But it did not matter, she realized. Nothing did anymore, aside from getting through this day.
She stood near the altar next to Hugh, her spine stiff, her gaze slipping without real sight over the people of her castle and village, who filled the pews, as well as the score of armed soldiers he had ordered to stand along the outer aisles of the chapel. He claimed that they were there to provide witness, since the public declaration of their vows would not be made before the people of his demesne until after this pledging ceremony. But everyone knew better. The guards were here for Hugh’s protection, a reminder of the power he could wield against her and her people if she dared to refute him again, and a way to ensure that none could stop this now, should anyone be foolish enough to try.
She might have laughed at the stupidity of it had she been capable of feeling anything at the moment. Damien was the only one who could have challenged Hugh’s audacious and contemptible action, and he was dead. Whether at Hugh’s hands or by his command was beside the point; Damien was gone, and in that aching loss Alissende had grown numb.
The inability to feel was a blessing, she supposed—a means of getting through the next few hours without collapsing. She could only hope that the lassitude possessing her would persist through tonight, and that God would have mercy on her soul when the mortal sin she planned to commit was done.
“Come, Alissende, it is time.”
Hugh’s oily murmur slid into her thoughts. She shifted her gaze to him, staring blankly.
“The priest has finished, lady, and it is time to pledge our troth.”
She continued to look at him without any reaction, though her gaze slipped away for a moment into the nave of the church, seeking her mother.Mère’s eyes were red-rimmed with anguish, and her fingers were clenched so tightly in her lap that Alissende could not contain the peculiar thought that her hands would crack like shards of glass if she did not stop squeezing them together so.
“Alissende.”
Hugh’s suddenly much more irritated tone pulled her attention back to him. His expression was pinched, as it always was when he felt he was being thwarted in some way, and he shook her arm none too gently.
“Pay attention, woman. It is time to speak our—”
“By God, Harwick, I thought even you would know the difference between holy truth and blasphemy.”
The voice rocked through the chapel, from the shadows at the back, and the gathered assembly broke out in gasps and exclamations. Alissende’s heart rose into her throat, her vision blurring with tears and her senses flooding with sweet, life-giving love, as she twisted to face the powerful figure who stepped forward. He was an avenging angel, tall and imposing, whose icy blue eyes shone with the fires of justice and the need to wage bloody war for the wrongs done to him and those he loved.
Hugh’s men had drawn their blades, but they did not move. Hugh himself seemed to be in shock, staring at Damien as if he were some kind of disembodied spirit, rather than a flesh-and-blood warrior who stood before him.
“You cannot marry Alissende no matter how many times—or ways—you try to make it happen,” Damien called to Hugh before at last shifting his gaze to her. The fullness of love in his eyes stole her breath, and his next words made her want to cry anew, for she was one of the few in the chamber who recognized the real power and meaning behind them. “It is against the laws of God and man to marry one who is pledged to another, Harwick…and I stand here before you to claim in no uncertain terms that Alissende ismy wife.”
Damien could not look away from Alissende, the sense of relief and love so strong in him that he could hardly move. She was safe. Thank God she was safe, and he had gotten here in time, before Hugh could dishonor her any further. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her complexion was pale, but she seemed unharmed. Even more miraculously, her gaze was filled with love—for him, by heaven—and he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Hugh interrupted his brief moment of respite, however, calling Damien’s attention back as he growled, “She isn’t your wife, Ashby. Not in truth. The parchment you signed only a week ago proclaims that your proxy union was false from the start, arranged by my feeble brother in a last effort to keep Alissende from me by wedding her to a Templar heretic!”
The murmurs and sounds of shock rose anew in the chapel, with people twisting to stare from him to the altar, and the priest standing behind Alissende and Hugh. The cleric appeared stunned, and Damien wondered if Hugh had neglected to tell the man any of this history between them.
“The laws of proxy have not changed so far as I know, Harwick,” Damien answered finally, letting the chill seep into his voice and his gaze as he looked upon the earl. “All three requirements were met: First, in the existence of official document. Second, in the act of consummating the union—”
Damien paused for just a beat, his brow arched wickedly, and Hugh’s look of outrage was underscored by the reactions that broke out in the crowd at that bold proclamation.
“—and third, in public declaration of vows,” he continued, shifting a far warmer stare upon Alissende again. “My lady, do you claim me here, before all these witnesses, as your husband?”
She looked at him from where she stood, slightly apart from Hugh and the priest, her beautiful eyes glistening. “Aye, Sir Damien de Ashby, I do claim you as my husband.”
“It is done, then, and we are a married pair,” he replied in a voice clear and forceful. As he spoke, the feelings welled up from somewhere deep inside of him, and telling the world at long last what was in his heart was more perfect than he’d ever thought it could be.
Perhaps sensing that he was losing the battle, Hugh suddenly cursed under his breath and grabbed for Alissende, dragging her to him; his left arm snaked around her waist, while his right wrapped around her throat and shoulders, pinning her. Clearly shocked, the priest shouted his protests, while the assembly reacted with exclamations and gasps, even as Damien unsheathed both his sword and his dagger in one, smooth movement, steadying them for use against Hugh.
Then all movement ceased. Alissende looked terrified, and danger seemed to curl, hot and thick, through the chamber, until tension thrummed from the very walls, bouncing off every blade Hugh’s men held at the ready. The silence stretched, unbroken, until Damien nodded to the bastard who so cruelly held the woman he loved.
“Your plan to rid yourself of me failed, Harwick, and you cannot refute the validity of my marriage to Alissende,” he called in a tone that made deadly clear that his tolerance was at an end. “If you do not take your hands off of her right now and step away, I shall be constrained to see that you do so through my own means.”
“I would like to see you try, Ashby,” Hugh grated, “especially when I am holding the goods themselves before me.”
Damien fixed a glare of ice on his rival again, and he nodded with dark promise. “As you mentioned earlier, I was a Templar Knight. I served in the inner circle, trained among the very best to wrest victory from impossible circumstances. Using a woman as your shield will not save you. I am fully capable of exacting the vengeance I seek, from you or anyone who chooses to stand in my way, without harm to her.”
He focused on Hugh, reminding himself not to let himself think of Alissende’s fear or her plight, lest he be weakened by worry for her. On a sinister note, he added, “What may be less clear, however, is how eager I am for the opportunity to do it.”
A perceptible agitation wavered through the men of Hugh’s guard at that; though they kept their swords at the ready, several of them eyed Damien nervously.
