Silverhawk by Barbara Bettis Read Free Book Online Page B

breadth during the years, but so had the rest of him. Emelin remembered the height and the blond hair, a darker shade now. Even so, she would always know him by his resemblance to their father, down to the inflexible set of his solid jaw.
    Despite her anger at his thoughtless action, an old familiar knot of dread drifted from the back of her throat into her stomach, where it turned heavy as lead.
    Garley’s large party surprised her. How did he pay so many soldiers? No women accompanied him. He wasn’t married. Probably searched for a wealthy wife who could afford him.
    An elbow to the shoulder warned she was no longer alone in the doorway. Lady Dulsie and Lady Cleo fairly leaped to catch a glimpse of the newcomers. From their murmurs, she realized she was the only one who found her brother’s appearance objectionable.
    Giggling like a maiden, Lady Dulsie turned. “Your brother is just as handsome as I remember, my lady. I can’t imagine why such a man hasn’t wed.”
    Lady Cleo’s avid gaze didn’t waver from the man. A slight smile curved her full lips; speculation twitched the skin around her eyes. From that expression, Emelin guessed the lady planned to remedy Garley’s lack of a wife. They might just deserve each other.
    The reunion proved as unsatisfactory as she’d expected. Lord Osbert shouted for her to join him in the bailey, then complained as she approached.
    “You misrepresented the bargain, Compton. She’s no plain, dowdy maiden, anxious to do her duty. Look at that face. Look at those eyes. Damn it, man, half the garrison’s already casting cow-eyes her way.”
    Unfair of him to say that, Emelin thought, indignant. She’d not met the garrison. But he had not finished.
    “And she’s got a tongue on her. Told you I couldn’t abide spirit in a female, didn’t I?”
    Just when Emelin thought he’d run out of words, he sucked in a breath and added, “Look at her. She’s got no other clothes! Damned nun. How’s a man supposed to bed a damned nun, I ask you? It’s enough to turn the stomach.”
    His litany of complaints halted when she did. “You see?” He gestured at the proof.
    “Greetings, brother,” Emelin said, hands clasped at waist. “I trust you are well.”
    “Well enough.” His blue eyes squinted. “What have you done to yourself?”
    She answered through gritted teeth. “I had no way to purchase suitable gowns, and you sent none with your demands. What choice had I?” What irony—his first words contained a complaint about her appearance, just as his last had all those years ago. But, then, this was her brother. He had not changed.
    He waved a hand. “Not that. I mean—look at you.”
    “Surely you didn’t expect the same frightened child who left Compton.” Emelin struggled to keep her voice calm, but anger bubbled inside.
    Garley ignored the words. His furious gaze promised retribution as he latched onto her arm and turned to Lord Osbert. “Indeed. Look how she has improved. A strong lady worthy of Langley. She can stand up to anything. Tend your brats. Hold the castle safe while you’re gone. And if she can’t keep her mouth shut, shut it for her.”
    Emelin wrenched her arm from his fist. Her face burned with anger and humiliation. He might remember her as a cowed child, but he would learn his mistake. Indignation won out, and she spoke without thinking.
    “Perhaps one of you fine lords can find me a suitable gown in which to wed. You have bought and sold me, now you can clothe me.”
    The men stood speechless as she marched up the stairs into the keep. In the silence, realization sent an icy tingle up her back. Oh, Sweet Mary. Her wretched temper had boiled over again. For years she struggled to harness that tongue. In less than a day, her control had collapsed. Repeatedly.
    She swept through the doors, nearly colliding with the ladies who gaped with owl eyes. Margaret clutched Ortha’s hand. A puzzled frown crinkled the girl’s forehead, and her mouth