The Mistress Of Normandy Read Free Page A

bitterness of his tone sparked a flash of understanding in her. Crossing to his side, she laid her hand on his arm. “I never pretended otherwise.”
    He shook her off and turned away. “I was quite cheaply bought, was I not?”
    “We were two people in need, you and I. That our marriage answered those needs is no cause for shame.” She faced the window and looked out at the beloved, moonlit water meadows surrounding Bois-Long. “We can be well content here, Lazare, united against the English.”
    He drank deeply of his wine. “Longwood could arrive any day now, expecting a bride. What will he do when he finds you’ve already wed?”
    “Pah! He’ll turn his cowardly tail back to England.”
    “What if he challenges us?”
    “He’s probably old and feeble. I have no fear of him.”
    “You’re not afraid of anything, are you, Lianna?” It was more an accusation than a tribute.
    Nom de Dieu, he did not know her at all. Soon enough, no doubt, some loose-tongued castle varlet would tell him of her soul-shattering terror of the water, that childhood nightmare that plagued her yet as an adult.
    “I fear some things. But I won’t waste the sentiment on this Baron of Longwood.” With distaste she recalled his flowery missive, scented with roses and sealed with a leopard rampant device. “In fact, I look forward to sending him on his way.” She touched her chin. “I’ve been thinking of saluting him with Chiang’s new culverin, the one on the pivoting gun carriage....”
    “It’s all a damned game to you, isn’t it?” Lazare burst out, his eyes flaring. “We court the disfavor of the two most powerful men in all Christendom, yet you talk of cannon charges and fireworks.”
    Although dismayed by Lazare’s mood, Lianna bit back a retort. “Then let’s talk of other things,” she said. “It is our wedding night, mon mari. ”
    “I’ve not forgotten,” he muttered, and poured himself another draught of wine.
    She almost smiled at the irony of the situation. Wasn’t it the bride who was supposed to be nervous? And yet, while she faced her duty matter-of-factly, Lazare seemed distracted, hesitant.
    “We’ve bound our lives before God,” she said. “Now we must solidify the vow.” Dousing a sizzle of apprehension, she went to the heavily draped bed and shrugged out of her robe. Naked, she slipped between the herb-scented linens and leaned back against the figured oak headboard.
    Lazare approached, drew back the drapes, uttered a soft curse, and said, “You’re a beautiful young woman.”
    Her brow puckered; the statement was not tendered as a compliment.
    Cursing again, he jerked the coverlet up to her neck. “It’s time we understood each other, Lianna. I’ll be your husband in name only.”
    The sting of rejection buried itself in her heart. Ten years without a father, seventeen without a mother, had left scars she’d hoped her marriage would heal. “But I thought— Is it King Henry or my uncle? Are you so afraid of them?”
    “No. That has nothing to do with it.”
    “Then do you find me lacking?”
    “No! Lianna, leave off your questioning. The fault doesn’t lie with you.” Lazare’s eyes raked her shrouded form. “You are magnificent, with your hair of silk and sweet, soft skin of cream. Were I a poet, I’d write a song solely on the beauty of your silver eyes.”
    The tribute stunned and confused her. He laid his hand, dry and cool, upon her cheek. “You’ve the face of a madonna, the body of a goddess. Any man would move mountains to possess you!”
    The stillness between them drew on. A faint crackle from the fire and the hiss of the ever-shifting river pervaded the chamber.
    Lazare jerked back his hand. “Any man...” He laughed harshly. “Except me. One of the wenches downstairs will have to do as a receptacle for the unslaked lust you inspire.”
    Lianna shivered. “Lazare, I don’t understand.”
    He leaned against a bedpost. “This marriage is one of mutual