his desires. Yet he did not consider himself an oblivious man. He trusted his advisor, the jenden, to keep him apprised of any situations that needed his attention, which left him free to pursue other fascinations. Such as hunting and, upon occasion, charming a young woman. He had not strayed from his wife in all his years of marriage, but once he had finished mourning her, he had found himself feeling newly free to enjoy the attentions of the women of his court, and enjoy them he did. But any woman with the idea that she might actually become granda one day was simply deluding herself. The grand had loved only one woman and would forever love her. The man would never choose to follow her with anyone subpar. The grand would never insult her memory in such a way.
But taking a mistress and practically fawning over her at his end of the table, seating her directly to his right, where she could hold and fondle his hand, where she could occasionally lean toward him and draw his attention to her young, healthy breasts, well, that was entirely in the realm of possibilities. Gwynn was a spicy little redhead who barely came up to the grand’s shoulder, but she had all the curves in the world to make up for what she lacked in height. She was also quite beautiful, with her pale, flawless skin, her long elegant neck, and her pretty fey features. But there was calculation inher eyes. Yet another thing the grand could not see. But it was clear to all that she had quite a shrewdness to go with her sparkling wit.
As everyone settled into their seats, the grandina kept her head down, self-consciously tugging her veil into place and rubbing at her bruised lips. They were a little swollen and red from the jenden’s rough treatment, and her eyes were wet from continually filling with tears, which she fought back. She would not give Grannish the satisfaction. She sat up ramrod straight and looked longingly toward her father. The jenden was on his immediate left and Gwynn was on his immediate right, leaving her at Gwynn’s right, the woman between them. And anyway, she could not tell her father of Grannish’s treatment, for he would not hear it. He would make up some kind of excuse or accuse her of blowing things out of proportion. If she called Grannish out in front of him, it would only anger the jenden more, and the next thing he did would be even crueler. Oh, Grannish would never leave distinctive marks on her. No cuts or bruises she could point to as proof to her father and make the grand honestly question him, but there were other things he could do. And over time Grannish had proved to be quite
creative
when it came to his cruelties.
She was not in the mood to eat, but a quelling look from Grannish had her reaching for some bread and some meat and cheese. She could make the pretense of eating these things, perhaps feeding them to her father’s hunting dogs, who were seated attentively around the edges of the room. If they saw so much as a crumb drop, they would dart forward to gobble it up, then move back to their places. They were not allowed to beg, but they would sit and drool in anticipation of a guest possibly calling them forward to feed them a treat.
She had just called the wine steward forward to fill her glass when a man entered the far end of the room.She froze in place, putting down her glass before the boy could fill it. She shooed the boy back when he blocked her view of the man.
He was tall. So very tall. He had a square, beautiful jawline, hair as brown and soft looking as a fru’s winter coat, and there were those stunning green eyes. If not for those three things, she would never have recognized him as the mud-caked man of earlier. She would swear on her father’s life that she had never seen shoulders so broad or arms so well muscled. Someone had given him leggings, ones that molded tightly to every well-muscled contour of his legs and snuggled close to … other large portions of his body. If not for the
But taking a mistress and practically fawning over her at his end of the table, seating her directly to his right, where she could hold and fondle his hand, where she could occasionally lean toward him and draw his attention to her young, healthy breasts, well, that was entirely in the realm of possibilities. Gwynn was a spicy little redhead who barely came up to the grand’s shoulder, but she had all the curves in the world to make up for what she lacked in height. She was also quite beautiful, with her pale, flawless skin, her long elegant neck, and her pretty fey features. But there was calculation inher eyes. Yet another thing the grand could not see. But it was clear to all that she had quite a shrewdness to go with her sparkling wit.
As everyone settled into their seats, the grandina kept her head down, self-consciously tugging her veil into place and rubbing at her bruised lips. They were a little swollen and red from the jenden’s rough treatment, and her eyes were wet from continually filling with tears, which she fought back. She would not give Grannish the satisfaction. She sat up ramrod straight and looked longingly toward her father. The jenden was on his immediate left and Gwynn was on his immediate right, leaving her at Gwynn’s right, the woman between them. And anyway, she could not tell her father of Grannish’s treatment, for he would not hear it. He would make up some kind of excuse or accuse her of blowing things out of proportion. If she called Grannish out in front of him, it would only anger the jenden more, and the next thing he did would be even crueler. Oh, Grannish would never leave distinctive marks on her. No cuts or bruises she could point to as proof to her father and make the grand honestly question him, but there were other things he could do. And over time Grannish had proved to be quite
creative
when it came to his cruelties.
She was not in the mood to eat, but a quelling look from Grannish had her reaching for some bread and some meat and cheese. She could make the pretense of eating these things, perhaps feeding them to her father’s hunting dogs, who were seated attentively around the edges of the room. If they saw so much as a crumb drop, they would dart forward to gobble it up, then move back to their places. They were not allowed to beg, but they would sit and drool in anticipation of a guest possibly calling them forward to feed them a treat.
She had just called the wine steward forward to fill her glass when a man entered the far end of the room.She froze in place, putting down her glass before the boy could fill it. She shooed the boy back when he blocked her view of the man.
He was tall. So very tall. He had a square, beautiful jawline, hair as brown and soft looking as a fru’s winter coat, and there were those stunning green eyes. If not for those three things, she would never have recognized him as the mud-caked man of earlier. She would swear on her father’s life that she had never seen shoulders so broad or arms so well muscled. Someone had given him leggings, ones that molded tightly to every well-muscled contour of his legs and snuggled close to … other large portions of his body. If not for the
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