The Warrior's Prize by Claire Delacroix

Author:Claire Delacroix
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Deborah A. Cooke
Published: 2014-12-29T05:00:00+00:00

Thursday, June 24, 1428

Feast Day of the martyrs Saint Agoard and Saint Agilbert, and Saint Germoc.

Chapter Eleven

It truly was intolerable.

Elizabeth had waited years to meet a man who could capture her heart for all time and had told herself that her patience would be rewarded. She had been certain that she was destined to love a man at ease with adventure, a man who lived at least as boldly as her aunt Rosamunde, a man whose life was worthy of a jongleur’s tale and one who would set her very blood afire with a glance. Hers would be a match that filled the hearts of maidens with hope. Hers would be a life so wondrous that it would scarce be believed when recounted. The dream had burned brightly in her heart, warding off the chill of Finvarra’s kiss, making it impossible for her to compromise.

Now she had met Rafael, exactly as she had always anticipated, a man who heeded her words and thrilled her with his kiss, a man who had developed a ribbon to entwine with her own after they had met, and that man treated her like a child unworthy of his attention. The situation was most vexing.

Elizabeth felt cheated and there was no evading the truth of it. She had been patient. She had trusted in her future, and in those who pledged to love her. She had trusted in destiny and kismet and love, but it seemed her future was not to be as she had dreamed.

This made her defiant.

It was beyond belief that she, who loved a tale more than any of her siblings, should be so unfortunate as to be consigned to a mundane life. Elizabeth paced the chamber that was now her own throughout that night, her annoyance only rising with every step.

She had ridden across the breadth of England in pursuit of Madeline, when her oldest sister had been carried off by Rhys. There was a tale worth recounting to one’s children!

She had raced to the Highlands to assist Vivienne when Eric had been locked in a battle for his survival against his own brother. Elizabeth ground her teeth that she had merely participated in that fine tale of love conquering all obstacles.

She had accompanied the group from Kinfairlie who journeyed to Tivotdale on Twelfth Night, pretending to be vagabonds and entertainers that they might rescue Alexander’s stolen bride, Eleanor. That had been an adventure, to be sure!

Her other sisters had been equally fortunate in their matches, though Elizabeth had not been part of their tales. Isabella had saved her beloved, Murdoch, from the clutches of the Elphine Queen, that Fae seductress who would have kept him captive forever. Even gentle Annelise had healed Garrett and helped him to reclaim his birthright!

It was beyond belief that Annelise, of all of her sisters, had experienced more adventure in her courtship than Elizabeth would.

The list continued with irksome consistency. Malcolm had been besieged by the Earl of Douglas and saved by Catriona, his wife of only a few days.

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