Dryden's Bride by Margo Maguire Read Free Book Online Page B

entirely too lacking in dowry.
    Siân had considered running away from Owen and the life he’d chosen for her, but she did not know where she could go or how she would manage to live. A woman alone had little chance of survival. On more than one occasion, Owen had told Siân that she was not the kind of woman to attract a man for anything more than a lighthearted tryst. She was too headstrong, too impertinent, and just too unsuitable.
    As a result, she was to be consigned to the nunnery.
    And Siân was afraid that would prove a difficult burden for one who had never been particularly pious.
    Hugh stretched his tired muscles and leaned back against the stone corner of the parapet. He heard the sweet tones of Lady Siân’s singing as she paced the length of the stone walk, and he felt his own soul quiet within him. He did not understand her words, but the sounds of comfort were clear, and the infant in her arms was soothed by the song.
    An unfamiliar contentment filled him as he listened to her. Siân was a fey child, not nearly as beautiful as Lady Marguerite, but she was interesting. Perhaps more than interesting, he decided, she was even compellingat times. He thought of the incident the previous night, when her saturated gown had dropped and she’d stood nearly naked before him. Hugh could not remember ever wanting a woman as powerfully as he had at that moment, and had she not run from his chamber, he was not sure what he’d have done.
    Even now, hearing her pleasing voice in the distance, Hugh could envision her eyes, deep blue as they’d been with arousal; her lips, moist and full. Curling tendrils of her fiery hair had framed the pure white skin of her delicate cheeks and gently shaped chin. Her lush body against his own was a torture he could not have imagined, a torture he had wanted to continue at any cost.
    His groin tightened even now with the thought of her, and he knew it was a mistake ever to have thought of her as a “fey child.”
    Hugh quickly turned his thoughts to the festivities presently going on in the great hall. He had declined to participate. Not only was he too weary, but he felt like no one’s hero, and didn’t care to be feted by anyone in any way. He had yet to make his proposal of marriage to Lady Marguerite and still wasn’t convinced it was the right thing to do, in spite of Nicholas Becker’s arguments.
    Hugh had no stomach for warfare anymore. His entire life had been spent either in training for war, or in actual battle. Here at Clairmont, there were no signs of the Scots giving up. Hugh knew that if he wed Marguerite, he’d have to withstand ever more of these border skirmishes until the Scots were defeated once and for all.
    Perhaps, though, with an able leader at Clairmont and more victories against them, the Scots could be induced to stop their raids all the sooner. It was somethingto consider. Clearly, this had been the goal of the Parliamentary Council when they’d suggested the marriage.
    Hugh was dressed in a most unassuming manner, but the dark patch that covered one eye was not easily hidden. The parapet guards spotted him quickly and saluted him as their recognized leader—the man who’d led them to victory. Hugh acknowledged them, but turned away to find a dark and quiet perch near a turret, where he could watch the turbulent sky without being seen. He sat back against the stone wall and stretched his legs out before him.
    Hugh had surprised himself by rising to the challenge of battle last night and all through the day. It had been gratifying to discover that he was still a fully capable soldier, archer, swordsman, commander; that men still followed his confident lead.
    The question was whether or not Hugh cared to acquiesce to the council’s wishes and provide Clairmont with the leader that was so desperately needed here. He had his own estate to the south, nearer to Windermere, and though he did not believe that Castle Alldale was as prestigious as Clairmont,