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arm. She turned slowly to face the two men. And so Richard Malinder gained his first true impression of his bride.
    His inner and very candid reaction to her appalled him.
    A drowned rat would have presented a more appealing picture. Despite the heavy cloak, she was soaked to the skin with unflattering consequences. The dark gown, not a nun’s habit, but no more attractive with its sodden folds and mired hem, clung to her figure, clammy and revealing. She was tall—her eyes almost on a level with his—but too thin, too angular. He noted her wrists as she held a mug of steaming ale, the bones pressing against translucent skin, the sharp collar bones where the neckline of her gown revealed them. The drenched wimple clung to her head and framed a face notable for its hollow cheeks and thin, straight nose. Her hair was completely covered by the unflattering cloth. Her skin was sallow, colourless, the faintest smudge of mud on one cheek where she had wiped away the rain. She looked stretched and strained from lack of sleep. Her mouth might be full with a generous lower lip, probably enhanced by a smile if she was ever moved to give one, but instead it was taut and uncurving. Dark unfathomable eyes watched him warily, the brows, beautifully arched, raised a little. She awaited his response with what? A certain confidence? Or a deep disquiet, well concealed? Whatever feelings she hid, she was not a prepossessing presence.
    As he approached, and as Elizabeth de Lacy turned to acknowledge him for the first time, Richard saw her eyes widen, a flash of light in their depths. Her fingers tightened on her cup, high colour slashing across her sharp cheek bones, her colourless lips parted as if she would express some immediate thought. Then she pressed them together, at the same time veiling her thoughts with a down-sweep of lashes.
    Her reaction to him—was it shock? Fear? What was she thinking?
    But then that question was obliterated by a slight movement to one side of Elizabeth. Richard’s attention was caught. Anne Malinder had approached to stand quietly there, as if to give Elizabeth some companionable support on this tense occasion. Gowned in rich blue damask, a profusion of braided red-gold hair covered with a transparent veil and delicately tinted cheeks, she was rounded and feminine and astonishingly pretty. A fleeting image again leapt unbidden into his mind, of Gwladys, who had also enjoyed wearing blue. It provided an unfortunate and terrible comparison with Richard’s new bride.
    His heart sank.
    Richard, his manners impeccable, deliberately turned his eyes from Anne and back to Elizabeth de Lacy, careful to show none of his inner turmoil. Taking her hand, long fingered and cold, he found himself wondering whether there was any warm blood to be found anywhere in her body.
    ‘Welcome to Ledenshall, Elizabeth de Lacy.’
    He raised her hand to his lips in a brief formal salute. Her fingers were as icy against his mouth as he had suspected, the skin roughened, the knuckles ugly and swollen.
    Recovered from whatever had disturbed her, Elizabeth inclined her head, the tiniest of movements. ‘Thank you, my lord Malinder. I am honoured by your desire to wed me.’ Her eyes remained direct beneath his searching gaze. ‘I am most pleased to be here.’ Her voice surprised him a little. Low and soft, it had a husky depth that was most appealing. His heart sank even further. It was the most attractive part about her as far as he could tell.

    Elizabeth allowed herself time to admire the room that would be her own. Timber-ceilinged, plaster-walled, painted in floral patterns now faded into delicate soft colours with the years, a patterned tiled floor—it all wrapped her round in an aura of wealth and comfort. A fire burned in the stone fire place and beeswax candles had been lit in tall candlesticks to push back the shadows. The bed—oh, glory!—had patterned silk curtains and tester, the canopy attached by tasselled cords to