Devil of the Highlands - Lynsay Sands excerpt

excerpt

Chapter One

Northern England: 1273
“My lady!”
That anxious cry made Evelinde pause in what she was saying to Cook and glance around. Her maid was rushing across the kitchens toward her, expression both angry and worried.  It was a combination usually only engendered by Edda’s actions. Wondering what the woman had got up to now, Evelinde quickly promised Cook they would finish their discussion of menus later, and moved to meet her maid.
Mildrede caught her hands the moment they reached each other. Her mouth turned down grimly as she announced, “Your stepmother is calling for you.”
Evelinde had already suspected as much, but grimaced nonetheless. Edda only sent for her when she was in one of her foul moods and wished to cheer herself by abusing her unfortunate step-daughter. For one moment, Evelinde considered ignoring the summons and finding a task away from the keep for the rest of the day. However, that would only make the woman’s mood—and the following abuses—worse, she knew.
“I had best go see what she wants then,” Evelinde said and squeezed Mildrede’s hands reassuringly before moving past her.
“She’s smiling,” Mildrede warned, following on her heels.
Evelinde paused with her hand on the door to the great hall, trepidation running through her. A smiling Edda was not a good thing. It usually meant Evelinde was about to suffer and suffer hard. Not that the woman ever dared hit her, but there were worse things, tasks so unpleasant one would almost prefer a beating. Biting her lip with worry, she asked, “Do you know what has set her off this time?”
“Nay,” Mildrede said apologetically. “She was railing at Mac for not pampering her mare properly when a messenger arrived from the king. She read the message, smiled, and called for you.”
“Oh,” Evelinde breathed faintly, but then forced her shoulders straight, raised her head and pushed through the door. It was the only thing she could do . . . That and pray some day, she would be free of her stepmother’s control and abuses. 
“Ah, Evelinde!”  Edda was indeed smiling--a very wide, beaming smile that really didn’t bode well.
“I was told you wished to speak with me?” Evelinde said quietly, aware of Mildrede hovering at her back. The woman always offered her support during Edda’s little attacks. It was all she or anyone could do.
“Aye.” Edda continued to flash a wide toothy smile, although toothless would have been as good a description. The woman was missing half her teeth and those remaining were brown and crooked. Edda rarely smiled, and certainly never widely enough to show off the state of her mouth. Her doing so now made Evelinde’s anxiety increase tenfold.
“Since your father’s death, seeing to your welfare has fallen to me, and I have been most concerned about your future and well-being, my dear,” Edda began.
Evelinde managed not to sneer at the claim of concern. Her father, James d’Aumesbery, had been a good man and a faithful Baron to their king.  When Henry III had requested he marry the troublesome Edda and remove her from court where she was making a nuisance of herself pestering him to see her wed, her father had bowed to the chore gracefully.  Edda had not.  She’d resented being tied to a man who held only a Barony and had seemed to take an instant dislike for Evelinde on reaching d’Aumesbery. 
It hadn’t been so bad at first. With Evelinde’s father and her brother, Alexander, around Edda had at least behaved cordially to her. However, Alexander had ridden off to join the crusades with Prince Edward three years earlier and while the Prince had since returned and been crowned King on his father’s death, Alexander was still in Tunis.  Worse yet, no sooner had he left than her father died of a chest complaint.
James d’Aumesbery hadn’t even been placed in the family crypt before Edda dropped any pretense at civility and let her true feelings show. These last three years had been a hell Evelinde feared she would never escape. Her only hope was to await her brother’s homecoming so that he might see her married and settled far away from the woman. Unfortunately, Alexander seemed in no rush to return.
“I have decided tis well past time you married,” Edda announced, “and the king agrees with me.”
“She means the king decided you should marry and she was forced to agree,” Mildrede muttered behind her, low enough Edda couldn’t hear. “You don’t think she’d willingly give up tormenting you.  It’s her favorite pass-time.”
Evelinde barely heard her maid, she was too busy trying to absorb what Edda was saying. Part of her feared it was simply a cruel attempt on Edda’s part to get her hopes up and then dash them. 
 “And so I chose a husband for you and the king negotiated a marriage contract,” Edda announced grandly.  “I have just received a message that tis all done. You will be married.”
Evelinde simply waited, knowing there was more. Edda would now either explain it was all a jest, or name some perfectly horrid, smelly old Lord that Evelinde would surely be miserable with.
“Your betrothed is on his way here from his home even as we speak. He is the laird of Donnachaidh,” she announced triumphantly, pronouncing it Don-o-kay.
Evelinde gasped. This was worse than a smelly old lord, this was—“The Devil of Donnachaidh?”
Edda’s expression was full of evil glee. “Aye, and I wish you all the unhappiness in the world.”
“Bitch,” Mildrede hissed furiously from behind her.
Ignoring her maid, Evelinde managed to force away the horror and dismay and to keep her features expressionless. She would not add to Edda’s pleasure by revealing how deep this blow had struck. The Devil of Donnachaidh? The woman didn’t just hate her, she despised her if she was willing to hand her over to that infamous, Scottish laird.
