Page 5 of A Husband for Esyllt
“We do.”
He smiled at this far from warm opening, but she did not let it bother her because at that moment she caught sight of the handsome squire, who was taking his place at one of the benches with the rest of the English retinue.
“Shall we eat? I see you have a veritable feast prepared for us. I even recognize most of the dishes, something I had not dared hope for.”
As in a dream, Esyllt accepted Lord Sheridan’s hand and sat down next to him, readying herself for what she already knew would be the longest meal in her life.
What cruel twist of fate had made her see a man with the beauty of a fallen angel on the day she was meeting the husband who’d been chosen for her? It had been hard to reconcile herself with the idea of this marriage but against all odds, she had been struck by Lord Sheridan. Then, a heartbeat later, she had been forced to see that she would never be satisfied with him because she would forever be thinking of another man.
As a succession of dishes were placed in front of her, she did her best not to stare at the squire. A servant offered him some roasted goose, and she watched as he selected a leg and bit into it. For a reason she could not fathom, her insides convulsed. He deposited the half-eaten leg on his trencher, and the corner of his lips twitched. Esyllt’s heart plummeted in her chest. He had seen the effect he was having on her and he was making a point of letting her know it.
She swallowed hard. This wouldn’t do. The last thing she wanted was for the squire to report to Lord Sheridan, whom sheimagined already wary of the Welsh, that his future wife was lusting after other men.
Or...
An idea struck her. Could this be the way out of this marriage she’d desperately been looking for? Gruffydd would not be able to blame her for not cooperating if Lord Sheridan was the one calling a halt to the proceedings.
And she had just found the perfect reason for him to do so.
Feeling much lighter than she had in weeks, she selected a piece of meat from the dish in front of her. As luck would have it, it was goose. She bit into it with relish. Cooked to perfection, flavored with rich spices and honey, it melted on the tongue.
Just like that, her appetite was back.
Connor Hunter, Lord Sheridan, watched his future wife place what little remained of her goose leg on her trencher and frowned. She had not eaten a single thing since she’d sat down and now she was smiling to herself and eating with appetite. Why? What idea had just crossed her mind? What made her green eyes sparkle so? Not that they needed anything to dazzle. They were already bright enough to ensnare any man. He should know, he who had been struck at first glance.
His future wife was one beguiling woman.
Instead of being pure perfection, which would have been rather dull, she was a study in contrasts. Her delicate face was framed by a veil as white as her skin, and her voice was soft and measured, but her full, red lips hinted at sensual delights no man could resist and her tight velvet dress hugged the body of a temptress. Connor suspected she was as fiery on the inside as she appeared demure on the outside. There was some welcome color to her cheeks, a color that added to her allure and was due, in part at least, to him and the heated gazes they had exchanged.
From the moment she’d seen him, her demeanor had changed. Before she’d spotted him next to Matthew, she’d beenpale and drawn, obviously wary of the English retinue and dreading the meeting with the man she was set to marry.
Then he had appeared and she had looked entranced.
By him.
And the feeling was mutual, because the future Lady Sheridan was a rare beauty and, even more importantly, not as modest as she wanted to appear. Connor could make his peace with being married to a woman like that. He had feared being sold to another meek woman like Helen. It had not taken him long to see that was not the case.
While her attention was focused on Matthew, the man she took for her future husband, Connor was able to observe her at his leisure. It had been a stroke of genius on his brother’s part to suggest the deception. It gave him the opportunity to take in everything without being seen—or bothered—by anyone. Who would pay attention to a lowly squire when his master was in attendance? No one. And they would answer his questions more honestly.
Of course the Welsh lords would be furious tomorrow when they were told that the man they had taken for an insignificant squire was none other than Lord Sheridan himself, and the one they had lavished their attention on only his low-born foster brother. But in the meantime, he would have had a chance to find out what the people at Esgyrn Castle really thought about this marriage and the fact that they were going to have to answer to an English master from now on.
Not that he couldn’t guess. The Welsh despised, feared and hated the English who had taken over their land in equal measure, which was hardly to be wondered at. He suspected he would feel the same in their place.
And him, what did he think of the Welsh? He wasn’t sure yet. What he had heard was not exactly encouraging. Many of his countrymen considered them little more than savages unworthyof trust or even attention, but Connor wanted to see for himself where things stood. Unlike Matthew, he was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt. His brother would never have agreed to a match with a Welsh woman, but he was not so worried, and now less than ever because, on a personal level, his bride appealed to him.
All he had known about her before he’d come riding through the gate of Esgyrn Castle was that she was a twenty-six-year old widow with a young daughter. He had not asked any more details, and no one had thought it appropriate to describe her to him. He had assumed this was down to her being too plain to be deemed worth a description. Nothing could have been further from the truth, so much so that he was amazed no one had thought to use her striking looks in her favor. The man who had handled the marriage negotiations on the Welsh side, a Gruffydd ap Hywel, evidently viewed her as nothing more than a pawn in a political game and not a woman in her own right.
A mistake, but Connor was not so blind.
The second Lady Sheridan would be nothing like the first. Helen had been rather plain and thin. He had never admired these delicate damsels who moved as furtively as mice and ate like birds, who seemed as breakable as glass and were as easily offended as old clerics. No such problem here. His bride to be was elegant and feminine without appearing fragile in the least.
Esyllt ferch Llewelyn—Heavens, but that was a mouthful, one he might never be able to pronounce properly— was a proud she-wolf, not a timid doe. She moved with decision, she spoke with intent, and she looked at people without blushing.
Well... almost.
When she looked athim, she most decidedly blushed. This was a most welcome development, as it would help start their marriage on a good footing.
Her hair, he decided, must be of a most fetching color, something between blonde and auburn. It was impossible to tell under her veil, but her eyebrows were the color of an autumn leaf. He would delight in finding out just what shade of bronze her hair was on their wedding night. At the idea of lifting her shift to see if her intimate hair matched it for fire, his body gave a jerk.
