The brief interview concluded, at least for now, Kenneth and Sir Adam took their leave.
They’d just stepped off the dais when he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of golden-blond hair swinging in a cloud of shimmering silk.
He stilled, a buzz of awareness shooting up his spine, every nerve ending in his body coming alive.
He turned, looking at the woman who’d caught his eye. She had her back to him, and by any objective measure, there was nothing about her that should be familiar. She was laughing, for one thing. Dancing, for another. Her hair was tumbling loose about her shoulders for all the bloody world to see, not hidden behind some hideous veil. She was not skinny as a starved bird who looked like he could blow her over with one breath, but healthy-looking with gentle curves—nay,substantialcurves, he corrected, looking at her shapely round bottom.
There was no way in hell he should have recognized her.
But he did.
It was only when he saw the man’s hand linger on her waist that he glanced over at her partner. At the man who was making her laugh.
Kenneth stiffened again, this time with rage. Every possessive bone in his body—bones he hadn’t even known he had—flared to life.
Felton. What the hell was she doing with Felton?
His mouth thinned, the reason for Felton’s early departure from the meeting suddenly clear.
“Is something wrong?” Sir Adam asked.
Kenneth forced his fists to relax, not realizing they’d instinctively clenched. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak without the venom spewing through his blood.
The dance came to an end, and Felton started to lead her off the floor toward them. She was only a few feet away when she finally looked in his direction.
His breath caught, feeling as if he’d been poleaxed across the chest. The beauty that he’d glimpsed behind the nun-nish facade was revealed in its full glory. Her face was fuller, softening the features that had seemed too sharp. Her skin was luminous, a flawless ivory, pinkened with the flush of her dance. Her eyes were a bright and sparkling blue, her lips red and smiling. She even had a small dimple just to the left of her curving mouth.
His mouth, by contrast, fell in a hard line.
She didn’t see him right away, noticing Sir Adam first. But almost as if she sensed him, too, her gaze shifted to his.
He had the satisfaction—and right now, it was bloody well satisfying—of seeing her eyes widen, and every drop of the blush Felton had put in her cheeks drain from her face in shock.
Their eyes held, and all the emotions that he’d felt that morning five months ago, the stinging anger that had led to his loss of control and defeat, came rushing back. He stared at her like a hunter who’d just caught a prey that had been eluding him. Nay, a prey that had run away from him.
But now she was his.
His mouth curved in a slow, anticipatory smile. “Hello, Lady Mary. It seems we meet again.”
And his voice left no doubt that this time there would be no escape.
Mary had felt something odd swirling in the air all day. She’d arrived at Berwick Castle the night before, but she’d seen little of the men all day. Sir John had been late to escort her to the feast for the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary, or Candlemas as it was also called. Sir Adam had arrived even later with Lord Percy and had given her an apologetic smile as he’d taken a seat on the bench near Gaveston—or rather, the Earl of Cornwall.
The earl was known as being extremely sensitive to any lack of regard for his position. Even referring to him by the name Gaveston rather than Cornwall could be cause for disfavor. But when he wasn’t within hearing, many of the nobles refused to call him by the name of the earldom that had always been reserved for members of the royal family. The more titles and riches Edward lavished on his favorite, the more the other barons hated him.
Though Lord Percy had answered the king’s call to muster—one of the few English barons who had done so—the acrimony between him and Sir Piers was well known. Yet the men had been locked in discussion for most of the meal.
Something was commanding their attention. She wondered what it was.
Barely had the question formed when she felt a prickle of awareness. Nay, a prickle of danger. It was the feeling of being watched. She felt a twitch, like that of a mouse under the predatory gaze of the hawk.
She turned in the direction of the oppressing weight and froze. The bottom fell out of her stomach. Her legs swayed as if she might swoon.
It wasn’t possible. But it was…
Dear God, it washim. Sir Kenneth Sutherland in all of his aggressively masculine perfection. He was even more handsome than she remembered—and she would have sworn she rememberedeverythingabout him. But his eyes were an even deeper blue than her imagination would allow, his jaw harder and more challenging, his face leaner and with a few more nicks, his shoulders broader, and his arms even thicker with muscle. She’d forgotten how it felt to stand so close to him. How tall he was. How powerfully built. How stomach-knottingly handsome.
But most of all, she’d forgotten how it felt to be caught in that magnetic gaze.Caught. That was exactly how she felt.
