Page 8 of The Wager and the Wedding

Isabella sniffed. “You overestimate me. The truth is, I’m just like Mother. She and Lady Eleanor have made sure to purge any tender sentiments I might have possessed. I’m as heartless as they are.”

Tears ran down her cheeks, and despite her protestations, she must have had a heart because it was breaking at her sister’s kindness.

“Hush.” Adelaide murmured a steady stream of empty reassurances as the storm blew itself out.

After several long minutes, Isabella was able to take deep breaths and compose herself. Thank God no one had come in to witness this pathetic display. She untangled herself from her sister’s arms and went to a side table with a water pitcher and basin. Pouring water, she splashed some on her face. The cool, refreshing drops cleared the last of the distress, and steely resolve replaced the aching vulnerability she’d felt in her sister’s arms.

“I’m better now,” Isabella said, as she returned to her stool by the loom. “I can face this. I’m sorry for losing control like that.”

“Don’t be.”

The sympathetic look on her sister’s face almost sent her over the edge again, so she turned to look at her father’s armor. That was what she needed—a metal suit to shield her from harm.

“Play me a song of war,” Isabella said without meeting her sister’s gaze. “No love songs today. We need to prepare for battle.”

A moment later, Adelaide began strumming swift, martial chords and started singing their father’s favorite song about King Arthur at the Battle of Camlann in her quivery soprano.

Isabella began weaving again, taking heart from the lyrics about bravery and sacrifice, as King Arthur triumphed over Mordred. Fortunately, there wasn’t time for Adelaide to sing all the way to the tragic end where King Arthur perished after his victory. Sure enough, as Adelaide reached the climactic moment, the door to the solar opened, and a servant walked in.

Adelaide stopped playing, and their mother’s lady’s maid entered and said, “The countess requires your presence in the chapel, Lady Isabella.”

“I wish Crispin was here,” Adelaide said dismally. “He’d put a stop to all this.”

Isabella shook her head sadly. “We probably won’t ever see our brother again. If he survives this war, Father will surely bring him back here, and we’ll be at the other end of the country.” The three of them had been inseparable as children. Crispin had always been his sisters’ greatest defender, but he was a knight in the service of the Duke of Normandy now. There was no way to enlist his help in their current troubles.

“My lady?” her mother’s maid inquired.

This was it. There was no avoiding this wedding. She could only pray that her new husband stuck to his end of the bargain and that she had a chance to execute her plan. What she would do if she ended up stuck with the obnoxious baron for the rest of her life, she had no idea.

“I’m coming. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Taking her sister’s arm, she swallowed her anxiety and mentally donned her armor, ready to face battle. She would marry with her head held high, come what may. And then, the real work would begin.

Chapter Four

Martin stood besidethe priest as his bride approached on her father’s arm, a portrait of fearsome resolve. Her back was straight as a sword, and she held her head high, as she faced her fate. It would be the triumph of a lifetime to win her over, and Martin had never relished a challenge more.

It was a small wedding, carried out in the castle’s chapel with a minimum of fanfare. Candles flickered and guttered with drafts of cold air that seeped in despite the stained-glass windows and thick stone walls that kept out the worst of the howling wind. Attendees were mostly members of Lord Ferdinand’s household. The earl and countess were dressed in velvet and fur, while the rest of the small smattering of guests clutched their woolens tight against the cold. Most wore dark colors, making somber shadows in the pews. The only splash of color was Isabella in her rich blue gown.

As they spoke their sacred vows before those assembled, his heart was fit to burst with anticipation. He had a worthy adversary at last, and her surrender would be so sweet. He wouldn’t defeat her by trying to tame her.Oh no.What a shame it would be to see his lioness declawed. He wanted her in all her razor-sharp glory, an equal in all things, knowing she had met her match.

She bristled as he slid the beautifully crafted ring that he had purchased onto her finger. It held a large, beautiful sapphire andhad cost a princely sum that, fortunately, he could afford. It was worth it to see the lovely hand of his bride adorned with such a jewel, even if she was glaring at him in a way that could give a man frostbite.

When the priest pronounced them man and wife, she was clenching her jaw so hard that her cheek bulged. And when the priest said it was time to kiss the bride, he approached her with all the caution he would use with an angry bear. A light peck on the cheek was all he dared, and even that was risky. From her rigid stance, pursed lips, and narrowed eyes, he was certain she would have liked to take his head off for it. He was lucky she didn’t use her clenched fists to knock him out for his audacity.

As they left the chapel and made their way to the great hall, Isabella rested her hand lightly on his arm, as if trying to maintain as little contact as possible. The silence between them grew into a tangible thing, and he’d had enough of it. It was time to goad his gorgeous termagant into speech.

“My lady, I cannot believe my good fortune to have such a proud and lovely wife. Your beauty is beyond compare, and your wit is sharp as a poignard. I am smitten.”

As he expected, her fingers tightened on his arm, and she dug her nails in hard. “Save your breath, fool. Your honeyed words are wasted on me.”

It was a good thing she had no idea that the little shock of pain created a very different sensation in another part of his body. “Not wasted, I think, because now you are speaking to me. If we are to spend the rest of our lives together, I would prefer not to do so in silence.”

“This wedding is a sham,” she whispered so that no one else could hear. “If you attempt to change the terms of our agreement, I’ll make you regret it.”

He smiled. “Ah, but we need everyone here to believe it is real,” he murmured. “Should a doting husband not be trying to win over his new wife with sweet words?”

She made a frustrated noise in her throat.

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