliances, yet he is increasingly fascinated by her.

After uncovering a conspiracy to take over the kingdom, Lily is determined to return to the capital and warn the king, while Rohann wants to run as far as possible from danger. Will a man who has avoided any attachments in life sacrifice himself for the greatest challenge of all—love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bonnie Dee
• Release date: Jul 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476093185

Bonnie Dee

Whether you're a fan of contemporary, paranormal, or historical romance, you'll find something to enjoy among my books. I'm interested in flawed, often damaged, people who find the fulfillment they seek in one another. To stay informed about new releases, please SIGN UP FOR MY NEWSLETTER. Help an author out by leaving a review and spreading the word about this book among your friends. You can join my street team at FB. Learn more about my backlist at http://bonniedee.com or find me on FB and Twitter @Bonnie_Dee.

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STORYTELLER

PUBLISHED BY:

Bonnie Dee on Smashwords

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Storyteller

Copyright © 2012 by Bonnie Dee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Storyteller

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Chapter One

Lily had never seen eyes that unnatural shade of blue. When the man glanced at her, even from halfway across the room, they sizzled like the burning core of gas flames. The stranger drew the focus of everyone in the great hall, as if the courtiers were cold and reaching out to warm themselves by his fire. He certainly made heat pulse through Lily’s body. She could hardly drag her gaze away from the traveling performer even when Princess Carnelia called for her attention.

Lily, I’ve forgotten my fan on my dressing table. Please go back for it. But before she could obey, the princess grasped her arm and whispered, Oh my!

Her Royal Highness thrived on the attention of attractive men. Although the stranger was not classically handsome, he was more riveting than any other man in court. He used his entire body to tell his tale, illustrating with dramatic movements of arms and hands. Unkempt blond hair flowed over his shoulders in defiance of the current short, immaculately groomed men’s styles. His jaw was clean-shaven, but a thin scar cutting across one cheek gave him a permanently disreputable appearance. Beneath his threadbare green jacket, he wore a dingy white shirt and faded scarlet waistcoat. The garish garments marked him as a showman like the minstrels of old, bringing tales, jokes, and songs to entertain the jaded court. He held his audience, including the princess and Lily, in the palm of his hand.

‘Shall I pile it higher?’ the farmer asked. ‘Oh, aye, if you care to sleep in our bed again,’ his wife replied.’ The storyteller mimicked the accent of Duberfield with such accuracy his listeners began laughing before he even reached the conclusion.

The man added one more forkful to the teetering load, and the entire pile collapsed. The gold disappeared, and they were both showered with dung and dusty hay. ‘Well, Henry, like I told you,’ his old wife said…

The storyteller paused, head cocked expectantly, waiting for his listeners to recite the refrain.

Greed is not a virtue, they chanted in unison. The lords and ladies in the great room laughed and clapped, as amused by the fanciful story as children.

Princess Carnelia released her grip on Lily’s arm and touched her diamond pendant to make certain it hung low enough to draw attention to her décolletage. She glided across the floor toward the entertainer like a predator stalking game. The group surrounding the man parted to let her through, bowing or curtseying before stepping aside.

Lily walked behind her mistress, ready to attend to Her Highness’s slightest whim—just not fetching a fan at the moment. She had to view the stranger from up close to find out if his eyes were really as vibrant a blue as she’d thought.

They were. He fixed Carnelia with a gaze that stole Lily’s breath and bowed low. His clothing might be shabby, but his form was impeccable. Your Highness.

Carnelia bid him rise. He didn’t take her proffered hand. It wasn’t proper etiquette for one of his station to even touch the glove of the Princess of Winbarrow.

The chief steward made an introduction. Highness, this is Kier Rohann, a traveling performer. I’ve given him permission to entertain the court for a few days. With the dreary winter so slowly giving way to spring, I thought such amusement might be welcome.

An excellent cure for our doldrums, Conrack. The princess’s voice was as pleasant as the cooing of a dove. After spending most of her life in service to the lady, Lily hardly noticed the melodious tone, but now she heard Carnelia as the stranger might. He couldn’t help but be enchanted by the princess’s grace and beauty, as everyone was.

Rohann smiled at Her Royal Highness, his eyes sparkling. He and the princess were a matched set, both golden-haired and glowing with invisible energy that made Lily feel pale and insignificant.

Where have you come from, Mr. Rohann? Carnelia asked. We would all welcome news from abroad, since Allbridge has been isolated by storms this winter. The telegraph wires are in disrepair, although the post continues to make it through.

I’ve worked my way across Winbarrow from village to village. This is my first visit to the capital. I’m most impressed by its lovely bridges. The man spoke quietly yet projected his voice to fill the room. The timbre of his baritone vibrated through Lily, making her shiver.

