The Overlord's Bride

Chapter One

“S top gawking like a simpleton,” Lord Perronet snapped, his hooked nose twitching with annoyance as he waited for his niece’s horse to come beside his. “Are you trying to look like a fool?”

Elizabeth tore her gaze from the castle ahead. The massive structure loomed out of the gray mist as if it were some sort of angry beast watching its prey come closer. “Given all the unexpected things that have happened to me in the past three days, would it be so surprising if my brains were addled?”

Her uncle’s eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed her with obvious displeasure, as he had at intervals ever since he had come to the convent to take her away. “You’re still the same,” he muttered. “I was hoping the good sisters had tamed you by now.”

“They tried, Uncle, they tried.”

He grunted scornfully as he continued his dissatisfied scrutiny.

Elizabeth knew she was not pleasing to look upon. If she were, she would not have been sent to the holy sisters thirteen years ago, into that horrible living death. She would have stayed with Lady Katherine DuMonde to finish her education in preparation for marriage and her duties as the chatelaine of a castle. She would have married. She would have had children.

“You must make an effort to behave properly, as a highborn lady should,” he commanded.

“You wish I were more like my cousin Genevieve, no doubt.”

“That harlot? No, I certainly do not.”

Elizabeth kept the satisfied smile from her lips. Beautiful, ladylike Genevieve, her cousin, should have been making this journey to Donhallow Castle today. Instead, she had compromised her honor with a Welsh-Norman nobleman and married him, leaving her uncle with a terrible dilemma. He had already arranged a marriage alliance with the powerful Lord Kirkheathe and, rather than have it thwarted, had come to the Convent of the Blessed Sacrament to give Elizabeth the choice of remaining there until the day she died, or taking Genevieve’s place as Lord Kirkheathe’s bride.

As she had thought then, so she thought now: she had never had a simpler decision to make. A chance for liberty of some sort, or slavery and deprivation for certain.

“You have told me almost nothing of Lord Kirkheathe,” Elizabeth prompted as they continued toward Donhallow. Now she could make out a village huddled at the base of its walls, like peasants around a warm fire—a much more pleasing conceit than the first sight of their destination had engendered.

“What is there to know?” her uncle replied. “Kirkheathe is rich, respected, has friends at court and we should pray to heaven he takes you in Genevieve’s stead.”

“What will happen if he doesn’t?”

Her uncle turned his hard black eyes toward her. “Let us just say it will be better if he does. A man needs all the friends at court he can get.”

Elizabeth cocked her head to one side. “You do not trust the men at court who are supposed to be your friends?”

Her uncle’s face flushed. “I said nothing of the kind.”

“Why else seek a family alliance with Lord Kirkheathe? His lands are far from yours.”

“Since when has a woman who has spent the past thirteen years in a convent understood anything of politics and alliances?”

“You think there are no politics in a convent? No alliances to be made or broken? No secrets to be kept? No power to crave? By our Lady, Uncle, I am not the simpleton if you believe that.”

“This is nonsense. All that matters is that Lord Kirkheathe accept you, and then all will be well, for you and for me.”

“If I am to confine myself to womanly subjects, Uncle, tell me about the man himself.”

“What is there to know beyond what I have told you?”

“Is he handsome?”

Her uncle made a scoffing laugh. “You are hardly in a position to care about the man’s looks.”

“Since I am no beauty, it has occurred to me that if he is not a fine-looking man, he may care less about my features.”

Once more her uncle scrutinized her. “You’d look better without that wimple. Indeed, you resemble Genevieve more than I ever thought possible.”

Elizabeth gave him a surprised look. It was impossible that she could look like Genevieve, with her perfect features and beautiful hair. True, Elizabeth had not seen Genevieve since she had left Lady Katherine’s care, but still…

“Has Genevieve been ill?” she asked, thinking that perhaps something had happened to ruin Genevieve’s looks.

“No. You have improved.”

As Elizabeth eyed him skeptically, she recalled every jeer and criticism the other inhabitants of the convent had aimed at her, the Reverend Mother’s most of all.

No, she was not pretty. Why even imply that she was? “He doesn’t know, does he?”

Her uncle started, making his horse whinny. “Who doesn’t know what?”

“Lord Kirkheathe doesn’t know about Genevieve, does he?”

“I never said that.”

Despite his denial, Elizabeth knew that she had hit the mark. “When do you intend to tell him who I am—before or after the wedding?”

Looking at the road ahead, her uncle didn’t respond.

“If he is an important man, you would not be wise to try to trick him. If he has friends at court, he will hear about Genevieve soon enough, and then it would go hard on you, Uncle,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, I will not let you. I have no desire to be married under false pretenses.”

“Would you rather go back to the convent?”

“No, I would not,” she said, meaning it. Life there had been a hell on earth, of near starvation and punishment and toil and cold. “But I will not begin a new life based upon a lie. I have done nothing wrong, and neither have you. Surely he will see that you are trying to keep your bargain. Or was he particular about Genevieve? He cannot have met her, or you would not even think of trying to fool him.”

“All Lord Kirkheathe cares about is that his bride be a virgin.”

“Well, in that, I am superbly qualified. I hadn’t even spoken to a man from the time I arrived at the convent until you came to get me. So, Uncle, I see no need to tell lies. Also, did she not marry into an influential family, too, even if they are Welsh?”

“Welsh with Norman blood,” her uncle clarified. “You are right, Elizabeth—so of course I wasn’t going to try to pass you off as your cousin.”

She didn’t believe that for a moment. “Just so long as we understand one another, Uncle.”

“I, um, I saw no need to tell him. A Perronet woman is a Perronet woman.”

“But I am not Genevieve. I am older than she, for one thing.”

“Trust me, Elizabeth.”

His words did not comfort her, for she still saw trepidation in his eyes. What if Lord Kirkheathe did not want her? What if he sent her away?

“I would not speak to him as you do to me, Elizabeth,” her uncle continued sternly. “I can assure you, a man of his rank and reputation will not stand for it.”