Medieval 01 - Untamed by authors_sort Page A

circlets, girdles, and rings flashed like distant stars throughout the church, reflecting the dance of candle flames.
    Scots thanes, Saxon nobles, Norman aristocracy, and knights of all kinds mixed together with the wariness of wild animals forced into unaccustomed closeness by a spring flood.
    Dominic’s wintry gray eyes catalogued the gathering. As he had expected, there was an abundance of swords evident beneath the men’s mantles. Some of the sword hilts were set with gems, signifying that the weapon was intended for ceremonial rather than military purposes. Other swords were like Dominic’s, gleaming with war’s steel blush rather than with decorative silver.
    Despite the crush of people in the church, no one stood close to Dominic, including the black-haired woman whose flowing scarlet dress and costly jewels had drawn many glances. Not even the dark-eyedtemptress dared approach Dominic now. There was the look of an eagle about him, a predatory readiness that radiated as surely from him as heat from fire.
    Only Simon had the courage to approach his brother. Only Simon knew that intelligence held sway over Dominic’s passions rather than vice versa.
    â€œAll is ready, save for the bride,” Simon murmured, stepping up close behind Dominic so that no one could overhear.
    Dominic nodded. “Did the priest object?”
    â€œHe complained of crowding in the choir. I pointed out that there was little choice. I could hardly seat my men with the nobility, could I?”
    Simon’s bland summation made Dominic smile.
    â€œDuncan’s men are armed to the teeth,” Simon said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThat’s all you have to say?”
    â€œThe Reevers are a ragged lot.”
    â€œTheir steel is well cared for,” Simon retorted.
    Dominic grunted. “When Duncan appears, stay very near him. Be like his heartbeat. Close.”
    â€œWhat of John?” Simon objected, looking at the first pew, where the lord of Blackthorne lay wrapped in costly robes. “Any trouble would begin with him.”
    â€œHe has the will to cleave me in two with a sword, but not the strength,” Dominic said dryly. “Duncan has both. He was once betrothed to Lady Margaret.”
    Simon’s dark eyes narrowed. He said something under his breath that would have made the priest flinch, had the good man heard it.
    â€œYou will do penance for that,” Dominic said, smiling slightly. “But I find myself in agreement with your sentiments concerning a man who would marry his daughter to his bastard son.”
    â€œPerhaps she isn’t his daughter?”
    â€œThen why hasn’t he set her aside and named Duncan his heir?” Dominic countered. “No man wants to see his lands pass to his daughter’s husband while his own name and line dies for want of sons.”
    A stir went through the church, for the bride had just appeared in the wide doorway. In the shifting illumination of the church, Meg appeared to be wrapped in silver mist from head to heels, a girl as ethereal as moonlight. A large man loomed behind her, all but blocking out the light from the cloudy day.
    â€œGo,” Dominic said softly.
    Without another word, Simon eased back into the throng clustered around the first pews.
    Because the heir to Blackthorne had no male blood relatives capable of standing with her and giving her shoe to Dominic as a symbol of passage from her father’s domain to her husband’s, Duncan of Maxwell accompanied Lady Margaret in John’s place.
    The sight of the Scots thane walking with Meg clinging to his arm made something very like rage turn deep within Dominic. Its ferocity surprised him, for he had never been a possessive man. Yet he knew deep in his soul that he must be the only man standing close to Meg, breathing in the faint spicy fragrance of her breath and skin, feeling her warmth so near, touching him even as he touched her.
    Then Dominic saw Meg’s