Taming the Beast by Heather Grothaus

parchment was snatched from her hand and in a moment the man gave a shout of laughter. He seemed to address the hall behind him.
    â€œWe’ve another contestant yet, Rick! Poor little poppet—she thinks I’m you! ” The door swung open wide. “Welcome to Cherbon, Miss Fortune.”
    Â 
    Roderick still stood in the shadows, where he had been en route to his chambers when Hugh’s greeting of their unexpected visitor reached his ears.
    Was it some specter come to call? Hugh’s odd sense of humor often prompted outrageous bits of nonsense from his mouth, but surely he would not jest so about welcoming misfortune to Cherbon.
    They’d had enough of that bastard already.
    But then the door swung wide, emitting the weak foggy sunlight from the bailey, and Roderick saw the woman silhouetted in the doorway. He stepped back onto the lowest riser of the stair, disappearing completely into the darkness of the tall corridor.
    â€œWell, come in, come in!” Hugh commanded exasperatedly, sweeping his arm wide.
    The woman hesitated and glanced behind her. “My trunk—my parents…”
    â€œAre you of age?” When the woman nodded hesitantly, Hugh gave a put-out sigh and leaned past her to shout through the doorway, “I’ve no time at all to deal with you. Yes, yes, she’ll be fine. Just toss the trunk over the side, then, thanks. Good day.” Then he pulled the woman in by her arm and closed the door firmly.
    Hugh all but dragged the woman to the lord’s table, peering toward the corridor where Roderick was hidden away. “Oh, you’ve just missed him,” Hugh lamented to the woman—little more than a girl, Roderick now saw. Hugh spun a low stool about, released the woman’s arm and patted the seat. “Here you are,” he said as he turned and flopped into Roderick’s own chair, already reaching for a stack of parchment and quill.
    The woman stood there for a moment, as if unsure she would stay, and Roderick took those spare seconds to look at her.
    She was…enchanting. Her hair was blond, no…a reddish—no, blond, tied back at either temple and then together into one long plait. She was not slender, but not plump, her back smooth and trim in her gown. Perhaps a bit shorter than average.
    Her profile mesmerized Roderick—softly rounded cheeks colored with a flush of disconcertment, brow wrinkled delicately, her mouth pinched into a stingy bud. Her ears were like tiny shells, pale and perfect.
    Surely she could not be here to answer his call.
    â€œWell?” Hugh demanded. “Are you going to sit or aren’t you? If you’ve already changed your mind then you should run, run, run—your parents are likely over the drawbridge by now. I’m certain it’s a long walk to”—he looked in disdain at her simple gown—“wherever it is you’re from. Not Tornfield any longer, I reckon.”
    The woman stood there a moment longer. “Thank you for your concern, but I think I shall stay.” Closer now to Roderick’s ears, her voice sounded like a breeze over a rippling stream—refreshing and light and sweet. She sat.
    â€œVery good.” Hugh took the quill at the ready. “Name? I assume you are not legally called Miss Fortune…are you?”
    â€œLady Michaela Fortune,” she supplied. “My parents are Walter and Agatha. We are vassal to the Tornfield hold, on the south most edge of the shire.”
    Fortune, Roderick thought to himself. I know that surname.
    â€œAh! So you are actually Miss Fortune.” Hugh seemed quite pleased with that bit of information as he scribbled. “Age?”
    â€œA score and one, come January.”
    â€œSo, one score, now. ”
    Lady Michaela’s mouth pinched again. “Yes. Sorry.”
    â€œHave you been or are you now married?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI daresay I already knew the answer to that one,