Bedded by the Warrior. Denise Lynn
from beneath her eyelashes. ‘My lord, I seek not to belittle myself.’ She softened her voice to a whisper, beckoning him to lean closer. ‘I wish only to warn you of the truth.’
Sarah peered up, making certain she’d captured his attention, then continued, ‘You are the Earl’s man. As such, marrying the Queen’s whore can do little to help your status.’
‘Status? I care nothing for what others may think.’
In all her years at court she’d yet to meet one person, man or woman, who cared naught about the opinions of others. She tried again. ‘You may not care at this moment. But some day you will.’
Sarah placed a hand on her chest and glanced into the chapel before appealing to his common sense. ‘Would you have your children know their mother was rumoured to be nothing more than a harlot?’
He stood upright and answered her question by rolling his eyes briefly to the ceiling, before saying, ‘If all rumours were true, I would be a monster from Hades.’
The sudden look of terror distorting her features at his comment surprised him. Surely she didn’t believe such nonsense? ‘Lady Sarah, fear not, for I am human born.’
She remained silent and he wondered for a moment if perhaps he had made a mistake in demanding this marriage. He cared little if his wife-to-be held any regard for him—it would be easier if she didn’t.
While she might consider this entire episode a failure, for him it had provided an opportunity he couldn’t let pass. He wanted someone to help run his household, and bear his children.
His blood warmed at the thought of this woman in his bed. He would gain more than a wife for his keep. He would also have a woman who was not only pleasing to his eyes, but one rumoured to be well versed in bed.
The one thing he didn’t want was a wife who feared him. He could live with her disdain, and cared not if they never found any tender feelings for each other. But he’d had enough of fear.
When he’d left Sidatha’s Palace with Hugh and the others, he’d vowed to put that life behind him. No more would he suffer the taste of the lash. No more would he kill to put food in his belly. And no more would he intentionally seek to make another fear him. Especially not his wife.
One of the women already inside the chapel to witness this union raised her voice. ‘It is only fitting that the whore be given to such a lowly brute.’
Another woman snickered, then added, ‘His rough treatment of her will not be harsh enough in my opinion.’
The urge to give these women the tongue lashing they deserved was wiped away by the look of resignation settling on Sarah’s face. She’d heard the spiteful words and had chosen to ignore them. How many times had she been forced into this same situation?
From the lack of surprise, or outrage, on her part, William could only assume the answer to his unasked question would be—many times.
But something…the paleness of her face, the odd brightness shimmering in her eyes…told him she was not immune to the barbs directed her way. The women’s comments bothered Sarah a great deal.
His resolve to see this marriage through strengthened. No, he hadn’t made a mistake. Even if she feared him now, Lady Sarah was alone in this court. She was without a champion, without a friend.
He’d been a captive all of his adult life. He knew what it was like to be alone in the world. Taken captive before he’d had a chance to be anything other than an overgrown youth, he’d soon learned to keep to himself. He’d quickly been taught to trust no one.
William turned to stand at her side and offered his arm. ‘Come, Lady Sarah. We were ordered to be gone from court by sunrise. But before we join Lady Adrienna and Hugh, we have a marriage to make.’
She stared at his arm without moving. ‘I wish not to wed you.’
‘I know.’
‘Sir William, we are not suited. Would you not rather have someone of your choosing?’
Not suited? They were well suited from his perspective. She’d been given the choice of a cell, or leaving the court. Lady Sarah needed someone to protect her. A woman alone would not fare well outside these walls. Regardless of its appearance, this court was little more than a jewel-encrusted prison, where one did what they were told to do.
‘We are suited for each other more than you realise, Lady Sarah. And if you remember correctly, I did choose you.’
‘That was nothing more than a whim of the moment. Futures are not built on whims.’
‘Many decisions are based on the whim of a moment.’ How many times had he escaped death by making a snap judgement based solely on the man he fought at that moment? But he wasn’t going to explain that to a woman who already showed signs of fearing him. ‘Our marriage will not have been arranged by strangers. Does that not count for something?’
‘No.’ Her answer was a mere whisper.
William harshly reminded her of the choices Queen Eleanor offered, ‘It is this, or a cell.’ He could not imagine Lady Sarah in a dark, damp, airless cell. Rats, the cries of the other prisoners, hunger and bone-chilling cold would quickly take their toll on a court lady.
Her luxurious, pale hair would soon hang in grimed snarls. The fine gown would rot on her body from the constant dampness. As she lost weight from the lack of proper food, the garment would hang in tatters. Her sparkling eyes would lose their shimmer, her lips would soon forget how to smile.
‘You would not fare well.’
Sarah stared up him. The clear blueness of her eyes, large against her pale flesh, took his breath away.
‘You think I would fare better with you?’
The vision of his lovely and desirable wife-to-be wasting away lent a harshness to his voice as he responded, ‘At least you will live.’
She hesitated a few seconds more, making him uncertain if she would bolt from his side again or not. But finally, she sighed in what sounded like defeat, and then tentatively placed her trembling hand on his forearm.
William led her down the aisle, stopping before the waiting clergy. Why the Queen had insisted their vows be witnessed by the Church baffled him.
Legally, they needed to do nothing more than exchange their vows and live as husband and wife. At the most, had the ceremony been left to him, he would have been more than satisfied with the Church’s blessing afterwards.
But William knew he was in no position to argue with Queen Eleanor.
Sarah’s heart pounded so loudly in her ears, she could barely hear the clergy’s words. Instead, two things tossed about in her mind—the woman’s comment about Bronwyn’s rough treatment not being harsh enough, and the way he’d nearly snarled when he’d told her that at least she would live.
Would she? An unstoppable shiver snaked down her spine. Her father had often used his hands—and fists—to demand obedience from all in his care, including at times her mother. Sarah had lost count of the times she’d witnessed some men at court using physical force to control their wives and children.
To most, the aggressive acts were normal…nearly expected. But since coming to the Queen’s court she’d been spared that treatment, so it no longer appeared normal to her. In those years, no one had once raised a hand in anger towards her.
She didn’t know the man standing next to her. She’d met him less than a few hours past. And now, in a matter of mere moments, he would be her husband. He would own her as surely as he owned the clothing upon his back.
Her throat tightened, as another tremor of fear shook her. Bronwyn squeezed her hand. Had he sensed, or felt, her traitorous shivers? Sarah forced the building terror aside.
The ceremony passed in a blur. She paused when the clergy asked if she willingly took this man as husband. Only the