FIFTEEN

Within Julian Kerr’s London household there was a variety of tension from different sources. Adrienne was mostly recovered from her heartsick depression with the impetus of gaining Dearborn as her dowry. But she had little confidence in her uncle’s ability to trick Trent Wescott into marriage. If he had an eye for the land and did not find marriage to her too distasteful a prospect, there was a small chance.

Julian had warned her that it took better than a month to gain the king’s ear. When he plied his case before this royal judge, he was forced to put very little emphasis on Adrienne’s lost virtue. There were no witnesses—not one person could attest to Trent Wescott having lain with the girl. Should he choose to deny it, there would be no way to force him to confess it.

Julian approached King Charles with a proposal based on his grief over past events, his eagerness to make restitution, and his willingness to disinherit his son in favor of Wescott, if he would accept Adrienne as a bride. He simply let the matter of her defilement remain a very minor issue. “He cannot be thought to loathe the idea too completely, Your Majesty,” Julian said, “since he has already made his affection for Adrienne known. She can no longer be offered honestly in marriage to another man.”

“I see,” Charles said with a cynical smile. “Have you approached Wescott with your offer?”

“No, Your Highness. He will not discuss any matter relating to civil war with me. And he is most resistant to any terms of friendship between our families.”

“All a bit understandable, isn’t it, my lord?”

“Indeed, Sire. But if you would make the suggestion, I think he would give it fair consideration. The result would certainly be an improvement over our long feud. I am so weary of fighting.”

Charles glowered, an expression rarely seen on the king’s face. Charles was more than aware that Julian had never battled. He had paid those sums he was forced to pay if unwilling to produce arms, but he had done no battle. “As we all are, my lord.”

“Will you help me, Sire?” he pleaded. “I have many nights in which sleep does not come easy for me. I have not profited nearly so much as many would think. I can no longer nurture a hatred for my lord of Braeswood, but I have a niece in want of a good husband and a rich dowry. In memory of her departed family, I would see her cared for. And in remittance to Wescott, I would see him profit by the marriage.”

Charles considered the humbled and weakened lord with a curious stride. Then finally he rose and excused him. “Go on, Julian. I will ask Wescott to a conference at Whitehall and you may make your offer.”

“I? But Sire, I thought you—”

“You thought I would face him alone?” The king laughed heartily. “No, this is your conspiracy. I will set the table for you, and you may bid him eat of it.”

Julian stood flustered for a moment. “But Sire, if I’m to face him without your influence, why would you attend the meeting?”

Charles smiled. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything, my lord. I have a keen sense for the unexpected, yet this is a turn I would never have foreseen. I want to see the look on Wescott’s face when you make this proposal.”

It was not lost on Julian that the king was fully amused with this situation and intended to exert no pressure on Wescott to accept the contract. “Without your influence, Your Majesty, I feel certain that Lord Wescott will not be moved to accept. He has already made clear his animosity toward my family.”

“Withdraw your offer then,” Charles replied with cool detachment.

“No,” Julian said resolutely. “I have to see the matter through. I cannot in good faith leave my niece in dire straits and my land uncared for in the event he does not come to terms. However unlikely, I must make the offer.”

“I thought you had a son, Julian,” Charles said, a slight note of pity in his voice.

Julian looked down rather somberly. “So had I, Your Majesty. So had I.”

When he shared the news with Adrienne, she assumed as he did that Trent Wescott would not very likely be a victim to this plan. Julian had feared setting her off with the information, but she seemed to take it in with a new maturity. “We can only hope that he will be interested enough in the property and Stephen’s removal to accept. Marriage is certainly the only way he will have Dearborn. If he plans a siege, the king will have him banished forever.”

Julian looked at her closely. Some of the sparkle was back, but she was not the flighty lass that a few weeks earlier had been sneaking, spying, and weaving schemes. She seemed somewhat refined by all she’d been through.

“I can hardly believe you’re not yet five-and-ten years, my dear. You’ve grown through your pain.”

“You may be right, Uncle. But I’ll call you wrong on one matter. I shan’t feel heartbreak again and again. I will never again succumb to a man who will not be made responsible for his deed. I have never known such shame as to be at the wrong end of such a lie.”

“Well, if Wescott will be held accountable, I trust you’ll never have a chance. He is a selfish man and holds his property dear. If you were unfaithful, I believe he would kill you.”

Adrienne looked about her uncle’s study distractedly. Her eyes began to glisten and she twisted her hands in her lap, not letting a word slip to betray her innermost thoughts. “Yes, Uncle. I trust he would.”

