Free Shana Abe by A Rose in Winter Page A

caught and punished before they got far, she would be forced to marry the earl anyway, and Damon—
    “Solange, I need you. You need me in spite of what you say.” Damon shook her gently, then rocked her close again. “Come with me. We can do it.”
    “No.” She struggled to push herself away from him. “You ask too much! It’s not
worth
it to me!” She pushed her hair back with trembling hands and said wildly, “Don’t you understand? You are not worth the sacrifice! I don’t want you!”
    His face turned ashen before her eyes.
    “It is impossible. Please go now.” She tucked her hands behind her back to keep them from reaching for him.
    He stood mute, unmoving. She took another step away from him.
    “I’m sorry, Damon. I must prepare for my wedding now. You must go.”
    Time suspended, brittle as December grass. Seasons of knowledge of each other tumbled and fused with dreams of their future together. Gossamer dreams, so fragile. Then the moment shattered, everything blown away with her unyielding refusal.
    “My apologies,” he said presently. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
    He turned and left the chamber, walking quietly into the midst of the waiting women outside.
    He closed the door behind him.
    Solange stood still amid the rubble of her dreams. She felt an aching pride at her performance, just before the choking cry trapped in her throat overtook her. She ran over to the bed and smothered her face in the furs, burying the sound in the pelts. Her body bowed with racking, dry sobs.
    Soft hands touched her shoulders; hushed voices urged her to rise.
    Solange collected herself. She raised her head from the bed. Her eyes were feverish and bright, her cheeks like parchment.
    “Enough, I am fine. Let us continue.”
    And the marriage ceremony dragged on. The Earl of Redmond repeated his vows in that mellow voice that had the ladies sighing. Solange watched him with curious detachment, the wetness of his lips, the way he grasped her fingers, using his whole hand to control her.
    The priest now turned to her, and she said the words after him without thought, her mind on the clouds outside, flying with the hawk over golden fields.
    Her voice was so muted that the members of the congregation had to lean forward to catch the words at all. Redmond listened thoughtfully to her melodious inflections, marking the absence of life in her voice.
    Not that it mattered. She would revive soon enough, he knew.
    The priest gave the final blessing upon them both, and declared them husband and wife in the eyes of the Lord God, amen.
    Redmond turned to his bride and lifted her chin with one finger. She appeared dazed, unaware of whatwas happening. He lowered his head and kissed her lips.
    Approving murmurs broke out in the crowd. Redmond raised his head and threw the audience a rakish grin. Many of the women were wiping tears from their eyes. The gentlemen looked relieved it was finally over. Now was the time for the feast.
    Solange followed the earl back down the aisle through the patchwork of colored sunlight, heedlessly crushing the flower petals strewn beneath her feet. Behind her a choir of young boys soared into an aria, the sound resonating throughout the chapel.
    How strange it all was, she thought. How unreal. Here was the earl by her side now as her husband, instead of the man she had always expected to see in that place.
    Here was her father congratulating them both, joining them to accept the felicitations of the gathering group that crowded around them.
    Here were all the people who had made up the folds of her life, yet who had never seemed to like her, suddenly all smiles and charms in her direction. Here was her father’s mistress, a woman who had openly and deliberately ignored her, now kissing her cheek and telling her how much she would be missed.
    Perhaps it was all just a bad dream, Solange thought remotely. Yes, a bad dream, the worst dream possible, really. She would wake any moment now to her