Free The Warrior's Reward by Samantha Holt

fought for some comforting words to say.
    “We shall travel by carriage for as much of the journey as possible,” he said.
    Another sniffle.
    “I wish not for you to be uncomfortable.”
    More sniffles, but quieter this time.
    “My lands are not far from the border but ‘tis mountainous territory. We shall leave the carriage at an inn I know of in Shropshire. Your father’s people will return it while we continue on horseback.”
    Rosamunde nodded slowly, her head still dipped. “I remember,” she said so quietly he had to strain to hear it.
    One tear dripped onto her lap, darkening the pale green wool of her travelling gown. He fisted a hand at his side, then opened it to ease it over her lap and clasp her hand. She jerked her head up in surprise and those wet cheeks did something uncomfortable to his chest.
    “Should you need anything on the journey, you must say. I will not scold you.”
    She offered him a weak smile. “And if you did, would it matter? You are my husband now. You can do as you wish.”
    He tensed his jaw. She really did see him as nothing more than a Welsh barbarian, did she not? “I told you I would never hurt you.”
    “Yet you have dragged me away from my friends and family. Does that not hurt?”
    “You know very well what I mean,” he said through clenched teeth. Hell fire, did she need to make him feel any guiltier about this? “You shall like Wales.” He threw the words out as if they could somehow make up for the circumstances.
    “I liked my home.”
    “Yet you were willing to leave it rather than marry me?”
    Colour filled her pale cheeks. He longed to dash his fingers over her soft skin. So innocent was she that it almost seemed if he touched her, he might absorb some of it. Then the blood of Englishmen would be washed away and any sins of his past, all the experiences that made him the man he was today might be cleansed from his mind. Then he too could revel in simple enjoyments as she had her entire life.
    “I was not thinking with a clear head.”
    “And what of your adventures? Sneaking out of the castle like a thief. Would you have done so had you been so content with your life?”
    “I had never sneaked out before.”
    “So you spent your entire life in your father’s castle?”
    “Aye, with the exception of the tournaments.”
    He almost groaned. What had he taken on? Innocent, naive, foolish... and far too beautiful for her own good. He would likely destroy her with his rough Welsh ways. His harsh lands would sap the life from her and frighten her to death. Still, he supposed if she was used to being behind castle walls, she might not complain when he kept her tucked away behind his own walls.
    “What is...” Rosamunde drew in a breath. “What is your home like?”
    He peered out of the window at the scenery. They were out in the open now, travelling through the valley that would take them closer to the border. What could he say? Cold, wet, crumbling. His home was not suited to any noblewoman, let alone one like Rosamunde. Instead he thought of the lush, steep hills and the great grey rocks that jutted out of the scenery as though carved by giants.
    “’Tis beautiful. A different landscape to England, to be sure. ‘Tis more... rugged, I suppose. But when you reach the land of the Welsh, the air is different.” Her lips curved in amusement. “You will see what I mean when you get there. You English have not the same sense of heritage as we do. Celtic blood runs through our veins and binds us to our land.”
    “And what will your people think of you having married an Englishwoman?”
    “They shall think me wise for marrying you,” he said with a grin.
    “Because I am rich?”
    “Nay, because you are beautiful. Welshmen can never resist beauty. It has always been our downfall.”
    “So Welshman are weak-natured, is that what you are saying?” She clasped her hands in her lap and turned her gaze fully on him. The tears were but a glimmer in her eyes now