Betrothed by Lori Snow Page B

entered and cleared his throat.
    “Begging
your pardon, my lord -- Father...”
    The
earl turned to his lieutenant almost eagerly. “What is it?  The good Father
has not gotten to that part of his speech as of yet.”
    Carstairs
widened his mouth in a big mischievous grin. “No objections, my lord. Only
felicitations. A few people would like to witness your betrothal vows. May they
enter?”
    The
earl sighed. “Beg them join us.”
    Carstairs
threw open the double doors, gave a swooping wave and bellowed, “Donovan
d’Allyonshire, Earl of Bennington, begs your presence at his betrothal to the
Lady Isabeau d’Olivet.”
    The
people of Olivet swarmed in through the doors three at a time. In minutes, the
chapel filled to capacity with more pressing to get into the sanctuary. The
rush of enthusiastic well-wishers overwhelmed Isabeau. Her eyes began to burn
with tears.
    She
would miss these people who had shared her childhood and shared her grief when
she had lost her mother and then her father. Over the years they had weathered
harsh winters, droughts and fevers. Together they had triumphed over enemies
and celebrated abundant harvests.  
    Soundlessly,
she thanked them before turning back to the altar. Bemusement twisted a mild
grimace on the earl’s mouth but it was her concern about the light in Father
Fredrich’s eyes which dried her tears. She recognized his expression.
    The
priest was hastily reformulating his simple service. She could read it on his
face as his mouth silently rehearsed the sermon he would soon trumpet over the
filled pews. He had a large portion of his flock as a willing captive audience
and he was going to take advantage of the unexpected blessing.
    Isabeau
shook her head and warned in a whisper, “His Lordship wishes to be on the road
before the Compline bells. Keep his wishes in mind.”
    Father
Fredrich’s mouth thinned and he huffed out his disappointment. He didn’t scold her
in front of the earl for her audacity as he would have under normal
circumstances. She was grateful for his restrain; also his restraint in the
length of the ceremony and the sermon he couldn’t quite surrender. Thankfully,
he only took three minutes to remind the people of Olivet to frequently attend
more Masses.
    Before
she truly realized what at happened, she was being led down the center aisle
through the throng of well-wishers, her betrothed’s firm hand at her elbow. She
wanted to dig in her heels and protest the speed of events. She needed time to
think—to accustom her wits to this new path.
    There
was no gainsaying her betrothed as they left the chapel and he led her to his
men—ready and waiting in the bailey. She was signed, sealed and delivered. Her
betrothed was lifting her into Meadowlark’s side saddle when she finally found
her voice.
    “I
need a word with the housekeeper.”
    His
mouth flattened, causing the scar on his jaw to whiten. “You are no longer
chatelaine to this place—nor will you continue the duties. If it is work you
want, you will have plenty at Bennington.”
    He
handed her the reins and turned away to swing up onto his own mount. With a
click of his tongue and a twitch of his bridle, he began their journey.
    The
huge procession had gone but a few yards when a young girl cried out. “Lord
Donovan!  Halt, I beg you!”
    A
single fluid motion of his hand and everyone stilled. All stared at the young
girl who dared to impede the path of the liege lord. The blonde girl stood as
tall as her trembling form would allow. Isabeau thought she recognized Carrie
under the puffy eyes and white cheeks.
    “Speak,”
commanded the earl briskly.
    Isabeau
shivered at the deep resonance in his voice.
    Carrie
stepped closer to the dancing hooves of the earl’s beast. “Please, milord,
might I go with you.”
    Isabeau
wondered at the desperation in the girl’s voice. Was she too, tired of being
Simon’s whipping girl or was there something more behind this bold action?
    The
earl stared at