Untamed by Elizabeth Lowell Page B

eyes and forgot Duncan’s presence, forgot the priest waiting, forgot the swords buried in their sheaths, waiting for a word that might or might not be spoken. Dominic could only watch his future wife approach, beginning to understand why the common people of Blackthorne Keep looked to their mistress with expressions of agonized hope transforming their weathered faces.
    If spring wore flesh and walked among mortals at winter’s end, she would have eyes that color; and they would burn just like that, twin green flames radiant with the hope all men lay at spring’s feet .
    Silence followed Meg’s slow progress down the aisle. She didn’t notice it. Her glance had fallen on the foreign woman whose lush body and costly clothing announced how well Dominic had paid to lie with her. Marie didn’t notice the look she got from Meg, for the leman was watching Dominic hungrily.
    The bride followed the leman’s eyes. Meg’s breath came in and stayed. Dominic was watching her approach, his body at ease yet obviously powerful. Motionless, he waited at the front of the church, following her progress with the intense stare of an eagle or a god. He was clothed like night, and like night there came from his darkness small splinters of light as chain mail glittered in place of stars.
    With a distant sense of shock, Meg realized that Dominic wore a hauberk beneath his black cloak. The tension that radiated up through Duncan’s arm where her hand rested told her that he, too, had noted Dominic’s unusual wedding attire.
    A wedding or a war , Meg thought. Which will it be?
    The question consumed her so that she could barely follow the ceremony. As though in a dream, she moved through the kneeling and rising and kneeling, letting the plainsong chants of the concealed choir wash through her until the priest looked at her sharply.
    â€œI say again, Lady Margaret,” the priest intoned, “it is your right to refuse this marriage if you so desire, for wedlock is a holy state entered into freely. Do you accept Dominic le Sabre as your true husband in the eyes of God and man?”
    Meg swallowed dryly, trying to force a word past the constriction in her throat.
    Behind her rose an agitation that began with Duncan and rippled through the crowd. In its wake were muted whisperings as though of steel being drawn. She turned and looked at the dark Norman knight who was watching her as though his will alone could force agreement from her lips.
    But he could not. Nothing could.
    Dominic knew it as well as Meg did. This was the one time in a woman’s life when her desires could make or break the plans of men.
    Marriage or war?
    Suddenly it was easy for Meg to speak.
    â€œYes,” she said huskily. “I accept this man as my husband in the eyes of God and man.”
    A surprised cry from Duncan was cut short.
    Her father’s cry of outrage was not. But before he could speak coherently, one of Simon’s men materialized by John’s side. Only one person saw the knife in the knight’s hand, but that one person was John. He made no more objection to the progress of the ceremony.
    Nor did Duncan. He had felt cold steel slide through the back slit in his hauberk to lie between his legs, pressing in silent threat against a man’s most vulnerable flesh. Clammy sweat broke over his body. To die in honorable battle was one thing; to be castrated like a capon was quite another.
    â€œDon’t move,” Simon said very softly to Duncan.
    Duncan didn’t move.
    â€œUnless you wish to disappoint Marie tonight,” Simon continued, “and every night hereafter, you will say nothing. Nod your head if you understand me.”
    Duncan nodded his head very carefully.
    â€œHand Lady Margaret’s shoe to my brother as tradition requires,” Simon ordered. “ Slowly .”
    With great care, Duncan gave Dominic a delicate shoe embroidered in silver thread. Afterward Duncan