Eloping with the Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword #3)(21)
She grabbed his hand. “You don’t have to do this. I could run, escape somewhere.”
His eyes met hers. “They would find you. Isabel, it is my duty to protect the Crown. At the moment, that duty calls for me to marry you. This is the right thing to do.” He frowned. “Shall we?”
Perhaps he’d misread her misty eyes. “Yes. I suppose I should wish I looked a bit better,” she said.
He merely shrugged and stepped ahead of her. “It’s not a real marriage, Isabel; it matters not how you look.”
His words, truth or not, sliced right into her. “You’re right, of course,” she said firmly, willing herself to agree. He couldn’t have made it more abundantly clear that he was not attracted to her if he’d simply come out and used those exact words. While she was already quite smitten with him, which was utterly ridiculous. She told herself it was simply because he’d become her champion, rescuing her and being kind to her, although they barely knew each other. She suspected she was a complete ninny and her affection for him ran deeper than was practical.
It’s not a real marriage, Isabel.
Real marriage or not, this was her wedding day, the only one she’d ever have, and she was here alone, save her disgruntled bridegroom. He’d agreed to this, but everything about Jason revealed how displeased he was with the entire situation. The muscled tick in his jawline clearly signaled his irritation. His eyes had narrowed in shrewd observance.
They stepped inside the blacksmith’s shop. The ceiling hung low, giving the room a cave-like appearance. The heat and smell of embers permeated the space. One wedding ceremony was ending, and Isabel felt sharply out of place. Unwilling to intrude upon the other couple’s blatantly romantic moment, she stayed where she was, practically gluing herself to the door. The couple exchanging vows were quite obviously in love, so much so that it seemed to permeate the air around them, rolling off in waves of longing glances and tender smiles.
They answered the blacksmith’s questions and exchanged rings, and then the couple kissed. Isabel wished she could look away from the sight, but her eyes would not cooperate. The kiss was perfect, the way he cradled her face, the way the pretty girl’s eyes fluttered closed, then the sweetest brush of their lips. Isabel sighed in spite of herself. If she were not careful, Jason would believe he was marrying the silliest of females.
The other couple’s ceremony concluded, and it was time for her and Jason. The blacksmith asked the newly married couple to act as the witnesses required for the wedding so that his two daughters could return home for the evening. They’d happily agreed, and for the next quarter of an hour, everything seemed to slow down as if time inside this shop moved at a slower rate than the rest of the world. Odd that, considering everyone’s rush to get here.
The blacksmith instructed her and Jason to place their hands on the anvil. The fire from the simmering coals heated her back and sweat beaded down her spine. The blacksmith “priest” asked if they were there of their own free will. If they were both currently unmarried.
Jason answered, and Isabel did the same. Then Jason was sliding a golden band onto her left hand. When had Jason had time to procure rings? She’d have to remember to ask him later. The band sat heavy and foreign, and she stared dumbly at it. Then Jason tilted her chin up, bent, and kissed her. His lips pressed to hers, and she leaned in to him, and then it was over. Not nearly the tenderness nor romance of the couple before them.
This wasn’t a real marriage, she reminded herself. There would be no romance.
The blacksmith announced them married. Husband and wife.
She was a wife.
Chapter Five
Jason wanted a drink.
He was married. He’d set out only to protect the girl, and instead he’d eloped with her. Eloped with a princess! How the hell had this happened?
His mother would be overjoyed. It was a shame he wouldn’t give his mother what she truly wanted from him: an heir to the viscountcy. He knew she didn’t understand his reasons. They’d fought about it ever since he’d discovered the truth about his parentage nearly fourteen years before.
He eyed his bride sleeping across from him, curled up on the carriage bench. After he’d told her they’d be driving to his estate that night, she’d snuggled up on the seat to get as comfortable as possible. As he watched her, he found himself matching her soft, even breathing. Her skirts had shifted in her slumber, and one delicate and curved calf peeked out.
Though her clothes were rather ill-fitting, he suspected her body was lean and lithe beneath that ugly wool dress. That would be the first thing they’d have to do once they arrived back in London: send her to get a new wardrobe. He had more than enough money, and if they were going to pull off this charade of a marriage, then Isabel needed not only to dress like a viscountess, but as the princess she truly was.
An hour later, they finally rolled to a stop at his estate in Northumberland. He assisted a sleepy Isabel down and led her inside. The small staff his family kept here bustled to life at Jason’s appearance. He’d barely said a few words to the housekeeper, including a brief introduction to his new wife, when she whisked Isabel off to what would be her room because the “poor child must be simply exhausted.”
It had been so long since he’d been here at the estate that he nearly forgot which way he was going as he climbed the staircase.