Free Gentle Warrior by Julie Garwood Page A

her eyes a blazing blue.
    "You are not eager for this marriage?" His voice was soft, his expression mocking to Elizabeth 's ears.
    A lioness, Geoffrey decided, from the mane of rioting curls to the wild, wary expression in her eyes. He fought the urge to grab her, touch her.
    "I have no feelings one way or the other," Elizabeth lied. She stood then, thinking that kneeling in his presence would give him the idea that she was of the submissive sort. Whether he be her lord or not, she would never cower before him.
    Geoffrey acknowledged her comment with a nod and walked over to the window. He lifted the heavy piece of fur blocking the wind and gazed out. It was as if he had dismissed her, Elizabeth thought, wondering what she was supposed to do.
    "You need not marry me, my lord. Your protection is enough," Elizabeth pointed out. "And you are in a position to marry anyone… to marry even for love."
    He acted as if he hadn't heard a word she said, and Elizabeth continued to wait.
    "Foolish men marry for love. I am not foolish." He hadn't bothered to turn to her but continued to look out the window as he spoke. Odd, but his voice, though forceful, was lacking any emotion.
    Foolish, she repeated to herself. He thought love foolish. She didn't disagree with him. She could be as realistic as he. And he was right. It was unheard of to marry for love. It wasn't practical. And yet… there was a romantic corner of her mind that wished Geoffrey did love her and that she did love him. Aye, foolish indeed. Wasn't it enough that she was drawn to him? Found him physically pleasing? No, she admitted, physical beauty should have no importance in a lasting relationship. Her mother had taught her that. It was what was buried beneath the surface that determined a good match. Besides, Elizabeth was a little frightened by Geoffrey, and that wouldn't do at all! She hated being frightened. She had already glimpsed a stubborn inclination in his nature, larger than her own. No doubt the marriage would be a stormy arrangement, and after all the turmoil she had recently been through, the prospect of more was as welcome to her as a sore tooth.
    Elizabeth realized that Lord Geoffrey knew very little about her, had no idea just what he was getting for his wife. What would he think when he learned that she was far better versed in hunting and skinning a rabbit than needlepoint and homemaking? How often had her father blamed her Saxon heritage for her wild ways? Blamed her mother's full Saxon father for encouraging her unorthodox behavior? It was the grandfather who gifted Elizabeth with the hawk and then the wolfhounds on his annual visits to the manor, all to irritate his daughter's husband. The two protagonists played goading games with each other. And it was Elizabeth who benefited from the friction between the two men. Grandfather boasted that his granddaughter was a throwback to their Viking ancestors, and he only had to point to her blond hair, her blue eyes, and her proud carriage to prove his statement.
    But if the grandfather was to blame for Elizabeth 's independence, so was her father. Had he not treated her as a son for many years?
    How would her grandfather get on with Geoffrey, Elizabeth wondered, should they ever meet? Would the gentle giant play the same antagonizing games with Geoffrey that he had with her father? The thought of the chaos he could cause made Elizabeth smile. Geoffrey turned from the window in time to catch her smile. He wondered at its cause, frowning.
    Elizabeth met his gaze and waited. She noticed then that he too had bathed, for his hair was wet and slightly curling around his collar. He had changed too, into a tunic as black as midnight, with the design of his crest, in gold threads, upon his right breast. The fabric was tight against his powerful chest, and each and every time she saw him, his largeness appeared greater than before. She did not like feeling intimidated by him, but couldn't continue to match his stare,