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Authors: Bertrice Small
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“Where did that come from?” Annabella asked.
“Yer mam gave it to me just before we left Rath. She said ye were to wear it when you rode into Duin, and to never forget from whence ye sprang. It’s quite charming.” She stepped back. “Are ye ready, Annabella?”
“Aye, I suppose I am,” her companion agreed, pulling her riding gloves back on her hands. Together, the two young women emerged from the grove, where Snow was now waiting with an elegant saddle and bridle upon her. Matthew helped Annabella to mount, steadying the mare as the young woman settled her leg over the pommel and her skirts about her. She took the reins from him.
“For pity’s sake, get her to smile,” Matthew whispered to his sister. “She is such a solemn little puss.”
“She’s nervous,” Jean whispered back. “She’ll shortly meet her husband for the first time, and he’s a total stranger to her.” Men! They could be so unfeeling, she thought. But not Angus. Angus’s charm and ability to understand women were his strong points, as Annabella would soon learn. She would not be nervous for much longer.
Led by the Ferguson pipers, the bridal party topped the last hill, stopping briefly so that Annabella might glimpse Duin in all its glory for the very first time. The castle, for it was indeed a castle, stood below them on a rocky promontory overlooking the sea. Annabella’s mouth fell open with surprise, but she quickly closed it not to look the fool. It was a dark gray stone structure, rectangular, with four tall round towers, each with a slate witch’s-cap roof. The walls connecting each section of the castle were made for defense, although Annabella could not imagine anyone attacking Duin. It was set in such a way that it could be accessed only on one side across a drawbridge. Beyond and around it, the bright sun danced on the dark blue waters, catching the foamy curl of the waves. It was beautiful and seemed to have a magical air about it.
“Duin,” Matthew said in an understated manner.
“It looks impressive at first glance, I know,” Jean said, seeing the look on Annabella’s face, “but I promise it is very comfortable within. You will be happy here.”
They descended the hill on the castle road, the pipers playing a cheerful march ahead of them. Then from out of the castle and across the drawbridge came a party of riders. Two outriders rode with gaily colored flags flying. Matthew grinned and Jean laughed, delighted. A cheer went up from the men-at-arms escorting the bride.
Leading the welcoming party was a tall man on an enormous dappled gray stallion. Annabella knew in an instant that this had to be Angus Ferguson. Her party had stopped, and as the other group of riders drew near, she saw his face for the first time. They had not lied. She almost wept then and there. He was without a doubt the handsomest man she had ever set eyes upon. She felt her plainness now more than she had ever before felt it. This beautiful man shouldn’t be wed to her. His wife should be some glorious female whose beauty matched his.
He had a sculpted face with high cheekbones and a long straight nose. His chin was squared, not with hard lines, but soft ones. There was the faint impression of a dimple in the exact center of that chin. His mouth was long and just full enough without being big. She could not see the color of his eyes yet, but his hair and brows were every bit as dark as hers were. God’s mercy, how envious Myrna would be, Annabella thought.
Angus Ferguson’s stallion came to a halt. He dismounted, going quickly to where Annabella sat upon Snow. She couldn’t look at him for fear of weeping. Seeing him, she wanted him, but he would certainly send her back having seen her. A little gasp escaped her when, reaching up, he lifted her from the back of the mare. A single finger slipped beneath her chin, raising her head up. Deep green eyes met her startled gray gaze.
“Welcome to Duin, madam,” a deep voice
“Where did that come from?” Annabella asked.
“Yer mam gave it to me just before we left Rath. She said ye were to wear it when you rode into Duin, and to never forget from whence ye sprang. It’s quite charming.” She stepped back. “Are ye ready, Annabella?”
“Aye, I suppose I am,” her companion agreed, pulling her riding gloves back on her hands. Together, the two young women emerged from the grove, where Snow was now waiting with an elegant saddle and bridle upon her. Matthew helped Annabella to mount, steadying the mare as the young woman settled her leg over the pommel and her skirts about her. She took the reins from him.
“For pity’s sake, get her to smile,” Matthew whispered to his sister. “She is such a solemn little puss.”
“She’s nervous,” Jean whispered back. “She’ll shortly meet her husband for the first time, and he’s a total stranger to her.” Men! They could be so unfeeling, she thought. But not Angus. Angus’s charm and ability to understand women were his strong points, as Annabella would soon learn. She would not be nervous for much longer.
Led by the Ferguson pipers, the bridal party topped the last hill, stopping briefly so that Annabella might glimpse Duin in all its glory for the very first time. The castle, for it was indeed a castle, stood below them on a rocky promontory overlooking the sea. Annabella’s mouth fell open with surprise, but she quickly closed it not to look the fool. It was a dark gray stone structure, rectangular, with four tall round towers, each with a slate witch’s-cap roof. The walls connecting each section of the castle were made for defense, although Annabella could not imagine anyone attacking Duin. It was set in such a way that it could be accessed only on one side across a drawbridge. Beyond and around it, the bright sun danced on the dark blue waters, catching the foamy curl of the waves. It was beautiful and seemed to have a magical air about it.
“Duin,” Matthew said in an understated manner.
“It looks impressive at first glance, I know,” Jean said, seeing the look on Annabella’s face, “but I promise it is very comfortable within. You will be happy here.”
They descended the hill on the castle road, the pipers playing a cheerful march ahead of them. Then from out of the castle and across the drawbridge came a party of riders. Two outriders rode with gaily colored flags flying. Matthew grinned and Jean laughed, delighted. A cheer went up from the men-at-arms escorting the bride.
Leading the welcoming party was a tall man on an enormous dappled gray stallion. Annabella knew in an instant that this had to be Angus Ferguson. Her party had stopped, and as the other group of riders drew near, she saw his face for the first time. They had not lied. She almost wept then and there. He was without a doubt the handsomest man she had ever set eyes upon. She felt her plainness now more than she had ever before felt it. This beautiful man shouldn’t be wed to her. His wife should be some glorious female whose beauty matched his.
He had a sculpted face with high cheekbones and a long straight nose. His chin was squared, not with hard lines, but soft ones. There was the faint impression of a dimple in the exact center of that chin. His mouth was long and just full enough without being big. She could not see the color of his eyes yet, but his hair and brows were every bit as dark as hers were. God’s mercy, how envious Myrna would be, Annabella thought.
Angus Ferguson’s stallion came to a halt. He dismounted, going quickly to where Annabella sat upon Snow. She couldn’t look at him for fear of weeping. Seeing him, she wanted him, but he would certainly send her back having seen her. A little gasp escaped her when, reaching up, he lifted her from the back of the mare. A single finger slipped beneath her chin, raising her head up. Deep green eyes met her startled gray gaze.
“Welcome to Duin, madam,” a deep voice
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