You don’t travel with a troupe.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. I once belonged to a company, but we parted ways. I chose not to join an established theater. I quite enjoy the freedom of the road, the opportunity to see new places and try out new material as I wish.

Princess Carnelia returned his smile. As carefree as a bird. What does your show consist of?

Stories, songs, dramatic readings, occasionally a little dance, and— he lowered his voice—rather ribald jokes when not in mixed company.

She nearly purred, and her eyelashes lowered. I shall look forward to hearing your poetry recitations. As for the more risqué material, alas, I must leave that for the gentlemen to enjoy.

Lily stared at Rohann’s boots, feeling as if she were intruding on a private conversation though they were in the middle of a cluster of ladies and gentlemen of the court. Carnelia’s flirting often made her feel awkward, and Lily had learned to become invisible if not deaf.

Rohann chuckled. I know a few poems considered to be classic works of art, which also satisfy a more prurient sentiment.

Carnelia’s eyebrows lifted. Scandalous. You must recite one.

Flirtation with titled courtiers was one thing, but such talk with a traveling man pushed the boundaries of propriety. Per Mrs. Ludlow’s instructions, part of Lily’s job as Carnelia’s lady-in-waiting was to rein in her vivacious mistress.

Highness, your appointment with Lady Bower, Lily murmured.

Carnelia cast an irritated glance at her. Lady ‘Glower’ can begin the meeting without me. She’ll organize the hospital fundraiser as she sees fit anyway.

Lily fell silent and froze as the stranger’s gaze raked her from head to foot. How was it possible for a man to contain so much vitality that his mere glance left her flesh feeling raw even after he’d returned his attention to the princess?

Do recite a few lines for me now, Mr. Rohann. Carnelia moved closer to the stranger, oblivious of stares and whispers.

Very well, Highness. The entertainer considered a moment, then recited, "A bud on the verge of blossom, petals wet with dew. Ah, my love, would that I might peel away each tender pink frond curled around the precious heart. Would thorns prick, or would I find welcome, satin unfolding to reveal sheer joy within? A bud plucked in its ripeness. Nothing is sweeter."

Utter silence followed his recitation as everyone stared. Lily caught her breath, astounded by his audacity.

Carnelia frowned. But it doesn’t rhyme, and it’s only a poem about a flower. Where is the indecency in that?

There is none at all, Highness. Rohann’s smile was more devilish than his sharp features. It’s a perfectly lovely poem celebrating the beauty of nature in a new style called free verse.

Carnelia continued to frown for a moment before her face cleared. "Oh, I understand. The rose is meant to represent the tender heart of a woman, which her suitor hopes to win. That is lovely."

Lily cringed at such naïveté. How could a woman who thrived on flirting with men be so ignorant about what flirting led to? Carnelia read too many novels celebrating romance and knew too little of the baser aspects of sexuality.

Lily touched her arm. Lady Bower waits. We really must go, she reminded, anxious to shoo her royal moth away from a dangerous foreign flame.

Yes, Carnelia sighed. But I shall look forward to hearing more of your recitations tonight, Mr. Rohann. We’ve been starved for entertainment of late and welcome a fresh face.

He swept a bow. Highness, if I’d known of your shining beauty, I’d have quit the villages and headed straight for the capital long ago.

Carnelia laughed. Dust off more such compliments and offer them to me later.

She extended her hand, and this time Rohann took it and pressed a kiss to the air above Carnelia’s white glove. Lily watched the flex of his fingers, noted a scar on the side of his hand, and imagined how his warm breath must feel heating the princess’s skin through the thin glove. Her stomach tightened, and again she looked away from this intimate moment taking place in full sight of the court.

The stranger surrendered the princess’s hand a little too slowly. Princess Carnelia smiled and glided from the room.

Before she left, Lily glanced back at the traveling man. His gaze met hers, and his lips quirked in a rakish way that made her want to slap him.

Given the princess’s willfulness and the fact that her father was absent from the palace, this man could be trouble. Carnelia was a high-strung horse chafing at the bit, and this stranger a rider with silver spurs, who’d be only too happy to let her run. Lily supposed this left her to be the crotchety old groom, determined to curb her headstrong charge. She sighed as she walked alongside her mistress. She was far too young to have to play such a role.

****

"I am a man beyond redemption. No one will weep for the loss of me. This impure blood is spilt for the greater good. All is as it should be."

