Captive Bride by Katharine Ashe Read Free Book Online Page B

with Welsh blood. A drop only is needed to fulfill the curse.”
    Tip stilled. “How would you know of her ancestry?” Perhaps he had associates outside the castle gathering information. Thomas had been here for longer than a fortnight, more than enough time for clever thieves to run down the letter he had sent to Bea or even to investigate him. The bamboozler would be a fool to make an assertion that would be easily denied by the lady herself, after all.
    “I do not know it,” the ghost said. “I sense it.”
    “Ah.” The ruffian would suffer for this. Whoever he was, and his confederates, Tip would make them pay.
    “But the black-haired girl came here first, so she it must be,” the voice continued with peculiar heaviness. “Soon she will be my bride, whether she wishes it or not.”
    “You know,” Tip strolled toward the center of the chamber, “in this century we do not force women to the altar.”
    “Neither did we in my era. But this time there will be no altar, nor priest. Only a marriage bed, then death. Blessed, peaceful death.”
    Tip’s blood ran cold. Lady Bronwyn seemed a flighty, careless girl, but she didn’t deserve this cruel fraud.
    “Oh good, my lord, I hoped to speak with you before—” Bea’s voice slid to a halt behind him.
    Tip turned to the doorway, masking his emotions before her as always. But the back of his neck prickled. Her lovely, wide gaze was fixed on the lower portion of the hunt tapestry. She curtsied toward the tapestry and turned to Tip.
    “Lord Cheriot , will you be so kind as to introduce me?”
     

 
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    “As you see, Bea, I am alone, except for your lovely self, of course.”
    “Given the circumstances, my lord, this is not really the best time to tease.” Bea moved forward, glancing again at the gentleman by the wall. In the flickering firelight and candles he seemed all dark angles. He was tall, nearly of a height with Tip although thicker-bodied, and dramatically dark, from the slash of black hair crossing his brow and shadow of a beard upon his jaw to his ebony eyes. All about him hung an air of cold gloom. And there was something strange about him, something oddly insubstantial. In comparison, Tip’s masculine vibrancy and warmth was like a breath of life. Then again, being with him always made Bea feel alive.
    “Please,” she said quietly to him. “Introduce me.”
    His eyes took on a guarded look. “I assure you, I would do so if there were another person present in the chamber with us.”
    “He cannot see me. Only maidens can see me.” The gentleman’s voice sounded across the broad chamber, both deep and thin at once, like a hard winter wind, present one instant with powerful force, vanished the next .
    A shiver slithered up Bea’s spine. Her gaze slid to Tip’s. His emerald eyes seemed bright.
    “Of course he can see you,” she said to the gentleman. “You are standing less than four yards away. Who are you, sir?”
    “ Iversly .” He bowed. “Enchanted, my lady.”
    Bea blinked in surprise. She had imagined Lord Iversly an invention of Lady Bronwyn’s imagination, created to bring Thomas to heel. It was frankly something of a relief to see that he was a real man, although not at all the sort of fellow with whom she wanted her brother to compete. He had a harsh, muscular look about him, and was at least a decade older than Thomas.
    “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. I am only Miss Sinclaire , however.”
    “But you are of royal stock,” he replied. “One of your English forebears bedded a Welsh princess and begat a child upon her.”
    “Why, that is perfectly correct.” She nodded. “It happened a very long time ago, and of course it was not quite that unseemly. They were married. But how do you come to know about that?”
    Tip had gone entirely immobile beside her, his lips a white line. Bea’s stomach did a somersault.
    Lord Iversly replied, “I can smell it on you.” The fire in the