She sighed.Her father truly did believe she was flawless.“He plans to take his vows, Da.That’s why he’s at the monastery.”
Her father narrowed thoughtful eyes at her.“We’ll see.”
His confidence gave her pause, because the laird was usually right, at least when it came to human nature.He always knew which way the royal winds blew.He could sense when clan conflict was brewing.He could tell when a man was lying to him.
Indeed, his only blind spot was where Carenza was concerned.He never suspected his sweet, obedient daughter was in truth a perverse and headstrong wench who’d resort to reiving cattle to save her beloved pets.It would break his heart to know who she really was.
But what if he was right?
What if the Rivenloch warrior did take an interest in her?
The idea gave her a strange feeling.
She’d always known she’d marry someone of her father’s choosing.It was naive to think otherwise.After all, she was the daughter of a laird.
But somehow she’d imagined her husband would be a stable, quiet, boring man.A man who would satisfy her father’s requirements for protecting her.A man who would keep her well supplied with servants, gowns, trinkets, and bairns.A man who would busy himself with manly pursuits—hunting, hawking, sparring, riding, fishing—and leave her to her own pastimes.
The idea of being wed to a man like the Rivenloch warrior made her breath quicken and her heart pound.He seemed dangerous.Unpredictable.Far too exciting.Too interested in her affairs.Too willing to insert himself into her life.Faith, she would have no life of her own, anchored to such a man.
Still, she would never have to doubt his loyalty or his dedication to her.He’d already proved he was a man of his word.
And to wake up to him each morn?
She blushed the color of her salmon as she recalled his handsome face.
She hadn’t seen his features well on the night they met, just an impression of a chiseled jaw, deep-set eyes, and long blond hair.
But this morn at the monastery, she’d beheld the stern furrow between his brows.The grim set of his mouth.The flinty gray of his eyes, sparking with fire as he charged across the cloister, axe in hand.
He had been magnificent, like a fearless Viking come to conquer.
Then, after the conflict was over—after his jaw relaxed and his lips softened—he’d turned to her, and the tender affection in his misty eyes had left her breathless.
What would it be like to be wed to such a man?
What would it be like tobedsuch a man?
“…don’t ye think, Carenza?”her father said.
Startled, she dropped her knife onto the table.“I’m sorry.What?”
“I said, don’t ye think ’twas generous o’ Sir Hew to keep the monastery in beef this year?”
“What?”Her head was still spinning.“Beef?”
“’Tis about time someone fattened up those monks.”
Her heart plunged.She felt sick.Was that true?Had the warrior changed his mind?Had he broken his oath to her?Did he mean to butcher Hamish to feed the monastery?Or was that only an assumption on her father’s part?
She managed to give him a feeble smile in return.
Then she looked down at her supper.The normally tempting fare now turned her stomach.She wiped her mouth and asked to be excused.
“Do ye feel well?”her father asked.“Ye look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.“But I’d like to retire early this eve.There’s much to do for Samhain supper on the morrow.”
“O’ course.”
