Free Hearts and Crowns by Anna Markland Page B

Gallien’s male pride that she did not want to marry him, any more than he wanted her. But he had his reasons—good reasons.
    Why would an eligible maiden not want to marry the eldest son of a powerful Earl? Granted he had not been friendly. In fact he had been cruel and rude. This was what Felicité had turned him into—a cold, heartless brute.
    “I am a difficult man,” he conceded, drumming his fingers on the table.
    She sniffled, blinking away welling tears—what color were her eyes exactly? Green, flecked with brown. In this light, they reminded him of the amber necklace his mother’s brother, Rhys, wore—a family heirloom passed down through generations of the Welsh side of his ancestry.
    He tore his gaze away. What did he care what color her eyes were? Her dismay at being bound to him had gone unanswered. He cast about for something more pleasant to say. “But we might learn to tolerate one another.”
    She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on a point faraway. “I had foolishly hoped for a marriage of more than tolerance.”
    The wistful melancholy in her voice caught him off guard, but he supposed most maidens’ heads were filled with the notion of finding a great love. He had once entertained similar fancies. “You dreamed of marrying a handsome prince,” he said with more sarcasm than he intended.
    She swiveled her head and glanced up at him sharply, her cheeks reddening. “ Non, non ,” she stammered, “not yet a prince, a—”
    She clamped a hand over her mouth, her green eyes widening in apprehension.
    Cold fury swept over Gallien. The woman was in love with someone else.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    Alys took a step back from her mistress, sniffling. “My lady, you are beautiful. If only your Maman and Papa were here to see you.”
    Peri pursed her lips, determined not to shed more tears. She had done enough of that throughout the long sleepless night, wishing her parents had come to her wedding. Perhaps their presence would fill the lonely void where her heart used to be.
    The Earl and Countess had deemed it wise to hold the ceremony soon after the betrothal since Peri was far from home. A sennight had passed during which she had seen little of her betrothed. Étienne had paid her more attention. Now she stood in her chamber, dressed in a gown of white silk that was finer than anything she had ever worn before. The Countess had recommended the unusual color and, after innumerable fittings, the castle seamstresses had finished the garment in record time.
    Alys divided the hair on one side of her mistress’s head into two sections. Instead of a third strand of hair, she used hairpins to secure a white ribbon. Peri winced as Alys plaited the hair tightly with the ribbon, then rolled the braid into a bun, secured with more pins. She repeated the process on the other side.
    Peri smiled weakly, her eyes watering. “At least you are here with me, Alys. Whether I look beautiful or not will be of no consequence to my betrothed. He hates me.”
    The maidservant opened her mouth to respond, but a commotion in the outer hallway caught their attention. Jovial male voices. One struck a chord of memory, but it was impossible he would be here.
    She clutched the fabric of her skirts. The Earl was to escort her to the door of the church, but she had thought there was time yet to calm herself.
    Someone rapped loudly.
    Feeling light headed, she nodded to Alys. “See to it.”
    The Earl strode into the chamber, smiling too broadly. “We have a surprise visitor.”
    Peri’s knees buckled when a grinning Geoffrey Plantagenet sauntered through the door. No wonder they called him Geoffrey the Handsome. The jaunty cap with his signature sprig of broom matched his doublet and hose perfectly—all of forest green wool—her favour color.
    She sank into a full curtsey, gripped with a fear she would be unable to rise when he gave her leave. “ Milord Geoffrey,” she rasped, surprised to hear any sound come from her dry