and was now moving, as her horse was tethered to his. She grabbed at the pommel and glanced back at Didier, who was now sitting beneath a large cart filled with apples. The boy was valiantly trying to eat one, but the fruit only fell to the ground with each attempt to cram it into his mouth.
Simone faced forward once more, unconcerned that they left Didier behind. She and her brother had discovered shortly after his death that horses could sense the boy’s presence intensely and would go into fits of wild kicking and screams should he venture too near—a fact that broke Simone’s heart; Didier so loved the beasts.
She knew that her brother would eventually find his way to their destination, and the thought gave her some comfort. His would be the only sympathetic face at the ceremony, she was certain, even if Simone would be the only person in attendance who could see him.
Panic seized her once more as they drew near the abbey and the throng of people crowded around the entrance, packed tightly along each side of the wide steps and even spilling out into the street. Simone gave her horse a gentle kick and drew alongside Armand.
“Papa, who are all those people?” she asked under her breath.
“Guests of the king, I presume,” he replied nonchalantly. “Mayhap ’tis not often a wedding is held at his command. They are merely curious.” Then, to her horror, her father raised his good arm and actually waved to the crowd, as if they had been awaiting an audience with him. “Bonjour! Good day! Thank you for coming!”
Simone felt as if a million eyes were picking her apart as they neared the base of the steps. The crowd stared openly at her, and she saw more than one pair of ladies with their heads bowed together, whispering to each other and smirking in her direction. Some women even openly glared at her.
But then the critical bystanders were wiped from her mind as her gaze traveled up the broad steps, and there he was.
Nicholas FitzTodd’s eyes never left Simone as he descended to meet them. Armand had dismounted and was now standing at the head of Simone’s gray, reins in hand. As her betrothed drew near, she could not help but be stunned once more by his appearance.
His tunic eerily complimented Simone’s gown—cut from a fine, ivory cloth and embroidered heavily at the neck and hems with shining gold thread. His chausses were brown, as were his soft leather boots, and the tip of his broadsword fairly grazed the ground with its massive length.
She allowed the weapon to lead her gaze upward once more, traveling the length of its gilded sheath to the sparkling sapphire that adorned the hilt. Up his arm, clothed in a creamy undershirt, his shoulder, the tanned skin of his neck, brushed by raven curls…
“Du Roche.”
The baron’s voice hummed with animosity as he acknowledged her father, and Simone could not bring herself to meet his eyes.
“Baron,” Armand replied robustly, and from the corners of her downcast eyes, Simone saw her father hand her horse’s reins to Nicholas. “May you be blessed with much prosperity.”
Simone heard Nicholas’s answering grunt, and then Armand’s lower half disappeared from her field of vision. An ivory tunic brushed against her knees. Simone realized she was shaking terribly and did not know how to proceed. She could not bear to look at him, could not—
“Lady du Roche,” Nicholas said, his voice so low and deep that its timbre seemed to increase her trembling.
Simone closed her eyes briefly and steeled herself before slowly turning her head and meeting her fate directly.
He stared at her for a long moment, and Simone thought she might scream from the tension. His eyes gave nothing away, sparkling like jewels in the bright afternoon sunlight. Just as it was upon their first meeting, Simone felt mesmerized by the blue depths. She noticed with an odd pang of concern his scraped cheek and the swollen cut on his lower lip—almost reached out to touch it before catching herself and clenching her fists tightly.
When he spoke again, his words were meant only for her. “You’ve been weeping.”
“You’ve been fighting.” Her voice sounded husky and strange to her own ears.
His expression did not change. He let the reins drop from his hand and raised it to her hip. The contact burned through Simone’s gown, and she drew a wavering breath.
“Come to me,” he commanded in the strange silence that had descended around them.
Oddly grateful for the direction, Simone complied, placing her hands on his wide shoulders and allowing Nicholas to swing her easily to the ground. She swayed slightly as her feet found purchase, and Nicholas seized her upper arms in a firm grip, steadying her. He then placed one of her hands atop his forearm, effectively turning them toward the steps, and together they began to climb.
Simone felt for a moment that perhaps the ordeal would be bearable after all. And then the whispers along the front lines of the crowd reached her ears.
“—voices in her head—”
“—drove her mad—”
“—denied by her betrothed—”
Simone cringed and glanced up at the baron’s profile, but he was stoic, slowly leading her up the seemingly endless staircase.
“—father a cripple—”
“—penniless—”
“The poor baron. Why, I’d—”
Simone turned her gaze forward once more, determined to block the hurtful words from her mind, even as her cheeks burned and her throat tightened. The doors to the abbey swung wide, and she saw Nicholas’s brother and his wife standing just inside. It was obvious by the blackness around one eye that Tristan had been involved in the same brawl that had resulted in Nicholas’s injuries, and Simone wondered what kind of family she was marrying into that such violence did not warrant some comment.
She and Nicholas gained the wide landing before the ornate entrance, and the smile Haith greeted them with caused Simone to feel a pinch of regret for her earlier rudeness. Now more than ever before, Simone knew she would have need of a friend, and she hoped that Didier’s prediction that Lady Haith could be trusted with their secret was correct.
The startled shrieks of what sounded like every horse in London shattered the silence, and Simone cringed as Nicholas turned her toward the commotion.
Each beast that occupied the wide street, whether beneath the rump of a traveler or tethered to a cart, was rearing in fright, rolling his eyes and fighting his bonds. Several steps below Simone, Didier clomped up the stairs, a wince on his heart-shaped face and his hands held open beseechingly.
“Odd,” Nicholas muttered, scanning the scene below before turning them to enter the abbey.
Simone tossed a warning look over her shoulder for Didier’s benefit and then passed into the darkened interior on the baron’s arm.
The ceremony was short, and for that, Nick was grateful. His skull had ached since awakening—whether due to his overindulgence or Tristan’s chastising—and Nick had no other wish but to get this ridiculous farce over with.
The high-ceilinged chamber was crammed with onlookers, making the air
