“It looks impressive at first glance, I know,” Jean said, seeing the look on Annabella’s face, “but I promise it is very comfortable within. You will be happy here.”
They descended the hill on the castle road, the pipers playing a cheerful march ahead of them. Then from out of the castle and across the drawbridge came a party of riders. Two outriders rode with gaily colored flags flying. Matthew grinned and Jean laughed, delighted. A cheer went up from the men-at-arms escorting the bride.
Leading the welcoming party was a tall man on an enormous dappled gray stallion. Annabella knew in an instant that this had to be Angus Ferguson. Her party had stopped, and as the other group of riders drew near, she saw his face for the first time. They had not lied. She almost wept then and there. He was without a doubt the handsomest man she had ever set eyes upon. She felt her plainness now more than she had ever before felt it. This beautiful man shouldn’t be wed to her. His wife should be some glorious female whose beauty matched his.
He had a sculpted face with high cheekbones and a long straight nose. His chin was squared, not with hard lines, but soft ones. There was the faint impression of a dimple in the exact center of that chin. His mouth was long and just full enough without being big. She could not see the color of his eyes yet, but his hair and brows were every bit as dark as hers were. God’s mercy, how envious Myrna would be, Annabella thought.
Angus Ferguson’s stallion came to a halt. He dismounted, going quickly to where Annabella sat upon Snow. She couldn’t look at him for fear of weeping. Seeing him, she wanted him, but he would certainly send her back having seen her. A little gasp escaped her when, reaching up, he lifted her from the back of the mare. A single finger slipped beneath her chin, raising her head up. Deep green eyes met her startled gray gaze.
“Welcome to Duin, madam,” a deep voice said.
How she found her voice, Annabella wasn’t certain, but she heard herself replying, “Thank ye, my lord. I am glad to be here.”
He smiled a quick smile at her, then, turning to both mounted parties, said, “Go home. The countess and I shall walk the mile together.” Then his big hand gripped her small one. “Come, madam,” he commanded her. “We will walk and talk so we may come to know each other better.”
The horses and riders galloped off immediately, leaving the newly wedded pair alone. They began walking down the road to the castle.
“Ye’re twenty, I am told,” he said.
“I am,” she answered him.
“I am thirty-five, and said to be set in my ways,” he answered.
“Most men are set in their ways by the age of two,” Annabella replied.
He laughed aloud. “Ye have a quick tongue, madam.” Aye, she was plain, he thought, but not ugly; and he was already finding her interesting, which was to the good.
“I am said to be forthright in my speech,” she admitted. She was finding him easy to talk to, and that was a small comfort, Annabella considered.
“Are ye in love with any other?” he demanded to know.
“Nay!” Her tone was genuinely indignant. “My father should not have made this match between us if I were.”
“Yer father had something I wanted,” the earl said candidly. “And he needed a husband for his eldest daughter. Gaining an earl for a tower laird’s wench was quite an achievement for yer family, madam.”
“Had my heart been engaged elsewhere, my lord, I can assure you, even if ye were a king, my father would not have acceded to this match. Neither of my parents would have forced me to the altar had I not wanted to go.”
He was silent for a brief time as they walked. Then he said, “Were ye ever in love, madam?”
“Nay,” Annabella told him. “There has never been any to take my fancy. Nor, were I a member of the old Church, would a convent have been for me. I thought I might be one of those women who never weds but remains home to care for her aging parents. With the border wars these many years, it was difficult to socialize among the border families in the east, thanks to the English. And fewer young men to meet, as so many were killed,” she explained.
“There was less trouble here in this region of the west,” the earl said. “We have little that the English want.”
“Yet it is said ye are a wealthy man,” Annabella replied. “How does one gather wealth from nothing?”
He chuckled. “The Fergusons are said to be magical folk,” the earl told her.
“My sister said if ye were magical ye would make me as beautiful as ye are, my lord,” Annabella challenged. “Should we not be a matching pair?”
He stopped but he did not release her hand, rather turning her to face him as he looked down at her. “Ye are not ugly,” he said quietly. “And I did not want a beautiful wife. I wanted a wife who would respect and be loyal to me, madam. I have been in love. I learned that beautiful women are vain, selfish, treacherous. I did not want a wife like that. Ye will be the perfect wife for me,” he assured her.
“Ye are called the handsomest man in the borders, my lord. Yer reputation, however, is not that of a vain and selfish man. My sisters are beautiful, and while they can be silly, even foolish sometimes, they will be good wives to their husbands, because they have been raised by a good mother. As for respect and loyalty, they are not gifts easily given. They are earned and must come from the heart.”
“Will ye be a good wife to me, madam?” he asked her.
“By yer reasoning, my lord, I will, for I am not beautiful,” she answered sharply.
“God’s bones!” he swore, surprised. “I believe I have disappointed ye,” the earl said to her.
