The Maiden Bride by Rexanne Becnel Page B

he reveals himself to you,” she added.
    “Reveals himself?”
    “His manroot,” she hissed impatiently. “His arousal. He will want to push it inside you. That’s the whole point, girl. He will grow it long and hard, then will he push it inside you so that he can spill his seed. Have you never seen the hounds?”
    Linnea pulled back in disbelief. Like the hounds? Dear God! He meant to do that to her?
    “He may want to see you naked, or even to touch you all over,” her grandmother continued, a distasteful expression pulling her lips down. “Especially your breasts.”
    Linnea hunched over at that, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. Her breasts? She couldn’t imagine letting him touch her there—or do the other thing either.
    As if she sensed Linnea’s resistance, Lady Harriet leaned closer and caught Linnea’s chin in her hand. “You will let him do that, and more, girl. That and anything else he asks. Nor will you consider yourself ill-used for it either. ’Tis our lot in life as women. He may think you are Beatrix, and you may yet consider avoiding this night’s events by revealing the truth to him. But remember you this. Whether him or another, you will someday be wed. Fail us tonight, girl, and I promise by everything I hold dear that I will then see you wed to the vilest, cruelest man I can find.
    “You will not fail us tonight, Linnea. You will wed him and bed him and make him content. Or you will be sorry I did not drown you on the day of your birth!”

Chapter 5
     
    T he few bites Linnea had eaten settled now like a cold stone in her stomach. Her grandmother had departed after her brief and terrifying description of what faced Linnea this evening, stomping away with the shuffle and click of leather shoes and metal-tipped walking stick so unique to her. But Linnea had not been able to move. She could not, for fear made her legs weak. Fear made her stomach rebel and shut down the workings of her mind.
    But even with that fear, she still would have tried to flee the dreadful future that awaited her. Shame, however, was her ultimate undoing. If she ran, then Beatrix would suffer. If she ran, she would confirm all their beliefs about her.
    If she ran, they would be right.
    She closed her eyes and bowed her head, sinking into the shudder that rippled through her. Would he treat her cruelly, or kindly? Would he want her to cringe and weep, or to cry out in passion?
    Which would be worse?
    At least she would not have to pretend to fear. But passion … She would not be able to pretend she felt passion!
    Consumed as she was by utter misery, she did not hear the noisy entrance of several men. Her brow was creased in worry as she tried to determine which saint she should direct her desperate prayers to. Sebastian? No, he was the patron saint of archers. Paula? No, she was widows. Not Bartholomew or St. Lucy either.
    St. Jude. His name came to her at once. St. Jude, patron saint to the hopeless and to lost causes. If ever a poor soul was hopeless, she prayed with eyes tightly closed and hands clenched in her lap, it was she. Please, St. Jude. Hear my prayer and rescue me . Please, she silently beseeched. Save me.
    “Lady Beatrix?”
    Linnea jumped in alarm. St. Jude had heard her prayer? He was answering her—
    Even before her startled gaze met with that of Axton de la Manse, she realized her mistake. Stupid girl, to think a saint would speak directly to her!
    Stupid girl, to sit alone in the hall where Axton de la Manse himself could find her!
    Never had Linnea felt so vulnerable as she did in that moment. Never had she felt so alone.
    She looked up at him, up the towering length of this forbidding man who meant to take her to wife, and the last of her paltry courage fled. He was immense and he held total control over her and everyone else in this castle. He had all the power, both physical and political, and they had none at all.
    Her eyes locked with his, unable to pull away, even though she