Read Online Claire Delacroix by The Warrior - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: The Warrior
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fool to think that you—or she—have a choice.”
The priest frowned. “Why do you wed her?”
“Perhaps I am smitten.”
The Hawk’s men laughed and Aileen felt her face heat. The Hawk, though, did not laugh. Indeed, he must have granted his men a stern glance for they abruptly sobered.
Father Gilchrist regarded the Hawk with skepticism. “Her father will provide no dowry or lands, given your deed.”
“I have no need of whatsoever he would give.” The Hawk tightened his grip upon Aileen. “I already possess the sole prize of Abernye.”
The certainty in his tone fairly took Aileen’s breath away, though she could not imagine that he meant his words.
His breath stirred her hair suddenly and unexpected humor tinged his next words. “And perhaps Aileen will be less inclined to kill me when next we meet abed, if she is my lady wife. Women have a fondness for such formalities, I am told.”
“I will call for aid and foil your scheme,” Father Gilchrist argued.
“I would advise against that.” The Hawk’s tone turned as grim as the expressions of his men. “It will be the last sound you make on this earth.”
“You would not kill a priest in the sanctuary of a church!”
Aileen might have agreed before she heard the coldness of the Hawk’s reply. “I have done worse before and likely will do worse again,” he said and Aileen shivered, remembering his threat just moments before.
“I will take her, either way,” the Hawk continued with resolve. “Would you deny your laird’s daughter the honor of a marital bond, or do you dispatch her to the uncertain life of a concubine?”
Father Gilchrist clearly wanted to deny this man his will, but Aileen saw the blade of the Hawk’s man dig deep enough to make the priest flinch. A trickle of blood stained the priest’s undyed robe. The gazes of priest and would-be bride met, their fear tangible.
“My lady? I shall not do this thing without your assent, even if they do kill me for it.” The priest who had baptized Aileen eighteen years before now studied her.
The knife against Father Gilchrist’s side gleamed evilly. These men would kill him and Aileen knew it. And as much as she might have preferred, there was truth in the Hawk’s claim: she would have more rights as his wife than as his whore.
Further, she might have the chance of escape once they left this chapel. He had planned this deed well, for she truly had no choice but to cede to him, for the moment.
Aileen nodded once, without enthusiasm. At least, she would not have the blood of a priest upon her hands—nor would it be on the hands of her spouse. Their lives would be bound together from this night onward, be it for better or for worse.
Let the Hawk imagine that she was amenable to that. There would be time aplenty for vengeance after he was persuaded that he could trust her.
* * *
Aileen never remembered the words of her wedding service. She assumed they were the usual ones, for the Hawk showed no displeasure with the ritual they were granted.
What she remembered was the tightness of the bonds around her, the conviction in the words her new spouse uttered so close by her ear, the smoothness of his leather glove against her lips.
And his kiss to seal the match.
She remembered how he turned her face to his, she remembered how he warned her quietly not to scream, she remembered how he had coaxed her participation in their ritual kiss. She remembered that she had no fear of his touch—on the contrary, she hungered for the brush of his lips across hers. She remembered how an uncommon heat filled her veins, how his touch awakened a thousand apparent memories.
Most disconcertingly, she would always recall how utterly certain she was that what they had just done was right.
Then he had trussed the gag across her mouth anew, his expression inscrutable, and she feared that she had fallen into the hands of the devil himself.
* * *
In no time at all, they were riding. The black
The priest frowned. “Why do you wed her?”
“Perhaps I am smitten.”
The Hawk’s men laughed and Aileen felt her face heat. The Hawk, though, did not laugh. Indeed, he must have granted his men a stern glance for they abruptly sobered.
Father Gilchrist regarded the Hawk with skepticism. “Her father will provide no dowry or lands, given your deed.”
“I have no need of whatsoever he would give.” The Hawk tightened his grip upon Aileen. “I already possess the sole prize of Abernye.”
The certainty in his tone fairly took Aileen’s breath away, though she could not imagine that he meant his words.
His breath stirred her hair suddenly and unexpected humor tinged his next words. “And perhaps Aileen will be less inclined to kill me when next we meet abed, if she is my lady wife. Women have a fondness for such formalities, I am told.”
“I will call for aid and foil your scheme,” Father Gilchrist argued.
“I would advise against that.” The Hawk’s tone turned as grim as the expressions of his men. “It will be the last sound you make on this earth.”
“You would not kill a priest in the sanctuary of a church!”
Aileen might have agreed before she heard the coldness of the Hawk’s reply. “I have done worse before and likely will do worse again,” he said and Aileen shivered, remembering his threat just moments before.
“I will take her, either way,” the Hawk continued with resolve. “Would you deny your laird’s daughter the honor of a marital bond, or do you dispatch her to the uncertain life of a concubine?”
Father Gilchrist clearly wanted to deny this man his will, but Aileen saw the blade of the Hawk’s man dig deep enough to make the priest flinch. A trickle of blood stained the priest’s undyed robe. The gazes of priest and would-be bride met, their fear tangible.
“My lady? I shall not do this thing without your assent, even if they do kill me for it.” The priest who had baptized Aileen eighteen years before now studied her.
The knife against Father Gilchrist’s side gleamed evilly. These men would kill him and Aileen knew it. And as much as she might have preferred, there was truth in the Hawk’s claim: she would have more rights as his wife than as his whore.
Further, she might have the chance of escape once they left this chapel. He had planned this deed well, for she truly had no choice but to cede to him, for the moment.
Aileen nodded once, without enthusiasm. At least, she would not have the blood of a priest upon her hands—nor would it be on the hands of her spouse. Their lives would be bound together from this night onward, be it for better or for worse.
Let the Hawk imagine that she was amenable to that. There would be time aplenty for vengeance after he was persuaded that he could trust her.
* * *
Aileen never remembered the words of her wedding service. She assumed they were the usual ones, for the Hawk showed no displeasure with the ritual they were granted.
What she remembered was the tightness of the bonds around her, the conviction in the words her new spouse uttered so close by her ear, the smoothness of his leather glove against her lips.
And his kiss to seal the match.
She remembered how he turned her face to his, she remembered how he warned her quietly not to scream, she remembered how he had coaxed her participation in their ritual kiss. She remembered that she had no fear of his touch—on the contrary, she hungered for the brush of his lips across hers. She remembered how an uncommon heat filled her veins, how his touch awakened a thousand apparent memories.
Most disconcertingly, she would always recall how utterly certain she was that what they had just done was right.
Then he had trussed the gag across her mouth anew, his expression inscrutable, and she feared that she had fallen into the hands of the devil himself.
* * *
In no time at all, they were riding. The black
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