the choices Queen Eleanor offered, ‘It is this, or a cell.’ He could not imagine Lady Sarah in a dark, damp, airless cell. Rats, the cries of the other prisoners, hunger and bone-chilling cold would quickly take their toll on a court lady.
Her luxurious, pale hair would soon hang in grimed snarls. The fine gown would rot on her body from the constant dampness. As she lost weight from the lack of proper food, the garment would hang in tatters. Her sparkling eyes would lose their shimmer, her lips would soon forget how to smile.
‘You would not fare well.’
Sarah stared up him. The clear blueness of her eyes, large against her pale flesh, took his breath away.
‘You think I would fare better with you?’
The vision of his lovely and desirable wife-to-be wasting away lent a harshness to his voice as he responded, ‘At least you will live.’
She hesitated a few seconds more, making him uncertain if she would bolt from his side again or not. But finally, she sighed in what sounded like defeat, and then tentatively placed her trembling hand on his forearm.
William led her down the aisle, stopping before the waiting clergy. Why the Queen had insisted their vows be witnessed by the Church baffled him.
Legally, they needed to do nothing more than exchange their vows and live as husband and wife. At the most, had the ceremony been left to him, he would have been more than satisfied with the Church’s blessing afterwards.
But William knew he was in no position to argue with Queen Eleanor.
Sarah’s heart pounded so loudly in her ears, she could barely hear the clergy’s words. Instead, two things tossed about in her mind—the woman’s comment about Bronwyn’s rough treatment not being harsh enough, and the way he’d nearly snarled when he’d told her that at least she would live.
Would she? An unstoppable shiver snaked down her spine. Her father had often used his hands—and fists—to demand obedience from all in his care, including at times her mother. Sarah had lost count of the times she’d witnessed some men at court using physical force to control their wives and children.
To most, the aggressive acts were normal…nearly expected. But since coming to the Queen’s court she’d been spared that treatment, so it no longer appeared normal to her. In those years, no one had once raised a hand in anger towards her.
She didn’t know the man standing next to her. She’d met him less than a few hours past. And now, in a matter of mere moments, he would be her husband. He would own her as surely as he owned the clothing upon his back.
Her throat tightened, as another tremor of fear shook her. Bronwyn squeezed her hand. Had he sensed, or felt, her traitorous shivers? Sarah forced the building terror aside.
The ceremony passed in a blur. She paused when the clergy asked if she willingly took this man as husband. Only the memory of the Queen’s thinly veiled threat of a cell, or worse, prompted her to answer, ‘Aye.’
Finally, it was over and she stared up at the man beside her. The man who had just become her husband. Light from the torches ensconced into the wall flickered across his face. Flecks of gold glittered menacingly against his brown eyes.
His hand engulfed hers and she willed herself to remain still. It was one thing for him to know she hadn’t wed him willingly. But letting him sense her fear would give him too much power. She knew well the danger that lay in appearing weak.
The women gathered in the Queen’s private chapel to witness the Church’s blessing twittered. Their hushed voices, and half-giggles, seemed to echo in the well of silence that had fallen over the holy room at the conclusion of the blessing.
Sarah flinched under the spitefulness of their tongues. This was one thing she would not miss. These women knew her not, yet they’d formed an opinion of her based on things they had heard, and thought they had seen. Apart from Adrienna, not one had taken the time to seek out the truth.
Most of them had come to Eleanor’s court for the same reason as she—to find a husband. The only difference was the land and gold they would bring into a marriage.
The father cleared his throat, discreetly reminding them that the blessing was over. They had but to kiss, and then depart from the chapel.
‘I am sorry,’ William apologised, leaving Sarah to wonder if it’d been directed towards her, or the churchman.
All she knew for certain was that he was suddenly leaning closer, looming over her before he brushed his lips against hers.
The chapel again buzzed with whispers and smothered laughter. Sarah knew the women made fun of her, and the man who now owned her. But she refused to cower under their snickers. She wanted to prove their assumptions wrong.
In deference to the Church, she tempered her response, but she still placed her hand against William’s chest, rose up on her toes and returned his kiss.
His lips were warm, and surprisingly gentle. Unlike other kisses she’d encountered, he did not seek to devour her mouth. William barely moved his mouth against hers, and a flash of liquid heat trailed down her spine.
What had been offered as nothing more than a chaste touch of their lips to seal their vows turned to an unspoken promise of shared desire to come.
The snide whispers faded away as she realised that the notion of shared desire did not overly frighten her. Nor did it repulse her.
Confused, Sarah pulled away slowly. To hide her uncertainty, she graced him with a dazzling smile before turning towards the women. One by one they looked away, giving her an odd sense of satisfaction. For the first time, she’d not been the one to avert her face in shame.
Chapter Two
‘Sarah.’ William’s deep voice floated across her ear. ‘It is time to leave.’
As she turned with him toward the double doors, he grasped her hand, asking, ‘Is there any you wish to bid farewell?’
A curt response at the tip of her tongue, she stared up at him. But the twitch at the corner of his lips, and an amused glint in his eyes, stopped her from speaking. He was teasing her. Had he heard the women’s whispers and laughter? Had he somehow understood how much the venom behind their spiteful mocking hurt her?
She leaned forwards, intentionally craning her neck to look around him at the women, and answered, ‘No. I think not.’
William paused to slip his arm across her tense shoulders and pull her closer before turning his focus towards the surprised women. ‘I fault you not for having sense enough to recognise those unworthy of your time or attention.’
He’d raised his voice enough to be heard, and darkened his tone enough to be understood. Sarah couldn’t be certain of what astonished, or befuddled, her more—his open defence of her, or the looks of shock and shame written on the women’s faces.
After once again starting towards the doors, William looked down at her, and she had the sudden sensation of drowning in his golden-flecked soft brown eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, making it difficult to swallow.
Worse was the way her heart raced, and her chest swelled with an emotion she feared to
