Read Online Hearts and Crowns by Anna Markland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anna Markland
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bent to the close study of some document upon the table. She faltered. By the wood of the true cross! Had Henry betrothed her to an old man?
At her gasp, both men looked up. They shared a resemblance, except one was a good deal older than the other. The older man smiled, his eyes full of warmth and welcome.
The younger, taller knight straightened. Back rigid, lips in a tight line, he narrowed his eyes. Her belly lurched. Gooseflesh marched across her nape. She had never seen a young man with hair the color of moonbeams. Yet his eyebrows were black as night. It was strangely compelling. The unrelieved black of his doublet, hose and boots made his appearance all the more startling. Under his dark gaze, she felt like a rabbit caught in a snare.
He was much taller than she, a broad-shouldered warrior whose bearing and attire left no doubt about his wealth and power. It was immediately evident he did not welcome this betrothal. He did not want her.
As the older man stepped forward, offering his hand, a doomed hope that he was her betrothed befuddled her wits.
“ Milady Peridotte. Bienvenue . Welcome to Ellesmere Castle. I am Baudoin de Montbryce. I apologise for my absence yesterday.”
The fog of despair lifted. The still handsome Earl was evidently as friendly as his wife. Surely the son—?
She accepted the Earl’s hand and he bowed to brush a kiss across her knuckles. It was an honor she was obliged to acknowledge, though she feared no words would issue from her dry throat. She averted her gaze. “ Merci , milord Earl.”
He held on to her hand and led her to the arrogant man who had made no move towards her. If she balked, she would never have to bear the touch of the haughty nobleman who eyed her with scorn.
But refusal was not an option. Her father had never beaten her, but she would surely feel the full weight of his wrath if she disgraced her family by spurning an alliance arranged by the King of England. After the beating she would be sent to a nunnery.
The well-muscled giant with the silver hair was her husband-to-be. She wanted to blurt out that she loved Geoffrey Plantagenet, but that would only serve to deepen his obvious disdain and intensify his wrath.
The Earl passed her hand into that of his son. “ Milady Peridotte de Pontrouge, may I present to you mon fils , Gallien de Montbryce, your betrothed.”
The warmth of his skin was a shock, but he made no attempt to bestow a kiss. He merely let her hand rest on his. “ Enchanté ,” he rasped, but his icy blue eyes did not reflect his professed delight at meeting her. Nor did he acknowledge her by name.
“ Milord de Montbryce,” she murmured.
He dropped her hand like a red hot ember from the brazier. Resentment flared in her throat. It was an insult.
Comte Fulk’s emissary coughed.
Her betrothed shifted his weight, his fists clenched at his side. He shot a glance of pure hatred at the Angevin escort. “Shall we get this over with?”
Retrieving the documents from the table, the Earl scowled at his son. He reassured the emissary. “I believe everything is in order.”
Misery welled up in Peri’s heart. All in order? Nothing was as it should be. She had dreamed of a life of love, happiness, and prestige as the wife of Geoffrey Plantagenet. Instead she was doomed to wed a cold, heartless foreigner who obviously did not want her, much less love her.
The emissary returned the documents to the table, accepted the inked quill from the Earl and signed both copies with a flourish. It appeared she was not to be allowed to read the agreement that would bind her to the Montbryce monster. They probably thought her illiterate because she was an Angevin.
Misery gave way to anger. When the emissary offered her the quill, she sauntered to the table and picked up the parchment. Fulk’s man gasped. “All is as it should be, milady .”
Holding the quill in mid air, she peered down her nose in the condescending way Fermentine invariably looked at her.
At her gasp, both men looked up. They shared a resemblance, except one was a good deal older than the other. The older man smiled, his eyes full of warmth and welcome.
The younger, taller knight straightened. Back rigid, lips in a tight line, he narrowed his eyes. Her belly lurched. Gooseflesh marched across her nape. She had never seen a young man with hair the color of moonbeams. Yet his eyebrows were black as night. It was strangely compelling. The unrelieved black of his doublet, hose and boots made his appearance all the more startling. Under his dark gaze, she felt like a rabbit caught in a snare.
He was much taller than she, a broad-shouldered warrior whose bearing and attire left no doubt about his wealth and power. It was immediately evident he did not welcome this betrothal. He did not want her.
As the older man stepped forward, offering his hand, a doomed hope that he was her betrothed befuddled her wits.
“ Milady Peridotte. Bienvenue . Welcome to Ellesmere Castle. I am Baudoin de Montbryce. I apologise for my absence yesterday.”
The fog of despair lifted. The still handsome Earl was evidently as friendly as his wife. Surely the son—?
She accepted the Earl’s hand and he bowed to brush a kiss across her knuckles. It was an honor she was obliged to acknowledge, though she feared no words would issue from her dry throat. She averted her gaze. “ Merci , milord Earl.”
He held on to her hand and led her to the arrogant man who had made no move towards her. If she balked, she would never have to bear the touch of the haughty nobleman who eyed her with scorn.
But refusal was not an option. Her father had never beaten her, but she would surely feel the full weight of his wrath if she disgraced her family by spurning an alliance arranged by the King of England. After the beating she would be sent to a nunnery.
The well-muscled giant with the silver hair was her husband-to-be. She wanted to blurt out that she loved Geoffrey Plantagenet, but that would only serve to deepen his obvious disdain and intensify his wrath.
The Earl passed her hand into that of his son. “ Milady Peridotte de Pontrouge, may I present to you mon fils , Gallien de Montbryce, your betrothed.”
The warmth of his skin was a shock, but he made no attempt to bestow a kiss. He merely let her hand rest on his. “ Enchanté ,” he rasped, but his icy blue eyes did not reflect his professed delight at meeting her. Nor did he acknowledge her by name.
“ Milord de Montbryce,” she murmured.
He dropped her hand like a red hot ember from the brazier. Resentment flared in her throat. It was an insult.
Comte Fulk’s emissary coughed.
Her betrothed shifted his weight, his fists clenched at his side. He shot a glance of pure hatred at the Angevin escort. “Shall we get this over with?”
Retrieving the documents from the table, the Earl scowled at his son. He reassured the emissary. “I believe everything is in order.”
Misery welled up in Peri’s heart. All in order? Nothing was as it should be. She had dreamed of a life of love, happiness, and prestige as the wife of Geoffrey Plantagenet. Instead she was doomed to wed a cold, heartless foreigner who obviously did not want her, much less love her.
The emissary returned the documents to the table, accepted the inked quill from the Earl and signed both copies with a flourish. It appeared she was not to be allowed to read the agreement that would bind her to the Montbryce monster. They probably thought her illiterate because she was an Angevin.
Misery gave way to anger. When the emissary offered her the quill, she sauntered to the table and picked up the parchment. Fulk’s man gasped. “All is as it should be, milady .”
Holding the quill in mid air, she peered down her nose in the condescending way Fermentine invariably looked at her.
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