Free Untamed by Elizabeth Lowell Page A

gleaming, sliding folds of chain mail.
    â€œSven has heard nothing to suggest that Lady Margaret is so redoubtable,” Simon pointed out. “Rather the opposite. The vassals love her greatly for her kindness.”
    â€œFalcons are always kind to their own.”
    â€œYour helm, sire,” the boy said neutrally.
    â€œI think not,” Dominic said. “The hauberk’s hood will have to serve.”
    The squire set aside the bleak metal helm with visible relief.
    â€œWill John be attending the ceremony?” Simon asked.
    â€œI heard something about a pallet being readied in the church,” Dominic said indifferently.
    â€œYour sword, sire,” Jameson said, holding out the heavy sword with both hands.
    The squire’s expression plainly stated that he hoped his lord would refuse the weapon as he had the helm and chausses.
    Jameson was to be disappointed. Dominic buckled the sword in place with a few swift movements. Its grim weight at his left side was as familiar to him as darkness was to the night.
    â€œMy mantle,” he said.
    Within moments Jameson appeared at Dominic’s side with a richly embroidered damask mantle. Gemstones and pearls winked and shimmered within the elaborate weave, suggesting laughter buried in the luxurious folds. It was a mantle fit for a sultan. Indeed, it had been a sultan’s gift to the knight who had prevented his men from defiling the sultan’s five wives after the palace had fallen.
    â€œNot that one,” Dominic said. “The black one. It lies more easily over chain mail and sword.”
    With a sigh, Jameson traded the fine cape for the heavy black wool. In its own almost secret way, the cape was just as costly, for it had a deep border of sable from a forest a thousand miles distant.
    Dominic swirled the cape into place with a deft motion. Wool and fur settled luxuriantly around his body, concealing all but the occasional glint of chain mail and the gleaming length of Dominic’s heavy sword. Jameson fastened the cape in place with the simple iron pin Dominic wore into battle.
    Watching, Simon shook his head in a combination of amusement and rue. Even naked, Dominic was a formidable man; dressed as he was now, he was a blunt warning to the people of the realm that a new lord had come.
    A lord who meant to be obeyed.
    â€œYou’ll have the maiden fainting with fear at the sight of you,” Simon said.
    â€œThat would be a refreshing change,” Dominic muttered.
    But he didn’t say it loudly enough to be overheard. He had told no one about his brush with the lady of the keep dressed as a cotter’s child. The ease with which she had fooled him still rankled his pride.
    Bells pealed from the church across the meadow, telling the people of Blackthorne Keep that it was time to gather for the nuptials. Before the last bell was rung, Dominic had walked from his rooms and was mounting a horse in the bailey.
    The bride was not nearly so eager for the wedding to begin.
    â€œEadith, do quit hovering like a sparrow hawk questing for a meal,” Meg said.
    Despite the words, Meg’s voice was gentle. For once she enjoyed the handmaiden’s chatter and constant motion; it kept Meg’s mind from what lay ahead.
    Duncan, be as clever as you are brave. See what must be. Accept it .
    Forgive me .
    â€œYou heard the bells,” Eadith said. “’Tis time. Hurry, mistress.”
    Meg glanced at her mother’s water clock. The hammered silver bowl with its ebony support and catch basin had been handed down from mother to daughter for years without name or number. With the bowl had come the knowledge of how to use it inmarking off the proper time for medicines to steep.
    It seemed to Meg but a moment ago that she had filled the keeper to its utmost, water brimming and shining like primeval moonlight in the sunless room. Yet less than a finger’s width of water remained in the upper bowl.
    â€œNot