Free Bond of Passion by Bertrice Small

ye,” Annabella told him.
    He raised to his lips the small hand he held, and kissed it. “Madam, I apologize, for I have offended ye. It is not a good way for us to begin. Will you forgive me?” He smiled a little smile at her.
    Unable to help herself, Annabella smiled back, showing him a row of perfect little white teeth. How many women, she wondered, had given in to that smile? “Ye’re forgiven, my lord. This walking and talking was a wise decision. Now tell me what ye have planned for today. I am anxious to conclude the formalities so I may bathe. I stink of the road and of my horse. I want a hot bath more than anything.”
    “I had planned to have the ceremony immediately, but ye cannot be wed to me in that gown. Whoever chose such a color for you did you no kindness,” the earl told her. “Yer pale skin needs clear, bright colors, not this dull gray. Duin has its own church, and my people will be crowded into it to get their first glimpse of their new lady. I would have them see ye at yer best, madam.”
    “I fear my other two gowns are as drab,” Annabella informed him. “One is brown, and the other is black.”
    “Ye will find a complete new wardrobe in yer apartments, madam,” he told her. “Yer mam was kind enough to send me the measurements I required. There may be some small adjustments needed, but ye shall have a fine gown to wear at our wedding ceremony. Ye will have yer bath first, and then Jean will garb ye in yer new finery.”
    “But how did ye know which colors would suit me?” Annabella asked him.
    “I was told ye were as pale as the moon, with hair like ebony,” he said. “It was enough. Tell Jean to choose something particularly festive.” He smiled down at her again, and she felt her knees weaken. “Now we are almost home, madam, so let us hurry.”
    They continued on down the castle road, finally crossing over the broad oak drawbridge. There was no moat, Annabella saw, but rather beneath the drawbridge was a chasm that fell to the sea itself. Duin Castle, she now realized, stood upon a great cliff separated from the land. “Where is yer village?” she asked him, curious.
    “Look to yer left,” he said. “Ye can see the church tower from here. The village was built around St. Andrew’s. Ye can inspect it in a few days. Our people farm and fish.” He led her beneath the great iron portcullis and into a large courtyard. “Welcome home, madam!” he said to her. “Welcome to Duin!”
    Looking about her, Annabella could see the lines of the original house that had become a small castle. Her curiosity aroused, she looked forward to exploring it and learning all about it. “Thank ye, my lord,” she said, accepting his welcome.
    Jean came forth from the house, smiling.
    “The countess will bathe and change into something more suitable,” the earl told his half sister. “Help her choose something festive, Jeannie. When she is ready we will celebrate the formalities at St. Andrew’s.”
    “Aye, my lord,” Jean answered him. Then she said, “My mother is here to meet yer bride. She’ll want to help.”
    “Ye’ll like old Jeanne,” the earl said. “She is a second mother to me.” He raised her hand to his lips once more, kissed it, and then released it.
    Annabella felt suddenly and strangely bereft at the loss of the strong fingers that had wrapped themselves about hers just a moment before. “I will try not to keep ye waiting too long, my lord,” she said as she curtsied to him.
    He smiled a brilliant smile at her that seemed to light his whole face. “A woman preparing for her wedding cannot be faulted if she takes her time,” he said.
    “Bothwell is in the hall, and he’s in a rare temper,” Jean told her brother before she turned away to escort Annabella to her apartments.
    The earl nodded and hurried off.
    “The Earl of Bothwell?” Annabella asked as they hurried into the castle and up the stairs to her apartments. “James Hepburn?”
    “Aye,” Jean