EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT.Elizabeth had to be the most fortunate woman in Christendom. It was the celebration the likes of which she’d always dreamed. Shewas seated next to the king—who would soon be her uncle by marriage—in a beautiful gown, drinking the finest wine from the royal feasting cup (a jewel-encrusted mazer made of gold!), eating off silver plates, with silver spoons and salt dishes in every direction. Even though it was Lent, her belly would be full. Who in their right mind would refuse a life such as this? Was it so wrong to not want to struggle?
Elizabeth wouldn’t admit she’d made a mistake, not even when a cold sweat broke out over her skin and her heart raced so fast she thought she would pass out during the ceremony, or when she couldn’t meet Joanna’s eyes throughout the feast, or when her nauseous stomach wouldn’t let her take more than a few bites of food, or when no amount of wine drunk from the gilded mazer or heat from the fire would warm the chill inside her, and especially not when her heart squeezed through the vise of her throat as Thom came forward to offer his congratulations.
What had she expected? Understanding? Forgiveness? That things would stay the same? Maybe not, but not this either. The look in his eyes had cut her to the quick, and the first vestiges of true panic fluttered in her chest. It was as if she had looked into the cold, emotionless gaze of a stranger. The man who’d held her in his arms and touched her so tenderly and passionately was gone—as was the love she’d always sensed, maybe at times taken for granted, and finally admitted that she returned.
It was at that moment that the full import of what she’d done hit her. What did it matter if the cup she drank from was gold if everything tasted like ash? She’d wanted to call him back. But what could she say? She’d made her decision.
Wrong.Coward.She wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out the offending voice in her head that wouldn’t quiet.
Instead she donned a mask of happiness and slid off the bracelet, tucking it into the purse at her waist. Thom was right: it was time to put the past behind her.
This marriage was what she wanted.
The smile on her face was so brilliant she almost convinced herself that she was happy.
The meal was barely over before she threw herself into the wedding plans. There was so little time to waste. The wedding was to take place at the abbey in three weeks—a few days after Easter and the end of Lent—and there were many details to which to attend. Every important noble in the country would be there, and Randolph and the king intended to make it the grandest celebration his young reign had yet to see.
Wasn’t it wonderful? How fortunate she was! What little girl didn’t dream of a faerie-tale wedding fit for a...
Princess.
Her chest pinched. She had to stop doing this. She had to stop thinking about him. She knew just what to do to take her mind off it.
Jamie had given her an unlimited budget for purchasing new clothes and shoes—what Jo called his guilt money—and Elizabeth didn’t waste any time in spending it. The very next morning she dragged Joanna and her cousin to seemingly every cordwainer, clothier, and haberdasher in Edinburgh. By the time they returned to the abbey they were exhausted, and the merchants on the high street had quite a bit more silver in their purses.
Elizabeth had piles of lace and beaded trim, ribbons of every color, veils, purses, chemises, designs for new slippers to think about, and stacks of colorful fabric for new gowns that were now strewn across her bed.
“What do you think of this?” she asked, holding the long swath of blue to her neck. “Have you ever seen such beautiful silk? The merchant said it was the finest he’s ever seen. It’s all the way from the Far East, not Spain or Sicily.”
“It was certainly priced as if Marco Polo had carried it back along the Silk Road himself,” Izzie said dryly. She’d recovered from her illness, although she did seem a bit more wan than usual. “I think cousin James might have a few regrets when he gets back.”
Jamie had left this morning on a mission to nearby Stirling to help Edward Bruce with the siege.
“I think it’s very beautiful,” Joanna said. “The color matches your eyes. And I suspect for once Jamie will have very little to say about your merchants’ bills.”
Elizabeth ignored the subtle reference to Jamie’s supposed guilt—he had nothing to feel guilty about, he had not forced her into this, it had been Elizabeth’s decision—but Joanna wouldn’t listen. “Do you think it is right for a bridal gown? Perhaps if we have the clothier add some pearls on the bodice and on the part of the underskirt visible beneath the front slit of the surcotte?”
Discussing designs for new gowns was one of their favorite ways of passing the time. Normally, they could spend hours going over just the right placement for a particular piece of trim, embroidery, or beading. That this was for her wedding should make it even more enjoyable.
But no matter how much enthusiasm she tried to muster, it wasn’t working. No amount of finery could mask the false happiness and panic churning inside her. The truth that could not stay buried beneath piles of pretty fabrics.
Wrong. Coward.
“God, won’t you just shut up?”
Elizabeth didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until both Joanna and her cousin gasped and stared at her in shock.
I must be losing my mind.
Elizabeth quickly apologized. She was so exhausted she was talking to herself, she claimed with a high-pitched laugh.
But she wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all herself. The most spectacular wedding, the most gorgeous dress, the most fantastic pair of shoes... none of it could change what should be the most important part of the wedding: the groom.
Everything was not perfect after all.
The carefully constructed wall of false bravado crumbled, and Elizabeth could no longer deny what she’d known from the moment she’d stood before the abbot and recited her vows: she’d made a horrible mistake.
And God help her, it was too late to do anything about it.
