Page 30 of The Handfasting
“Ye know, Sir No?l, my sister is quite skilled with a needle.”
No?l lifted a brow. “Sewin’ cloth or jabbin’ people?”
With a huff of irritation, Cathalin picked up her skirts and whirled away to stand beside someone else.
Ysenda turned to No?l in accusation. “Why did ye do that?”
“She’s like a spoiled hound. Someone needs to bring her to heel.”
Ysenda thought about his words as the flames flickered high into the night sky.
“Someone like ye,” she decided. “Someone who could take her in hand, teach her patiently, bring out the best in her.” She gulped. “Do ye think ye could be happy with…someone like my sister?”
His mouth tightened as he stared into the fire. “Not nearly as happy as I am with ye.”
Ysenda’s eyes filled. She tried to blame the smoke. But her heart was breaking.
“I… I’ve grown tired. I’m goin’ to go up to bed.”
She didn’t wait for his reply. She needed to get away before she burst into tears. Maybe No?l would speak again with Cathalin. Maybe not. But she would at least give them the opportunity.
After she left, No?l tried valiantly to fall in love with Cathalin. He stared at her from afar in the bonfire’s glow, admiring her perfect profile, her creamy skin, her pouting lips. He watched her laugh when someone whispered in her ear. He saw her toss pine cones onto the fire with delicate grace.
But she wasn’t her sister. She didn’t have Ysenda’s honest face, her sweetness, her endearing awkwardness and innocent charm. Cathalin was haughty, coddled, and hopelessly vain. Life with her would be unpleasant.
No?l watched his chance at happiness float away, like one of the bright sparks from the bonfire, rising and becoming swallowed by the black sky. All he could think about was the irresistible lass who waited in her bedchamber even now, less than a hundred steps away.
She’d pledged him her troth. She’d spoken the words to bind them as man and wife. At least, that was what she wanted the world to believe. And if she wished to keep up that appearance, why should he deny it?
If tonight was to be their last night together…if tomorrow he would confront the laird and demand his true bride…then perhaps he should seize what joy he could before he resigned himself to a lifetime of misery.
He gave the woman he was supposed to wed one last glance. She was beautiful. There was no doubt. But she was no match for the lass he’d married.
Against his better judgment, he took those hundred steps to the bedchamber.
When he softly entered the room, his wife was crouched by the fire, stirring the coals. She shot to her feet in surprise. The flames crackled to life behind her, illuminating the sheer linen of her leine, leaving nothing to his imagination.
“I thought ye were stayin’ below a while.” Her voice was cautious.
His eyes never left her as he closed the door behind him. “And I thought ye were goin’ to bed.”
“I was. I am.”
This woman had lied to him. She’d deceived him, earning his trust now so she could exploit it later. Worst of all, she’d made him fall in love with her. By all rights, he should feel hurt and betrayed.
But seeing her in the hearth’s soft glow—her face alit, her eyes shining, her lips so tempting—made him feel only longing.
Had her affection for him been a ruse? Did she feel nothing for him?
He had to find out.
“Then let’s go to bedtogether,” he said.
She gulped. “Don’t ye want to watch the Yule fire?”
“Nae. I’ve seen enough.” He took a step toward her.
She fidgeted with her gown. “They make a circle round the outside…”
