Juliana Garnett by The Vow Read Free Book Online Page B

whose temper you prod with reckless words, for I am not known for tenderness to women.”
    The warning was evident in the fierce grip of his hands and the baleful gleam in his eyes. It was so quiet around them that she could hear the scrape of booted feet shifting uncomfortably on the tile floor, and the faint clink of chain mail as Norman knights moved to get a better view.
    Bitterly, she recognized that to further flaunt her defiance would only earn her more humiliation than she had yet suffered. So she nodded curtly, a short jerk of her chin to acknowledge his warning. His grip did not loosen. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his dark eyes were narrowed and smoky with rage.
    Ceara managed not to whimper when he finally released her even as she fell with a jarring thud to the floor, nor did she try to evade him when he curled his fingers around her left wrist in a painfully tight grip and dragged her abruptly from the dais. She had a blurred vision of gaping faces as she was drawn past Norman and Saxon observers. One face stood out, the pale, freckled features of young Rudd watching in horror as his lady was pulled past him. She tried to reassure the boy with her eyes, but was dragged by so quickly she barely had time to fling him a glance.
    She stumbled and barely saved herself from going to one knee, but Luc paid her no heed, striding relentlessly on. Her feet skimmed over the hard tile floor in a staggering run at his heels, and she felt foolish and frightened at the same time. He drew her past the armed guards at the hall doors and into the long corridor.
    It was empty here, the silence stifling. Their footsteps echoed eerily on the stone. Holy Mary and all the saints—did he mean to kill her for the insult? She must remain calm, must keep her wits about her or she was doomed.
    Yet all her wits vanished when he swung open the door to an empty chamber and flung her inside in a smooth swing of one arm, releasing her at the last moment so that she flew like a bound bird toward the rope bed against one wall. She landed half on the edge of the bed, half on the floor, rocking back to stare up at him through the loose net of her hair. He loomed over her, dark and menacing—a threat and a promise, terrifying in his rage.
    Ceara swallowed the impulse to cry out for mercy. Therewould be no mercy from this Norman, ’twas plain. He glared down at her, tucking his thumbs into the wide leather belt around his waist, his brows crowding pitiless black eyes.
    Though Luc did not raise his voice, anger vibrated in his words with grim intensity: “Now you will learn who is master of this hall.”

Chapter Three

    C EARA STARED UP at him with wide eyes shadowed by hatred and fear. Her chest heaved with the quick, soft breaths of a hunted fox as she clung to the bed in a half crouch. A brass lamp filled the room with foul-smelling light, and clouded the air with oppressive gloom.
    Luc struggled for control, but fury pricked him hard. All evening he had watched her, his growing admiration for her refusal to yield in the face of overpowering odds mixing with irritation that she refused to recognize his hard-won right to be lord. If not for her insult, he may yet have inclined himself to leniency.
    Norman bastard
.
    So he was, and it cut deep that even this pagan Saxon could see it. It was as if there were a visible mark on him, some sign that all could see that branded him as a bastard son, worthless save as battle fodder. Even his father had said it, though it had been years ago. So long now it would have been forgotten by most, but not by the son at whom it had been directed. No, those spiteful words had cut him deeply, a mortal wound he’donce thought. Yet he lived. How powerful words could be, uttered with contempt, or joy, or yearning—more powerful even than action. They had a greater power to heal than the most skilled medicines. And a greater power to hurt than a sword.
    Yet William’s promise had given him what nothing else