The Welshman's Bride

Realizing the man seriously intended to attack him, Dylan leapt from the bed and frantically searched for his weapon.

What had he done with it last night?

What had he done last night, period!

He spotted his sword belt slung over the chair in the comrner and lunged for it as Lord Perronet charged toward him.

Genevieve screamed. Dylan grabbed his sheath and drew his sword, whirling around and jumping out of the way of Perronet’s blow without a moment to spare.

“Stop! Uncle, please! Stop!” Genevieve cried.

“Quiet, woman!” Perronet bellowed.

Dylan crouched in a defensive stance, ignoring Genevieve and keeping his gaze firmly on his opponent. He could tell Lord Perronet had not wielded a sword in some time. Nevertheless, even an unskilled man could be dangerous with a heavy broadsword.

“Dylan, my love, don’t hurt him!”

Dylan glanced at Genevieve, then back to her enraged uncle. “Put up your sword, my lord, for I warn you, I will defend myself.”

“You defiler of women! Base, despicable lout!” Perronet shouted. “I should have known! Your father was the same, and his father before him!”

A muscle in Dylan’s jaw started to twitch. “Be careful what you say to me, old man. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll kill you if you insult me again.”

“It is you who have insulted the honor of my family!” Perronet cried. “Your family hasn’t had any honor in a hundred years!”

“Shut it, Perronet, or God help me, I’ll run you through!”

“Dylan! Uncle!”

“Do you think everyone’s forgotten about your lout of a father, you bastard?” Perronet snarled as they circled each other. “We all know the stories of his rapes and thievery and dishonor! A scoundrel from a line of scoundrels—and you are just the same!”

With a bellow like an angry bear, Dylan lifted his sword to strike.

“Please, don’t!” Genevieve shouted.

Dylan hesitated at her distressed plea, and in that moment, Perronet moved out of range of Dylan’s blow.

“What in the name of God is going on?” Baron DeLanyea demanded from the door.

The combatants ignored the baron and continued to circle each other warily.

“Baron DeLanyea!” Genevieve cried, relieved by his presence, for surely her uncle and the man she loved would not come to blows if the baron interceded.

The baron looked at her, the brow over his remaining eye rising with surprise, and she modestly pulled the bedclothes up to her chin.

She had been expecting some kind of confrontation between her uncle and Dylan. That was necessary—but she had never imagined that her uncle would try to kill him.

“I said,” the baron repeated in a voice as firm and cold as iron, “what is going on?”

“Your nephew has seduced my niece!” Perronet replied. “That rogue of a bastard has ruined her!”

The baron ran his gaze over Genevieve again, and this time, she thought she saw something other than surprise and dismay.

Disrespect?

She flushed hotly at that notion, but told herself there was no help for it. She had to break the betrothal with Lord Kirkheathe and sneaking into Dy-lan’s bed had seemed the easiest way.

Of course, it would not be without some damage to her reputation, but that would happen however she contrived to break the betrothal.

“Dylan, is this true?” the baron asked with amazing calm, given the circumstances.

“No! I have no idea how she came to be in my bed!”

“You do not know?”

“You lying bastard!” Perronet charged.

“Say that again, and I will kill you,” Dylan growled.

Wrapping herself in the bedclothes, for her folded clothes were on a chest on the other side of the room, Genevieve clambered from the bed. “Please, don’t fight. This can be settled—”

“Look there! What more evidence do you need?” Perronet demanded, pointing with his sword to the dried drops of blood Genevieve had squeezed from her pricked fingertip onto the bottom sheet.

“We will simply have to be married,” Genevieve said.

“What?” Dylan gasped, lowering his sword and staring at her, wide-eyed with...horror?

Her stomach knotted. “Yes. You love me. I love you. We...we spent the night together. We have to be married.”

He shook his head, his angry gaze boring into her. “Oh, no, we don’t.”

Now truly dismayed and fearful, she stammered, “You...you kissed me...and...”

“Quiet, Genevieve!” her uncle commanded as he marched toward the baron. “Your nephew, who is, I understand, also your foster son, has basely used and deceived my niece. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing—at the moment,” the baron replied just as calmly. “I suggest we let them get dressed and then we can discuss this...situation...in a more rational manner.

“Without swords,” he finished pointedly.

“She’s right. They’ll have to be married,” Perronet declared. “Lord Kirkheathe—”

The baron held up his hand, silencing him. “Please, Lord Perronet, let us take some time to calm ourselves. Then we can decide how best to proceed.”

Her uncle hesitated, then sheathed his sword while continuing to regard Dylan disdainfully. “Because you ask it of me. Baron, I will. But that whelp will make amends!”

With that, he reached out and grabbed Genevieve roughly by the arm.

“Come along, girl!” he growled, pulling her toward the door.