The Prince's Bride by Victoria Alexander Page B

stepped into a grand corridor that overlooked the lower floor. “That’s the great hall below us. It was originally used for feasts and sundry public events. Now it serves the purpose of a parlor, albeit a very large parlor. There’s also an enormous dining hall. I’ll show you that later.”
    “It’s a very big castle, isn’t it?” she said under her breath.
    He raised a brow.
    “I’m curious, Rand.” She huffed. “Not mercenary.”
    “I didn’t say a word.” He grinned, then continued, “It is indeed rather large, although I understand it was not unusually big for the standards of its time, around four hundred years ago. You must remember castles like Worthington housed not just a lord and his family but servants and soldiers, knights and priests and any number of others. It was very much a self-contained community.”
    He strolled along the wall lined with the gilded, elaborately framed portraits of an endless number of Worthington ancestors. Jocelyn trailed behind, intrigued by the paintings almost as much as by the man. Rand was casually dressed in breeches and a crisp, loose linen shirt scandalously open at the throat. It was entirely improper yet completely fitting. It suited him and suited their exile. He looked very much like the confident master of the castle. Or master of anything he wanted.
    “There used to be a dozen or so outbuildings for tradesmen and the like, all hemmed in by a towered wall. The buildings were torn down in the last few centuries and the wall itself is little more than a memory in some spots and a ruin in others.”
    He cast her a significant look. “Castles are exceedingly expensive to keep up.”
    “No doubt,” she murmured, ignoring the pointed nature of his comment.
    “Two of the towers, and much of the wall between, have survived. They’re on the north side of the castle. One tower is nearly in ruins but the other is in excellent shape. In recent years, or at least before my grandmother died, it was used as guest quarters although it’s closed up at the moment. I was allowed to stay there on my own as a boy. It was quite an adventurous undertaking. I can show it to you if you like.” His manner was offhand as if he didn’t particularly care if she wished to see his boyhood sanctuary or not.
    “That would be lovely. But I must admit I am rather confused by all of this. You’ve obviously spent a great deal of time here yet apparently this is not your ancestral home. But your grandmother lived here.” She shook her head. “Just who in your family is whom and what is what?”
    “It’s really not all that complicated.” He shrugged and stepped a few paces down the gallery and nodded at a portrait. Jocelyn followed and stood by his side. “This was my grandmother.”
    The painting depicted a woman not much older than Jocelyn. With dark hair and darker eyes, Rand’s eyes, and a faint wistful smile.
    “She’s lovely,” Jocelyn said.
    “She died, oh, nearly twenty years ago now.” Rand studied the painting. “She was really quite remarkable. One of the few truly courageous people I have ever met.”
    “Really? How so?”
    “She was not British by birth. After her first husband was killed, she was forced to flee her homeland with her infant daughter, my mother, and little more than the clothes on her back and this.” Rand gestured at a small painting hung beside his grandmother’s portrait.
    Less than a quarter the size of the painting of his grandmother, the work depicted a handsome man with an air of supreme confidence. The painting was the smallest she’d seen in the gallery thus far, scarcely more than a miniature, not more than nine inches square, but was nonetheless mounted in an overly ornate, baroque frame similar to all the others. “This was my grandfather.”
    “He looks very young.” And quite wealthy. “Where were they from?”
    “A small kingdom somewhere near Prussia.” He shrugged in dismissal then continued. “He was only a few