Julian gave her a moment to firm up her resolve before going on with more business. He hoped he did not do the girl wrong in giving her to Wescott. He hoped the man would prize her, as well he should. But whatever the outcome, Adrienne had begun this alliance, and she would have to see it through.

“There is a sound chance he will refuse and leave us few alternatives,” he said.

“I know,” she replied with unusual calm.

“In that event, I will have you remain here in London, with the servants to keep you chaperoned, until a suitable groom is found.”

“Here? But—”

“Do you think Stephen will leave quietly? Dearborn will not welcome us with the same open arms we have known in the past. It would be most unwise for you to be subject to his anger.”

“But Uncle Julian, will he not come straightaway to London to make me the brunt of his wickedness?”

“Possibly,” Julian said thoughtfully. And then more quietly, “It is better to hope that the long ride cools his temper than to have you sitting prey before his quick fist.” He took a deep breath. “I hope he does not behave too foolishly. In any event, I will leave you well fixed. And if we are very lucky, you will be kept safe at Braeswood until the worst of the storm is past.”

Adrienne looked down into her lap as if she doubted the plan would work. But she steadfastly held to the hope that Wescott was ambitious enough a man to covet Dearborn and therefore more money and power.

“We have never discussed the source of our problems, Wescott’s and mine.” She opened her mouth as if to protest that statement, but he quickly quieted her with a raised hand. “I know you think you understand it. Truthfully, there is more to the story than I have allowed. In deference to my son and his future, I elected to keep the matter quiet and did not encourage the gossips babbling with more details. I did not suffer much with that burden.” He shrugged. “I was spared and allowed my house. Now I find my good fortune to be the source of my misery, Adrienne. My son does not appreciate my efforts to protect him, and I am almost void of means to undo this tangled web.”

“Well, if it did not happen the way we’ve all been led to believe, then tell me—what more?”

“I know I am a selfish man, dear. But the truth is that treason and murder do not come so naturally to me as the world would believe. No, I won’t tell you more than that now. But since we’ve come together, you and I, through these troubles we’ve shared, I’ve come to trust you to some degree. I would beg your good faith and confidence in one more thing.”

“What is it, Uncle Julian?” she asked anxiously.

“I have written a document that was witnessed by my physician and lies sleeping in this desk. It explains in full my actions in the war, my reasons for standing responsible for the deaths of the Wescott men, and my desires for the future of my title and land. Should anything unexpected happen to me, I would have you produce the paper and take it to any person of authority who would help you.” He paused and looked down in considerable discomfort. “You must find a person who is not an ally of mine. In fact, my staunchest enemy would prove your closest friend.”

“I don’t understand. I—”

“You won’t have trouble discovering it, but I would not make the matter of public interest while I am still alive and able to rectify some of my past mistakes. I have been a foolish man in some cases, but I still have some pride.”

“What do you fear? Do you fear that Stephen—”

He interrupted her with a forced laugh that was nearly hysterical, as if he were trying to cover up his authentic fear. “Now child, you know my health is not the best. I expect a few more years, but stronger men than I have been cut short.” He grew serious again. “I simply want you to know how to help yourself, Adrienne. Do you understand?”

She nodded obediently, but a frown of confusion marked her brow. “Good, then. We’d hope for good tidings from the meeting with Wescott, and barring that, we’d move on to the next available option. I think we have little to fear. You are a beautiful woman and your estate is rich.”

Again she nodded, looking with deep concern at her uncle.

“Go on,” he urged. “Go on and do your primping and let me work in peace.”

She rose and touched his hand in warm communication and then turned to leave the room.

“Adrienne?” She turned back to him and found a sad look of remorse on his face. “I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered. But I am grateful for these cherished days of affection we’ve had. I would have you know that I don’t resent my responsibility to you. I am pleased to have been your guardian—and friend.”

She touched her lips lightly to her fingers and waved them at him, smiling with understanding. Then she left him to his work, and his grievous memories.

Jocelyn indulged her depression for only a day and then slowly and steadily regained her good nature. But oddly, the melancholy mood was taken on by Trent. First he was quiet and preoccupied, then sleepless, then as temperamental as any bear. Jocelyn witnessed his disjointed nights, for her own sleep was often interrupted by the baby’s kicking, and she found he was up and pacing when she rose.