“Now be gone,” Edda said, apparently having had her fun. “I do not wish to look on you anymore.”
Evelinde nodded stiffly and turned, catching Mildrede by the arm to lead her out of the great hall and the keep itself.
“Cow!”  Mildrede snapped as soon as the keep doors closed behind them.
Evelinde merely urged her quickly across the bailey toward the stables.
“Vile, ugly, cruel creature,” Mildrede continued. “She has a heart of stone and a face to match. The devil must have been laughing the day the king forced your father to marry that she-devil.”
Evelinde flashed Mac, the stable-master, a grateful smile when she urged Mildrede into the stables and saw her mount saddled and ready next to the reddish brown roan he favored.
“I saw the smile on Edda’s face when she received her message,” the stable master explained.  “I figured ye might need a ride when she was done with ye.”
“Aye. Thank you, Mac.” Evelinde urged Mildrede up to the mare.
“Your father must be rolling in his grave,” the maid snarled as Evelinde boosted her up onto the mount.
With a little help from Mac, Evelinde swung herself up onto the horse behind the older woman as she continued her rant. “And your dear sainted mother must be frothing at the mouth, wishing she was still alive so she could tear the wench’s hair out one mud-brown strand at a time.”
Evelinde put her heels to her mare to urge her into a canter, aware Mac had mounted and was following close behind.
“I should poison the nasty harpy’s mead,” Midrede threatened as they rode across the bailey at a sedate canter, heading for the gate and drawbridge. “Every single inhabitant of the keep would be grateful for it. She’s the most unpleasant, grasping, cold-hearted, mealy-wormed,--Ack!” 
Evelinde smiled faintly at her squawk. They’d reached the halfway point on the drawbridge and she’d given Lady her head. The mare immediately tossed her mane with a whinny of joy and bolted into a dead run. Evelinde didn’t bother to look behind to check on Mac; she knew he would be keeping up. Besides, her hands were full with keeping her seat and holding onto the reins as Mildrede began clawing at her as if she thought she might slide out of the saddle.
Only when Mildred’s grip began to weaken did Evelinde draw gently on her mare’s reins. Lady responded at once, used to this routine. Every time Edda did something cruel or mean, Mildrede lost her temper and Evelinde took her for a ride to prevent her from saying or doing something that might see her punished.
Once Lady slowed to a sedate canter again, Mac urged his own horse up beside them and raised an eyebrow, but Evelinde just shook her head. She had no desire to explain Edda’s ‘happy news.’   It would just upset Mildrede all over again, and she was distressed enough herself.  Rather than waste her time soothing her maid, she wished time to herself to think over the situation.
“You can turn around now,” Mildrede said.  “I’m calm. I’ll not say or do anything to the vile creature. Tis a waste anyway. I’m sure the devil has something special in store for her when she finally passes. Though ‘twould be nicer for all of us did she do so soon.”
Evelinde managed a faint smile, but didn’t have the energy to respond. Instead, she drew her horse to a stop and glanced toward the stable-master. “Can you take her back, Mac?”
“Ye’ll no return then?” he asked with concern.
“Not right now. I should like a moment or two to myself first.”
Mac hesitated, but then nodded and easily lifted Mildrede from Lady’s back to place her on his own horse. The man was not very tall, and had a wiry build, but he was surprisingly strong.
“Don’t go much further else ye might run into trouble,” he warned. “And don’t stay out here too long or I’ll come looking.”
Evelinde nodded and then watched them head back toward the castle at a much more sedate speed than they’d taken riding out. The way he kept bending his head to Mildrede told her the woman was probably explaining what had taken place and what was still to occur.
Marriage. To the Devil of Donnachaidh.
Evelinde swallowed back the fear that immediately clawed its way up her throat. She turned her horse away, heading for a nearby clearing she favored. The spot was small and alongside an area of the river with a small waterfall. The fall was no taller than her, but delightful just the same.
Evelinde urged Lady to the water’s edge so she could drink, and then slid off her back, running an absent hand along her neck as she peered into the water.
She had always found this spot soothing. It was where she brought all her troubles and cares. Usually the tinkle of the water and the mist in the air from the falls washed away her worries and Evelinde left feeling better. She wasn’t sure it would succeed very well at the task this time, though. She suspected it would take a lot of water to wash this worry away.
Grimacing, Evelinde moved to sit on a large boulder at the water’s edge and removed her slippers. She then bent and reached between her feet to catch the hem at the back of her gown, brought it forward between her legs and tucked it into the front of the loose belt she wore around her waist over her gown. That accomplished, she moved back to the river’s edge and daintily dipped one toe into the water, smiling at the cool rush of liquid over her flesh. Evelinde stayed like that for one moment and then stepped right in, a pleased sigh slipping from her lips as the water closed around her feet and halfway up to her knees.
