An Alliance with His Enemy Princess by Lissa Morgan

Author:Lissa Morgan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2022-09-20T17:49:30+00:00

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Walking into the great hall of Shrewsbury Castle was indeed like entering the lion’s den. Although it was hardly larger than her own hall, Gwennan found it bursting to the walls with people standing in tightly pressed ranks, all eager to see the King, and all of them her enemies. Even the Welsh who were present were those who had capitulated, either from fear or for gain, and sided with the Normans against their own countrymen.

At the back, she and Rolant waited as the hours dragged by—one, two, and then a third. And through every moment of those slowly passing hours Gwennan felt the presence of the man at her side like an encroaching and irresistible flood, coming nearer and nearer.

He didn’t speak, he didn’t touch her, he didn’t even look at her...but every inch of her skin, every pulse of blood through her veins, every beat of her heart felt him.

And she knew that he felt her too. How could he not when between them the air was taut with feelings so powerful that they screamed louder than the deafening noise that surrounded them?

Then, suddenly, she heard her name being called and she jumped out of her skin. It was then that their eyes met at last. And it was as if a jagged fork of lightning had come right through the roof and pierced a path into her womb.

‘Are you ready, Gwennan?’

His voice was jagged too, and the sharp blades of his cheekbones had turned a fiery red. His gaze was more a glare, and darker than Gwennan had ever seen it.

She nodded and swallowed down the sudden dryness in her mouth. ‘Yes.’

Her reply was a whisper, and when he held out his arm and she took it the lightning lanced again. She saw in his eyes the same expression that had been there when he’d entered her room at the abbey earlier, and looked at her as if he’d never seen her before.

If she’d had a mirror, perhaps she wouldn’t have recognised herself either. But she recognised the responses that sparked deep down inside her as his eyes devoured her, as consuming as any fire.

Her name was called a second time. One of the King’s harassed officials strode up and with glowering impatience beckoned them forward. Somehow she moved her feet—which seemed to have become stuck to the floor—and walked forward on Rolant’s arm.

But even though the air still crackled as that unknown storm moved down the hall with them, her mind took control of her body at last. And the fire inside her was a cold one now as she stared, mesmerised, at the sumptuously dressed figure seated on the throne.

With his thatch of flaxen hair and ruddy cheeks, William Rufus looked more like a labourer of the fields than a king. However, as she drew nearer the shrewd glint in his eye and the firm set of his mouth told her he was nobody’s fool.

It went against the grain to relinquish Rolant’s arm, to lift the hem of her gown and curtsey low, but she did it.

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