There was a certain gloom and worry marking his eyes, and he had developed a new habit of watching her from a distance with a strangely forlorn look on his face. Once, when she was struggling with the fastenings on her gown, she looked up to see him standing in the door frame watching her across the room. She smiled and walked over to him instantly. “My lord, would you please...” she said, presenting her back for aid. It took him several long seconds to comprehend, and she had to repeat her request. “Your mind is somewhere else,” she teased. He touched her nose and replied, “No, love, it is right here.” And then he left her as silently as he’d come.

He found his horse was not saddled to his satisfaction, he growled at anyone who dared interrupt him in his study, and for the first time, the cooks did not please him with their meals. He seemed to be distant in his thoughts and troubled by them.

Jocelyn sat on the bench in the garden with Glynnis and bounced the baby William on her knees. She cooed and laughed and cuddled the chubby babe and made him giggle with her faces. She caught Glynnis staring at something and followed her gaze to see it directed at Trent, standing in his bedchamber window and watching them intensely. When Jocelyn looked up at him, he dropped the curtain and left.

“What troubles my lord?” Glynnis asked. “He fairly hurled a plate at my grandmother this morn.”

Jocelyn touched Glynnis’s hand and tried to excuse Trent’s behavior. “He worries with business, Glynnis. He must have an important meeting with the king, and it is much on his mind.”

“And how do you escape his wrath? The rest of us can’t.”

“Oh, I keep much out of his way when he is so troubled.” She laughed softly. “There is only one thing I do for him that he could find fault with,” she said, flushing lightly. “And I think he finds me too round and clumsy for that.”

“The way he looks at you of late, I think that complaint is far from his mind.”

Five days passed from the time Jocelyn had seen to the burying of her father, and with the exception of that very day when she was deeply troubled, Trent had seemed to carry a burden equal in weight. On the night of the fifth day, when he worked late in his study, Jocelyn braved his anger and approached him.

“Dammit. Come in,” he barked.

She sheepishly opened the study door to find him pacing behind his desk with a drink in his hand.

“Can you come to bed soon?” she asked him.

He looked at her for several seconds, a frown on his face, and then let out his breath in exasperation. “Yes. I’ll be along shortly.”

She was waiting for him when he came to his chamber, and she asked him to lie down. “Come, Trent, let me rub your back.”

“You should be asleep, Jocelyn. You are too near your time.”

“Don’t be silly. I have a long time yet to endure and, God forbid, grow. Come.”

He removed his clothes and reluctantly lay down on the bed that she might do this simple thing for him. As her fingers kneaded the tension from his back, she spoke to him in soft, soothing tones.

“You must put aside the temptation to worry over this meeting,” she said calmly, her nimble fingers massaging deep at the frayed muscles. “Put faith in the people who know you and love you and trust that Lord Kerr is not stronger than them. The king will not lightly trust any imagined accusation, and your time is well spent with those who will testify for you. I fear you weaken your own cause with lack of sleep and constant worry.

“This is a time to display the calm that you most often carry, and you will find, love, that if you are sure of your own position and innocence, there is little another can do to falsify you. Kerr has many enemies and you have many friends: a loyal staff, a sum of new supporters at court, and the king. Use them and rely on them and cease this fretfulness, lest it do you more harm.”

She rubbed his shoulders, back, and legs, using a sweet oil for lubrication, and felt his tense muscles relax under her skilled hands. When his breath came even and calm, she kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “You leave in just five days. I don’t want to worry while you’re gone that you’re not at your best.”

He rolled over onto his back and stroked her arms. There seemed a peaceful look in his eyes. “Jocelyn, there’s a sound possibility that you are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She smiled happily. “And there is no doubt about my good fortune.”

She slept close in his arms and they shared a peaceful night. When she rose she found his mood lightened and his disposition improved. The strange behavior was a memory and he moved about his daily tasks with more grace. He worked with his accounts, rode the perimeter of his land for several hours, met his men for brief talks, took his bath and dinner amiably, and retired early with no need of Jocelyn’s healing rubs to give him ease. Jocelyn was at least assured that he would not journey to London poorly kept and weakened.

The next morning at dawn, Glynnis was rousing Jocelyn from a peaceful dream and begging her to rise. A hearty breakfast lay spread upon her table, and the maid wore a puzzled look. “Come up, Maid Jocelyn. His lordship is sick in the mind again and has completely fractured the whole of the household.”

Jocelyn came slowly awake, robbing her tired eyes and reluctantly swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “Oh, Glynnis, what has he done?”

