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“Here is your bride now, Sir Haydn.” Edward’s tone was cheerier than it had been since he and Holt entered the hall. And why not? The king would continue to enjoy the fruits of his family’s border protection while keeping them in check courtesy of the woman who made her way toward them now.

Or so he thought.

Chapter Four

Having served the late queen as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Phillipa had been in this hall many times. Had been in the presence of the king many times. She knew others were very afraid of him—one man purportedly fell off his horse, dead, in a fright at the sight of the fearsome king—but to her King Edward had always been kind.

Of course, she was not so naive as to think the man was kind by nature because of it. He had done horrific things, and also some that people like her father called visionary and brilliant. No doubt both were true.

“Lady Phillipa.” The attendant opened the massive doors after greeting first her father, and then her. She nodded, took a deep breath, and stared straight ahead. Her gaze fell on the men before the king, and though she couldn’t see either of them clearly yet, they both stood tall, proud. Dark hair, even darker than her own. They were young men, though that she’d expected. Indeed, Amice had told Phillipa she should be pleased by that fact.

How many noblewomen had they both seen married to men her father’s age, or older? The king himself, for example.

“Cocksure borderers,” her father muttered beside her. At least there was no doubt as to his opinion of the northern knights. She’d learned precious little since her father’s announcement about these men. The earl and lady of Kenshire had four children, three boys and a girl, all close in age. The eldest, the one she would marry, was a baron in his own right.

Heart hammering as they approached, Phillipa strained to see the men. Both appeared fit, but before their faces came into view clearly, she diverted her attention to the king. He would not take kindly to her staring at her future husband at the expense of ignoring the most important person in the room.

Indeed, she fell onto her knee gracefully before King Edward, her father doing the same. It was only when Edward bade them both to rise that she attempted a peek at her betrothed, but Phillipa’s father now stood between them. Instead she kept her eyes trained on her liege.

“Lovely as always, Lady Phillipa.”

“You honor me by saying so, Your Grace.”

“Robert Pernell, 6th Earl of Sherfield,” the attendant announced, “and his daughter, Lady Phillipa.”

“Sherfield,” the king grunted to her father. “Are you prepared to give your daughter to Lord Waryn?”

Since her father had met with the king last eve, she knew this was nothing more than a formality. A show at which she was invited to appear but not participate. She’d been warned already to say nothing unless directly spoken to, as if she’d not been practically raised at court.

“I am, Your Grace.”

“And you,” he said to Lord Waryn, “are prepared to accept his daughter three days hence as your wife?”

When her father first told her they’d marry immediately, at court, she’d mourned the loss of time to prepare her wedding. But as Amice—her maid, only four years her senior but already a widow—pointed out, it was just as well to get the deed done.

“Aye, Your Grace.”

She had to see him. She had to know if his visage matched the velvety smoothness of that deep voice. At the risk of angering her father by being too bold, she leaned forward and peeked over at the man. Blinking, Phillipa leaned back and pretended to focus on the king as he spoke to both men.

That would be her husband?

The man appeared as if he’d been carved by a master sculptor. There was not one feature out of place. If he had walked into the hall during one of the king’s elaborate banquets, every woman in the hall would speak his name. Widows, like Amice, would smirk knowingly, leaving virgins, like her, to guess at how a man so handsome could make them feel. Thankfully, Amice had been with her for many years and Phillipa considered her a friend. She’d been by Phillipa’s side before, during, and after her marriage. Because of it, Phillipa knew things an innocent should not.

And for the first time in her life, she wanted to know more.

That shameful thought was followed by another.

This was no love match. Of course, few marriages were, but at least her friends had married with the possibility of love, or at least companionship, to hope for. There would be no such hope for their union.

“I leave you to preparations,” the king said now, watching her. Was it Phillipa’s imagination, or did he seem to be scrutinizing her reaction? Did he guess the direction of her thoughts? Question her loyalty? Phillipa could not allow that. For her sister’s sake, she could not let the king see even a moment of weakness. Steeling her gaze and forgetting about what she’d just seen when peeking around her father, Phillipa squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

When King Edward dismissed them, she found herself walking from the hall with the very man she’d just told herself to avoid looking at. The gentleman at his side had waylaid her father ahead of them, his hands more animated as he spoke than most noblemen allowed. At least here, at court. One of many differences, she supposed, between them and the borderers.

Phillipa peered at her betrothed again. He said nothing, staring ahead as if this was not the first opportunity for a future husband and wife to converse. Up close, he was even more striking. Tall, yet well-built and not at all lanky like that last fop her father had proposed she marry. Not that she would have had a choice, but Phillipa had been glad negotiations with the baron’s son fell through.

She wanted to say something to him. But what would she say? As they exited the hall, Phillipa’s father turned to her betrothed.

“We have much to discuss,” he said in his gruff manner. The only one she’d ever known.