The Redeeming by Tamara Leigh Page A

me.”
    She shrugged. “You are different.”
    “From whom?”
    “Those who look through me.”
    He leaned near. “I do not understand.”
    “I shall enlighten you.” She raised a finger. “Though you must promise not to laugh.”
    “I give you my word.”
    “Then I shall take the chance, though only because I shall not see you again when you leave Wulfen Castle.”
    Once more accosted by his deception, Christian clenched his teeth.
    She clasped her hands. “When your gaze falls upon me, you look at me, and I like that. I like that you see me.”
    “Who else would I see?”
    “’Tis not who else you would see, but who you would not see that would cause such disappointment.”
    “And that would be?”
    “My sister, Beatrix. Had you met her, no explanation would be necessary.”
    He had met her, and though he realized Lady Gaenor likely referred to the differences in their appearances, he still wanted an explanation. “Continue.”
    Again, she smiled, and he almost wished he had kept count of the number of times she had done so this day, for each turn of her lips was precious.
    “Beatrix is not only profoundly lovely,” she said with a flicker of resentment that might have been imagined, “but of a height that does not cause men to strain their necks to look upon her. I do not need to tell you I was not so gifted by God. Thus, I have but to be placed alongside her to be reduced to a blemish.”
    Though Christian did not wish to offend her, he swept his gaze from her darkly blonde hair, to her eyes, nose, and mouth, and down her figure to the slippers peeking from beneath the hem of her gown.
    It was true Lady Beatrix was a beautiful woman and that Gaenor presented as plain and, at times, severe, but there was more to her, as evidenced by what he had glimpsed this day. “If that is so, and I doubt it, surely it is because you withhold the smile from your eyes and lips.”
    She blinked.
    “Aye, Lady Gaenor. When you smile, you are most becoming. Methinks you should aspire to do so more often.”
    She was thoughtful for some moments, then she let her lips turn. “You give me much to smile about, Sir Matthew.”
    Pretty, indeed. “I consider it an honor, my lady.” Attraction pulling at him, he barely caught back the impulse to lay a hand over hers as he had trespassed on the day past. And if she had allowed it this time, it was possible he might have kissed her.
    As it was past time for him to join Everard in the cellar, he straightened from the bench. “If you will permit me, I shall come again on the morrow.”
    She rose beside him. “I would beg it if you did not ask.”
    He nodded and, shortly, stood in the corridor outside the chapel wondering at all that had transpired between them. And trying not to think on the deception that would soon be revealed if he did not confess it.
     
    “I had begun to believe you incapable of humor, Baron Lavonne.”
    Christian looked from the squires at a nearby table to Sir Abel who sat to his left. “I am amused when something is worthy of amusement.” And the young men’s pranks upon one another had amused him.
    As he had marveled since his arrival at Wulfen, there was much beyond knighthood training that those sons promised to the Church would never see or experience. But then, were they exposed to the exhilaration and camaraderie inherent in a life committed to the defense of one’s people, lands, and country, more would surely rebel—as Christian had done until there was nothing left but for him to accept his fate.
    Remembering the long, cool, unbroken days at the monastery when he had suppressed his restlessness through prostration and prayer, he silently thanked God for delivering him. Despite all that had transpired since he had left the monastery, he had come to a better place in life.
    A place that should never have been yours, his conscience reminded him of the consequence of unholy prayer.
    He clenched his hands. Geoffrey was dead, and their