Rexanne Becnel by The Knight of Rosecliffe

frozen in shock. He was too tall and vital and unforgivably handsome. If he’d been attractive while wet and furious, he was ten times so now, with his fine clothing and his hair combed in place.
    When he bowed over her hand she felt like an awkward
child, devoid of any manners. When he kissed her hand, she went from frozen to scorched.
    She wanted to snatch her hand back, but he held it firmly in his larger, stronger hand. Then he kissed each knuckle, one at a time, and fire shot up her arm. With a little gasp she did snatch it free.
    With just that faint touch of his mouth her entire body burned with awareness! Was she perverse? She needed to get away, and yet like a hunted hare, she knew her safety lay in stillness. She must not run. She must not react. Most of all, she must collect her wits, else he would surely devour her. As it was, his hungry stare already seemed to consume her.
    She tucked her burning hand inside the folds of her skirt. “My visit was … um … not planned.” She stifled a groan at so inept a response. Not only was she dressed like a drudge, but she also sounded as stupid as one. “I … um … met Josselyn in the market. In the village. She … she invited me here.”
    “I had to plead and cajole before she would agree,” Josselyn added, smiling benignly at them both. “She only agreed because Rand was gone away, and also, I think, because I reassured her that you were taken sick.”
    Again Rhonwen could have groaned.
    “You look much better,” Josselyn blithely continued. “Was it the tonic Isolde made for you?”
    “No doubt it was,” Jasper answered. But there was something in their exchange that prickled the skin at the back of Rhonwen’s neck, something in the look they shared. When it hit her, she was appalled at her own stupidity. Josselyn was playing matchmaker. And the match she hoped to make was between Jasper and Rhonwen!
    Panicked, she hugged her arms over her chest and blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “I must go.”
    “No, no. I forbid it,” Josselyn cried. “You haven’t met the girls yet.”
    “I’ll do that another time.” Rhonwen edged toward the door.
    “But what of Nesta? She expects you to await her here.”

    “I’ll find her at the market.”
    But it was too late for Rhonwen to flee. With a triumphant grin Josselyn said, “Ah, here are the girls now. Isolde, my eldest, and Gwendolyn, my youngest.”
    The two little girls skipped into the room and stopped beside their uncle. The elder had fair hair, though with gray eyes like her father, and was as pretty as a picture in her pale blue kirtle. The younger was plump and rosy, with dark curls framing her sweet little face.
    Jasper squatted down beside them. “This is Rhonwen ap Tomas,” he told his two nieces. “She’s a friend of your mother’s—and a friend of mine. Go ahead and greet her.”
    They made their curtsies to Rhonwen, two perfect little girls who clearly adored their uncle, and Rhonwen could hardly ignore them. Josselyn beamed her approval and when they were finished Jasper hoisted Gwendolyn onto his shoulders while Isolde hung onto his arm.
    Rhonwen remembered Isolde as a baby. She was not much younger than Rhonwen’s brother Davit. Though she was not eager to have children herself, seeing Jasper, a powerful man of war, handling the children so gently roused unexpected feelings in her chest. Her father had been that gentle. She’d forgotten that, but she remembered it now. But he had died so long ago. Only now did Rhonwen have a hint of what she might have missed.
    She turned away, for it was all too much. Unsettled emotions careened through her—desire, sorrow, and a perverse sort of jealousy. But Josselyn was watching her and it was all Rhonwen could do to mask her feelings behind a false smile.
    “Your children are a handsome lot, and well mannered,” she said. “You must be very proud.”
    “I am. And happy too. Marriage and motherhood agree with me very