Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] by A Warrior's Lady

dance ended at last and Gervais got to his feet. “My turn now.”
    He looked as though he was being led to his death,and Reece was fiendishly pleased. Anne wouldn’t be laughing when she danced with Gervais. He had the feet of an ox.
    But then, as Blaidd made his way back to his place on the bench, it seemed the king or his queen had decided a ballad was in order, and thus there was a lull in the dancing.
    So now Reece had to watch Gervais sit across the hall beside a panting Anne. As Gervais handed her a goblet of wine, some skinny, spotty-faced youth began to warble a silly song about love everlasting and devotion divine.
    “She’s some dancer, your bride,” Blaidd offered after he had downed a gulp of wine himself. “Graceful as a willow in the breeze.”
    “Is that why you were grinning like a jester?”
    “Aye, and the fact that I had my arm about the prettiest woman in the hall.”
    “What a pity you weren’t the one forced to marry her, then.”
    “Well, if it were just the woman alone, I could think of worse fates,” Blaidd admitted without hesitation.
    Reece’s hand itched to punch him. Not to damage. No, never that. Merely to make him reconsider his words.
    “But unfortunately, there are her half brothers in the mix,” Blaidd finished, his words resuscitating their friendship.
    “She seemed to find you most amusing,” Reece noted, his tone somewhat less sarcastic.
    “Easy enough to get a woman to laugh,” Blaidd replied with an airy wave of his powerful hand that could knock out teeth. “Tell her you’re afraid to talk to her.”
    “You said that? To Anne? That you were afraid? ”
    Blaidd’s grin grew even wider and he shrugged. “Got her to laugh, didn’t I?”
    “If all you want is a woman to laugh at you, I suppose that’s good advice,” Reece grumbled.
    “It’s a start,” the Welsh expert on female responses sagely noted.
    “I don’t need to start. She’s my wife, remember?”
    “And not destined to stay that way, aye, I do.” Blaidd grew serious. “But there’s no harm in making her a bit happy, is there? You’re not the only one suffering, you know.”
    Reece’s breath caught in his throat. Was Anne suffering? “No need to look devastated, boy. She’s not enduring the torments of hell. But you might spare a thought or two for her. Not easy for a woman after what her idiot relatives claimed.”
    “You’re right,” Reece admitted, determined to be kinder to Anne. She was as much a pawn in all this as he was.
    No, more, for she had done nothing save attract his attention. She had not enticed him openly in the hall that night, or teased him, or asked him to a clandestine rendezvous, yet she had been forced to marry, too. Asshe had said, she couldn’t help it if she was beautiful. Even now, she had no way of knowing that her clear green eyes, her soft skin and wondrous lips made his heart race, or that the simple brush of his lips across hers inflamed him so much he could scarce draw breath.
    The skinny, spotty minstrel finally stopped cater-wauling and the other musicians picked up their instruments. Without a word, Kynan jumped up and darted across the hall. In the next few moments, he was leading Anne in a round dance.
    Reece sat on a hard wooden bench, telling himself his torment would not last and trying not to scowl.

Chapter Seven
    A ttempting to calm her racing heart, Anne sat motionless on the stool before the dressing table as Lisette combed her hair. Worries and questions about what was going to happen tonight kept careening about her anxious mind.
    She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to enjoy the rasp of the comb, the gentle tug on her scalp, the relief of being free of Damon and the others…
    It seemed but moments ago that she had retired from the wedding feast amidst whispers and smirks, knowing smiles and jealous scowls. Before that, it felt as if she had danced for an eternity, although never again with Reece after the first.
    She should not