The Striker Read Free

she felt a pair of tiny arms wrap around her legs. “I love you, Mother.”
    Tears filled her eyes as she returned the hug with a hard squeeze. “And I love you, sweetheart.”
    Certainty filled her heart. She was doing the right thing.

    Three hours later, Margaret had to remind herself of it. As she stood outside the church door, her father, son, and six of her eight brothers gathered on her left, and Sir John on her right, flanked by what seemed like the entire garrison of Barnard Castle, it didn’t feel right at all. Indeed, it felt very, very wrong.
    Were it not for the firm arm under her hand holding her up, she might have collapsed; her legs had the strength of jelly.
    Sir John must have sensed something. He covered her hand resting in the crook of his elbow with his. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
    She had to tilt her head back to look at him. He was tall—although not as tall as her first husband had been—and the top of her head barely reached his chin. He was just as handsome though. Maybe even more so, if you preferred smooth perfection to sharp and chiseled. And Sir John liked to smile. He did so often. Unlike her first husband. Wresting a smile from him had been her constant challenge. But when she’d succeeded, it had felt like she’d been rewarded a king’s ransom. Sir John’s life also didn’t revolve around battle—thinking about battle, planning about battle, talking about battle. Sir John had many other interests, including—novelly— her . He talked to her, shared his thoughts with her, and didn’t treat her like a mistake.
    Then why did this feel like one? Why did the very proper wedding, with the seemingly perfect man, feel so different from the improper one, with the wrong man that had come before it?
    Because you don’t love him .
    But she would. By all that was good and holy in heaven, she would! This time it would grow, rather than wither on the bone of neglect to die. She was being given a second chance at happiness, and she would take it, blast it!
    She drew a deep breath and smiled—this time for real. “I was too excited to eat anything this morning. I’m afraid it’s catching up with me. But I’m fine. Or will be, as soon as we get to the feast.”
    Sir John returned her smile, she thought with a tinge of relief. “Then we must not delay another moment.” He leaned down and whispered closer to her ear. “I don’t want my bride fainting before the wedding night.”
    Her eyes shot to his. She caught the mischievous twinkle and laughed. “So I’m expected to faint afterward?”
    â€œI would consider it the highest compliment if you would. It is every groom’s hope to so overcome his bride on the wedding night that she swoons.” He nodded to indicate the soldiers behind him. “How else am I to impress the men over a tankard of ale?”
    â€œYou are horrible.” But she said it with a smile. This was why she was marrying him. This is why they would be happy. He made her laugh in a way she hadn’t laughed in a long time. His humor was just as wicked as hers had been. Once.
    Following the direction of his gaze, she scanned the large group of mail-clad soldiers. “Is that what you talk about when you are all together? Aren’t you breaking some secret male code by telling me this?”
    He grinned. “Probably. But I trust you not to betray me.”
    Not to betray me  . . .
    A chill ran down her spine. Her gaze snagged on something in the crowd. Her skin prickled, and the hair at the back of her neck stood up for a long heartbeat before the sensation passed.
    It must have been Sir John’s words, unknowingly stirring memories. Unknowingly stirring guilt.
    Tell no one of my presence  . . .
    Pain that not even six years could dull stabbed her heart. God, how could she have been so foolish? The only good