âYou are now man and wife
in the eyes of God and by the laws of the kingdom. You may kiss your bride, my lord.â
Raymond glanced at the man sharply. He didnât want to kiss her. Not here, in the crowded hall, and indeed not ever.
Kissing reminded him too much of Allicia.
âIt is to seal the promise, my lord,â the priest whispered nervously. âIt is not strictly necessary, but the people will be disappointed if you donât.â
He didnât care if they were or not.
Suddenly his bride grabbed his shoulders, turned him toward her and heartily bussed him on the lips.
He couldnât have been more surprised if she had drawn a knife and threatened to kill him.
She leaned close. âI want everyone to know I am wed to you of my own free will.â
Now what could he possibly say to that?
Praise for the recent works of USA Today bestselling author Margaret Moore
The Dukeâs Desire
âThis novel is in true Moore styleâsweet, poignant and funny.â
âHalifax Chronicle-Herald
A Warriorâs Kiss
âMargaret Moore remains consistently innovative, matching an ending of romantic perfection to the rest of this highly entertaining read.â
âRomantic Times Magazine
The Welshmanâs Bride
âThis is an exceptional reading experience for one and all. The warrior series will touch your heart as few books will.â
âRendezvous
âS top gawking like a simpleton,â Lord Perronet snapped, his hooked nose twitching with annoyance as he waited for his nieceâs horse to come beside his. âAre you trying to look like a fool?â
Elizabeth tore her gaze from the castle ahead. The massive structure loomed out of the gray mist as if it were some sort of angry beast watching its prey come closer. âGiven all the unexpected things that have happened to me in the past three days, would it be so surprising if my brains were addled?â
Her uncleâs eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed her with obvious displeasure, as he had at intervals ever since he had come to the convent to take her away. âYouâre still the same,â he muttered. âI was hoping the good sisters had tamed you by now.â
âThey tried, Uncle, they tried.â
He grunted scornfully as he continued his dissatisfied scrutiny.
Elizabeth knew she was not pleasing to look upon. If she were, she would not have been sent to the holy sisters thirteen years ago, into that horrible living death. She would have stayed with Lady Katherine DuMonde to finish her education in preparation for marriage and her duties as the chatelaine of a castle. She would have married. She would have had children.
âYou must make an effort to behave properly, as a highborn lady should,â he commanded.
âYou wish I were more like my cousin Genevieve, no doubt.â
âThat harlot? No, I certainly do not.â
Elizabeth kept the satisfied smile from her lips. Beautiful, ladylike Genevieve, her cousin, should have been making this journey to Donhallow Castle today. Instead, she had compromised her honor with a Welsh-Norman nobleman and married him, leaving her uncle with a terrible dilemma. He had already arranged a marriage alliance with the powerful Lord Kirkheathe and, rather than have it thwarted, had come to the Convent of the Blessed Sacrament to give Elizabeth the choice of remaining there until the day she died, or taking Genevieveâs place as Lord Kirkheatheâs bride.
As she had thought then, so she thought now: she had never had a simpler decision to make. A chance for liberty of some sort, or slavery and deprivation for certain.
âYou have told me almost nothing of Lord Kirkheathe,â Elizabeth prompted as they continued toward Donhallow. Now she could make out a village huddled at the base of its walls, like peasants around a warm fireâa much more pleasing conceit than the first sight of their destination had engendered.
âWhat is there to know?â her uncle replied. âKirkheathe is rich, respected, has friends at court and we should pray to heaven he takes you in Genevieveâs stead.â
âWhat will happen if he doesnât?â
Her uncle turned his hard black eyes toward her. âLet us just say it will be better if he does. A man needs all the friends at court he can get.â
Elizabeth cocked her head to one side. âYou do not trust the men at court who are supposed to be your friends?â
Her uncleâs face flushed. âI said nothing of the kind.â
âWhy else seek a family alliance with Lord Kirkheathe? His lands are far from yours.â
âSince when has a woman who has spent the past thirteen years in a convent understood anything of politics and alliances?â
âYou think there are no politics in a convent? No alliances to be made or broken? No secrets to be kept? No power to crave? By our Lady, Uncle, I am not the simpleton if you believe that.â