Closing her eyes, she simply stood there, trying not to think about marrying the Devil of Donnachaidh. Evelinde wanted a few moments of peace and calm and then she would consider her future.
Her few moments didn’t last but one before the hem of her skirt unraveled and dropped around her feet in the water.
Crying out, Evelinde tried to hop back out of the river, but got her feet tangled in the wet hem of the skirt and stumbled sideways. She threw herself forward at the last moment, arms out-stretched, hoping to break her fall. However, her hand skimmed the side of a boulder before continuing on to the river bottom, and then the boulder rammed into her ribs and hip with a painful blow even as her head continued down, slamming the side of her jaw into another one.
Evelinde gasped in pain and sucked in a mouthful of water as she was briefly submerged. She came back up at once, spitting water and coughing up what little bit had gone down her throat as she ignored the pain in her side and pushed herself to a sitting position in the water. Placing one hand to her ribs, Evelinde felt the tender spot, relieved to find while it ached, she didn’t think she’d broken anything.  Her hand then dropped to her sore hip as well and she muttered a pained curse as exasperation overcame her.
Was not this perfect? Evelinde had never been the most graceful of women, but rarely did something as clumsy as this. It seemed luck had abandoned her this day.
Shaking her head, she dragged herself to her feet and staggered out of the river. Her mare, she noticed, had backed away and was now eyeing her balefully. Evelinde supposed she must have splashed the animal as she fell.  She didn’t bother apologizing, but simply moved back to sit on the boulder, shivering.
The water had been nice on her toes, but her gown was now completely soaked and cold where it touched her skin which was everywhere.
Grimacing, Evelinde tried to hold the skirt away from her legs and then gave that up. She could hardly sit there holding the skirt away from her skin until it dried.
Muttering under her breath, she set to work on her laces, undoing them and then struggling to get out of the gown. It was a terrible chore. While the gown had slipped on easily enough when dry, it was a nightmare to remove when wet. Evelinde was flushed, breathless and sweating by the time she got it off.
Dropping it on the ground with relief, she plopped herself back on the boulder again, but the heat she’d generated with her efforts soon faded and Evelinde found herself once again shivering in her damp chemise. However, she wasn’t going to remove that and sit there naked. While people rarely intruded on her favorite spot, they did on occasion and she wasn’t going to risk being caught in such a state.
Evelinde wasn’t foolish enough to sit there shivering either. She needed to find a way to dry herself, her chemise and her gown . . . and quickly else she might catch a chill.
Her gaze slid to her horse. Lady had given up glaring at her and was once again at the riverside, partaking of the crystal clear water. Evelinde hesitated a moment, considering the practicalities of the idea that was tickling the edges of her mind, and then stood, picked up her gown and moved to the mare.
***
Cullen was the first to see her. The sight made him rein in so sharply his horse reared in response. He tightened his thighs around his mount to help keep his seat, moving automatically to calm the animal, but he didn’t take his eyes off the woman in the glen.
“God’s teeth. What is she doing?” Fergus asked as he halted beside him.
Cullen didn’t even glance to the tall, burly redhead who was his first. He merely shook his head silently, transfixed by the sight. The woman was riding back and forth across the clearing, sending her horse charging first one way, and then the other and back. That in itself was odd, but what had put the hush in Fergus’s voice and completely captured Cullen’s tongue was the fact she was doing so in nothing but a see-through chemise while holding the reins of her mount in her teeth. Her hands were otherwise occupied.  They were upraised and holding what appeared to be a cape in the air so it billowed out behind her above her streams of golden hair as she rode back and forth . . . back and forth . . . back and forth.
 “Who do you think she is?” Rory’s question was the only way Cullen knew the other men had caught up as well.
“I doona ken, but I could watch the lass all day.” Tavis said, his voice sounding hungry. “Though there are other things I’d rather be doing to her all day.”
Cullen found himself irritated by that remark. Tavis was his cousin, and the charmer among his men; fair-haired, good looking, and with a winning smile it took little effort for him to woo women to his bed of a night. And the man took full advantage of the ability, charming his way under women’s skirts at every opportunity. Were titles awarded by such an ability Tavis would be the King of Scotland.
 “I’d first be wanting to ken why she’s doing what she is,” Fergus said slowly.  “I’ve no desire to bed a wench who isna right in the head.”
“It isna her head I’d be taking to me bed,” Tavis laughed.
“Aye.” Gillie said his voice sounding almost dreamy.
Cullen turned a hard glare on his men. “Ride on. I’ll catch up to ye.”
There was a moment of silence as eyebrows rose and glances were exchanged, then all five men took up their reins.
“Ride around the meadow,” Cullen instructed when they started to move forward.
There was another exchange of glances, but the men followed the tree line around the meadow.
Cullen waited until they had disappeared from sight and then turned back to the woman. His eyes followed her back and forth several times before he urged his mount forward.
