Bound to Be a Bride by Megan Mulry

already begun. Several passing travelers had commented upon the violence that was building in the capital.
    Isabella had her own ideas: she would sell her sweet mare (she patted her just then in anticipation of their parting) and then use the money to buy passage to London. It was rather a loose plan, she admitted to herself, but at least it was something. Marco, Sebastián, and Javier had been quite taciturn about their plans, never revealing any more than Isabella had overheard that first night when she came upon them.
    Something about Mexico. Something rebellious. Something that did not involve her and Javier touching each other every night and every morning in that beautiful, ceremonial way.
    Isabella spurred her horse on. She needed to ride faster, harder, anything to shake off these persistent desires for Javier’s hands on her body.
    A few hours later, as the four riders pulled their horses to a halt, the city of Aveiro spread out before them. Isabella had never been anywhere in her life. She had been in her father’s castle. She had been in the convent outside of Burgos. She had been in a closed carriage between the two.
    Here, stretched out in front of her, was a teeming array of pale terracotta rooftops, glistening turquoise canals, and beyond, the beckoning infinite sapphire Atlantic with the city’s famous piles of blindingly white salt drying in the bright sun along the shoreline.
    ***
    Javier stared at the girl’s profile as she admired the city. Her cheeks were ruddier than they’d been just a few days before. None of them had had the benefit of a proper bath for many days, and the earthiness suited her. She was flushed and captivated by the city’s splendor. It was glorious by any standard, he conceded, and he was not going to chastise her for her blatant, unguarded reaction.
    She turned to him, gesturing toward the city with one gloved hand. “You certainly do not expect me to conceal my thoughts upon first beholding this, do you?”
    He thought she was challenging him, ribbing him for his controlling ways. Then he looked at her gleaming eyes, her deep pleasure at the beauty that was laid out before them. “No, Sol. I wouldn’t dare ask you to conceal your enthusiasm.”
    Something sharp and hot passed between them when he said it. Their horses must have felt it too: Goliat whipped his large, strong head around and tried to nip at Sol’s prancy, too-close mare. Javier reined him in with a bit too much force. Goliat showed his master the whites of his eyes, as if to chide, You are going to punish me for her foolishness?
    “Isabella,” she whispered.
    “What?” Javier asked, patting down Goliat’s neck to calm the beast. And himself.
    She looked at him directly. “My real name is Isabella.”
    He paused. “Oh.” He wanted to thank her, or devour her. Her lips were moist and slightly open in awe at the sight of the city. Her first city. He wanted to see that look on her face when he showed her things. Intimate, hot, physical things that would astound her in the same way. He felt his buckskins tighten around his swelling cock and redirected his thoughts. “It is a lovely name. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He reached his hand out in a sort of offering gesture.
    She put the tips of her fingers into his hold as if they were meeting at a ball for the first time. She dipped her head. “Thank you, sir.”
    His thumb rubbed her knuckles through the fine kidskin of her glove, then he released her hand. “The pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you.”
    “Are we going to stand here admiring the city all day and miss our ship?” Marco called from a few yards ahead of them. His horse was eager to make it into town where oats and fresh hay from previous visits must have stirred his memory.
    “Yes!” Javier laughed at all of their shared enthusiasm. “ Vámonos! ”
    They loped down from the crest of the hill with the joyful whoops and cries of an invading horde. Isabella looked