But it would not happen at all if Damien did not deign to show himself here soon.
“Try to stop pacing, Alissende,” Lady Blanche murmured from behind her. “If you do not wear a path in the rushes, you will at the least attract unwanted attention—and perhaps unwelcome talk as well.”
Though Alissende stilled her movements, a bloom of resentment flared in her breast. It was not directed toward her mother, however. As always, Lady Blanche was a gentle support in times of trouble and a source of unreserved love. Nay, it was bitterness at everything else, at the gossip she had to take such care not to provoke, that irked her so. She had spent her entire life under the spell of such worries, and it had cost her much.
“Ah, my sweet one,” her mother continued, stepping close enough to gaze into her eyes and stroke her gentle fingers along her cheek. “I know this is difficult, but you must try to concentrate on the good of it all. On the protection you will be gaining by proceeding with this formality.”
Alissende could not speak past the knot in her throat, though she tried to nod her head; Lady Blanche looked stricken at just how much her daughter was struggling, and she made a small sound of sympathy before she added in a choked whisper, “Never fear,ma fille.It is for but a short time, and then we will find means to ensure your safety once and for all, I swear it.”
Heat did flood Alissende’s eyes, then, her throat seeming to close even tighter against the overwhelming emotions those innocent words called forth. Her mother took such care of her. But she could not know…oh, God, she did not know the full truth—not about Damien those many years ago, or what had followed with Godfrey, or even what she was feeling right now…because Alissende had never told her. What Lady Blanche had discerned on her own had been wrenching enough for her to bear, and Alissende had never wanted to add to her dear mother’s burden. But that did not mean she couldn’t appreciate the love being given to her so freely.
Reaching out, she grasped her mother’s hands and pulled her close in an embrace, kissing her cheek and trying to keep the tears behind a smile.
“It is all right,Mère.Please do not worry for me. What will be, will be, and I promise that I will remain strong and will not give anyone cause to think there is aught amiss with me or this union that I am about to undertake.”
Alissende felt her mother nod, sighing against her cheek, and she reveled in the comfort of her arms, warm and secure around her. Closing her eyes, she released her breath fully, glad for this moment’s peace to bolster her for the coming events. But in the next moment Alissende felt her mother stiffen. Alissende pulled back to study her face, concerned at the sudden change.
“Mère,what is it?” she asked, frowning.
The normally composed Lady Blanche wore a look of mild amazement. Alissende twisted to see what she was staring at, and her insides lurched at the sight greeting her.
It was Damien, approaching them from across the hall—but not the same Damien who had stood in the solar but a few hours since in traveling clothes, and with the dust of the road settled over him. Nay, the man who had just emerged from the stairway took her breath away. As always, he was stunning perfection in face and form, but above that, the garments he wore now appeared to have been made for him alone. They were of such a fine styling and costly fabric that they would be worthy of any of the highest-ranking lords at court.
She’d warrant his embroidered tunic had cost the equivalent of several months’ wages of a simple knight, no less a former Templar who had been constrained by vows of poverty and had suffered in captivity for most of the past nine months. How he’d come by such elegant and expensive attire was an enigma to be sure, and one she was eager to solve.
She was still suffering the effects of his striking appearance when he finally reached her, his hitherto stoic expression shifting subtly to a frown.
“Is aught amiss?” he murmured, looking so serious that had he been anyone else, she might have made an effort to reassure him. As it stood, it was all she could do to subdue the strange twisting sensation his arrival had set off inside her, and settle for a jerky shake of her head.
“Nay. I simply did not expect you to have brought such finery with you.”
“I did not. They are courtesy of your mother.” The intensity of his gaze slid from her to Lady Blanche for an instant. “Is that not correct, lady?”
Her mother had far too much experience navigating the difficult social waters at court to be flustered by such a challenge, Alissende knew, and so she watched as Lady Blanche coolly accepted this one with her usual grace and style. “It is, sir. Further, you may consider it and the entirety of the wardrobe crafted for you, with Fra Benedictus’s help in advance of your arrival, as my gift, given in gratitude for championing my daughter. I trust you do not object, considering that it reveals my assumption of your aid before you gave it.”
Damien paused, so stiff in his aspect that Alissende could not help wondering if her hand might not encounter stone rather than warm flesh were she to touch him right now. But in the next breath he nodded and offered her mother a slight bow, his expression still tight but slightly less pained. “Considering my current situation, I would say that far from objection, I owe you my appreciation for your foresight. Thank you.”
Lady Blanche did flush then, perhaps in response to the sincerity in Damien’s voice, and Alissende knew the echo of something similar in herself. She remembered this about him—this way he had of disarming others with his forthright honesty. He hadn’t lost the touch of that, it seemed, and she couldn’t quite suppress her pleasurable shiver at that thought.
Her musings ended abruptly as he held out his arm to her. “Shall we proceed with what must be done, then, lady?”
Mutely she nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm and trying to think of anything but the play of hard muscle beneath her palm. They set off for the chapel, making their way through the great hall and out the door, to leave the castle grounds and go to the larger church in the village.
As they went, the activity around them slowed; servants, serfs, and freeborn, men, women, and children alike, all seemed to pause in what they were doing, many of them straightening and swiveling to face them, watching as they proceeded through the village. Others joined the growing mass of people gathering behind and forming a wedding procession of sorts. Alissende had to call upon all of her strength to keep her face impassive…to hold her chin high through the painful charade of it.
Damien spoke not a word, and when she hazarded a glance at him, she saw that he wore much the same expression she was struggling to maintain: a look of controlled restraint. But she couldn’t help wondering if beneath the surface, he felt the same wild tumbling of emotion as she did.
In a few moments she decided that if hewassuffering any pangs, he was far better at masking it; twice along the way she stumbled as a result of her nervousness, and he was compelled to reach out his other hand to keep her from falling. Each time, he remained silent while he steadied her, though she saw the lean rope of muscle in his jaw twitch, as if he was clenching his teeth to subdue something at work inside him.
It was likely naught but his continued animosity at having been coerced into this bargain with her, she told herself. He was no longer the same man she’d once loved; nay, this stranger beside her was but a hard, dark shadow of that golden knight. That thought helped her to be strong the rest of the way, and she clung to her own resentments, pushing aside the old yearnings and regrets in order to gain a measure of peace that she prayed would aid her in getting through the remainder of this excruciating farce.
After what seemed an eternity, they arrived at the church door, along with the throng of villagers and servants who had amassed in their wake. Damien half-turned, and with barely a nod of acknowledgment to their sporadic cheers, he led her through the arched doors. She took three steps inside before pausing in the dim light. Looking straight ahead, she saw Michael waiting for them at the altar, with Fra Benedictus at his side.
Both men wore serious expressions, and she felt as if she stood apart, detached in some way from what was happening. She breathed in the smoky, sweet scent coming from the incense burners and beeswax tapers on the altar, and felt the cooler air inside the church wrap around her like gossamer.
But in the next instant Damien touched her elbow again. His grip was firm, leading her inexorably forward. And then the doors swung shut behind them, separating them from the crowd….
Leaving them to carry out this first part of their great deception in the secret, holy silence.
