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This one was named Tristan, so her careful observations told her. He was the one who held her during the awful inspection; and though she’d not noted any faces during that sad hour, she noted now that he seemed more amiable than his companions did. And certainly, he was the most comely of the group. His stance was fierce, though it generated a power that lured her sex in an amazing fashion. A strong face, well-cut jaw, keen dark eyes and artful brows could hold her fascinated if she were inclined to gaze on him—which she wasn’t for fear she’d give her feelings away. Perhaps, however, it was the kindness in his eyes that tempted her most—something that he only briefly offered her. And yet, when he did, he wore the kindness well as though it were a natural trait. A rare man, indeed, to be both immovable and vibrantly carnal, as well as temperate with a frightened woman.
“Your father has either misread the truth, or lied to you about his knowledge of Ilusia.” These were his first words directed to her. The two strolled as pleasantly as they could along the side of a small brook of clear water. No, it was not easy to walk, but it was pure bliss to be away from Harrow and the surly animals in this band of strangers.
“He has, sir?”
“I am afraid so.”
“In what way?” she wondered.
“Your place in Ilusia as a woman is likely to be far different than you anticipate.”
“Why would you tell me this now?”
“A warning, miss. Be on your guard. Your father is right to say your life will change. Truly, its pleasures and its pains will be of a different sort than what you know in your homeland. Though we live quite close in distance, our customs are exceedingly contrary.”
“I see. And how does a woman of Ilusia conduct herself?”
“Submissively. I’d advise you to be compliant, observant, and resourceful. And guard against your shrewishness. That trait is n
ot looked on favorably within our borders.”
“I will take your council, sir, and remember it well.”
The moon over Ilusia was fully round, glowing yellow at this dark time of night. With the sun set, the sky was inky black, dotted with a million stars all ominously appearing before her eyes, suggesting that the constellations might be aligned toward an uncertain mischief that would test her in ways she could not even fathom now.
“Thank you,” she added, feeling oddly nurtured by this distant soul. His manner had been straightforward and respectful, but without any obvious warmth. Though, the very fact that he’d say anything at all suggested some affection, or perhaps pity. Perhaps it was nothing at all, just this stranger, Tristan’s way.
There were two more days of grueling passage before the company of seven reached the gates of Mountbane’s lair—a stately castle: grey and important, rising so high above the maid Charlotte that for the foggy gleam of morning air, she could not make out the tallest spire.
Inside the gates, Mountbane’s bride gazed on sights she’d never witnessed before. Surely, the nobleman Tristan was right. Seeing collared women wherever she turned, others tethered by their masters, led on leashes through the market, she shuddered nervously wondering if these were signs of things to come. This was not her homeland—no home at all, she thought sadly.
Chapter Two
“My, my, aren’t you a lovely thing. All fresh washed. Did they remove that dastardly chastity belt?”
“Only so I could pee, sir. And to wash, of course. And who are you?” She eyed the splendid man with some degree of interest. His brown hair flowed to his shoulders and his beard was trimmed, not scraggly like so many men she’d seen in Ilusia so far. A pair of sharp, cinnamon-hued eyes peered at her from under his cunningly arched brows. He was a lean man of average stature, and though his clothes were unremarkable—leather britches and a simple muslin shirt—he wore his body, and his attitude, and even his humble attire with some suggestion of nobility.
He eyed the flaxen-haired maid with a degree of deference, slight as it might be. And yes, there was that haughtiness in his aspect she’d come to expect from Ilusian men. He was a bit of a scoundrel, Charlotte decided.
“Ah, yes, we haven’t been introduced, have we?” he was reminded.
“No, sir. I was led to this room with no explanation. In fact, I’ve had no explanations of anything. No answers to my questions. I’ve been forced to remain in a paltry room, in this frightful chastity belt for two days with no company at all.” She stopped her strident complaint abruptly, asking again, “So, who are you?”
“I was told you were impertinent, and so you are. Quite so.” He chuckled. “But that will change.”
Charlotte took offense at that remark. “I am myself and will always be so, no matter how you or anyone else attempts to mold me.”
The fellow stroked his chin thoughtfully, pacing about the wondering woman as Charlotte followed him with her eye, finally turning herself.
“I am your husband, Mountbane,” he finally announced.
She was speechless. Eyes, ears, mouth, feet—aye, even her heart, frozen.
“Cat got your tongue?” Mountbane quipped. “It seemed to wag so easily these last days.”
“I thought you…”
“Older. I’m sure that you imagined me some wizened fool like Harrow, or perhaps a man of your father’s years, or even some brutish boor. I am, dear Charlotte, just ten years your senior; and I assure you, my bride…”
