Eleanor leaned close to whisper. “All of Cymru knows of the legend surrounding your family. Some of the locals even claim blood ties to the jilted lover who supposedly cursed your line when she was tossed aside for a Glamorgan bride. With that much history hanging over your head, no Welshman would ever dare to wed you even if he could see you for the fair young woman you are.”
Ariana sighed, knowing Eleanor spoke the truth. Her father never missed an opportunity to remind her of as much.
Eleanor moved toward her herb cabinet and began filling a little sack. “Your only hope is to capture the attention of a foreigner to our land. My vision tells me such a man arrives this very day. Even more fortuitous—he does not plan to stay for any length of time. Such an advantageous situation is unlikely to arise again soon.”
“Aye.” Ariana’s belly churned with an equal mix of nerves and anticipation. The thought of escaping her oppressive household held great appeal, but the danger of finding herself tied to a man more acrimonious than her father distressed her. “But I will not even try to catch his eye if he looks to be cruel or harsh in his nature.”
Well-worn hands patted Ariana’s smooth ones. “You will do what is best, I am certain.”
Nodding, Ariana pulled open the door before turning back to the wisewoman. “What if I cannot make myself attractive to him? What if this whispered curse of the Glamorgan woman is truly at work tonight and the man sees right through me? And even if I can intrigue this stranger, Father will not let me marry.”
Thomas Glamorgan’s hateful disposition demanded everyone around him suffer fully for the weight of his family’s curse. Ariana knew he would never consent to burdening some unsuspecting stranger with the millstone of his bewitched daughter. No, he would far rather suffer and wail about his fate than try to change it.
The old woman handed her the small cheesecloth sack she’d prepared and smiled with the knowing of Eve. “I’ve taught you how to use these herbs before, my child. They can help you in your quest. And if it is meant to be, you will know. All obstacles will fall away if fate wishes to see you wed.”
A tremor of fear skittered down Ariana’s spine, followed quickly by a strong dose of resolve.
“Thank you.” She kissed her friend’s cheek.
Gathering her cloak more tightly about her, Ariana stepped out into the misty afternoon, a morose ballad of star-crossed lovers on her lips.
Peering into the deep green forest before her, she willed her eyes to see through the thicket of oak trees to Glamorgan to discern this mysterious knight for herself, but her ability with the sight could not be forced. As fickle as Welsh weather, her limited gift allowed her to see things only at the most inconvenient times.
She would simply have to see the man for herself.
Stuffing Eleanor’s linen pouch full of herbs into her troublesome loose sleeve, Ariana hurried toward the keep and wondered if this would be the night she would meet the warrior of her dreams.
Chapter One
“I don’t know if there is a woman to meet your needs about Glamorgan, Sir Barret. If you would be willing to extend your stay in Wales, perhaps, we could find someone suitable in the outlying areas.”
Thomas Glamorgan’s words from the great hall caught Ariana’s attention as she hastened through the keep toward her bedchamber. Too intrigued to consider the impropriety of her actions, she paused just outside the entrance. If she did not listen to her father’s conversation herself, she would certainly never hear news of it otherwise.
“A fortnight?” A deep masculine voice rumbled through the hall and tripped over Ariana’s senses. “I will be in Wales less than a sennight ’ere I sail for France on a mission for the king. I assure you, my lord, I have the ear of King Henry and if you can be of help to me, he will no doubt remember the kindness. But I cannot wait for days to find a wife. I have been granted a Welsh keep, but only if I can find a Welsh wife to go along with it.”
Her fingers froze in the midst of fiddling with her amethyst bracelet. The voice in the great hall could only belong to one man—the foreigner Eleanor fore-saw.
And he was looking for a bride.
Sweet Arianrhod, the situation seemed too good to be true. Hadn’t she promised herself she would not indulge in hopeful flights of fancy anymore? Hadn’t she tucked away her fairy-tale dreams of marriage and family?
Yet she couldn’t suppress the happy tune that danced about her head any more than she could still her racing heart as she strained to hear their conversation.
“But Barret, surely you jest.” Her father spluttered in indignant surprise. No doubt the notion of undertaking such a task in a rushed manner galled her father. The Lord of Glamorgan was a man of cherished routines, as predictable and full of gloom as his daughter was eccentric and full of life.
Still, Ariana knew her father to be a man who both feared and respected politics. He would be swayed to help the man if only for a small assurance his borderland keep would be at peace in any disputes between the Welsh and their more powerful English neighbors.
“Glamorgan boasts no highborn ladies traipsing about on a daily basis,” Thomas managed between incensed coughs. “It will take time to invite the most eligible girls for your inspection. You would not want some serving wench for a wife when you seek a mistress for Llandervey.”
“I do not seek an heiress, merely a reasonable, biddable woman with many childbearing years ahead of her.” The stranger’s tone rang clipped and sharp, as if annoyed.
Had he honestly just said he sought a biddable woman? Dear heaven, but that wasn’t a good sign. No one had ever accused her of being compliant.
Still, the richness of his voice itself piqued Ariana’s curiosity enough to draw her glance around the door-frame. She yearned for a quick glimpse of the man who might be the key to breaking the curse—or simply dispelling the myth of a ridiculous family legend.
Easing around the archway, her mouth promptly went dry at the sight that greeted her eyes.
Utterly imposing, her father’s uninvited guest commanded attention. Stalking the great hall, impatience and frustration evident in every line of his large, muscular form, the stranger dwarfed her father by two hand spans. Ariana guessed his shoulders to be twice the width of her own, while his waist and hips narrowed under the swirl of his midnight-blue hauberk.
He looked entirely too ominous in his unrelieved dark garb and road-dusty chain mail, especially standing beside her father whose hunched posture and ill-fitting attire announced to the world his broken spirit.
“Barret” as her father called him, did not look like a man who would appreciate being tricked into marriage. Yet, as intimidating as the man appeared, Ariana couldn’t break her gaze as she stared at him.
Sable brown hair fell across the shoulder of the foreigner’s dark hauberk, nearly blending in with the black wool of his tunic, which looked surprisingly clean for a knight. Warriors of her acquaintance were all so concerned with fighting and weaponry they appeared to have little time for bathing.
Too bad she could not make out his features from her hidden observation spot.
“What of your own girls, Glamorgan?” The stranger pressed. “Have you no daughters ready for marriage?”
Ariana’s heart faltered in her chest for one hopeful moment, though she knew her father would never allow her to wed an unsuspecting stranger. Consumed with his own bitterness, Thomas Glamorgan seemed to enjoy seeing everyone else around him suffer.
“None of interest to you,” her father snapped, recovering himself.
Surprised at the depth of her disappointment,