“What hasn’t he done. He first instructed the kitchens to prepare a feast in one day that would take at least three. He rousted me from my bed and told me to see you dressed for a special guest and told me what you would wear. He bade Enid see to the cleaning of the great hall and guest chambers and then rode off, saying you should be ready for him in your room at three and he would call for you. The man is insane and they’re going to lock him away from us, more’s the mercy.”

Jocelyn got to her feet, resenting this early alarm somewhat, but seeking to soothe Glynnis. “You may believe me when I say he is not crazed, but has early taken the habit of acting on a whim. He simply does not plan as other lords do. Did he mention who this guest is?”

“No. Nor did he give reason for such a vast meal. One guest requiring such a feast is hardly the rote—unless it is the king himself.”

“And so it could be,” Jocelyn said, putting a slight hop in her step. “They have known each other a good while...and if King Charles thinks as decently of Trent as Trent thinks of him, I think you should consider yourself fairly warned, it could indeed be he.”

The word spread quickly through the manor, based on Jocelyn’s simple statement, and the activity that followed was wildly hurried and carried out with greater zeal. Preparations for the feast were doubled and made with great speed. The hall was cleaned and furnished with pieces from other rooms, chambers were readied, and William even had some boys thoroughly clean the stables. The grounds about the manor were touched up, and as for Jocelyn, she worried with her appearance all the day.

Trent returned to Braeswood just after noon and called for a bath and his richest attire. Jocelyn heard him and rushed through their common sitting room to his chamber. She found him just finished with his bath and dressed only in fawn-colored breeches. “Trent,” she cried excitedly. “Who comes visiting? Is it truly the king?”

He frowned slightly. “I would have you wear your hair down,” he said. “Pull it back if you like, but wear it down.”

“I look so much younger when it’s loose,” she argued.

“Madam, with that generous bulge that precedes you, it will be well known you are not too young.”

“Trent,” she groaned in misery.

“Have you taken out the pale blue taffeta I had purchased for you?”

She stomped her small foot in frustration. “Won’t you tell me whom we go to such lengths to please?” she asked.

“No,” he said, a slight chuckle in his voice. “Dress as I requested and I will come for you at three o’clock.”

“But Trent, who—”

“Don’t pester me now, I have a great deal on my mind.”

“Is he terribly important?” she asked.

“To me he is. Now run along and get dressed.”

“But Trent—”

“Jocelyn, don’t spoil a good surprise,” he said, his voice quiet and rather serious. “Just do as I’ve asked and you’ll please me a great deal.”

The time moved exceedingly slowly. Jocelyn was ready well ahead of the designated hour. She had done his bidding and had Glynnis take down her hair, the woman fussing heatedly over his current nonsense. When the hour finally arrived, Trent came to her rooms dressed in all his handsome finery and dismissed Glynnis abruptly.

“This must indeed be a valued guest,” Jocelyn said proudly. “I have never seen you more handsome.”

As if ignoring her remark, he looked her over leisurely, his eyes glowing. Her gown of pale blue rose to her neck and buttoned there with tiny, nearly invisible buttons. There was an overlay of white lace that clung to her forearms, flaring at the upper arms. The gown was gathered beneath her round breasts and swelled over her middle. This pale color set off the darkness of her thick, curling tresses and accentuated the deep blue of her eyes.

“You steal my breath from me, madam. I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed at him. “And I thought you claimed to be widely traveled, milord,” she teased.

“I am,” he replied seriously. “And I speak the truth. I have some ornaments I would have you wear, madam, if you would do me the honor.”

“Anything you wish, Trent. But hurry, please, I am so eager to see this person.”

Jocelyn’s mind was quite taken up with the awaited aristocrat. She still assumed the man must be well known and influential or they wouldn’t be put to such lengths for him. And if she was to be presented, then he would also be gracious and tolerant. She was most distraught by the stimulation.

She was caught by some surprise then when Trent produced a velvet bag from inside his doublet and shook out diamond earrings and an extravagant necklace. Her breath caught in her throat as he placed an ear bob and the necklace in her hands, talking as he began to fasten one earring in place. “Not very much of what my mother owned was salvaged from the siege, but this, her favorite set, was hidden in the house and somehow missed by the raiders.” He began to work on the other earring. “I think myself blessed with these. Father gave them to her on their wedding day, and although she had richer jewels in her own dower purse, she favored these highly for the spirit in which they were given.”

