Joanne Rock - The Knight's Redemption

Her groom barely acknowledged her, but the women who attended the ceremony seemed to admire her. She could see their assessing glances as they noted the rich fabric of the exquisite gown, one of many her father had ordered for her over the years. During the long night of preparations for the ceremony, she and Ceara altered it to accommodate a fuller figure, so the fit was just right. A deep crimson velvet, the material alone had cost a fortune. The bodice boasted rich embroidery and a few small jewels along the neckline.

The veils were hardly unbecoming, either, though they completely hid the bride from the world’s view. Red-and-black silk covered the back of her head and neck in a wimple. Over top of it, two layers of heavy white Flanders lace fell from a thin silver circlet to cover her face and fall midway down her back. The intricate fabric was artfully arranged to allow the less decorated portions of the lace to cover her eyes so she might see through the veils.

When she reached Roarke, he turned formally toward the priest and awaited his words.

He was going through with it.

Ariana breathed her relief. Doubts had plagued her all morning that the English knight would change his mind and choose another bride. And it was not just because the charm failed. The fact he ended their kiss so abruptly the night before made her think he found her lacking.

Now the sacred words were being read that would officially bind them together as man and wife, a surge of guilt spread through her. She vowed she would be a good wife to Roarke to make up for the way she had tricked him into wedding her. Heaven knew the man didn’t seem to care much about whom he married.

Her hand shook slightly as Roarke slid a heavy band of thick silver upon her ring finger. Devoid of any decoration, the ring was not particularly becoming around her finger, but the weighty silver comforted Ariana as it slid onto her hand. Although Roarke Barret came to her with no love in his heart, his commitment to her was strong and true. A man of honor, he would not take his vows to his Welsh wife lightly.

As she looked forward to the wedding night that would free her from the Glamorgan legend, she could almost feel the stranglehold of her family heritage begin to loosen its grip.

Sneaking surreptitious glances in his bride’s direction, Roarke wondered if the temptress he’d kissed last night lurked anywhere beneath the pile of veils he was now marrying. He could scarcely see his future wife, but he trusted Ceara awaited him beneath her elaborate garb.

Truth be told, perhaps it was just as well that she remained hidden from his eyes. He had scarcely kissed her last night and yet thoughts of her had plagued his dreams. Invaded his waking thoughts. And since his father had treated his mother with nothing but coarse lust and then scorn, Roarke strove to maintain absolute self-mastery where his own baser urges were concerned after discovering his true parentage. He was no better than his father if he could not control himself.

For that matter, Roarke did not appreciate his own fickleness where women were concerned lately. He had been attracted to Ariana Glamorgan by day and Ceara Llywen by night. All the more reason he needed to settle his future as a sedately married man.

Now, as he glanced sidelong at Ceara while the priest spoke the words that bound them, he saw no hint of the amber-eyed siren he’d met last night.

It was peculiar.

First the strange meetings with enticing Ariana Glamorgan, and now his odd reaction to her cousin Ceara. What the hell was the matter with him? Even before discovering the truth about his parentage, Roarke had never been indiscriminate with women. In that way, at least, he was certain he did not take after his father.

He would be wed any moment and on his way to Llandervey, which was all that really mattered. It would be just as well if his wife remained veiled and inaccessible to him today anyhow. That way he would not have to worry about the unsettling way her kiss called forth a level of ardor he’d never known himself to possess.

Until tonight, of course.

After promising dutifully to love and cherish her, Roarke felt a moment of guilt, knowing he would be unable to fulfill any vows regarding love.

“Do you, Ceara Llywen, take Roarke Barret?”

Roarke barely heard her muffled acknowledgment through the shroud of fabric she wore, but she agreed.

She, too, made further vows the church required, but Roarke did not pay much attention again until he heard the pronouncement that they were truly man and wife.

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