bore an elegant embroidered design of silver thistles. The silver and white of her garb and the fairness of her skin only served to emphasize the natural rose of her soft, expressive lips.
Edouard’s hands reached out for hers before he even thought what he was doing. He, who always maintained an attitude of polite disdain, knew he had revealed too much eagerness. For some reason, he did not care at the moment.
The slight tremble of her fingers against his own fostered a fierce longing in him, a compelling desire to comfort, protect and reassure.
Her priest spoke. As though in a dream, Edouard moved with Anne to a nearby table where the prepared contracts lay ready for signature. She might have offered him nothing more than her sweet person and he would have signed away every sou he owned and borrowed more to give her.
How humbling to lay himself open in such a way, Edouard thought. How foolish. However, for Anne, he seemed to have cast away all doubt and suspicion. She might prove him wrong to trust so, but today—and tonight—she would be his alone. An incomparable woman. An incomparable wife.
Reluctantly he released her hands. Edouard hardly heard the priest enumerate his properties and declare the dower portion. He barely glanced at the documents, and scratched his name with a hurried enthusiasm that, at any other time, would have appalled him.
When he turned, Hume had drawn Anne away. The two now stood near the priest beside the door to the small chapel that adjoined the hall. Flanking them were Henri, Robert, Sir Gui and a lovely maid in simple dress.
Edouard used the time required to cover the short distance regaining what he could of his decorum, but he knew Anne’s spell still held him in thrall. It likely would until they had passed a night together. Perhaps two nights. Or more.
The fact that he felt so besotted suddenly annoyed him. Certainly, he wished to love Anne, but he could not allow himself to lose all control. It was undignified to behave the way he was doing.
He frowned as he listened to the priest’s verification of nonconsanguinity and consent. He accepted Anne’s hand with alacrity when Hume offered it to him. At the proper time, Edouard stated his vows in a clear, brusque voice.
Only when Anne, in her soft and sincere tone, vowed to honor and obey him for the duration of her life, did he feel his poise return full measure.
He realized then that he had held some small fear she would change her mind. Now why would he have thought such a thing? Had she not agreed quite readily to the marriage? Edouard banished the foolish imaginings as common to bridegrooms, and beamed down at his new wife.
When Sir Gui prodded his elbow, Edouard removed the ring he always wore on his small finger. No one had ever worn it save his mother and, after her death, himself. He felt a small stab of sadness that he had never really known the woman who bore him.
The gold-set emerald felt warm in his hand. Following the priest’s incantations, he slipped it on the first joint of Anne’s forefinger, then her middle finger, and then finally settled it on the one with the vein leading straight to her heart. Anne belonged to him now. Forever.
Her upturned face invited kissing and he did so, trying to restrain his fervor. They did, after all, have the Mass to get through. And a celebratory meal likely to last the day. He almost groaned thinking of the long hours they must abide before the bedding. Even thinking the word stirred him nearly past endurance.
Edouard ushered Anne before him as they entered the chapel proper and took their places beside one another for the nuptial mass. The priest droned on and on, the liturgy endless, the Latin barely intelligible, while Edouard allowed his mind to dwell on the night to come. So there he stood, erect and shameless, ignoring mass and thinking lascivious thoughts.
He could almost laugh at the torture he worked upon himself. Not once did he seriously attempt to quell this unprecedented, public randiness of his. He desired Anne and he wanted her to know it. He wanted everyone to know. Therein lay the difference in this and his other marriages. This time he was more than willing. This time, he had chosen.
Yes, theirs would be a love match. Edouard had decided now, and no jest about it. He could think of absolutely nothing that would prevent their loving each other.
Chapter Five
Anne drew in an anticipatory breath as they exited the chapel and made for the dais where they were to break their fast in splendor. Meg said the cook and staff had outdone themselves, given the short time for preparation and supplies available.
Uncle Dairmid had helped them along by procuring various delicacies such as anise and almonds, along with the expensive wine. He had even purchased lampreys, which she could not abide despite their worth. But the French adored them, so said her uncle.
The trick here would be to avoid the disgrace of penury before her new husband, without impressing him enough to warrant frequent visits in future.
“What a pleasant ceremony,” she observed as the comte seated her and took his own chair. “Far preferable to my first, though I do recall little of that day. I was so young then.”
“As you are still,” Trouville said. Nay, Edouard now, she reminded herself. She must call him as he wished, even in her mind. Do everything as he wished.
“Ah, here are our sons, come to wish us happy!” he said, turning to greet the lads.
“Felicitations, Lady Anne, Father,” Henri offered with a formal bow.
“Many thanks, Henril” she exclaimed, smiling at her stepson.
“Appy Day, Mama,” Robert said, and with a hesitant look at the comte, added softly, “Fathah.”
Anne knew if she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the look on her husband’s face. His usual savoir faire deserted him for a mere instant, and she could swear he looked humble. Either that, or Robert’s outrageous presumption had rendered him speechless.
She hurried to concoct some explanation. “Forgive us, my lord, but I am afraid Rob misunder—”
“I am honored,” Edouard interrupted, his eyes locked with her son’s. “Deeply honored. Son.”
Henri chuckled. “Then may I call you Mother, my lady?”
“No!” Rob interrupted, cuffing Henri on the shoulder.
Edouard frowned at Henri and looked about to chastise him when Rob interrupted.
“Say Mama!” her son explained with wide-eyed reproof and repeated, “Mama.”
“Mama!” Henri repeated, laughing and poking Rob playfully in the ribs.
Anne watched the boys scramble for the bench at the far end of the dais. Edouard ignored their unseemly behavior and faced her with hope in his eyes. “Do you mind?”
She placed her hand on his sleeve without any consideration for propriety and smiled. “Nay, I do not! Henri is a fine son.”
“Then you would not object if I should leave him here with you when I go?” he asked. “I vow I have never seen him so content. He has had
