The Dumont Bride by Terri Brisbin Read Free Book Online Page B

answered, hearing the command instead of the request. Holding out his arm to Eleanor, he then walked with her out of the solar. She hesitated for a moment at the doorway.
    “Join me anon in the hall, my dear,” she said in a soft voice to the woman who remained standing at the queen’s chair. They did not wait for a response, for one did not refuse the queen.
    He was arrogant. He was arrogant and pompous and rude. He had not even asked who she was as she stood by the queen’s side. Emalie stomped around the chair and plopped down onto its cushioned seat.
    What had she missed? Arrogant, pompous, rude and…ah! Overbearing and Angevin. No, he was not from Anjou, but from the queen’s own province of Aquitaine. She lifted the cup left behind by Eleanor and swallowed the few mouthfuls of wine left in it. Letting out the breath she held, she admitted the word that she withheld.
    Husband. He was her husband. Even now before the nuptial ceremony, she was bound to him by church and law by the betrothal papers on the table. Richard, as king and as holder of her wardship, had given her person and her lands into the control of this arrogant, pompous, rude, overbearing Comte de Langier. And what had Eleanor told her? They would have to both make some accommodations in their marriage.
    Her unasked question had been answered and that surprised her. He was fair of face as the queen had said. His hair was a lighter brown than she thought when she’d seen him in his bath, and his eyes were the green of spring grasses. And his voice…well, that poured over her like melted treacle, rich and warm. In fact, she had focused on the sound of his voice rather than the obnoxious things he was saying when he spoke to Eleanor.
    Christian Dumont had faced some physical trials of late though. His clothing was too big for the form he had now. He had lost weight recently and gained the sores she’d seen on him in his bath. Had he been held prisoner with Richard on the Continent? Was she, was Greystone and the title of Harbridge, his reward for loyal service to the king? If he came as the Count of Langier, what were his lands in Aquitaine like? And who was his family?
    Emalie shook her head and realized with a start that she had been sitting here contemplating her betrothed husband and his circumstances for far too long. She stood and made certain that her hair was firmly secured underneath her coif. She would go to him as the Countess Harbridge, as her father’s daughter, not the maid he thought she was.
    As she pulled the door open once more, another memory came to her. Christian Dumont, Count of Langier and soon of Harbridge, had been afraid of the news that Eleanor gave him. Fear had been her first impression as he entered the room and greeted the queen. He looked like a man facing death. Even when given the news of his betrothal, the fear did not leave him.
    He was a puzzle, one that she would have plenty of time to solve. She knew only that Richard had sent himat Eleanor’s request to prevent the destruction of her estates and her people. If he did that, she would be forever grateful. She could be content in a marriage if he took care of her people.
     
    Christian Dumont was also a prig. Emalie seethed in humiliation and anger at his latest actions. Her introduction by the queen was met with bold laughter from him. If she were fair, she would admit that his laughter made her stomach quiver in a way she’d not felt before. Right now, she did not feel like being fair.
    Dinner had been accomplished with some speed and then the betrothal agreement, with its long recitation of properties and titles, tributes and fees, knights and villeins, had been announced in a droning voice by one of Eleanor’s clerks. Emalie had learned that the count was possessed of a rather large amount of property outside Poitiers as well as a few minor estates and manors in Anjou and Normandy. His titles were older than hers, but she was richer than he. Her dower