Jennifer August by Knight of the Mist Page B

incomprehensible reason, she did naught but amuse him. Or infuriate him, which, she admitted, was much more to her liking.
    “ Stirling ?” he prompted.
    “Nay, Sir Norman, though I’m certain you’ve undressed many women, I doubt your ability to help one into her clothing. Millane will do.” Again she stared at the screen as if she could sear him. “If you would but quit the room, I could dress.” She stressed each word, praying he would take his leave.
    His laughter, deep and full, echoed off the stone walls. His good spirits roused her own pleasure and she caught her breath at the sensation. She did not wish to be cheerful this day, but found herself smiling at his amusement, the black mood she’d awakened with dissipating. When he spoke, the rich timbre of his voice reached out and caressed her. “Very well, demoiselle. I will await you in the great hall. But be quick, I am most anxious to seal this fate.” The door closed softly behind him and she looked out hesitantly, just to make certain he did not trick her. Satisfied, she sank onto the bed, clutching the white towel to her breasts as his words lingered in the air, wiping away the gladness she briefly experienced.
    “ Seal this fate .”
    ‘Twas not fate, but cruel irony that threw them together in this farce. Had it not been for Tristan’s determination to have her and the rule of Falcon Fire, her father would still be alive and she, the mistress of her own choices. Instead her life and her home were mere tokens to be given away by a frivolous king. Tears welled in her eyes, but she angrily brushed them away. She would not give up or give in. There were other ways to best the dragon. She was a lady born into the fire, she would prevail over the cold Norman . No other choice existed.
    “My lady? Are you ready?” Millane asked softly, now standing before her, a length of silver material in her hands.
    Stirling sighed. “Nay, but let us get on with this mockery.” She eyed the shiny fabric quizzically. “What have you?”
    “The gown your mother wore on her wedding day, my lady. Sir John has kept it safe these many years and bade me bring it to you.”
    She held the gown out and Stirling took it with trembling fingers, touching the pearls beaded into the bodice. The intricate beauty stole her breath. The seams were sewn with tiny stitches of silver thread, the hem of the full skirt trimmed all around in white fur.
    “Exquisite,” she breathed. Lady Gillian’s loving presence surrounded her, offering comfort, but Stirling shook her head.
    “Thank you, Millane, but I cannot wear a gown meant for love to a wedding mired in travesty.” She laid the dress on the bed. “I will wear a day dress. Nothing more is required.”
    “But my lady, you can’t.” Millane wrung her hands, face reddened and eyes panicked. “He says you’re to be presentable.” Her voice dropped to whisper. “He says if you’re not, he’ll dress you himself, he did.”
    Stirling narrowed her eyes. “He?” Surely even the Norman invader would not dare, would he?
    “Lord Quinn, my lady.” Millane looked on the verge of pleading tears, a rarity for her spunky maid. Quinn must have indeed been forceful in his high-handed commandment to shake Millane’s confidence.
    Stirling closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Intolerable . She wanted to scream, to rant and rave, to smash every piece of crockery in the keep. But her mother’s admonitions to act as a lady suddenly intruded and she forced herself to calmness. This one battle was lost already, but she could still master the Norman . She hoped. Stirling picked up the dress, then lifted her chin. “I wear the gown to honor my mother, and no other reason.”
    # # #
    “Riders and wagons approach!” The call rang out from the highwatch tower and along the curtain wall to the great hall of the keep. Quinn rose from his chair, grinning. Temple arrived at last. Flinging open the doors, Quinn strode outside, followed closely