He pulled the necklace from her hands last and turned her around to fasten it at the base of her neck. “I think it quite rare that people marry for love, but in the instance of my parents such was the case. They were lucky perhaps, for there was no resistance to their preferences. But my father claimed all his life he’d have remained alone and without heirs rather than marry a woman he could not love.”

He turned her around and looked at her at arm’s length. “In asking you to wear my mother’s jewels, Jocelyn, I hope you understand how highly I value you. You, and the child you carry, are everything to me.”

Her eyes glistened with tears of joy. “You do me great honor, my lord.”

He kissed her cheek gently. “I only return the same honor you bestow upon me. Now come, we don’t want to miss our guest’s arrival.”

The house stood proudly ready for the destined hour: the servants were all attired in their very finest and a quiet hush of anticipation filled the air. The chores were complete at the designated time and Enid rather excitedly approached Trent. She bobbed in absolute glee before them. “Milord, milady.” She smiled wickedly. “He’s not come, but the time is here. When do you have us serve?”

“Did we not agree on the hour of three for the festivities, with a celebration to follow?” Trent asked, smiling devilishly.

“Aye, sir,” she replied. “Then all meets with your approval?”

“You’ve done a job worthy of a king,” he replied softy.

The woman giggled in a girlish, mischievous way that set Jocelyn to frowning. “Festivities?” she questioned. “Celebration?”

Trent held her arm firmly and looked up as Avery called to him. “Our guest arrives, milord,” the man called, a great smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. Avery opened the double doors so that Jocelyn and Trent might walk onto the landing, and Jocelyn still murmured her confusion, getting no simple answer from Trent.

She was further surprised, then, to see a simple man in a brown coat riding an able but poor horse. He approached them at an unhurried pace, and a stable boy wearing his richest Braeswood livery took the reins that he might dismount. He pulled a parcel and a book from a sack on his animal and walked toward them. He was small and humbly garbed.

“Milord Wescott?” he questioned.

“Welcome, sir,” Trent said with a nod, holding out his hand. “I would like you to know Jocelyn Cutler.”

The man wasted no time in taking Jocelyn’s hand and holding it while looking over her protuberance with a frown. “This is the bride?” he asked.

Trent nodded to the affirmative and Jocelyn looked wildly between the two men, not trusting her ears.

“Worry not, my dear sweet,” the man said softly. “We shall have the matter eased in a very short time. Milord, is there a place that I might change from these clothes? I am saddle-weary and would look more the reverend, if you please.”

“Certainly. My man will show you to a chamber in which to dress, then to the hall.”

The man walked past them into the house and Trent looked down into Jocelyn’s shocked eyes and took her hand. “ ‘Twas to be much the other way around. When you found yourself with child, you were to beg me for marriage and plot a way to trick me. But you asked me instead not to force such a burden on you. I feared to broach the subject lest you flee, bent on some greater purpose. In time you will forgive me. I intended you to know nothing of this before the preacher stood before you.”

Her eyes were glassy, and though she smiled, she shook her head. “You make a grave mistake, my lord,” she whispered. “Quickly, there is yet time to—”

His hand rested on her stomach. “There is no time. And we must hurry lest you whelp on this step and my son is denied his birthright.”

“Trent, please—”

“Jocelyn, do you pretend to know so little of me? I do not live as other men, nor do I subscribe to their rules. I did once and learned at the quick point of a sword that those rules are only useful when they happen to work in my own behalf. This once I will do as I please. I want you as my wife; my son will be my legitimate heir.”

“But someday—” she began.

“Tell a man who lost all his family and possessions in a brace of ill-fated days that were never expected what will happen someday. Tell me how to look beyond a hangman’s noose and think of future riches. But something you cannot do is tell me what I will feel for you tomorrow. This, I know. My love for you has grown with each day you’ve been in my house, and I will not be a fool now and somehow lose you. I have made up my mind.”

“I can’t let you do this to yourself,” she attempted, half-hoping he would insist, half-hoping he would be blessed with a sudden wisdom greater than love.

“Tell me you do not care for me, Jocelyn, and I will quickly reconsider. Tell me you would prefer to live alone and raise this child on a pension and with visits from his father. Tell me a farmer in the village has caught your eye and you fancy him over me.”

“You know better,” she whispered.

“Then do not deny me my love and my family. They are all that matter to me.”

She sensed his determination and allowed herself to share this moment of happiness with him. Her eyes came alive with devotion and she rose on her toes and gently kissed his cheek. “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” she murmured. “This is more good luck than any living person has known. Your friends will think I’ve bewitched you and tricked you.”

