Domning, Denise Read Free Page B

stiffened by heavy embroidery done with silver thread, no doubt her mother's handiwork. This design was repeated in unheard of luxury about the wrists of the undergown's close-fitted sleeves. Her overgown was sleeveless and made from samite in a shimmering rose red. The same, silvery pattern of embroidery trimmed its shortened hemline. All this finery was caught at her waist with a silk belt sewn and studded in silver. The crowning touch was a fine, silver- and-pearl band, which capped her free-flowing black hair.
    She smoothed the luxurious materials of her clothing over the full lines of her body, then touched the rich band. "A fortune wasted on an unwilling bride," she murmured.
    Edith sneered. "My husband seeks to buy Lord Graistan's respect. You have been clothed to the limit of my father's tightly held purse and in the highest fashion as a part of your dowry."
    "To what end?" Rowena's laugh was harsh. "Neither I nor my appearance is of any importance to this husband of mine." She lifted a rich, fur-lined mantle, threw it over her shoulders and fastened the clasp. The dark cloak nearly extinguished the brightness of her bridal costume in its heavy folds. "I am ready."
    Her mother threw open the door and stood aside. Rowena swept past her into the hall. There were no ties to bind her to the past. All that remained was the future.

Chapter 2
    Rowena's step did not falter as she left the bedchamber, but she paused as she drew nearer to the center of the hall. The two men who stood in the circle of firelight at the huge hearth were deeply immersed in argument. Any information she might garner before being noticed might likely prove beneficial. As her mother started past, Rowena caught her arm. With a silent motion she asked for a few moments to eavesdrop. Edith shot her daughter a hard look, then shrugged in acquiescence.
    It was not unusual for a long, narrow room such as this to ring with the noise of its many occupants. But, for now, the castle folk were maintaining a discreet silence so they might better hear the quarrel without appearing to do so. She strained to see the noblemen.
    Dressed in a garish costume of red and blue and bejeweled in the newly inherited wealth, her father paced angrily before the fire. Only when he whirled away did she clearly see the other man who must be Lord Graistan, her husband-to-be. He stood a full head taller than her father, which meant he would tower over her.
    When he tilted his head slightly, she saw his jaw-line was clean shaven against the fashion set by King Richard, called the Lionheart. Thick, burnished chestnut hair curled lightly over the collar of his mantle. When he lifted a hand, firelight caught in the gemstone of his only ring. In his simple tawny brown tunic beneath a sturdy, plain mantle, he hardly looked the part of a bridegroom.
    To others it might appear that Lord Graistan stood casually before the hearth, but she recognized full well the pride that infected the set of his shoulders and the arrogance in the line of his jaw. Carefully, cautiously, she slipped forward to hear what they were saying.
    Just then Lord Benfield stopped in his strutting anger and threw his arms wide in frustration. "Why do you now play the reluctant bridegroom? I must hear from others that you plan to delay the wedding, and I am forced to summon you here to confront you. I thought you agreed to wed my daughter." His words echoed through the quiet hall.
    Rowena cringed. Surely, the servants found this wholly reluctant bridal couple more diverting entertainment than any musician, mummer, or juggler.
    When the trembling echoes died away, Lord Benfield continued in a somewhat quieter voice. "It was my belief you found our terms satisfactory. Have I not already given your churchman cousin our contract and all the rest you desired him to hold for you? Why then must I force your hand to conclude this deed only to have you seek for some other excuse by which to withdraw?"
    "How reluctant can I be,