Free Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) by S.L. Jesberger Page A

Alliances made by marriage were valuable, and she hoped she could make a good match for Arianrhod. Fionn never pushed her, but she knew he wished for the same thing.
    She wanted to be in love with the person she spent the rest of her life with, so she was careful, talking with her suitors and getting to know them. She finally narrowed it down to one: Prince Heath of Thorndon.
    Jariath had visited her several times in Arianrhod, but her heart was with another. She’d shown him around the kingdom, tried to be polite, but she didn’t think she’d encouraged him in any way. In fact, she told him once that another was courting her, hoping that would cool his ardor.
    The day Jariath had stormed up the road by the orchard as she’d been out walking with Prince Heath qualified as one of the worst of her life. She thought for sure he was going to trample them both with that massive beastly horse of his. He’d done nothing but rain down insult after insult on both of them.
    Neither of them had any weapons, and Heath had gripped her hand in terror. She’d felt him twisting his hand in hers, the physical manifestations of an internal debate he was having about saving his own life. She’d clung to him desperately, begging him not to abandon her to the madman on the horse. Heath was the only one standing between her and a possible kidnapping, and she was astonished to look into his eyes and see perfect self-preservation reflected back at her. At that moment, the first brick in the wall around her heart was firmly in place.
    Jariath had called her a whore and, for some reason, it triggered a verbal response from the previously mute Heath. Jariath’s body had been as tight as a bowstring, looking for a reason to make this physical. He launched off his horse and started to pound Heath mercilessly, his fists pummeling the prince’s thin frame until he fell to the ground.
    Aislin had flung herself onto his arm, but it was like holding onto a tree trunk flailing around in a windstorm. He threw her several feet, and she landed in the grass of the orchard with a bone-jarring thud.
    The prince was now unconscious in Jariath’s grip. Aislin knew he would kill Heath if she didn’t find a way to stop him. She started to scream at him, knowing Heath’s death would have diplomatic implications for all of them.
    Jariath had stopped then, one hand clenched so tightly on the front of Heath’s gold satin tunic that his fingers looked about to burst, the other raised above the prince’s face. He turned to her with wild, glazed eyes, and she said it again; “If you kill him, there will be war! Is that what you want? Would that make you happy?”
    The thud of distant hooves made her aware that someone had heard her screams and was coming to help them. She glanced to the right and could see Roderic and several others on horseback, flying in their direction.
    “ Let him go, Jariath,” she’d said, trying to soothe him. “ There’s nothing to be gained by killing him.”
    He’d dropped Heath, limp and bleeding, onto the ground and ate up the distance between them with several long strides. She’d scrambled backward in a panic, so fast that her skirt had tangled around her legs, almost sending her back to the ground. The look on his face promised pain.
    His hand had been in his pocket. She’d been wary, ready to run if he pulled a weapon, but he withdrew it to reveal a small square box in his shaking hands. A beautiful ring had been nestled within, and despite all that had just occurred, he asked her to be his wife. She was dumbstruck. She stared stupidly at the ring, and then back into his eyes, trying to gauge whether or not he was serious. He was.
    Hearing Roderic and his riders grow ever closer to them, she’d found the courage to tell him she would never marry him. Ever. He looked down at her with eyes full of rage and promised, “ I will have you to wife, Aislin. I’ll never give up.”
    And he hadn’t. Ever.
    Heath was badly