Page 18 of The Handfasting
“The next time,” he promised, “’twill be better.”
The next time? There could be no next time.
She bit her lip. She supposed she was ruined now. But she wouldn’t make No?l pay the price for that. On the morrow, when her father came to his senses and handed over No?l’srealbride, Ysenda would do the right thing, the merciful thing. She’d deny she’d ever bedded him.
The handfasting would be broken. No?l and Cathalin would be free to wed. He’d whisk his new wife away to his castle in France. And Ysenda would probably never see him again.
She glanced over at the handsome knight with the dazzling smile and the kind heart. If he hadn’t drifted off to sleep, he would have seen the childish tears gathering in her eyes.
It was silly, she knew. But she wanted him for herself. She didn’t care that he wasn’t a Highlander. She didn’t care that he was Cathalin’s. She didn’t even care that she had nothing to offer him—no castle, no land, no title.
She’d given him her maidenhood already. And if she believed for an instant that he’d take it, she’d offer him her heart as well…for she was sure she’d fallen in love with him.
As mad as it sounded, it was true. Though she’d known him only a few hours, she knew he was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband. He was loyal, brave, sincere, fair. He commanded the respect of men and earned the admiration of women.
But her heart wasn’t what Sir No?l had come for. He’d come for a political alliance. Besides, a man like him could have any maiden he chose. Why would he choose Ysenda when he’d been given the most beautiful woman in all of Scotland?
She turned away and sulked herself to sleep.
Chapter 5
Ysenda woke before the sun. In her sleep, she’d somehow wrapped her arms and one leg around her bedmate. She paled, realizing she had to untangle herself both from Sir No?l and from the mess her father had created before it was too late. She also had to make sure nothing bad had happened to Caimbeul.
She carefully extricated herself and glanced at the man sleeping beside her. She couldn’t resist a fond grin. One side of his face was distorted where it was smashed into the downy mattress. His hair stuck out every which way, like a tree struck by lightning. His mouth hung open, and great snores issued forth. The noble knight didn’t look quite so noble now. And yet his unguarded sleep made her adore him all the more.
How pleasant it would be to wake up each day to such an endearing sight…to hear the reassuring sound of his breathing…to peruse the sculpted contours of his…
She almost choked when she beheld the bold silhouette poking up the linen sheet. How could that be? How could he be aroused when he was fast asleep?
Her cheeks flaming, she crept out of the bed before things could get worse. She cast one last despondent glance at the man she was leaving behind. Then she left the chamber to seek out her brother.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “What have ye done with him?”
The laird grimaced as her sharp words pierced his aching head. “He’s fine.” He shooed her away and continued to poke among the kitchen stores for something to soothe the pain.
She found the vial of willow bark extract and shoved it into his hand. “Father, listen to me. What happened last night was a mistake. Ye can’t go against the king. ’Tis…” She glanced around the cellar, even though it was too small to conceal spies. Then she whispered, “’Tis high treason.”
“Ach!” he scoffed. “The king won’t come marchin’ all the way up here to enforce one wee marriage.” But Ysenda detected a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Besides,” he said, uncorking the vial and sniffing at the contents, “’tis too late now.”
“But that’s just it. ’Tisn’t too late.” She licked her lips, hating to lie. “We didn’t…that is…there was a weddin’…but there was no beddin’.”
He screwed up his face in disbelief. “What?”
“The handfastin’ can be broken now. He’ll be free to marry Cathalin.”
He stared at her as if she were stupid. “He’s not marryin’ Cathalin.”
Ysenda’s heart plummeted. “But he has to. The king decreed it. Ye signed the papers yourself.”
“I’m not givin’ my land to a Norman, no matter what the king decrees.”
“But my laird…Da…don’t ye see? Ye’ve been given a second chance.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Ye wily wench. Ye refused him on purpose.”
“Aye, I did. I did it for the good o’ the clan. I could see ye weren’t in your right mind last night. And I knew if I didn’t—”
The back of his fist cracked suddenly against her cheek, rocking her head and making her stagger sideways. She caught herself on the shelf, knocking over a row of bottles that clattered on the stones.
