Читать книгу The Knight's Redemption - Joanne Rock - Страница 12

S aints protect me.

Whispering one last prayer that she was doing the right thing, Ariana pulled her heavy veils over hair and face and hoped Roarke did not seek to lift them. She might not look any different today then she had the night before, but she felt less sure of herself without the help of Eleanor’s mysterious charm.

Quietly, she stepped through the door that adjoined her room to Ceara’s and then out into the passageway from Ceara’s room. She ran into her father, whose face was mottled pink with annoyance.

“I am ready, Uncle,” she said sweetly, her voice low and modulated the way Ceara’s was. It mattered not how she spoke to Roarke, but to fool her father she had to be especially careful.

Thomas Glamorgan opened his mouth as if to chide her, then smoothed one hand across his bare head, as if taming unruly locks that were no longer there. “You look lovely, niece,” he said, his voice straining with the effort to be pleasant.

Ariana wished she did not have to deceive him today. For all of his flaws, she loved her father, and it grieved her to leave him without saying a real goodbye. No matter how difficult he made her life, or how much he blamed her for the unhappiness he suffered, her father was not solely to blame for the pall that hung over the keep. Misery, like the curse, had a way of clinging to Glamorgan.

As they proceeded to meet the well-wishers, her mood brightened. With a holiday declared until after the wedding cup was drunk, the villein made merry into the night and then slept well past prime. Now they welcomed the cause of their celebrations with shouts and autumn wildflowers, which were strewn along with brightly colored fall leaves in Ariana’s path. Shades of red, yellow and orange carpeted her every step while the chapel bell announced her arrival.

Her worries returned as she climbed the church steps and spied Roarke, who appeared more forbidding than the fierce gargoyles that silently waited for the ceremony to begin.

He was not outfitted in wedding attire. He could have been dressed for a day of riding or a day of battle except for the gold medallion he wore about his neck, hanging from a slender flaxen rope that was so fine and sleek it looked as if it were woven with a woman’s hair.

Aside from that peculiar decoration, the English knight showed no outward sign it was his wedding day. His lack of finery caused Ariana to wonder if he would bother waiting for the toast to be raised before he mounted his horse to leave Glamorgan Keep far behind him.

Even dressed as he was, he would have been quite handsome, Ariana thought, were it not for the scowl that furrowed his brow.

Was it because she was late?

Or because he resented having to wed her at all?

Wondering where the man who had tenderly kissed her last night had disappeared, she was not eager to take the steps that would close the space between them. But the ancient, stooped village priest who would officiate beckoned and her wedding day commenced.

Her groom barely acknowledged her, but the women who attended the ceremony seemed to admire her. She could see their assessing glances as they noted the rich fabric of the exquisite gown, one of many her father had ordered for her over the years. During the long night of preparations for the ceremony, she and Ceara altered it to accommodate a fuller figure, so the fit was just right. A deep crimson velvet, the material alone had cost a fortune. The bodice boasted rich embroidery and a few small jewels along the neckline.

The veils were hardly unbecoming, either, though they completely hid the bride from the world’s view. Red-and-black silk covered the back of her head and neck in a wimple. Over top of it, two layers of heavy white Flanders lace fell from a thin silver circlet to cover her face and fall midway down her back. The intricate fabric was artfully arranged to allow the less decorated portions of the lace to cover her eyes so she might see through the veils.

When she reached Roarke, he turned formally toward the priest and awaited his words.

He was going through with it.

Ariana breathed her relief. Doubts had plagued her all morning that the English knight would change his mind and choose another bride. And it was not just because the charm failed. The fact he ended their kiss so abruptly the night before made her think he found her lacking.

Now the sacred words were being read that would officially bind them together as man and wife, a surge of guilt spread through her. She vowed she would be a good wife to Roarke to make up for the way she had tricked him into wedding her. Heaven knew the man didn’t seem to care much about whom he married.

Her hand shook slightly as Roarke slid a heavy band of thick silver upon her ring finger. Devoid of any decoration, the ring was not particularly becoming around her finger, but the weighty silver comforted Ariana as it slid onto her hand. Although Roarke Barret came to her with no love in his heart, his commitment to her was strong and true. A man of honor, he would not take his vows to his Welsh wife lightly.

As she looked forward to the wedding night that would free her from the Glamorgan legend, she could almost feel the stranglehold of her family heritage begin to loosen its grip.

Sneaking surreptitious glances in his bride’s direction, Roarke wondered if the temptress he’d kissed last night lurked anywhere beneath the pile of veils he was now marrying. He could scarcely see his future wife, but he trusted Ceara awaited him beneath her elaborate garb.

Truth be told, perhaps it was just as well that she remained hidden from his eyes. He had scarcely kissed her last night and yet thoughts of her had plagued his dreams. Invaded his waking thoughts. And since his father had treated his mother with nothing but coarse lust and then scorn, Roarke strove to maintain absolute self-mastery where his own baser urges were concerned after discovering his true parentage. He was no better than his father if he could not control himself.

For that matter, Roarke did not appreciate his own fickleness where women were concerned lately. He had been attracted to Ariana Glamorgan by day and Ceara Llywen by night. All the more reason he needed to settle his future as a sedately married man.

Now, as he glanced sidelong at Ceara while the priest spoke the words that bound them, he saw no hint of the amber-eyed siren he’d met last night.

It was peculiar.

First the strange meetings with enticing Ariana Glamorgan, and now his odd reaction to her cousin Ceara. What the hell was the matter with him? Even before discovering the truth about his parentage, Roarke had never been indiscriminate with women. In that way, at least, he was certain he did not take after his father.

He would be wed any moment and on his way to Llandervey, which was all that really mattered. It would be just as well if his wife remained veiled and inaccessible to him today anyhow. That way he would not have to worry about the unsettling way her kiss called forth a level of ardor he’d never known himself to possess.

Until tonight, of course.

After promising dutifully to love and cherish her, Roarke felt a moment of guilt, knowing he would be unable to fulfill any vows regarding love.

“Do you, Ceara Llywen, take Roarke Barret?”

Roarke barely heard her muffled acknowledgment through the shroud of fabric she wore, but she agreed.

She, too, made further vows the church required, but Roarke did not pay much attention again until he heard the pronouncement that they were truly man and wife.