noble prattled on about his own feats of skill. What was his name again? Oh dear, she had never been that rude, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember it.
“My lady,” the nobleman said, scowling down at her. “Have you heard nothing I said?”
“Forgive me,” she said honestly. She had no right being so awful. “Rumor flies that war is on the horizon. I find that quite distracting.”
He patted her hand in a fashion Rose found infuriating. “There, there, do not vex yourself. Leave the matters of war to men.”
Rose gritted her teeth ; her own father had taught her better than that. She forced herself to smile sweetly at him. “And if I did such a thing, what would happen if I were to manage your holdings as your wife if you were called away to battle?”
He gave her a mere stretch of his lips, revealing his teeth. His smile did not light a room or cause butterflies to riot within her.
“My lady, my lands are extensive. I daresay I have no need to ride into battle. I have money enough to pay others to ride into battle for me.”
Rose barely bit back her sharp retort. Her father had explained well that he was doubtful over this man’s holdings. The man was in debt up to his neck and hoped his marriage to a strong household might cure that particular ill. Her father allowed him to visit only to gauge his merit as a man and knight.
Much of that her father would glean from Rose, and this man was failing miserably.
She took a deep, steadying breath; there were two men she believed in, one of which was her father. He had promised she would not marry outside her choosing , and thus far he had upheld that promise. But she was growing older and her father more concerned. She had not yet found her match.
“Tell me more about the battles you fought in,” she said, knowing it would result in more prattling. Unlike another warrior she could name, who appeared as strong as a bull and born to wield a blade, she wondered if this pompous arse could actually heft one.
“Ah, perhaps I should tell you of the first Welsh uprising in 1277. I accompanied my father as we led armies to support Mortimer. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, Mortimer had been routed by the fool peasants.”
“Peasants?” she asked, startled.
“Forgive me, my lady, for I do not wish to tarnish your ears with what I think of the Welsh. They are a pox on this land and deserve to be exterminated like the vermin they are.”
“Oh, really?” she asked, her voice deadly and she locked him in her gaze.
“Of course, lady,” he said, completely missing her warning. “They are a foul blood.”
“My mother is Welsh,” she growled.
That caught his attention and he frowned at her. “Not your birth mother,” he said. “All know you are of true English blood, my lady Rose. Few understand why your father chose a Welsh woman when he decided to remarry.”
The sharp retort rose to her lips but she bit it back. Nay, few would understand her father’s choice, even though it was the perfect one for him. Rose clearly remembered her father being so lost and alone during her childhood—until he found Gwen and his happiness. Her father had become a new man, one who had found love in his marriage and one unafraid of demonstrating his caring and devotion to his family.
“Rose,” her father’s voice sounded behind her, as if summoned by her thoughts.
She turned and smiled at him, but her smile faded when she saw the look in his amber eyes. He glared at…oh, what was his name again?
The nobleman bowed. “Lord Montgomery—”
“Rose, ” her father said and held his hand out to her.
She stepped forward and accepted his embrace gratefully. He kissed the top of her head then glared at the young nobleman. “I should demand satisfaction,” he snarled.
“Papa?” Rose whispered, looking up at him.
“I heard his words,” her father growled. “I heard his slight against not only my wife but her people, Rose. I shall not abide
“My lady,” the nobleman said, scowling down at her. “Have you heard nothing I said?”
“Forgive me,” she said honestly. She had no right being so awful. “Rumor flies that war is on the horizon. I find that quite distracting.”
He patted her hand in a fashion Rose found infuriating. “There, there, do not vex yourself. Leave the matters of war to men.”
Rose gritted her teeth ; her own father had taught her better than that. She forced herself to smile sweetly at him. “And if I did such a thing, what would happen if I were to manage your holdings as your wife if you were called away to battle?”
He gave her a mere stretch of his lips, revealing his teeth. His smile did not light a room or cause butterflies to riot within her.
“My lady, my lands are extensive. I daresay I have no need to ride into battle. I have money enough to pay others to ride into battle for me.”
Rose barely bit back her sharp retort. Her father had explained well that he was doubtful over this man’s holdings. The man was in debt up to his neck and hoped his marriage to a strong household might cure that particular ill. Her father allowed him to visit only to gauge his merit as a man and knight.
Much of that her father would glean from Rose, and this man was failing miserably.
She took a deep, steadying breath; there were two men she believed in, one of which was her father. He had promised she would not marry outside her choosing , and thus far he had upheld that promise. But she was growing older and her father more concerned. She had not yet found her match.
“Tell me more about the battles you fought in,” she said, knowing it would result in more prattling. Unlike another warrior she could name, who appeared as strong as a bull and born to wield a blade, she wondered if this pompous arse could actually heft one.
“Ah, perhaps I should tell you of the first Welsh uprising in 1277. I accompanied my father as we led armies to support Mortimer. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, Mortimer had been routed by the fool peasants.”
“Peasants?” she asked, startled.
“Forgive me, my lady, for I do not wish to tarnish your ears with what I think of the Welsh. They are a pox on this land and deserve to be exterminated like the vermin they are.”
“Oh, really?” she asked, her voice deadly and she locked him in her gaze.
“Of course, lady,” he said, completely missing her warning. “They are a foul blood.”
“My mother is Welsh,” she growled.
That caught his attention and he frowned at her. “Not your birth mother,” he said. “All know you are of true English blood, my lady Rose. Few understand why your father chose a Welsh woman when he decided to remarry.”
The sharp retort rose to her lips but she bit it back. Nay, few would understand her father’s choice, even though it was the perfect one for him. Rose clearly remembered her father being so lost and alone during her childhood—until he found Gwen and his happiness. Her father had become a new man, one who had found love in his marriage and one unafraid of demonstrating his caring and devotion to his family.
“Rose,” her father’s voice sounded behind her, as if summoned by her thoughts.
She turned and smiled at him, but her smile faded when she saw the look in his amber eyes. He glared at…oh, what was his name again?
The nobleman bowed. “Lord Montgomery—”
“Rose, ” her father said and held his hand out to her.
She stepped forward and accepted his embrace gratefully. He kissed the top of her head then glared at the young nobleman. “I should demand satisfaction,” he snarled.
“Papa?” Rose whispered, looking up at him.
“I heard his words,” her father growled. “I heard his slight against not only my wife but her people, Rose. I shall not abide
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