Linford's appetites?"
The spot on her hand where he had bitten her tingled. In his own crude way, he had marked her as his own. She covered the back of her hand with her other palm, smothered the tingling sensation, and smiled. What delicious irony, that he would never have her as he desired.
"Henry, please fetch me a quill and ink."
Chapter Seven
Three days later , the morn dawned clear and bright. A perfect day for a wedding. Or, at least, it would be, Rexana thought moodily, if she were to marry a man she loved.
She adjusted her hold on her plodding mare's reins and struggled to calm her jittery nerves. As she had often reminded herself since signing the marriage contract, she had good reasons for wedding the sheriff. She would not lose sight of her purpose. Not now. Not in the coming days.
The morning breeze carried many sounds: the hoof- beats of horses bearing her wooden chests of clothes and personal effects; the snap of the banner displaying her family crest; and the merry tune played by the musicians who walked ahead of the procession to herald her arrival. A few paces in front of her, Henry spoke to one of the men-at-arms who escorted her to Tangston's village church. There, the wedding ceremonies would be performed.
There, in name only, she would become Lady Rexana Linford.
The town gates loomed ahead. The fortress rose on the grassy hill beyond, tall and imposing like Linford himself.
' Tis the right choice, she told herself firmly. Believe it, and you will not fail.
Henry dropped back so that his horse walked alongside hers. "Not far now, milady." He frowned, as he had earlier when he helped her onto her mare and smoothed her mantle so her bliaut would not gather dust on the journey.
"I shall be fine, Henry."
"Still, I worry." He swatted away a bee that shot up from the wildflowers growing along the roadside. "If you need help, no matter what 'tis —"
Tears clogged her throat. "I will ask you. Thank you."
Shouts came from the gates ahead. Rexana straightened and looked at the peasants gathered on either side of the gates and peering over the stone wall. Curiosity and excitement warmed the faces of the men, women, and children who watched her approach. The enormity of her decision flooded through her, yet she managed a smile. No matter how fearsome her decision seemed, she would persevere. She would win Rudd's freedom.
Children darted toward her, clutching bouquets of wilting daisies and meadowsweet. Leaning down, she took them from their sticky fingers. One day, her womb would bear a babe, but not Linford's child. The thought left her feeling strangely empty. How ridiculous. She felt naught for Linford. Certainly not love.
The men-at-arms moved closer to contain the crush of people. Tucking the flowers in front of her saddle, Rexana followed the musicians through the town gates. More people crowded the streets. The noise, the narrow wattle and daub buildings reaching upward toward the sky, the sea of anonymous, staring faces melted into a blur around her and she kicked her mare forward.
"Rexana." The familiar voice cut above the din. "Here. By the tavern."
A man staggered out of the building's crooked doorway. His handsome face looked unshaven, his shock of red hair unkempt, his rust brown tunic stained and creased. She hardly recognized the young lord. Garmonn.
Her mouth went dry. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with him. Not when she had done her best to avoid him the past few days. She waved, then coaxed her mare onward.
"You refused to receive me," Garmonn called in an overloud, petulant voice. He elbowed his way through the throng. When he reached her side, he stumbled along beside her moving horse. "Why did you refuse me? What have I done to deserve your disfavor?"
He set his hand on her leg. Memories flooded her mind, sending panic rushing through her in a harrowing deluge. He had won her disfavor months ago, but 'twas not wise to remind him now. Forcing a gentle tone,
The spot on her hand where he had bitten her tingled. In his own crude way, he had marked her as his own. She covered the back of her hand with her other palm, smothered the tingling sensation, and smiled. What delicious irony, that he would never have her as he desired.
"Henry, please fetch me a quill and ink."
Chapter Seven
Three days later , the morn dawned clear and bright. A perfect day for a wedding. Or, at least, it would be, Rexana thought moodily, if she were to marry a man she loved.
She adjusted her hold on her plodding mare's reins and struggled to calm her jittery nerves. As she had often reminded herself since signing the marriage contract, she had good reasons for wedding the sheriff. She would not lose sight of her purpose. Not now. Not in the coming days.
The morning breeze carried many sounds: the hoof- beats of horses bearing her wooden chests of clothes and personal effects; the snap of the banner displaying her family crest; and the merry tune played by the musicians who walked ahead of the procession to herald her arrival. A few paces in front of her, Henry spoke to one of the men-at-arms who escorted her to Tangston's village church. There, the wedding ceremonies would be performed.
There, in name only, she would become Lady Rexana Linford.
The town gates loomed ahead. The fortress rose on the grassy hill beyond, tall and imposing like Linford himself.
' Tis the right choice, she told herself firmly. Believe it, and you will not fail.
Henry dropped back so that his horse walked alongside hers. "Not far now, milady." He frowned, as he had earlier when he helped her onto her mare and smoothed her mantle so her bliaut would not gather dust on the journey.
"I shall be fine, Henry."
"Still, I worry." He swatted away a bee that shot up from the wildflowers growing along the roadside. "If you need help, no matter what 'tis —"
Tears clogged her throat. "I will ask you. Thank you."
Shouts came from the gates ahead. Rexana straightened and looked at the peasants gathered on either side of the gates and peering over the stone wall. Curiosity and excitement warmed the faces of the men, women, and children who watched her approach. The enormity of her decision flooded through her, yet she managed a smile. No matter how fearsome her decision seemed, she would persevere. She would win Rudd's freedom.
Children darted toward her, clutching bouquets of wilting daisies and meadowsweet. Leaning down, she took them from their sticky fingers. One day, her womb would bear a babe, but not Linford's child. The thought left her feeling strangely empty. How ridiculous. She felt naught for Linford. Certainly not love.
The men-at-arms moved closer to contain the crush of people. Tucking the flowers in front of her saddle, Rexana followed the musicians through the town gates. More people crowded the streets. The noise, the narrow wattle and daub buildings reaching upward toward the sky, the sea of anonymous, staring faces melted into a blur around her and she kicked her mare forward.
"Rexana." The familiar voice cut above the din. "Here. By the tavern."
A man staggered out of the building's crooked doorway. His handsome face looked unshaven, his shock of red hair unkempt, his rust brown tunic stained and creased. She hardly recognized the young lord. Garmonn.
Her mouth went dry. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with him. Not when she had done her best to avoid him the past few days. She waved, then coaxed her mare onward.
"You refused to receive me," Garmonn called in an overloud, petulant voice. He elbowed his way through the throng. When he reached her side, he stumbled along beside her moving horse. "Why did you refuse me? What have I done to deserve your disfavor?"
He set his hand on her leg. Memories flooded her mind, sending panic rushing through her in a harrowing deluge. He had won her disfavor months ago, but 'twas not wise to remind him now. Forcing a gentle tone,
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