He let out a powerful, joyful laugh. “Luck? It is indeed good luck that set you prancing about my house in simple innocence while you played the woman’s part in the privacy of my bedroom. And witchcraft indeed that you used your tricks of devotion and dignity to hold me. Aye, what man would not fall prey to a sorceress who so rudely makes all of women’s ways a lie—a mistress who asks nothing, offers to return gifts if they lighten my purse, and whose loyalty goes beyond the courage of stronger men?” He laughed again and drew her near. “You are a wicked wench. You stole from me all the notions I had of a wife and gave me all those things I had ventured to live without.

I shall feel great pride when you walk with me. And those friends who fear I was tricked will ask me how they can be likewise fooled.”

He set her back and took her arm. They walked together into the house and to the hall. There Enid had gathered the household together, most of them stood frowning in confusion; more than fifty people, each wearing the best costume of their manor position. The maids wore stiff aprons and clean dresses. The laundresses, seamstresses, and cooks were starched and primped. The guard and stable hands wore the Wescott livery costume with every medal and ornament they’d earned over the years. Even the children were present, scrubbed and glowing.

“So you’ve been put to great labor on short notice,” Trent announced, smiling broadly and holding Jocelyn’s hand firmly. “And I knew when I made the orders I gave them to the best and most loyal staff a man could claim. And you see that you’ve done it well. Mayhaps you would share in it then?”

People looked between each other, some trying to decipher his message and some smiling in understanding. “If any of you yet wonder why you’ve been so put upon, it is a wedding day. And on the day of a wedding, a man asks his friends and family to stand witness and then celebrate. In this room I see my family, my good and loyal friends. And you will share the fruit of your labors in celebration with the bridal couple. Good people,” he said, raising Jocelyn’s hand high as if in presentation, “after just a few brief words from an emissary of the English church, you may greet your mistress. Lady Jocelyn.”

A portion of a second passed before Glynnis was first to split the silence with a glad shriek and burst from the gathering to embrace her mistress. The others followed in droves, leaving Trent laughing and Jocelyn shedding tears of excited joy as each member of the household welcomed her officially to her new station. Amongst the laughter, shouting, tears, and confusion of people, a befuddled pastor wearing the clergy robes wove his way toward the couple. “Milord, milord, I beg you, control this mass. We have a service to attend to God.”

Trent laughed good-naturedly. “Worry not, Reverend. We’ve waited this long. I think we have a few moments to spare.”

But the little man shook his head in disapproval. “I don’t recommend it, my lord. Until I say the final word, your lady stands in dire reputation.” He looked to the ceiling. “Lord, give us but a few moments, I pray.” Then back to Trent. “I beseech your consideration, milord. Do not excite the maid further.”

“Very well, sir. Let’s be about business.”

A space within the crowd was cleared, and Jocelyn and Trent stood before the pastor. Avery, Enid, and all the others stood witness. The harried reverend began to sweat in his enthusiasm to be finished and he wasted no words in completing the service. The poor man’s relief was greater perhaps than the happy couple’s when the vows were said and he presented them to the crowd as husband and wife.

They endured many toasts and cheers, a feast grand and plentiful enough for a royal entourage, and the joy and good cheer that filled the hall were at least as splendid as at any coronation. As the day wore on past sunset, a slightly drunk preacher turned to the new mistress of Braeswood and gave his estimation of the crowd’s reaction. “I think, that is, thersh evidensh—” He broke off his sentence for a vocal lurch that might have been a misdirected hiccough. “Milady,” he continued, “you will be welcome here. They seem to approve.”

Jocelyn laughed and patted the man’s hand, then looked at her husband with love glowing in her eyes. “I think perhaps they do accept me,” she whispered.

“The very reason I was forced to wed you, love,” Trent said. “Not a person alive, man or woman, has been able to endure knowing you and remain unsmitten. While you feared the day I would put you aside for a noble wife, I worried that a king or sultan would offer you more than I could. Now I will keep you a prisoner and no other will ever be near enough to tempt you.”

“I’m sorry, milord. That’s not possible.” He frowned a question and she smiled securely. “You cannot make a prisoner of one who adores her shackles. You cannot jail one who adores her cell. You need spend no energy on keeping your bolt thrown against my leaving. The more fiercely you hold me, the more easily I will be held. I love you, my lord of Braeswood. And you will find my love is true and stronger than your shackles or locks.”