Free Terri Brisbin by The Betrothal

expression was heated. ’Twas as though he could look through her with his intense eyes. Then she realized that the light from the candles and the burning brazier exposed her in just her shift.
    “Yes,” she answered. Fearing to say more, she looked away from him and pulled one of the blankets around her shoulders.
    “The fear is back in your gaze, my lady. I had hoped it was gone.”
    “Fear, my lord?”
    “Aye, fear. I could see it there in every move you made and hear it in every word you spoke to me until just yesterday. I had hoped that it was gone.”
    Joanna did not answer him. The dream had simply reinforced all the terrible things she knew about him. ’Twould take more than a gift or two or a show of kindness to rid her of her fears about him.
    “Will you answer me truthfully if I ask you some questions?” She decided it was time to face some of it.
    “About my reputation?” He sounded tired, his voice flat now.
    “Aye, my lord.” She clenched her hands together and waited. Even if he said yes, how would she know if it was the truth?
    “Go ahead, lady, give me your questions.” He walked to the wall nearest her little alcove and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. Lord Braden closed his eyes for a moment and then looked over at her. “Well?”
    “Did you father truly go mad?” This one was known across the land, so it was more for her use in gauging his replies.
    “Aye, lady. My father was overcome by madness before my birth and died when I was a small boy.” He shifted against the wall. “Next?”
    “Did your grandfather throw himself and your grandmother off the tower of your castle to their deaths?”
    He lifted his hand now and placed the heel of his palm against his forehead before answering. Lord Braden stood like that for several minutes before saying a word.
    “’Tis true but not in the way you described, lady. My grandmother died giving birth to my father and my grandfather carried her to the tower and killed himself.”
    Part of her wanted to comfort him. To live with such a history, to have to live with such sadness. But, the next question was the one she feared the most for its subject was close to her own story but for the ending…at least so far. She hesitated to ask, but he nodded to her.
    “I have been told that your previous betrothed begged her father to gain her release and that he offered you gold to release her.” She paused now, for the rest was worse than that. Taking a breath, she blurted it out, “And when you refused to release her, she took her own life.”
    Joanna expected him to give some explanation to the accusation, but his reaction frightened her even more. He stood to his full height and turned his intensity to her. She shuddered at his approach and found herself held up against the wall by his harsh grasp.
    “Damn them for speaking of it!” he growled at her. He shook her once and leaned in closer. “And damn you for listening!”
    With another shake, he released her and she slid down until she touched the floor. She dared not move for his fury was a living thing. He swung his fist back, knocking down the wooden partition. Stomping on it until it broke, he kicked at the pieces and they scattered across the floor. Finished with that, he looked around as though searching for something else to destroy.
    Joanna curled up into a ball and tried to protect her head and face, much as she’d done when her father did his worst. She heard his heavy footfalls and knew he stood before her. Saying a prayer in what she thought would be her last minute, she held her breath and hoped it would be over quickly. His panting was right next to her and she waited for the first blow to fall.
    “Damn you,” he whispered in a choking voice and then his steps moved away.
    She dared a peek from behind her arms and watched him stumble from the chapel. The door stood no chance against his anger. It was pulled from its frame and, with a loud crash, fell to the