Page 7 of A Husband for Esyllt
Her new husband held out his hand to her. Knowing it was futile to resist, Esyllt took it and let him walk her out of the chapel in a dream-like state. In the bailey, people were offeringtheir congratulations, but she barely heard a word. All she could think was how different this wedding was to her first one. She had been a shy seventeen-year-old virgin then, surrounded by friends who had her happiness at heart. The people present here today were only interested in what this union meant for them.
Well, she would not be so easily cowed. To prove it to herself, if no one else, she disentangled her hand from the crook of her husband’s arm. She could stand by herself, thank you very much, she didn’t need the help of someone only intent on keeping her in line.
“My dear Lady Sheridan. May I offer my most heartfelt congratulations on this happy occasion?”
Esyllt found herself face to face with the blond man who had posed as her husband the previous evening. The satisfied gleam in his eye was enough to make her want to scream. How dare he provoke her thus, or behave as if he had not deceived her in the most shameless manner? He made to take her hand, but she snatched it away in anger.
“You will forgive me for not greeting you, my lord, as I do not know who you are,” she said, straightening her spine.
The infuriating man exchanged a glance with her husband, as if her defiance had been fully expected and amused him.
“This is my brother, Matthew,” Connor said, taking the hand she had refused the other man as he introduced him.
“Brother!” The two men looked nothing like one another. If they had, she might have realized something was amiss, at least doubted that he could be his squire. But the two men facing her were as different as night was from day. How could she have suspected foul play?
“Foster brother, actually. I will explain it all in due time.”
“Yes.” There would be a lot of explaining to do, she thought wryly. They did not know anything about each other, yet the manby her side was now her husband, they would have to spend the rest of their lives together.
Esyllt bristled at the thought.
Here she was, married for the second time. Just like the first time, she hadn’t had any say in the decision. For all that, her first union had been more satisfactory than she had hoped, and made a mother out of her. But there could be no comparison between the two men who would have shared her life. Gwyn had been some thirty years older than her, easy-going, a father figure more than anything else, a companion, and Welsh, like her. Lord Sheridan, was a man in his prime, a fit warrior. There was nothing easy-going about him. He was the image of ruthless determination—and of course, he was English.
How was she going to survive marriage to a man like him? He was impossibly daunting, and what was even worse, impossibly alluring, which meant she could not dismiss him out of hand. If she had been less drawn to him, she might have found it easier to ignore him.
But unfortunately, she could not ignore him. It was too late for that.
Because she had not known who he was upon first acquaintance, she had not thought to guard herself against any feelings he stirred in her. It had seemed harmless to admire his perfect features and strong body when she’d thought him unimportant, so she had not tried to stop herself. As a result, she had been struck much harder than was wise. Despite all that had happened since then, it was impossible to forget her first impression of him, that of a man she admired for his beauty and self-possession.
And because she had thought his brother Matthew was the man she was to wed, she had taken an immediate, strong aversion to him instead. This was the man she was being sold to,the Englishman who repulsed her and would soon call himself her master—or so she had thought.
But the quiet squire in the corner, watching her with piercing green eyes... She would never forget the jolt she’d felt when their eyes had met for the first time.
Esyllt had heard of people being struck by thunder and surviving the shock. It seemed to her that the instant the thorough devastation she had felt blaze through her soul when she had seen Connor was much akin to what these people described. As she’d had no reason to steel herself against any feelings she might have for him, she’d been hurtled headlong into the abyss. She had erected her defences against Lord Sheridan, an English stranger, all her strength had been focused on him, leaving her weak and vulnerable for anyone else.
Connor had crept under her skin while her attention had been engaged somewhere else and now she wasn’t sure how to get him out. The decoy had worked and had damaged her soul more than either man could have predicted.
Yes, they could well be satisfied with themselves.
“Shall we go and eat?”
She could only nod.
All during the banquet she fought to keep her composure. What would happen now? Would he demand to bed her and enjoy proving to her just how much of a wanton she was? If he did, she would be unable to refuse. They were husband and wife, so she did owe him access to her bed. That was bad enough. But what was worse was the fear that, once he started touching her, her body would melt for him, regardless of what her mind was telling her.
If last night was anything to go by, she was right to be fearful.
As the sweetmeats were served, wild panic engulfed Esyllt. Everything was spiraling out of control but she could not allow her ill-advised desire for this man to wreak havoc throughher. The reasons why she had opposed the match were still valid, even if Lord Sheridan had since proved to be a sinfully handsome man and fiery lover. In fact, it only made him more dangerous, because he’d also been exposed as a manipulator without scruples, ready to use the feelings he provoked inside her to gain the upper hand.
She needed some time and distance from him to regain control and a clear head. But how could she get it? She could not demand he leave Castell Esgyrn when he’d just arrived. He would refuse, if only to spite her. She could not pretend to be a wanton, and hope to disgust him that way. She had tried that, but doing so had only succeeded in giving him more ammunition against her. What other choices were there? Could she make his life hell so that he regretted his decision to marry her?
It was worth a try, and might even make her feel better.
“You think you’ve won, my lord,” she said, leaning in toward him. “But you might think differently when you get to know me better and see what I’m capable of.”
“Is that so?” His smile made it clear he was not impressed in the least. “Worry not, wife, I’m not afeared.”
No, indeed why should he worry? Next to him, she was insignificant, in every sense of the word. Not only was she Welsh, but she was a woman. He could have sent her sprawling to the floor with a flick of the wrist. Standing next to him in church earlier, she’d gotten the full measure of his power. He was the most forbidding man she had ever met, and now that they were married, he effectively owned her. He could behave in any way he wanted with her. Last night she’d been unforgivably devious and wanton with him. If he wanted to make her pay for the trick she’d played on him, no one would come to her aid. Not Gruffydd, who had arranged this union for his benefit, not anyone from the English retinue, who would always be on theirmaster’s side, not a member of her family, who had not even been invited.
