“I’m not going to faint, Eduard. Just get me some water.”
He grunted in response, but soon a cup of metallic tasting liquid was pressed into her hand. When she finished, she handed the empty vessel back to him from beneath her veil.
“Are you ready now?” he demanded.
Catherine nodded, feeling too sick to hazard an answer. She had to save all her strength for her vows; she knew it would take every ounce of reserve she possessed to utter their blasphemy without choking.
Vaguely, she felt the pressure of Eduard’s hand on her arm as they walked into the main portion of the chapel. Though heavy, the layers of fine gauze covering her face allowed her to see what was before her. The priest stood in his accustomed place below the altar steps, his hands folded in solemn piety as he awaited her arrival to the ceremony.
Almost against her will, Catherine swept her gaze over the other occupants. Four score guests whispered and craned their necks for a better view. Apart from them, all that remained were two men who waited high on the altar behind the priest. The first was older and dressed in servant’s garb, the second a man who appeared to be about a score and ten, outfitted as a knight of the realm.
He, then, must be her groom, she thought. Bewilderment clouded her already weary mind. He hardly seemed foreboding. Eduard had warned her of her future husband’s vicious reputation, wanting to prepare her for what she would face so that she wouldn’t be distracted by undue fear when it came time to bed with him and ultimately clear the way for Eduard’s hireling to kill him. If she hadn’t dreaded another beating, she would have laughed at such skewed reasoning. It had seemed ridiculous that helping to murder someone could ever be made easier, regardless of what one knew about the victim beforehand. But she’d remained silent in her opinion.
Now she wondered why Eduard had bothered to tell her aught about her betrothed. It was clear that he’d exaggerated his description of Baron Grayson de Camville’s powerful stature and warlike demeanor. This man looked sturdy, with fair skin and hair the color of wheat. But he was no muscle-bound monster. She wondered if Eduard’s hatred of his rival was so great that it had made him see attributes that weren’t there.
Until a third man strode out onto the altar.
Catherine gasped audibly before stumbling into Eduard. He let out a curse and managed to right both of them before they could fall onto the marble aisle of the chapel.
“By all that’s holy, Eduard,” she whispered frantically, “with all else that you told me about this man, why did you fail to mention this?”
“Silence,” he hissed back, “I’ll not have you botching our plans now.”
She moved without thinking as he pulled her the remaining few paces to the altar, unable to drag her gaze from Baron Grayson de Camville. He was all that Eduard had said—a fierce warrior knight, taller by a head than any man she’d ever known, and carved from what appeared to be perfectly sculpted muscle and bone. But what Eduard had neglected to tell her was that her future husband possessed the face of an angel, so stunning that were it not for his utterly masculine presence and the way his mouth tightened into a grim line, she might have thought him one of heaven’s messengers, sent by God to save her from Eduard’s plotting.
The buzzing in her ears slowly gave way to an annoying sound. Gradually, the noise needled and poked at her, until she turned her attention to the nasal voice. It bleated a name, over and over, and her stunned mind suddenly realized its error in failing to respond.
“Elise de Montford?”
Worried that her silence might have exposed her falsity, Catherine quickly looked to the priest who’d been repeating her newly assumed name. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, and he was beginning to appear impatient. She hesitated to affirm the lie, but then her hand was gripped none too gently by a warm, immovable grasp. Another gasp passed her lips, and her gaze snapped to the man who’d touched her so possessively.
Grayson de Camville’s smoky green eyes stared down into her own; he blinked, and she noticed how the sooty fringe of lashes accentuated their unusual hue. Looking into their depths made her feel hot and cold at the same time. His eyes were the color of a misty forest at twilight, his bronzed complexion and ebony hair only adding to his startling beauty. She would have continued to stare at him, but at that moment a corner of his mouth edged upward, in perfect time with one dark, arching brow. “My lady?” he murmured in French that was as flawless as his face.
Catherine found it very difficult, suddenly, to breathe.
“Yes?” she managed to croak.
“The Holy Father attends your answer.”
A shiver progressed up her back.Calm yourself. He’s naught but a man—a man who will be murdered, thanks to you.That thought sent a fist of nausea into her belly, and it was all she could do to breathe the appropriate words when the priest asked them of her.
When her betrothed faced the assembly and made the traditional vow granting a third of his estate to her, Eduard caught her gaze. For the first time in a week, her loathsome brother-in-law smiled.
Stealing a glance back at her groom, Catherine saw that he looked calm and expressionless. How did he feel about this union with her? Was he anticipating a long life of happiness and peace with a loyal wife?
The evil of what she was doing settled home in her soul with renewed vengeance. She clasped her hands so tightly together that the crescents of her nails began to bite into her flesh. She stopped when she realized that her reaction had drawn Grayson’s attention. He’d shifted his gaze to stare at her, and she saw that his reserved expression changed to a look of concern that sent daggers of guilt into her heart.
By the Holy Virgin, how could she ever bring herself to aid in his murder?
And yet with her children’s lives at stake, how could she not?
That terrible choice reverberated through her soul during the remainder of the interminably long mass. Somehow, she kept her wits and her feet until the end of the ceremony. She’d almost breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she’d soon be allowed to sit in relative peace, when her new husband grasped both of her shoulders and turned her to face him.
She froze. Panic spread through her as he began to lift her veil, and she realized that she’d forgotten about the kiss to seal their union. A whisper of breeze caressed her face as the gauze was pulled away. Blinking, Catherine looked up. For the first time, she stared directly into the angelic eyes of the man who was now her lord husband. Then her knees lost their substance as he fixed her with a stormy glare.
“Sweet Christ,” he growled softly, “what the hell have I gotten myself into now?”
Grayson willed himself not to crush the goblet he held. He stood in his solar off of the great hall, staring at the water in his cup and fervently wishing he’d not taken the vow years ago to forsake strong drink.