Rohann dropped to his knees, clutching the collapsible dagger in the center of his chest—an excellent effect worth what the prop blade had cost. His audience had gasped when he plunged it in. Now he slumped to the floor and expired, an honorable death that had everyone cheering. The nobility were as easy to please as any country bumpkin. A good death scene or bawdy song pleased them equally.

Although the gaslights were turned low, they were still harsh. Rohann preferred the warm glow of kerosene lamps, even if it be in some farmer’s barn. They were more conducive to the magic of stagecraft. From his prone position on the platform erected as a temporary stage, Rohann surveyed the people through half-closed eyes. A few wiped away tears. Satisfying but unsurprising. He was good at dying.

Rohann leaped to his feet and took a bow with arms outstretched, embracing another round of adulation. He couldn’t get enough of the sound. Despite disdaining his audience, he craved what they gave him. What did that say about him?

He straightened and scanned the audience for a likely victim. There were disadvantages to a solo act. He couldn’t do romantic scenes or duels. But he’d learned people enjoyed having one of their own brought on stage.

He pointed to the most pompous-looking of the assembled courtiers, a man the rest would no doubt enjoy seeing cut down to size. Would you please join me on stage to take part in a sketch?

The man protested but was obviously pleased to be chosen. Fed by the urging of his peers, he made his way to the platform.

Your name, sir?

Sir Reginald Wimsey. Sweat beaded on the man’s broad forehead under the hot light.

Rohann handed the man a tattered script and turned his attention back to the audience. I also have a part requiring a more feminine presence.

His gaze lingered on beautiful Princess Carnelia, but she wouldn’t appreciate playing the fool. However, her prim attendant would do nicely. Rohann pointed at the woman. Would the lady please take the stage?

The mouse’s brown eyes widened as if she’d got her tail caught in a trap. Oh, no. I couldn’t.

The princess pushed her arm. You must, Lily. For the sake of the play.

The brown-haired woman reluctantly rose from her chair and made her way to the dais. She was shorter than Rohann had thought, but then he’d scarcely noticed her standing beside the princess, and perhaps her scowl had given her a more prepossessing appearance. Now she truly reminded him of a trapped mouse, with her gaze darting around the audience.

He handed her a copy of the script and whispered, Calm yourself, Lady Lily. You’ll learn to enjoy the laughter.

Her round eyes focused on him. Laughter?

You can’t fail. Just read the lines as they’re written.

Which part is mine? Wimsey asked. The king?

No, sir. This one. Rohann tipped the man a wink as he pointed out the female lead. He held his breath. If the man had no sense of humor, the fun would be ruined. But Wimsey was a good sport. He smiled and nodded.

You shall be the shopkeeper, Rohann informed Lily.

Rohann assumed the mantle of the king for himself. The scene’s political jabs might be clear to those watching, but the hilarity of the cross-gender roles should sugarcoat the pill. The act had been a hit in the country, but the court might not find it as amusing. He was taking a chance bringing political humor into the lion’s den, but Rohann thrived on walking a tightrope over an abyss. It was the only way he kept his heart pumping and knew he still lived.

He set the scene of a traveling monarch unexpectedly gracing a local shop with his presence. From the moment Wimsey spoke in falsetto, welcoming the visiting royal, Rohann knew he’d picked a winner. The audience howled with laughter as Sir Reginald became the obsequious shopkeeper’s wife.

Lily’s lines as the husband were mumbled, but Rohann covered for her by continually demanding she speak up. What’s that, Mr. Miller? I can’t hear you. The repetition became humorous in itself.

The gist of the story was that the monarch had no concept of the monetary value of items in the store, nor did he offer payment. He quickly wore out his welcome with the poor shopkeeper if not his starry-eyed wife. The shopkeeper spent the skit cautiously trying to get the king to leave before he emptied the shelves.

Lily’s acting skills improved toward the end as she gave Reginald a bit of a shove toward the imaginary door. Good day, sire. She pretended to shut the door behind him and addressed the audience. And good riddance.

Applause and laughter washed over them. Rohann noted some who were not amused and others who looked as if they felt nervous poking fun at royalty. Lovely Princess Carnelia, bless her heart, didn’t seem to realize the joke was leveled at her father. She laughed along with everyone else.

Rohann grasped his fellow actors’ hands and bowed. All in jest, he called out. Lucky for us King Wendell is nothing like the monarch in the story.

Worse. He was a ruler who drafted men to die in an ill-planned war while taxing the nation so severely to pay for it that many lost their livelihood.

But the man had produced a stunning daughter. Rohann winked at the princess, and she smiled. The small hand clasping his clenched hard, drawing his attention to Lady Lily. She glared like a disapproving schoolteacher, which only made Rohann want to misbehave like a naughty lad. He returned her squeeze and