don’t know, do you?”
“What?” she demanded. He went on looking at her. She said it again, louder, “What?”
And then, at last, he told her. “That medallion is mine. My father gave it to you so I might know you as my chosen bride.”
Chapter Five
Should she have known? Probably.
“I see you have been… misled,” he said softly. Brit only clutched the medallion and stared. Very patiently he went on, “We Mystics cling more closely to the old ways than do the people of the south. For us marriage is, first and foremost, an alliance between families. In the past millennium or so, it’s been the custom for the father of the groom to present the future bride of his son with a special pendant—a marriage medallion that was wrought of silver in the first months after the son’s birth. Each medallion is different, because each was made specifically for one treasured infant son.”
He paused for a moment, his gaze holding hers. Then, as if he could see it, though she still had her hand wrapped around it and he continued looking right in her eyes, he said, “A circle in quadrants, a ribbonlike creature, twisting and twining over the whole—the world serpent, perhaps, that coils at the roots of the guardian tree, holding together all the nine worlds. Four animal heads—snakes, dragons, rams? Perhaps. Or perhaps these are creatures of fancy, of myth. And at the center, the symbol for Saint John’s arms—like a cross, with four equal sides, each coiling and turning into the next. St. John is said to keep its bearer safe from all evil, did you know?”
She had, of course. Medwyn had told her—that much. But no more.
Eric said, “The medallion you wear used to hang on the wall above my blankets when I was an infant. As a child, I wore it against my flesh. When I turned eighteen, I gave it to my father—to be returned to me only around the neck of the woman I would wed. You.”
It came to Brit, suddenly, why she hadn’t figured it out before: she hadn’t wanted to know. She’d been so proud and sure that her father and his grand counselor believed her—believed in her. That they’d seen her purpose and her determination to find her brother, or at the very least, to learn the truth of his death. She’d allowed herself to believe that they respected her quest—and yes, damn it, it was a quest.
But apparently, only to her. To them—to her father the king and Medwyn and this too-attractive man sitting opposite her, she was only a woman. And to them, as to far too many men, Gullandrian or otherwise, a woman was to be taken seriously in only one context.
In relationship to a man.
“Let me get this straight.” She kept her voice low. Moderate. Controlled. “Medwyn and my dad sent me here to marry you? I was almost killed in a plane crash, my guide died, I was just about finished off in a… a hike-by shooting, and you’re trying to tell me it’s all for the sake of wedding bells?”
“It is of great importance, whom you marry. The fate of our country may hang upon that choice.”
“I’m not here to find a husband.”
“Yet a husband is what you shall have.”
“You can’t force me to marry you.”
“I will not have to force you.”
She shoved back from the table, knocking the bench over behind her. The sound of it crashing to the floor was satisfying in the extreme. “Get this. I’ll say it slowly. It’s. Not. Going. To. Happen.”
He frowned, just the slightest downward curl at each side of his fine mouth. “You are angry.”
Major understatement. “You are right.”
“You will come, over time, to accept—”
She raised a hand, palm out. “Uh-uh. Don’t you even try to tell me what I’ll accept.”
He hadn’t moved. He remained in his seat across the table, looking up, his expression patient enough to set her teeth on edge. “Perhaps now you wish to rest.”
Rest after this conversation? “As if.”
Shaking his head, he rose and carefully stepped free of the bench on his side of the table. “I fear there will be yelling and recriminations, if I stay.”
“No kidding—and don’t you dare leave yet.”
He was already striding for the door.
She flew at him. “You are not walking out of here. Not now. Not until I say what I have to say.” She grabbed his arm.
Big mistake. He stopped and looked right at her.
And there it was, that… energy. That… connection. Hot. And dangerously delicious.
Forget that, she told herself. She gave his arm a good yank and got her face right up to his, so she could stare squarely into those mesmerizing eyes. “He’s alive, my brother. I know he is. I saw him. He was here, in this very room. He stood over my bed and he called me your bride. Now, how could I dream that, when I didn’t know a thing about it until right now?”
Eric did not so much as blink. “Some things are known by the heart before they are known by the mind.”
“Oh, don’t give me that Mystic baloney. Valbrand’s alive. Admit it.”
“You delude yourself.”
“The left side of his face is scarred. Terribly. What did that to him?”
“Turn your mind to what matters here.”
“My brother. He is what matters. And I’m here to find him.”
“Your brother is dead. Accept it. You are here because you are mine, as I am yours. The fates have decreed it.”
“Yours? I don’t even know you.”
“You will. Over time.”
“No.”
He went on, not even pausing. “You are brave and strong. Of obvious intelligence, though sometimes too quick to act, when to watch and wait would be wiser. I have seen you with the children. You like them, you have a kind heart. To look at you pleases me. You are of a good age for breeding, though a bit younger might have been better.”
“Breeding? I’m a good age for breeding?”
“Overall, I am more than content with my father’s choice—and I see in your eyes, in the quickening of your breath when you are near me, that I am not totally repellent to you.”
“This is insane.”
“No. This is as it was meant to be. It is our mutual fate that we be bound, each to the other, as man and wife.”
She let go of his arm and stepped back, mindful not to trip on the bench she’d overturned. “Listen, it’s not my fate to be bound to anyone. I need serious breathing room.
