Forever His(20)

Gaston’s expression revealed what he thought of that idea. “If that is true, sire, how did she find her way here alone? Nay, she must have had someone instructing her.”

The King sighed heavily. “It is no matter. The bride is arrived and the wedding will proceed.”

Celine inhaled so sharply the cold air hurt her lungs. “No! I can’t—”

“My liege!” Gaston protested. “You cannot ask me to marry her now! Knowing that there is at least suspicion—”

“It is mysterious how she came to be here, aye. But there is no point in delaying. You are here, your betrothed is here, does it matter how you came to be together?”

Celine blushed furiously and Gaston grimaced at the King’s choice of words. “But, sire, surely we should await Tourelle’s arrival to have the truth of the matter.”

“The truth of how she came to be here will not change what I have decreed shall be,” the King replied hotly. “All is in readiness and I must return to Paris this day. Before I leave, I would see peace assured. The wedding shall take place as planned this morning.” He turned to go back to bed.

“My liege!” Gaston said in a rough-edged voice. “I will wed this girl as you command, but I vow to you again that I will not consummate the marriage. I will expose Tourelle for the murdering bastard he is—and then I will have an annulment. I will not rest until I have both vengeance and justice. At any cost!”

The King spun on his heel, his eyes full of fury. “You tread upon the limits of my patience, Varennes. One step more and I will call it treason! The cost of your vengeance may be all that you hold dear.”

“Excuse me!” Celine finally managed to interrupt the masculine bluster. “But you both seem to be forgetting something. I am not going to marry anybody.”

The two men turned to her with looks of surprise, as if the chair or the table had just spoken.

“Milady, you have no voice in the matter,” the King stated in a patient tone one might use with a child. “The decision has been made by your overlord.”

“By my—my—” Celine stuttered, a wave of feminist pique overwhelming the fear and confusion and everything else she felt. “For the last time, I don’t have any overlord! I’m not Christiane and I’m not going to marry him!”

“I would not force the lady against her wishes,” Gaston offered gallantly.

“You will both do as your King wishes! We shall end this foolishness once and for all. Go, both of you, and garb yourselves properly for your wedding.”

***

She never had a chance to get away.

No chance to run.

And she wasn’t sure where she would run if she did. Into the forest? In the snow and freezing cold? She had no idea how many miles it might be to the nearest town. How would she survive? She had never exactly been the L. L. Bean type. Her family had always teased that Celine’s idea of roughing it was a hotel without cable TV.

And even if she could get away, what kind of people might be out there? What might they do to a woman found alone?

Those thoughts chased round and round through her head as she stood at the entrance to the chateau’s small chapel, shivering and alone, facing row after row of unfriendly faces.

This wasn’t a great choice—but it was her only choice.

The animated hum of voices, all speaking that stilted-sounding old French, died down as she stepped forward.

She wore a faded yellow velvet gown, grudgingly loaned to her by one of the maids who had helped her dress. It was too tight and too short, and more than one pair of eyes dipped to look disapprovingly at her immodestly displayed figure, at her ankles, and at her red silk slippers.

They clashed with the dress, but they were the only ones big enough that the women had been able to find.

Or maybe the women had just told her that. She suspected they had done it on purpose, to let her know exactly how unwelcome she was.

She didn’t have a hat or a veil or anything in her hands. No one had offered so much as a single dried-out flower; she had nothing to hold onto to steady her shaking fingers. Her head pounded as hard and as painfully as her rapid heartbeat. She stood there, unable to move, staring at the man who waited at the end of the aisle.

This unpredictable knight who hours ago had touched her, kissed her, caressed her in a way that still made her tremble, then sworn he would never do so again.

This dark lord who despised her.

This man she was about to marry.

A shaft of morning sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows behind him, bathing his tall, angular form in swirling jewel tones. The brightness only made him look all the more shadowy and forbidding.