Claire Delacroix by The Bride Quest Series 3-Book Bundle Page A

“Good evening, Father Padraig. I would thank you for coming to us this night.”
    The priest smiled as he stepped across the room. He was a man of middle years, so slender as to be nearly gaunt. The hair left from temple to temple below the tonsure that marked his profession was iron gray and bristly. His expression, though, was always contemplative and Brianna found his presence remarkably peaceful.
    Indeed, Father Padraig was a walking testament of the tranquility that could be found in contemplation.
    “ ’Tis my vocation, Connor,” he said mildly now and swung his brass censer to perfume the air of the chapel. “When the flock needs tending, ’tis my pledge and my task to be there.”
    Brianna’s sire inclined his head slightly. “And how fortunate we are to have you in Tullymullagh. I have bidden Brianna pray these past few moments and reflect upon the import of taking daily Mass.”
    The priest’s smile widened slightly as he came forward. Reaching into the vial of holy water hanging from his belt, he anointed his finger, then traced a damp cross upon Brianna’s brow. “You have naught to fear. She is a fine child, Connor, and her heart is pure.” He arched a brow and smiled. “And I recall the Lady Brianna’s presence at the Mass this morn, even if she does not.”
    The priest made his mark upon Connor, his smile turning thoughtful. “ ’Tis the mark of the mortal father to occasionally err in punishing too severely.” Father Padraig turned to genuflect before the altar. He gave the censer one last swing before setting it beside the altar and folding his hands together. “Let us pray to the Father who never errs.”
    And Connor bowed his head without a glance to his daughter. Brianna clutched the token of her dame, closed her eyes, and prayed fervently that one day, she would have the opportunity to open the box and unfurl these precious pages.
    One day, she would run her fingers across her dame’s own confession of love and hear the echo of that woman’s voice in her ears once more. One day, she would read her mother’s own telling of how a woman might know that a man had captured her heart.
    ’Twas a gift beyond anything Brianna had ever dreamed. As Father Padraig began to sing the Mass, Brianna vowed that no man would ever steal this token away from her.
    Her father might be overly cautious, but Brianna would do as she had pledged. Indeed, she could not risk losing this valuable gift.

Chapter Four
    L uc was awakened by the echo of Raphael stamping his feet. The beast snorted with displeasure and snapped his reins temperamentally. The cold grey of a winter’s dawn had crept into the stables and Luc felt the chill of it in his bones.
    He sat up, shoved a hand through his hair, and wondered what had troubled the stallion at such an early hour. ’Twould be too soon for the fires to be lit in the hall, he wagered.
    A woman’s voice rose shrilly in that moment. “Whatever do you
mean
, there are no stalls available? Why, Tullymullagh has always boasted an ample stable and I see no reason why
you
should deign to turn us away at this early hour.”
    Luc stood up with interest and brushed the straw from his chausses. He straightened his chemise, tugged on both boots and tabard, tucked his knife in his belt, then peered over the stalls.
    At the far end of the stable, near the portal, a woman tapped her toe with unconcealed impatience. She might have seen few more than twenty summers, but her lips were drawn so taut as to be unattractive. Her eyes were small and mean, her gaze darted over the stable with displeasure. Her garb had once been rich, but now was stained; the hem of her kirtle was crusted in mud.
    But ’twas her manner that more accurately revealed her noble birthright. She railed at the ostler who looked extremely unhappy with his circumstance.
    A solidly built giant of a man who was a good ten years Luc’s senior, Denis the ostler was clearly a simple man. His pate was as bald as an