The Knight's Redemption. Joanne RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
a long moment, seeking her response. His words warmed her lips, sending a surge of sensation racing through her limbs and tripping along every nerve. Her blood seemed to dance in her veins, as spellbound as she was by the promise of his touch.
His mouth descended to hers slowly, increasing the dizzying swell of unfamiliar sensations in her body so that she had to hold on to him for support. He kissed her fully on the mouth, his lips tasting faintly of cinnamon and ale. The rough skin around his mouth surprised her when it prickled her, though she guessed all men who shaved their beards must feel as such. The scents of freshly bathed skin and an autumn afternoon mingled, as if he had just stepped from Glamorgan creek.
She would have put her arms about him to draw him even closer had he not pulled back at that moment. Their gazes locked for one long moment, each taking measure of the other.
Caught up in the pure pleasure of the moment, Ariana wished he would kiss her again, create more of the shimmering magic that danced and skipped through her.
Then she saw the shadow that crossed his face, dimming the emerald eyes to mossy green, turning the softness of his just-kissed lips into a hard, straight line.
“Good night, Lady Ceara.”
Setting her away abruptly, as if her kiss had been distasteful somehow, Roarke left her to wonder if he regretted his choice of brides.
Regretted having kissed her.
Regretted his need to marry.
She assumed he rejoined the merriment in the great hall, though her eyes did not follow him as he left. The night air grew suddenly chill in his absence.
“Nos da.” Whispering the Welsh words to the vacated darkness, she sought her chamber with a kiss and a song on her lips, the refrain of a haunting melody echoing the fears she felt inside.
The morning mist hung shroudlike over the keep, enveloping it in gray stillness. Typical weather for a September morning, but it made for a depressing wedding day.
The heavy mantle of fog weighed as much as the guilt that burdened Ariana’s shoulders. She had remained awake almost the whole night, working with Ceara to alter a wedding gown and two other tunics and kirtles to accommodate the more curvaceous figure she adopted in her guise as Ceara. As the night wore on, she felt less triumphant about her successful encounter with Roarke Barret and more remorse about using him so shamelessly to gain her own ends. How could she make sacred vows in front of witnesses under false pretenses?
Worse yet, how could she enter a consecrated holy church knowing in her heart that she misrepresented herself to Roarke?
And yet…
How else was she to restore her family honor and fulfill her mother’s dying wish? The Glamorgan legend had plagued her family for a century, affecting generations of women who did nothing to deserve such a cruel and lonely existence. Although many of them took solace in the convent, the greater number did not have such a calling and remained a burden to their families, growing more unhappy with each passing year.
One aunt, two generations back, was rumored to have killed herself because of the misfortune of her birth, though the family asserted she fell from a slick window ledge while gazing out over a cloudy moor. Ariana’s mother had struggled her whole life to bring joy to this sorrow-filled household, to coax her husband from the dark depression of the curse that cloaked his keep more thoroughly than any Welsh mist.
Now, it was Ariana’s turn to heal that darkness.
The bell tolled for prime, reminding her she had two hours until her wedding. Three hours until she rode off with a man she’d known for less than a day. The man who was to be her destiny.
If he did not discover her secret before then.
“Ariana!” Ceara snatched a length of linen from Ariana’s hand and stuffed it into a traveling bag. “You must finish packing so you can get dressed! We will never finish if you keep brooding. Are you having second thoughts about this wedding?”
Ariana laughed, feeling nervous and edgy. “Second thoughts? I have not had time to have first thoughts about it yet.” She laid a few other personal items into her bag, wondering if she had packed everything she needed.
“Is it so wrong to fight this fate, Ceara?” Fear constricted her throat. Had she been so wrong to deceive last night? “Is it too much to want a family, a home with a husband and children?”
“Nay.” Ceara neatly arranged the garments in the bag before packing any more. “I do not think you will be forsaken for trying to rectify a grave injustice that has gone on for too many years.”
Emotion knotted Ariana’s belly. “You are so good to me, Ceara.”
Her cousin smiled as she went about her work, single-handedly packing everything Ariana needed on her journey. “You must remember your aim is worthy.” Ceara put down the shifts she was holding and went to her cousin. “But as much as I want you to succeed in this, if you do not wish to go through with it, there is still time to admit our deception.”
Tears burned Ariana’s eyes. “Nay! That is not what I want! But he is bound to find out sooner or later and when he does, what will happen?”
“He is full of pride and has fought for what is his. Just look at how coldly he goes about the business of choosing a bride. He doesn’t even know your father, yet he is perfectly willing to accept whomever Uncle Thomas puts in front of him. He will be equally cold about dispensing with a wife who does not serve him well.”
“Perhaps he seems aloof because he is in a hurry,” Ariana remarked, trying to reign in her scattered emotions.
Ceara shook her head sadly. “This is a far cry from the ‘grand adventure’ you spoke of last night.” Amber eyes that mirrored her own fixed Ariana in their unblinking gaze. Ceara looked older and wiser than her sixteen years, and Ariana was tempted to heed her advice. “You can end this before it is too late.”
There was still time to call it off. She would be safe from Roarke here, and protected.
And alone for the rest of her life.
“I cannot. I must go through with it now, and we both know it.” She would simply look at this as another way to use her healing skills. Only now she’d be healing her family. Her heritage. “Eleanor said if it is right, all obstacles will fall away.”
“Obstacles have surrounded you at every turn already, cousin! And doesn’t the curse stipulate that the man must love you?”
“Not exactly.” Ariana pulled the woolen shawl more tightly about her shoulders as she paced the cold stone floor. “There are no real instructions for how to break the curse, only speculation by Glamorgan women. But gaining the genuine love of a man might not be necessary. It might be broken merely if he—that is, if we—” She made a helpless gesture with her hands.
“Are intimate?”
“Yes.” Ariana tossed a last handful of things into her bag. “I am going through with it. If anything, our conversation has only made me sure that I am doing the right thing. Would you ask the maid to bring in the bath now? I want to start getting ready.”
Ceara stepped into the hall to do her cousin’s bidding and soon ushered two servants into the room with a tub. When they were gone, she helped Ariana settle into the warm water.
“So is this charm of Eleanor’s still affecting you now?” she asked, throwing rose petals into the water before she took up the soap.
“No. Indeed, I don’t know that there is any real power to Eleanor’s herbal potion.”
Ceara frowned. “I thought this was something very powerful, something Eleanor had been working on for years?”
“Aye. So she told me.” Ariana splashed water over her face and shoulders. “But she would also do anything to help me marry. Including trick me into thinking I could face the English knight even when I stood trembling in slippers.”