Chapter Two

      Roger rapped once on the door to his betrothed’s bedchamber, then shoved it open. He had not bothered to check the preparations for this guest chamber, but a quick glance assured him that all was ready and quite comfortable, from the brazier that provided some warmth against the chill to the new tapestries on the walls and the thick coverings on the bed. He had even purchased a carpet for this room, an almost unheard-of luxury that he intended to have moved to his own bedchamber after the wedding.

      Hilda stood inside. She half turned and giggled when she saw who was in the doorway. Roger looked past Hilda to encounter the frosty gaze of his bride. Clad only in her wet white shift, Mina Chilcott glared at him while she reached for her gown, which had been laid out to dry on the only chair. He had thought her soaking gown had displayed her body outrageously; he instantly realized that a wet linen shift was truly next to nothing. He could see the pink tinge of her nipples and the reddish triangle between her legs.

      He suddenly realized he had never made love with a redheaded woman, and the idea was not completely distasteful to him.

      Mina grabbed hold of her gown and held it against herself in a futile and late attempt at modesty. “Sir, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” she demanded.

      Roger forced his expression to remain impassive as he returned his gaze to her face. His bride was not as unattractive as she had appeared before, now that she was no longer chilled. Her skin was smooth and pale, pink tinged with a blush that hid her freckles. Her drying hair no longer hung limply about her slender shoulders, but waved and curled about her heart-shaped face. Her eyes, which had looked green in the hall, appeared bluish gray in the flickering light of the candles. They dominated her features and offset the luscious fullness of her lips. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his judgment of her.

      “Hilda, go below,” he ordered, his tone tempered by his continuing appraisal of the woman who was to be his wife.

      With a toss of her head, Hilda obeyed. However, she came much closer to him than necessary on her way to the door as if to remind him of the countless nights of mutual pleasure they had shared. Unfortunately for Hilda, he had already decided to end their liaison. For one thing, as aptly demonstrated by her departure, the serving wench was becoming far too impertinent. For another, once he vowed to be faithful to his wife, he had every intention of abiding by his pledge. His honor would not allow him to do otherwise, even if he didn’t particularly care for the woman. He simply would not break any vow, for any reason.

      “Sir Roger, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” Mina Chilcott repeated, her tone calmer and her eyes much more enigmatic than they had been at their first meeting, or even moments before.

      Sir Roger de Montmorency was reminded that he had intended to put his betrothed firmly and forever in her place. He was used to unquestioning obedience, respect or fear, and his wife was not going to be any different. “Perhaps I came to assure myself that my servants were attending to you properly,” he said. “You implied that I was somewhat remiss in my supervision.”

      She held the dress a little higher. “Hilda seems quite competent. In a number of ways, I suppose,” the young woman finished casually, although there was a brief flicker of condemnation in her eyes that Roger did not like.

      He walked toward her slowly and deliberately. “I am the master here,” he said in a commanding tone that was not a shout, but deep and resonating, nonetheless. “I will do as I wish, within the bounds of honor, and it is not for you to criticize, ever. When you are my wife, you would do well to remember that I am used to obedience. I will accept nothing less.”

      “And I am used to being chastised, Sir Roger,” she answered quite calmly. “For the present, I am neither your lackey nor your wife, so I ask you again, will you please have the goodness to leave?” Then, to Sir Roger de Montmorency’s considerable chagrin, Mina Chilcott had the effrontery to turn her back to him.

      His anger turned to shock when he saw the marred flesh above the neckline of her shift. The white, silky skin was covered with long, thin scars, as if from a lash or a switch. For a moment, he was speechless at the thought that anyone could have inflicted such damage on this woman. Any woman. “Who did that to you?” he demanded hoarsely.

      “A man who wanted me to obey,” she replied matter-of-factly, twisting to look at him over her shoulder. Her face was expressionless, except for her remarkable eyes. They were full of defiance, and such resilient inner strength that he could not quite believe those flashing blue gray eyes belonged to a mere woman. “Good night, Sir Roger,” she said.

      Astonished by what he had seen, and not quite sure what to say, Roger left the room, slamming the door behind him.

      A deep shudder of released tension shook Mina’s body as she slowly lowered her arms and threw the gown back over the chair. She rubbed her arms to restore some warmth after clutching the cold, wet gown. Still shivering, she stoked the coals in the brazier, fighting the memories from her past, especially the horrible years after her beloved mother’s death, which always brought a chill to her.

      She slipped out of her damp shift and hung it over the chair, as well. Taking the heavy coverlet from the bed, she wrapped it around herself and went to the narrow window, where she looked out at the rainy night. Clouds now completely obscured the moon, and everything beyond the nearest wall was in darkness.

      This castle was not at all what she had expected, considering the awestruck way Reginald spoke of Sir Roger. Her half brother was forever reminding her what a favorite her betrothed was with the powerful Baron DeGuerre and how long the de Montmorencys had