Free Hearts and Crowns by Anna Markland Page A

displeasure. He forced a smile as he proffered his arm. “Are your chambers to your liking?”
    She did not look at him. “ Oui .”
    As they processed towards the Great Hall, his agitation grew. The rest of his family awaited them. Despite his mother’s sympathy with his reluctance to remarry, she had already welcomed Peridotte upon her arrival at Ellesmere the previous day. “What does it matter if she is an Angevin? Do you believe it was easy for your father to marry a Welshwoman?” she had chided.
    “But he loved you. I don’t love this woman, and I never will,” he had retorted.
    Her reply had been something about lightning not striking twice in the same place. He winced at the memory, raking a hand through his hair. Marriage to Felicité had indeed been like being struck by lightning.
    It came to him that the woman he escorted was trembling. Felicité had never trembled, except perhaps at another’s touch. “Are you cold?”
    He cursed under his breath that his determination to ask no personal questions had already faltered. If she said yes, what would he do then?
    Christ, he was acting like a lad of four and ten. Her perfume had befuddled him, but at least it wasn’t lavender.
    Her fingers tightened briefly on his arm. She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the stone floor.
    His mother came into view, smiling broadly, her arms extended in greeting. She had been his rock during the nightmare of his marriage. He might have lost his wits were it not for her love and support. He had sobbed in her arms like a baby.
    His brother stood beside her. Gallien groaned inwardly. Étienne pursued anything in skirts. In the worst moments of his marriage, Gallien had accused his brother of adultery with his wife. To his everlasting shame, he knew now how wrong he had been, but did not doubt for a moment that Étienne would flirt with his betrothed. She was beautiful. From her coloring and the precarious tilt of the veil, he suspected red hair, and lots of it. The notion caused a tingle at the base of his spine. He changed his gait to be rid of it.
    Never again would he allow himself to care for a woman. They were not to be trusted.

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    The aroma of food unsettled Peri’s belly. She and her future husband shared a trencher, customary for a newly betrothed couple, and he selected choice pieces of roasted chicken, offering them on the end of his eating dagger, as was expected.
    But he spoke not a word. No smile lit his face. Only the darkened blue of his eyes betrayed his mood.
    She searched for topics of conversation, but found none.
    The Earl and his Countess occupied the carved lord and lady’s chairs at the head table. Gallien sat at his father’s right hand. Peri supposed that her presence as the extra person was the reason for their closeness on the padded bench. Her betrothed’s thigh touched hers. The heat emanating from his body made her lightheaded. She pressed her fingers to the hidden sachet, thankful for its aromatic properties.
    She had brought a goodly supply of potpourri, but would need to ask the Countess how to procure more. She had learned her future mother-by-marriage was a healer and the castle maintained a Still Room fully stocked with herbs and medicines.
    Gallien leaned closer. “You have no need to draw my eye to them. I see you have breasts.”
    Anger surged into her throat, threatening to choke her. A pulse beat in her ears. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came. She squirmed on the bench, wishing she could flee.
    He rolled his eyes. “Nor do you need to press your thigh to mine. I am immune to your game.”
    Tears welled in her eyes. “I play no game, milord . It is you who plays games, toying with me as a cat toys with a mouse.”
    To her surprise he frowned. “You are right, milady . Where are my manners? As you have probably sensed, I am not happy with this betrothal.”
    “Nor am I,” she whispered.
    ~~~
    Her response did not matter, though it piqued