Chapter 1

Chapter One

North Wales, February 1296

Earlier that day

“ L ord Sheridan is here.”

Esyllt straightened her spine. The dreaded moment had finally come. The man Gruffydd had selected to be her husband was about to walk into the great hall. She didn’t know anything about him, save for the fact that he was English and recently widowed, like she was. It did not seem to matter to the old Welsh rebel that she was about to be shackled to a total stranger. The only thing that mattered to him was the possibility of ridding himself of a powerful lord.

The futility of the enterprise struck her anew. What was he hoping for? To keep offering her up to Englishmen he could then kill off? Even supposing the foul plan could work this time, how many more times did he intend to use the same method before suspicions were raised? And even if, by some miracle, he got away with it, he would only have disposed of three or four men at the most, hardly a significant contribution to his cause... Was she the only one to see how ridiculous this all was?

Apparently so.

From her place on the dais, she watched the door at the other end of the hall, waiting for her groom to appear. A moment later, a tall, blond man entered, and it was all she could do not to gasp. She was so opposed to this union that in the last few weeks she had convinced herself that the man was an ogre, one who could never appeal to her senses or her sensibilities, one who was as coarse as he was unwelcome, not unlike Gruffydd himself, in fact. Well, at least she could be reassured on that score. Her future husband was nothing like the gnarled old man. He was young, strong, and uncommonly handsome. More than handsome. With fine features, a muscular body and an air of masculine ease, he was... perfect.

Just when she was thinking that she had never seen a man who appealed to her more, a dark-haired man drew to his side to whisper something in his ear. His squire, she imagined. Once he had delivered his message, he looked straight at her and Esyllt received the force of his green gaze like a punch to the gut.

Arglwydd mawr!

Her future husband’s beauty was instantly eclipsed. Where did these Englishmen come from? Lord Sheridan’s golden looks had overwhelmed her, but his squire’s dark beauty was almost too intense to bear. She lowered her eyes, like someone blinded after having stared straight into the sun.

From that point on, Esyllt lost track of everything that was being said around her. All she could do was try not to stare at the man standing behind Lord Sheridan while the Welsh lords welcomed him in.

The whole thing seemed to last forever, but at long last, the Englishman was free. He nodded one last time at Gruffydd and then walked over to the dais where she was waiting, heart pounding in her chest.

“My lady. Finally we meet.” His voice was rich and pleasant, his manners perfect but she could barely speak, such was the tightening in her throat. Where was the squire? She forced herself not to go in search of him and answered her betrothed’s greeting instead. Not doing so would be a great slight, one not so easily forgiven.

“We do.”

He smiled at this far from warm opening, but she did not let it bother her because at that moment she caught sight of the handsome squire, who was taking his place at one of the benches with the rest of the English retinue.

“Shall we eat? I see you have a veritable feast prepared for us. I even recognize most of the dishes, something I had not dared hope for.”

As in a dream, Esyllt accepted Lord Sheridan’s hand and sat down next to him, readying herself for what she already knew would be the longest meal in her life.

What cruel twist of fate had made her see a man with the beauty of a fallen angel on the day she was meeting the husband who’d been chosen for her? It had been hard to reconcile herself with the idea of this marriage but against all odds, she had been struck by Lord Sheridan. Then, a heartbeat later, she had been forced to see that she would never be satisfied with him because she would forever be thinking of another man.

As a succession of dishes were placed in front of her, she did her best not to stare at the squire. A servant offered him some roasted goose, and she watched as he selected a leg and bit into it. For a reason she could not fathom, her insides convulsed. He deposited the half-eaten leg on his trencher, and the corner of his lips twitched. Esyllt’s heart plummeted in her chest. He had seen the effect he was having on her and he was making a point of letting her know it.

She swallowed hard. This wouldn’t do. The last thing she wanted was for the squire to report to Lord Sheridan, whom she imagined already wary of the Welsh, that his future wife was lusting after other men.

Or...

An idea struck her. Could this be the way out of this marriage she’d desperately been looking for? Gruffydd would not be able to blame her for not cooperating if Lord Sheridan was the one calling a halt to the proceedings.

And she had just found the perfect reason for him to do so.

Feeling much lighter than she had in weeks, she selected a piece of meat from the dish in front of her. As luck would have it, it was goose. She bit into it with relish. Cooked to perfection, flavored with rich spices and honey, it melted on the tongue.

Just like that, her appetite was back.

