Love and Deception: a Clean Medieval Historical Romance by Emily Woods Page B

kissed her cousin’s cheek once more and left the room quietly.
    Every noblewoman knew that very seldom were marriages arranged for love. No, they were meant to secure allies and borders. Sometimes, love crept into the equation and sometimes, it did not. Nonetheless, they lived in a world were nobles waged war for the slightest offense and it was better to forge alliances than sacrifice much for a hollow victory.
    This much, Rosamund knew.
    Yet, the vacant look in her cousin’s eyes, interspersed by the wildness she witnessed when she talked of her great love for this merchant’s son, instilled a fear in her heart that she could not shake off so easily. She teetered for a moment, using the walls to steady her balance as she made her way to the rooms that were both familiar and foreign to her.
    Better to never know love than have it slowly murder you as you breathe , she thought sullenly as she reclined on the mattress.
    Later that night, Rosamund awoke to a loud wail that she vaguely recognized as her aunt’s. She started to bolt for her doors when her father’s silhouette came into the frame. His merry blue eyes had lost their familiar twinkle. Something was amiss.
    “Go back to sleep, daughter,” he said quietly.
    She nodded in obedience and pulled the covers over herself even as feelings of dread stole into her mind. She slept in fits and when morning finally came, she awoke to a household in mourning.
    Catherine had jumped out of her window in the middle of the night. Instead of a wedding, Rosamund would be attending a funeral.

Chapter 2
    L ord Stephen considered himself a rational being.
    At the age of sixteen, his father had fallen ill as a result of a lifetime of vices and Stephen had sworn to himself that he would not allow his subjects to shoulder the upkeep of his estate by levying taxes that would bury them further into the ground. The moment the senior Count Braxton was confined to his rooms, Stephen had taken it upon himself to revive Braxton Hall, carefully avoiding matrimonial pursuits until he deemed his estate prepared to receive a bride.
    In the first year of his management, he managed to pay off most of his father’s debts. He had staggered first upon receiving the statement of his father’s accounts. By sheer good luck and perseverance, he had managed to save Braxton Hall from collapsing on itself and burying him alive with it.
    The next three years, he had worked to bring back the glory of the hall with businesses and frequent visits to the villages that supplied the hall. He talked to the farmers, the weavers, the smiths and the merchants. Taking advantage of the routes of traders, Stephen boosted the income of his subjects by encouraging business with passing merchants. Slowly, Braxton Hall began to shine like a jewel that any man could be proud of.
    Unfortunately, as with any other jewel, it began to attract the covetous eyes of some of his neighbors. In an effort to strengthen his defenses, he looked for allies on his western border. Lord Fitzhugh had three daughters and the youngest was yet unwed but of marriageable age.
    Stephen grimaced at the memory of that affair. His betrothal to Fitzhugh’s daughter had not gone well and he had very little desire to settle down with another noblewoman of such delicate constitution.
    “Lord Braxton, the men report seeing a caravan approaching the northwestern border.”
    Stephen looked up from the papers on his desk and nodded briefly before dipping his quill into the bottle. “Please see to it that the caravan arrives safely in Braxton Hall.”
    He looked up when he felt a heavy hand on his left shoulder. The old knight smiled grimly at him. “You seem quite grim for a man about to be married, milord.”
    “My experience with matrimony has not exactly been ideal, Sir Bram,” he replied.
    Sir Bram guffawed. “Milord, that was not an experience at all.”
    “By all accounts, Lady Rosamund seems quite agreeable,” he said quietly. “Her father