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men, are all that remain of her family after the attack on their estate.”
With a nod, he finally looked at Gwynne and waved his hand back from her to the woman. “Gwynne, meet my sister, Lady Diana de Brice.”
Sister ? Gwynne snapped her gaze to Aidan, to see if hejested with her. He looked nothing less than sincere—and perhaps exasperated. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, until Diana spoke. Then her hand itched to pull out and use the sword that no longer hung at her side.
“I don’t see why you need to bring home every stray you find, Aidan,” Diana muttered. “And why now, of all times, pray tell? ’Tis not as if we have no worries when it comes to your imminent marriage—or my own betrothal.” She gave him another pouting look.
“That will be enough, Diana,” Aidan said tightly, gripping his sister’s arm and attempting to steer her back toward the castle. “We’ll talk about it after dinner.”
Diana resisted as Aidan pulled her away, casting one last dark look at Gwynne before adding, “’Tis not as if we have no other relatives to help carry the burden of destitute kin. Her being here will not please Lady Helene or her father at all.”
“Then the feeling will be mutual,” Gwynne couldn’t resist muttering, tempted as well to charge up the few steps to the main door and throttle the woman senseless.
The gentle pressure of a hand on her arm held her back, though it was all she could do not to whirl and strike the foolish person who’d dared to touch her. It was de Brice’s man, Kevyn. His expression was somber, not at all mocking, as she’d expected. That helped to ease her anger a bit. And so when he murmured something about escorting her to her rooms and gestured the way, she decided to clamp her mouth shut and follow.
As they passed into the shadows beyond the castle doors, through the nearly empty great hall, and up a curved set of stairs that led to the bedchambers, she tried to cool her temper further, reminding herself that dealing with conflicts by fighting and using her weapons was no longer an option. Not for the next three months, anyway.
That part was going to take getting used to. She was awarrior, trained to behave like a man—like a legend—for as long as she could remember, and punished for acting like anything else. Being made to assume the role of a female now was strangely painful, and as awkward as if someone had cut off her hands and told her to accustom herself to doing everything with her feet.
But she’d have to get used to it. She’d agreed to de Brice’s plan, after all.
She spent the remainder of the two hours until dinner sitting in her spacious chamber and bemoaning that fact. Wondering what under heaven had possessed her to go along with his schemes in the first place. Only the thought of the respite her sacrifice was giving her people and of the vengeance she’d have on de Brice after she returned to them made any of this even remotely tolerable.
When it was nearly time to descend to the hall, she yanked on the heavy rose-hued gown that had been sent up for her, not caring if it was positioned correctly or not. She fastened the matching gold-embroidered belt low on her hips in what she thought was the proper way and tugged it with enough force that she was disappointed when it didn’t snap. Then, jamming onto her head the absurd gauzy veil and cap that had arrived with the gown, she stood and paced over to face her reflection in the polished oval of metal that leaned against the wall in the corner.
Ridiculous .
A scowl darkened her face. Stamping away from the mirror, she tripped, caught up in the unfamiliar length of skirts swirling around her legs. Lugh , but this was idiotic! Wrenching the fabric back into place, she lifted the hem to see if she’d torn it. A bit of ragged edge dangled an inch or two. Grimacing, she shook the skirts out so that they fell again over the leggings she’d refused to remove.
If it was the last
With a nod, he finally looked at Gwynne and waved his hand back from her to the woman. “Gwynne, meet my sister, Lady Diana de Brice.”
Sister ? Gwynne snapped her gaze to Aidan, to see if hejested with her. He looked nothing less than sincere—and perhaps exasperated. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, until Diana spoke. Then her hand itched to pull out and use the sword that no longer hung at her side.
“I don’t see why you need to bring home every stray you find, Aidan,” Diana muttered. “And why now, of all times, pray tell? ’Tis not as if we have no worries when it comes to your imminent marriage—or my own betrothal.” She gave him another pouting look.
“That will be enough, Diana,” Aidan said tightly, gripping his sister’s arm and attempting to steer her back toward the castle. “We’ll talk about it after dinner.”
Diana resisted as Aidan pulled her away, casting one last dark look at Gwynne before adding, “’Tis not as if we have no other relatives to help carry the burden of destitute kin. Her being here will not please Lady Helene or her father at all.”
“Then the feeling will be mutual,” Gwynne couldn’t resist muttering, tempted as well to charge up the few steps to the main door and throttle the woman senseless.
The gentle pressure of a hand on her arm held her back, though it was all she could do not to whirl and strike the foolish person who’d dared to touch her. It was de Brice’s man, Kevyn. His expression was somber, not at all mocking, as she’d expected. That helped to ease her anger a bit. And so when he murmured something about escorting her to her rooms and gestured the way, she decided to clamp her mouth shut and follow.
As they passed into the shadows beyond the castle doors, through the nearly empty great hall, and up a curved set of stairs that led to the bedchambers, she tried to cool her temper further, reminding herself that dealing with conflicts by fighting and using her weapons was no longer an option. Not for the next three months, anyway.
That part was going to take getting used to. She was awarrior, trained to behave like a man—like a legend—for as long as she could remember, and punished for acting like anything else. Being made to assume the role of a female now was strangely painful, and as awkward as if someone had cut off her hands and told her to accustom herself to doing everything with her feet.
But she’d have to get used to it. She’d agreed to de Brice’s plan, after all.
She spent the remainder of the two hours until dinner sitting in her spacious chamber and bemoaning that fact. Wondering what under heaven had possessed her to go along with his schemes in the first place. Only the thought of the respite her sacrifice was giving her people and of the vengeance she’d have on de Brice after she returned to them made any of this even remotely tolerable.
When it was nearly time to descend to the hall, she yanked on the heavy rose-hued gown that had been sent up for her, not caring if it was positioned correctly or not. She fastened the matching gold-embroidered belt low on her hips in what she thought was the proper way and tugged it with enough force that she was disappointed when it didn’t snap. Then, jamming onto her head the absurd gauzy veil and cap that had arrived with the gown, she stood and paced over to face her reflection in the polished oval of metal that leaned against the wall in the corner.
Ridiculous .
A scowl darkened her face. Stamping away from the mirror, she tripped, caught up in the unfamiliar length of skirts swirling around her legs. Lugh , but this was idiotic! Wrenching the fabric back into place, she lifted the hem to see if she’d torn it. A bit of ragged edge dangled an inch or two. Grimacing, she shook the skirts out so that they fell again over the leggings she’d refused to remove.
If it was the last
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