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flushed.
    Kellen turned away. The girl would be a virgin. She must needs be. He did not want any further delays, and if he refused to wed the girl, he might have a long wait until another bride was granted him. Kellen sank onto a long bench, then moments later was up pacing again, much to the amusement of Tristan.
    “Perhaps if you simply went upstairs you could wait outside the door and receive the news that much the sooner?”
    Kellen shot him a narrow-eyed glare. He was trying not to feel disappointed in the girl. He had waited long for an heir, and a mending to his alliance with Lord Corbett. And this foul-mouthed girl was the reward for his patience?
    Kellen stifled a wince as more language drifted down the stairs, and servants, going about their work in the great hall, and his men, studiously cleaning their weapons at a far table, kept their eyes on their tasks, but no doubt listened intently.
    Kellen rubbed a hand over his face and thought on the immodest clothing the girl had worn. She had not spoken overmuch to him on the way to the castle. And now this foul language? With all of Corbett’s daughters, surely he did not send a defective for a bride? Surely he would not dare?
    No. Not after Catherine dishonored the family so. He glanced up the stairs as his fury roared to life once more. Fury at himself, and at the situation. First he could not protect his wife from being influenced by a villain, then he could not discover who the villain was, and now his new affianced had been robbed, and perhaps worse?
    All on his own property!
    His pacing resumed. Pure or not, his wife or not, he would avenge the girl. And protect her reputation. But would he marry her?
    Needing to do something, Kellen called one of his men to him. “Leave immediately for my father’s keep and fetch his wife and her ladies. Ride as fast as possible.”
    “Yes, my lord.” With a nod, the man was gone.
    It felt good to be doing something. He would also assign a maid to follow the girl about. To keep an eye on her, aid her, but most especially to report back to him. There would be no hint of impropriety with this bride.
    Not as there had been with his first.
    If he was to even consider this alliance, he would make sure of that from the beginning, starting with proof that she had not been defiled.
    Tristan sat and leaned against one table. “She is very fair to look upon. Getting heirs off her would not be a hardship.”
    Kellen waved a hand. “One healthy woman is as good as the next.” He ignored Tristan’s laughter. Of course, her body and her mind must be fit. He wanted strong sons. If this bride was not satisfactory, he would demand another of Corbett’s daughters.
    But with his goal finally within his grasp, did he care to wait any longer?
    Kellen wanted to go outside to train, to work off some of his anger, but must needs wait for the midwife. Spying the pack the girl had brought with her on one of the tables, Kellen grabbed it up.
    It possessed a drawstring with an impossibly thin and silky rope, and Kellen opened and shut the pack a few times.
    Ingenious.
    And the material itself was fine, yet sturdy, the pink color unique and one he’d only ever seen at sunset. He studied the pockets on the outside, filled with an assortment of oddly formed yellow sticks, then dug inside the pack.
    First he pulled out a square, silver box, and studied the circular markings on the piece. A chunk of fine metal? Perhaps it could be melted into a sword hilt. Could it be a gift from his bride?
    Kellen set the piece aside and plucked out a tiny book, finely made. He opened it and gasped. His bride’s picture, so finely drawn it should have been impossible, stared back at him.
    The artist was skilled indeed.
    His bride was smiling and beautiful in the tiny square, not a hint of insanity in the clear blue eyes that stared back at him. He didn’t understand the writing on the paper, but perhaps the priest would.
    Tristan leaned in to look. “The work is