Connor Hunter, Lord Sheridan, watched his future wife place what little remained of her goose leg on her trencher and frowned. She had not eaten a single thing since she’d sat down and now she was smiling to herself and eating with appetite. Why? What idea had just crossed her mind? What made her green eyes sparkle so? Not that they needed anything to dazzle. They were already bright enough to ensnare any man. He should know, he who had been struck at first glance.

His future wife was one beguiling woman.

Instead of being pure perfection, which would have been rather dull, she was a study in contrasts. Her delicate face was framed by a veil as white as her skin, and her voice was soft and measured, but her full, red lips hinted at sensual delights no man could resist and her tight velvet dress hugged the body of a temptress. Connor suspected she was as fiery on the inside as she appeared demure on the outside. There was some welcome color to her cheeks, a color that added to her allure and was due, in part at least, to him and the heated gazes they had exchanged.

From the moment she’d seen him, her demeanor had changed. Before she’d spotted him next to Matthew, she’d been pale and drawn, obviously wary of the English retinue and dreading the meeting with the man she was set to marry.

Then he had appeared and she had looked entranced.

By him.

And the feeling was mutual, because the future Lady Sheridan was a rare beauty and, even more importantly, not as modest as she wanted to appear. Connor could make his peace with being married to a woman like that. He had feared being sold to another meek woman like Helen. It had not taken him long to see that was not the case.

While her attention was focused on Matthew, the man she took for her future husband, Connor was able to observe her at his leisure. It had been a stroke of genius on his brother’s part to suggest the deception. It gave him the opportunity to take in everything without being seen—or bothered—by anyone. Who would pay attention to a lowly squire when his master was in attendance? No one. And they would answer his questions more honestly.

Of course the Welsh lords would be furious tomorrow when they were told that the man they had taken for an insignificant squire was none other than Lord Sheridan himself, and the one they had lavished their attention on only his low-born foster brother. But in the meantime, he would have had a chance to find out what the people at Esgyrn Castle really thought about this marriage and the fact that they were going to have to answer to an English master from now on.

Not that he couldn’t guess. The Welsh despised, feared and hated the English who had taken over their land in equal measure, which was hardly to be wondered at. He suspected he would feel the same in their place.

And him, what did he think of the Welsh? He wasn’t sure yet. What he had heard was not exactly encouraging. Many of his countrymen considered them little more than savages unworthy of trust or even attention, but Connor wanted to see for himself where things stood. Unlike Matthew, he was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt. His brother would never have agreed to a match with a Welsh woman, but he was not so worried, and now less than ever because, on a personal level, his bride appealed to him.

All he had known about her before he’d come riding through the gate of Esgyrn Castle was that she was a twenty-six-year old widow with a young daughter. He had not asked any more details, and no one had thought it appropriate to describe her to him. He had assumed this was down to her being too plain to be deemed worth a description. Nothing could have been further from the truth, so much so that he was amazed no one had thought to use her striking looks in her favor. The man who had handled the marriage negotiations on the Welsh side, a Gruffydd ap Hywel, evidently viewed her as nothing more than a pawn in a political game and not a woman in her own right.

A mistake, but Connor was not so blind.

The second Lady Sheridan would be nothing like the first. Helen had been rather plain and thin. He had never admired these delicate damsels who moved as furtively as mice and ate like birds, who seemed as breakable as glass and were as easily offended as old clerics. No such problem here. His bride to be was elegant and feminine without appearing fragile in the least.

Esyllt ferch Llewelyn—Heavens, but that was a mouthful, one he might never be able to pronounce properly— was a proud she-wolf, not a timid doe. She moved with decision, she spoke with intent, and she looked at people without blushing.

Well... almost.

When she looked at him , she most decidedly blushed. This was a most welcome development, as it would help start their marriage on a good footing.

Her hair, he decided, must be of a most fetching color, something between blonde and auburn. It was impossible to tell under her veil, but her eyebrows were the color of an autumn leaf. He would delight in finding out just what shade of bronze her hair was on their wedding night. At the idea of lifting her shift to see if her intimate hair matched it for fire, his body gave a jerk.

At that precise moment Esyllt looked up at him. Her lips parted as if, even after so many glances in his direction she was still surprised by how appealing she found him. This unexpected desire they felt for each other would make for satisfying nights and compensate in some way for the trying days ahead. And if they were compatible in bed, as he was starting to suspect they might be, it would only help build a satisfactory relationship outside of it.

Perhaps this would not be such a disaster.

He moved out of her line of vision for a moment, wishing to see if she searched for him when she found him gone. It wasn’t long before he saw her crane her neck to see where he had disappeared to. He smiled to himself.

