Bound to Be a Bride Read Free Page A

and agitated (a pretense that was not difficult to maintain). She told Sol in desperate, whispering tones that she needed the older woman to procure something stronger than water from the kitchen in order to calm her rapidly fraying nerves. As soon as Sol had shut the door behind her to do her lady’s bidding, Isabella took the older woman’s serviceable hooded brown cape and wrapped it around her white-brocaded self.
    The commotion in the kitchen had her nervous for a few seconds, until she realized the wedding feast preparations had thrown every member of her father’s household staff into paroxysms of frantic activity. She slipped easily out the back door that led to a sunken kitchen garden, kept her back close to the golden stone of the castle’s exterior, and was into the wooded protection of the surrounding forest within a few minutes of leaving her room. Her horse was exactly where she had left her, chewing on a bit of grass and looking at Isabella with a mildly disapproving stare.
    “Oh, stop that, you beast! I know what I am doing,” Isabella said softly as she patted down the horse’s neck and tightened the buckle of the girth. Over the next mile, she felt like a very lucky child who happened upon treasure after treasure in the trees and shrubs. The first sewn burlap parcel held the very basics: knife, needle, two leather flasks of water, and a practical peasant dress.
    She had contemplated shearing off her hair and sporting a pair of close-fitting buckskins, but she had convinced herself that merely escaping would be enough of an adventure and accomplishment. No need to gild the lily with pretending to be a gentleman. She would never admit that vanity had also reared its ugly head; even she knew that her luxuriant black hair was her very best asset. She rationalized further that she was really treating her mane as a form of savings, a commodity she could sell one day if need be.
    Isabella picked up the trail of the three men, probably poachers, about two hours after beginning her journey. They were obviously heading due west to Portugal, as was she, but they were all still on her father’s land. Now, a few hours later, under the protection of darkness, she tied up her horse a good distance away and walked through the trees, concealing herself as best she could.
    “It just seems unlikely, Javi. The false ruler is right here in Spain. What good will it do for us to go halfway around the world and disrupt a few peasants in Mexico? He won’t even care.”
    The man speaking had the rough features of a peasant, but he spoke like an educated man. A third man had long legs that stretched toward the fire and a bored aristocratic expression. Their leader, the one named Javier, was poking a stick into their small fire with agitated jabs. The coals lit his face like a devil. An arrogant, outrageously handsome devil , Isabella thought with an unfamiliar curl of desire in her belly. She instinctively covered her middle with the palm of her hand, as if to stave off an attack of peptic upset. When he looked up, she must have gasped, because all three men turned simultaneously, pulled all sorts of vicious-looking weapons from all sorts of invisible places, and came running in her direction.
    She caught her breath and turned, running as fast as she ever had. Isabella was a splendid runner; everyone at the convent had told her so. But she was no match for an angry, arrogant, red-eyed Satan of a man. She felt the pull of his grip, hard and merciless, on her nape. He grabbed her like an errant kitten, by the scruff of her neck. From sheer instinct, or maybe stupidity, Isabella began thrashing and kicking and must have made contact with something because the terrible man dropped her unceremoniously back down the few inches he had lifted her off the ground. He moaned like a weak, lame thing. She felt victorious.
    Then she saw the gleam of pure hatred in his eyes. “You. Will. Never. Do. That. Again.” He ground out each