Free Jennifer August by Knight of the Mist

amuse you as we celebrate this blessed day.”
    Cheers rang out and glasses hoisted in the air. Stirling rolled her eyes.
    “Who is he?” Quinn murmured, amusement running through his words.
    “Sir Langeth. A junior member of John’s forces, but a most eager knight, to be sure.”
    “And now, Lord and Lady of Falcon Fire, I offer a tribute, a song.”
    She giggled, well versed with his musical abilities. The poor man was tone-deaf. Of course, such criticism never deterred him, though ‘twas oft given.
    “Proceed, troubadour.” Quinn waved his hand, gently caressing her neck with the other. She squirmed and tried to concentrate on Langeth and his eccentric dress.
    “When the night wind blows and the sky turns dark, they say one will come, he who will flame love from one single spark. When all is lost and cannot be found, this love shall break through the barriers all around.” Langeth danced a small jig, then wildly strummed the lyre. The strident jangle grated on her nerves, but his words piqued her interest. “The fire of love shall burn bright. It will heal old wounds and make everything right. Trust each other, no one else, that which abides here cannot be felt. No sense, no sound, no sight, nothing but the love of fire and ice.” He finished with a flourish, dancing madly around the room, collecting trinkets, lady’s favors and coins for his strange toast.
    Quinn’s gray gaze bore steadily into her. “What do you make of that, my lady?”
    “He has always been most odd, Sir Norman. Perchance he drank too much of your French wine?”
    “Mayhap.” He fingered the low neckline of her gown, raising goose bumps wherever he touched. “He has them well-entertained, lady-wife, now is the perfect time to adjourn to our chambers.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. She glanced around, but no one looked their direction.
    “But our guests …” she gestured to the crowd.
    “Will accompany us to the bedding if we do not escape quickly. ‘Tis not a fate I would wish upon you.”
    She blushed and clutched his hand. “Nay, sir, I certainly do not wish this to be a public sport.”
    “Do not be afraid, Stirling , I promise, come morning, you shall wonder why you ever hesitated.”
    She inhaled sharply at his supreme arrogance. The man believed himself to be perfect, she felt certain. As he pulled her through the servant’s hall to the kitchens, the memory of another man’s arrogance and its consequences slammed into her. Even as Quinn urged her up the winding staircase to the third floor, Tristan’s betrayal washed over her. She knew not this handsome Norman invader, nothing of his family or his dreams. She knew only that he was a man of war and loyal to the crown-thief. Why then, did Quinn wed her?
    They entered the solar of the Lord’s chamber and he closed the door, locking the bolt behind them.
    “Sit Stirling , and ease your fears for a moment.” He indicated a chair, which she sank into, gazing around the room in amazement at the difference. “What is amiss now, lady-wife?”
    “‘Tis hardly the same chamber. When Father…,” she hesitated, “departed, I ordered this chamber closed. Two years of dust and neglect accumulated, but I had not the heart to clean it.”
    He handed her a goblet of wine. “I understand your sorrow, but you must look to the future. Together we will found a new legacy and our children shall inherit the outcome of our efforts as we re-build this keep.”
    She sipped the potent red wine, eyeing him over the rim. He unbuckled the gilded leather sword belt that hung empty around his waist and laid the sheath on a chair. Next he lifted the loose red and black tunic over his head, mussing his black hair. The shirt landed atop the sword belt. She shifted in the chair, took a deeper draught of the wine and watched him warily. Heat coursed through her as he disrobed. When he pulled at the long-sleeved black linen shirt, she could remain silent no longer.
    “Why did you marry