Free Love's Magic by Traci E. Hall Page B

corners. What might it be like to have the love of an angel?
    He was turning into a sop, he thought angrily. Nicholas gave the bedpost a shake. “Get up,” he ordered gruffly. “And don’t forget to play along.”
    Celestia’s eyes flew open, and he saw the bewilderment there. While they were different colors, and they certainly beguiled, he didn’t think them evil. His sense of righteousness nagged him for his display of foul temper.
    None of this was her fault. The baron thought nothing of ruining people’s lives, and the attitude ran through to his men. Petyr had been dismissive of the baron’s refusal to honor the Montehue’s marriage dispensation, laughing that when Lord Robert had made the request twenty years ago, he hadn’t had daughters that the baron needed.
    “Pull back the covers.”
    She did, and Nicholas took a knife from the pastry platter, sliced the base of his palm, and smeared the bottom sheet. “It’s done.”
    Celestia watched his actions in silence, saying nothing at all when he walked out the door. Feeling like a giant ass, he added the latest sin to the others, wondering if Saint James even had the power to be so forgiving.
    He thought the manor deserted, but then the loud snores of warriors sounded from the main hall. In the monastery he’d had his own small cell, a place where he could be alone with his thoughts. To read, or copy works. Until he’d sworn fealty to the baron and agreed to lead the caravan with the sacred relic of Saint James to King Richard in the Holy Land, he’d thought to live a simple life.
    Perhaps to marry a woman of the land, who could be his helpmate. She would bear his children, plant and weed his garden, cook and sew and plow, if need be. He’d tell stories aloud after their evening meal. They’d be content. And if, in his very secret heart, he’d ever envisioned this woman who might stand by his side, for certes she had not looked like Celestia.
    Petite to the point of daintiness, regal in her bearing. Nicholas couldn’t see her ankle-deep in oxen muck, following him as he plowed a spring garden. A chuckle broke free and he dropped his hand to his side. His life had changed much since he’d been that naïve young man. Now he knew the identity of his father. He had a keep of his own, men he couldn’t trust, and a wife he hadn’t chosen.
    “What’s so merry this morning?”
    “Lord Robert!” Nicholas looked up into the suspicious face of Celestia’s father.
    “Where’s my daughter?”
    “Upstairs, sir.” Uncomfortable with the man’s stare, Nicholas adjusted the tight sleeves of his tunic, keeping the scars covered. It wouldn’t do to make Lord Robert more of an enemy, and he owed the man much—even though pride was hard to swallow. “I don’t know how to thank you, Lord Montehue, for all of your kind gifts.” Nicholas set his jaw and continued, “I had but robes at the monastery, and just one left of those. I will repay you as soon as I am able.”
    Lord Robert puffed out his barrel chest. “‘Tis nothing but a few tunics. I can’t have my Celestia marry a man with no clothes. Verily, the greatest gift I gave you was my daughter, and you’d best take care of her with your life’s last breath.” Lord Robert’s bushy blond brows came together as he scowled. “You and your father have given me no reason to trust nor like you, and would be to God that I knew why the baron insisted upon a hasty wedding. But know this—if my daughter comes to any harm under your watch, I will hunt you down and kill you myself, baron or no.”
    Well said, Nicholas thought. He held the man’s gaze without flinching. “I will keep her best interests at heart, sir.”
    Lord Robert exhaled and gave Nicholas a slap on the back with enough manly camaraderie to knock Nicholas forward a step. “Good. I agree that it would be safer traveling with one wagon, instead of two. It’s already done, and loaded with fresh provisions. Women. They can’t move into a