It hadn’t appeared so from the edge of the meadow, but the woman was actually moving at high speed on her beast, slowing only to make the turn before spurring her horse into a dead run toward the other side.  The mare didn’t seem to mind. If anything the animal seemed to think it was some sort of game and threw herself into each run with an impressive burst of speed.
Cullen rode up beside the mare, but the woman didn’t immediately notice him. Her attention was shifting between the path ahead and the cloth in her upraised hands. When she finally did glimpse him out of the corner of her eye, he wasn’t at all prepared for her reaction.
The lass’s eyes widened and her head jerked back with a start, unintentionally yanking on the reins she clenched in her teeth. The mare suddenly jerked to a halt and reared.  The lass immediately dropped her hands to grab for the reins and the cloth she’d been holding swung around and slapped--heavy and wet--across Cullen’s face. It both stung and briefly blinded him, making him jerk on his own reins in surprise, and suddenly his own mount was turning away and rearing as well.
Cullen found himself tumbling to the ground, tangled in a length of wet cloth that did nothing to cushion his landing. Pain slammed through his back, knocking the wind out of him, but it positively exploded through his head, a jagged blade of agony that actually made him briefly lose consciousness.
A tugging sensation woke him. Blinking his eyes open, he thought for one moment the blow to his head had blinded him, but then felt another tug and realized there was something over his face. The damp cloth, he recalled with relief. He wasn’t blind. At least, he didn’t think he was. He wouldn’t know for sure until he got the cloth off.
Another tug came, but this was accompanied by a grunt and a good deal more strength. Enough that his head was actually jerked off the ground, bending his neck at an uncomfortable angle. Afraid that, at this rate, he’d end up with a broken neck after the fall, Cullen decided he’d best help with the effort to untangle himself from the cloth and lifted his hands toward his head intending to grab for the clinging material. However, it seemed his tormentor was leaning over him, because he found himself grabbing at something else entirely. Two somethings . . . that were covered with a soft, damp cloth, were roundish in shape, soft yet firm at the same time, and had little button-like bumps in the center he discovered, his fingers shifting blindly about. Absorbed as he was in sorting out all these details he didn’t at first hear the horrified gasps that were coming from beyond the cloth over his head.
“Sorry,” Cullen muttered as he realized he was groping someone’s breasts.  Forcing his hands away, he shifted them to the cloth on his head, and immediately began tugging recklessly at the stuff, eager to get it off.
“Hold!  Wait, Sir, you will rip--” The warning ended on a groan as a rending sound cut through the air.
Cullen paused briefly, but then continued to tug at the material, this time without apologizing. He’d never been one to enjoy enclosed spaces and felt like if he did not get it off at once, he would surely smother to death.
“Let me--I can—If you would just--”
The words barely registered with Cullen. They sounded like nothing more than witless chirping. He ignored it and continued battling the cloth, until--with another tearing sound--it fell away and he could breathe again. Cullen closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath with relief.
“Oh dear.”
That soft, barely breathed moan made his eyes open and slip to the woman kneeling beside him. She was shifting the cloth through her hands, examining the damaged material with wide dismayed eyes.
Cullen debated offering yet another apology, but he’d already given one and it was more than he normally offered in a year. Before he’d made up his mind, the blonde from the horse stopped examining the cloth and turned alarmed eyes his way.
“You are bleeding!”
“What?” he asked with surprise.
“There is blood on my gown. You must have cut your head when you fell,” she explained, leaning over him to examine his scalp. The position put her upper body inches above his face and Cullen started getting that closed in feeling again until he was distracted by the breasts jiggling before his eyes.
The chemise she wore was very thin and presently wet, he noted, which was no doubt what made it see-through. Cullen found himself staring at the beautiful, round orbs with fascination, shifting his eyes left and right to continue to do so when she turned his head from side to side to search out the source of the blood.
Apparently, finding no injury that could have bloodied her gown, she muttered, “It must be the back of your head,” and suddenly lifted his head, pulling it up off the ground, presumably so she could examine the back of his skull. At least that was what he thought she must be doing when he found his face buried in those breasts he’d been watching with such interest.
“Aye, tis here. You must have hit your head on a rock or something when you fell,” she announced with a combination of success and worry.
Cullen merely sighed and nuzzled into the breasts presently cuddling him. Really, damp though they were, they were quite lovely and if a man had to be smothered to death, this was not a bad way to go. He felt something hard nudging his right cheek beside his mouth and realized her nipples had grown hard. She also suddenly stilled like a predator sensing danger.  Not wishing to send her running with fear, he opened his mouth and tried to turn his head to speak a word or two of reassurance to calm her.

