Susan Spencer Paul by The Brides Portion Page A

think this morn that perhaps you sympathized with the difficulty of my situation, but I now see that you are as stubborn and thickheaded as your father. I never should have supposed otherwise, Lillis of Wellewyn.”
    “Alex!” Willem gripped his brother’s tensed arm. “You know not what you say! Please forgive him, my lady.”
    Willem’s words fell on deaf ears, though his standing between Lillis and the Lord of Gyer was the only thing preventing her from slapping Alexander.
    “How dare you expect sympathy from those whom you hold against their will!” she cried furiously. “There is naught you could do to make our captivity pleasant, save to let us go free, and well you know it! As to your knighthood, Sir Alexander, you may examine for yourself how well you have kept your vows. I will not be made to feel guilty for your failings.”
    He stared at her for a silent moment, then shook off Willem’s hand. “Take them to their chamber. Mother’s chamber. That is where they will continue to stay, and I’ll not argue the matter further.” He gave Lillis an especially aggravated look. “Make certain to lock them up well. It is clear—quite clear—that one cannot trust a daughter of Wellewyn.”
    “Oh!” Lillis shouted after him as he strode toward the stairs. “I would rather be the devil’s daughter than have anything to do with Gyer!”
    But he neither stopped nor made any reply. In a moment he had made his way out of their view.

Chapter Four
    “D amn!”
    Alexander slammed his way into his private chamber.
    What in God’s holy name had just happened? He could barely remember, though he’d walked away from Lillis of Wellewyn only moments before. He didn’t even know what he’d said to her, exactly. All he knew for certain was that he’d been unforgivably rude, that he’d behaved like a common, ill-mannered lout. What was he about to be speaking to anyone in such a way, let alone to a lady? Especially to Lillis of Wellewyn. Was he not already using her badly enough without hurling insults of the worst kind at her, as well?
    “Oh, God!” he beseeched the ceiling and the Being Above. “Tell me I didn’t say the things I think I did. Make it all a terrible mistake of my memory.”
    Why had he done it? He paced the room angrily. The very room where that morning they had talked so reasonably with each other. Where he had felt so much admiration for her. And attraction. And desire. God’s mercy! What was happening to him? He was a betrothed man. He had no right feeling such things for anyone but Barbara, no matter how fair Lillis of Wellewyn might be. She was nothing more than his prisoner, and nothing less than his enemy’s daughter. These facts he must not lose sight of. Ever.
    Turning sharply, his eyes sought the banner of Gyer, which hung above the mantel. There—the red and the white. The red and the white. Looking at it, Alexander could almost feel his father’s hand closing about the neck of his tunic and dragging him up from the muddy practice field; he could see again the rage on his father’s face, and hear the words, as he’d heard them over and over in his dreams and nightmares.
    “Weakling! Stupid, foolish weakling!”
    The faces of his father’s men, noble, fighting men whom Alexander revered, were there in his memory, too, some grinning in amusement, some watching in silent sympathy. It had been humiliating, being felled so quickly on his first day of battle training; more humiliating when the tiny blow he’d received had drawn blood; utterly humiliating when the sight of the blood had made him physically ill, right there in front of them all. In front of his father.
    Alexander could still see the silk banner his father had snatched from his steed, could remember just how the colors had looked, thrust before his face, mangled in his father’s fist.
    “The red is for courage, Alexander!” his father had shouted at him. “The white is for honor! Red for courage! White for honor!