Yes. This marriage might not be so bad after all. He’d never thought to gain any sort of personal advantage through it. That had never been the point, but perhaps, against all odds, he would. He had chosen his first wife for practical reasons, and had not thought twice about doing the same a second time, despite a lacklustre marriage. Everyone knew that to marry for love was an unattainable dream, perhaps even unwise, as it could make you act the fool. But if his union to Esyllt could bring him more satisfaction than his union to Helen had, he was not going to complain.

He would take what he could by night, and be on his guard by day, at least until he knew whether he could trust his Welsh wife or not. Then, once he knew where matters stood between them, he might relax.

Satisfied with what he had seen so far, he slipped away toward the kitchen, intent on learning more about the workings of Esgyrn Castle before going to bed. Tomorrow it would be too late, as he would be restored to his normal role as master of the place.

And married.

Damnation, where had the squire gone? He’d been here only a moment ago, now he was nowhere to be seen. Esyllt craned her neck, in vain, before resigning herself to the fact that he had left the banquet.

Without the devilishly handsome man to distract her, she had no choice but to focus her attention back on the conversation around her. Gruffydd was acting like the man in charge, which did not surprise her, but she let him do what he pleased. She noticed that Lord Sheridan didn’t contribute much to the conversation either. Or, at least, that he didn’t ask the interpreter to say more than a few words at a time, because, as could have been expected, her future husband could not speak a single word of Welsh. Even a simple greeting had been beyond him.

The fact that he relied on his English interpreter to translate his words to the lords grated. Could he not have trusted her to do that? He’d brought a man from Sheridan Manor, not knowing whether the two of them would be able to converse. It was a sensible decision, one she could not fault. However, now that he’d seen she was more than proficient in his language, surely he could have dispensed with the man?

This unwillingness to see her as a woman in her own right, merely a wife he was forced to marry, didn’t bode well for the future of their marriage. Attractive as he may be, her husband didn’t think her worthy of interest or capable of intelligence.

“You will be married tomorrow at dawn,” Gruffydd concluded, as if everyone had not already been aware of the fact.

Lord Sheridan nodded. Esyllt remained silent. What was there to say?

Besides, this marriage would never go ahead, not if she had anything to say about it, because meeting her betrothed had only strengthened her resolve to foil Gruffydd’s plans. It had not taken her long to see that she and the Englishman would never get along. If he was not prepared to see her as a reliable, trustworthy ally, then his breathtaking physique did not matter, and there was no point to this marriage. The plan that had started to hatch in her mind moments ago was slowly taking form, now that she was not distracted by the handsome squire’s smoldering gaze. Long before dawn, Lord Sheridan would consider her unfit to be his wife, and with luck, before the week was over, his retinue would be gone.

She would be free.

Her first action would be to call Sian back to Castell Esgyrn. When she’d been told about the arrival of the English, she had sent her daughter away to her mother, just in case her stepfather proved a violent man who would object to his wife having a child by her late husband and treat the little girl like a burden. It was one thing being used by Gruffydd, but she refused to let her young daughter pay the price.

Her immediate fears on that score were allayed. Lord Sheridan did not seem like a child abuser or indeed a wife beater, but she preferred not to have to worry about her daughter at this time.

“I shall retire now, if I may,” she said, heart thumping hard in her chest. The moment to put her daring plan to execution had come. Would she be brave enough to see it through? That was the question. “I need to look rested in the morning, my lord, if I am to please you.”

“My lady. No need to fret. You already look enchanting. Any man would be honored to call you his wife.”

Lord Sheridan took her hand and kissed it with exquisite gallantry. His brown eyes sparkled, daring her to protest at this treatment. Esyllt had no choice but to acknowledge the compliment. At least the man had exquisite manners and seemed determined to give the illusion that this marriage pleased him on a personal level. Was she not making a mistake? After all, if she rejected this suitor, Gruffydd would only find her another, one who was less attractive and did not even bother to pay her compliments.

No, she decided. She had to go through with her plan. The compliment was only for the benefit of the audience watching their every move. If he’d really valued her and wanted her to feel important, he would not have acted as if he didn’t know she could speak his language until now. That he thought her a pretty trinket could not compensate for the slight on her abilities. She could not be married to such a man.

“I thank you, my lord. I will see you on the morrow.”

On the way out of the great hall, she went to give the castle steward her instructions. As soon as the banquet was over, he and two guards were to find Lord Sheridan’s squire and bring him to her room, securely bound.

Then she would take over.