Desire's Prize by M. S. Laurens (Stephanie Laurens)

Author:M. S. Laurens (Stephanie Laurens) [Laurens, M. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Historical, Romance, Medieval, Historical Fiction, Historical Romance, regency romance
Amazon: B00G137JB8
Publisher: Savdek Management Proprietary Limited
Published: 2013-10-18T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

His witch was yet abed when, a thoroughly satisfied smile on his lips, Alaun left his pavilion the next morn. He visited the sheriff, and the priests, then repaired to the bridge to supervise the start of the Severn crossing.

Eloise joined him there, neat and elegant on her roan mare. Their eyes met—she smiled, slowly, then glanced away.

Satisfaction swelled, a warm glow in his chest.

Even the fact that she’d come to fetch him to the cathedral was insufficient to dim his mood. He went with her readily, the time spent standing beside her by the font given over to consideration of another church ceremony. As it happened, the how, where, and who would be there were questions requiring some thought.

He roused himself as the last child was wetted and duly squalled. The priest offered a benediction, and Alaun’s people, some, certainly, unwed girls, but many others couples, tradesmen in his train whose wives had accompanied them as laundresses and semptresses, turned away, smiling and nodding gratefully to him. And to the lady by his side.

Sir Eward waited at the door of the chapel to present each family with their lord’s baptismal gift. It was little enough, five silver pennies, yet each family was delighted to receive the vail, acknowledging their bond to him and his acceptance of their child into his overall care.

Noting the commissary and the small crowd about him, Eloise gifted Alaun with a brilliant smile. “Tis very good of you, lord.”

He shrugged. “Nay. Tis no more than our custom.”

“But tis good of you to remember it at a time when you’re so hard-pressed.”

Brows rising, he caught her gaze. “Am I to take it you wish to further reward me, lady?”

To his delight, she blushed. “We are in a cathedral, lord.”

“Aye—tis hard to imagine a more challenging venue.”

The shocked look she sent him had him swallowing a laugh. “I must see the priest a moment, lady.”

Serenely, if a little stiffly, she inclined her head. “I will await you here, lord.”

Rovogatti stood by the wall mere yards away; four men-at-arms shadowed the door. Alaun nodded and turned away. The priest was waiting; he gestured to the vestry beyond. Alaun followed him up the worn steps.

Left to herself, Eloise strolled to the arched windows. Mid-morning sunshine poured in, pooling in warm puddles on the floor. The bottom of the recessed window was at chin height; only by rising to her toes could she see what lay beyond the thick walls. A small, well-tended graveyard with many finely carved gravestones met her gaze. The clergy’s graveyard, she surmised, reserved for those who served in the cathedral.

“Sir Cedric. I am glad to see you, sir.”

At the tortured, peculiarly strangled tones, Eloise blinked her eyes wide. She’d heard that voice before. She strained to look out, keen to set eyes on its mysterious owner.

“And I you.”

The second voice, deep and heavy, came from directly below the window. The ground outside was several feet lower than the chapel floor; Eloise could see nothing beyond a feather, which she assumed was in one of the men’s hats.

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