Free Knight of Seduction by Cheryl Holt

the crowd, and everyone started to eat.   

CHAPTER FIVE
    Anne paced the floor of her new bedchamber.
    Her old room had been little more than a cupboard, tucked under the stairs.  Her new room was Blodwin’s collection of rooms, her sitting room, her office where she kept the estate ledgers, her washing and dressing rooms.
    Anne had not requested the change, and every time a noise sounded outside, she cringed, expecting Blodwin to march in and demand answers.
    Anne had none to give her, except to say that Lord Hugh was a master at planning and preparation.  While the whole castle had been reveling down in the great hall, he’d had servants quietly removing Blodwin’s personal effects.
    Oh, didn’t he understand what a ruckus it would cause?  Didn’t he understand how furious Blodwin would be? 
    Blodwin would never graciously accept what he’d done.  Anne would pay the price for Hugh’s insult.  Where Anne and Blodwin were concerned, Anne had always paid the price.
    She wanted to sneak away, and she’d tried once, but Hugh had a knight guarding the door.  She’d lied and told him she needed to fetch something, but he’d merely shaken his head and warned her that Hugh would arrive very soon.
    So…she was waiting.
    The wedding banquet had dragged on all afternoon and into the evening.  There had been mountains of food and drinking and dancing.  Hugh’s men had distributed gifts to every guest.
    He’d firmly demonstrated his power over them, as well as the surprising depth of his wealth and his intent to share that prosperity with those who served him.
    Lord Hugh had established himself as a man of legend, as a man to be admired and exalted.  If she had previously felt that no one would confront Hugh on her behalf, she now had to admit that they wouldn’t interfere merely because they were all in love with him.
     Should she try to complain about her forced marriage, people would think her mad.
    She’d been exhausted by the entire ordeal, and Hugh had noted her fatigue.  He’d suggested she leave the party, whispering that she should slip out the back, that he would join her when he was able.
    She’d crept away, grateful for her clandestine exit, grateful that there had been no gaggle of riotous drunkards to haul her up the stairs.  She’d seen brides carried off, with leering men tearing at their clothes while the girls cried and begged for mercy. 
    If Hugh had allowed such a humiliating event to occur, Anne would have died of shame.  But her relief at escaping had been short-lived.  Two of his knights—were they everywhere?—had intercepted her as she’d fled the celebration. 
    She’d planned to pack a bag and run away, but Hugh had seemed to suspect that she might.  She’d been escorted directly to Blodwin’s bedchamber—Anne’s bedchamber now—and she was basically imprisoned.
    Her uncles still traveled the countryside with the troupe in which her mother had performed before her arrival at Morven.  They occasionally stopped at the castle when they were in the area.  If Anne could have gotten away, she would have journeyed to Dumfries, the town where they spent the summer, as she probably should have done years earlier.
    They were renowned, and eventually, she would have located them.  Her relatives would have hidden her.  Her relatives would have kept her safe from Hugh of Manche, the king’s butcher.
    Instead, she was without a friend in the world, alone and weary and frightened out of her wits.  Lord Hugh was coming to consummate the marriage, but she had no idea what that entailed.  She didn’t want to know.
    She wanted to be an unwed girl again—as she’d been just that morning—with no greater worry than what clothes to wear.  She didn’t want to be a wife, didn’t want to be Hugh’s wife, didn’t want to be mistress of his castle, where she would constantly battle Blodwin for control.
    Footsteps sounded in the hall.  There were murmured words, then Blodwin