Free The Defiant Bride by Leslie Hachtel

certainty of the result. In the meantime, Dariana had no choice but to let it play out.
    Leah reached for her hand. “Come with me,” she said. “You are mistress of the manor now. I need to show you about and we must get you measured for some proper dresses.”
    The desire to resist gone for now, Dariana followed Leah through the castle, listening to her explanations and descriptions as if in a haze. She nodded as they moved about, but most of what Leah said slipped past.
    Soon the day was spent. Dariana was led to the table to partake of the evening meal. A trencher was placed before her, but her appetite was gone. William, beside her, ate with gusto while she hardly touched her meat or vegetables. The wine, however, was a different story. Dariana had tasted no wine for a year and the play of it on her tongue was so warming and pleasant that she drank deeply of it. She was on her third cup of the heady stuff when hands touched her shoulders.
    “It’s time to ready you for bed, Dariana,” Leah said. “I shall help you.”
    Dariana, her earlier tension and resentment eased by the spirits, followed Leah meekly. She was led to the room she hadslept in the night before and it occurred to her that this was the master’s bedchamber. William had not slept here yesterday, but now it was to be theirs. Leah had dismissed the maids and was helping her undress. “I do like this room, you know. It’s nothing like my own, but it is quite nice. I am glad it will be mine. Ours…” She giggled at the word.
    “I expected protest. Just how much wine did you drink?”
    “Drink? Oh, yes. I’d like another drink. I’ve acquired a burning thirst.”
    Leah slipped a soft, airy gown over her head. “Yes and you’ll acquire a burning pain in your head come morning if you have more. Just lie down and rest.” She led Dariana to the bed and pulled back the sheets. Dariana did as she was bidden. “William will join you soon.” Leah covered her and left the room.
    “That’s nice,” Dariana replied to no one, sinking into the welcoming bed. She let herself drift into sleep.

    A while later, William entered the bedchamber and moved over to the bed. Years of war training had taught him how to approach soundlessly. He looked down onto his wife’s sleeping countenance and whistled between his teeth. She was a most breathtaking sight, with the inky blackness of her hair spread on the pillow like a dark, lacy fan and the perfection of her face. Her breathing was even. William knew her to be deep in sleep. He leaned over to place a soft kiss upon her brow, but no sooner had his lips touched the warmth of her skin than a wild thing replaced the innocent creature before him. Hands, claws bared, reached up to rake his face and knees drove into his belly, forcing the air from his lungs.
    Almost before he could react, she had lunged forward and knocked him onto the bed and thrown herself on top of him, her breasts heaving with exertion. The sight of her in the sheer sleeping gown made what was left of his breath catch in his throat. His manhood tightened as desire flooded him. He tried to calm her, caress her soft skin, until it penetrated his brain, confused as it was with lust, that she was sobbing and her cries were mingled with gasps of air. She was snared in the depths of some nightmarish vision, still deeply asleep, but nonetheless terrified and fighting for her very life.
    “Dariana, waken,” he whispered. “Waken.”
    Her eyes opened, a look of panic caught in their depths, and then, recognizing him, she flung herself into his arms. William held her and began to stroke her back, quieting her until the sobs eased. After a few moments, she spoke very softly. “I dream it often. I am in the forest and a man sneaks into my cottage. He is intent on my death. I try to escape, but his body pinions me, threatening suffocation. I have a knife with me and God guides my hand. I strike out with the blade and he falls upon me, dead, his blood