“Calm yerself,” was what he said. Cullen didn’t believe in wasting words. However, it was doubtful if she understood what he said since his words came out muffled by the nipple suddenly filling his open mouth. Despite his intentions not to scare her, when he realized it was a nipple in his mouth, he couldn’t resist closing his lips around it and flicking his tongue over the linen-covered bud.

In the next moment, he found pain shooting through his head once more as he was dropped back to the ground.

Excerpted from Devil of the Highlands - Lynsay Sands. Reprinted from authors website http://www.lynsaysands.net

The Perfect Wife - Lynsay Sands excerpt

excerpt

Prologue

“Oh.”
That soft breath of sound made Avelyn turn where she stood on the trestle table. Lady Straughton - her mother - had murmured the sound and now paused in descending the stairs to watch with watery eyes as Runilda fiddled with the hem of Avelyn’s gown.
Lady Margeria Straughton had been teary-eyed a lot lately. Ever since they had received notice that Paen de Gerville had finally returned from the crusades and wished to claim his betrothed. Avelyn’s mother was not taking the upcoming nuptials well. More to the point, she was not reacting well to the fact that Avelyn would be moving to Gerville soon after the nuptials were finished. Avelyn knew her mother was happy to see her married and starting on grandbabies. It was the moving away part that Lady Straughton did not care for. She seemed to see it as “losing her babe”. But then Avelyn and her mother were very close. So close that rather than be sent away while young, Avelyn had trained at her mother’s knee, taught with patience and love.
“Oh,” Lady Margeria Straughton breathed again as she crossed the great hall, her maid on her heels. Avelyn shared a smile with Runilda, then shook her head at her mother and said with fond exasperation, “Do I look so hideous that it would see you in tears, mother?”
“Nay!” Lady Straughton gasped in horror. “You look lovely, my dear. Very lovely. The blue of the gown brings out the blue of your eyes. ‘Tis very flattering.”
“Then why do you appear so tragic?” she asked gently.
“Oh. ‘Tis just that you look so...so much a lady. Oh, Gunnora! My babe is a grown woman now,” she bemoaned to the servant at her side.
“Aye, milady.” Gunnora smiled patiently at the words her lady had been sighing ever since the notice from Lord Gerville had arrived. “And so she is. ‘Tis time she married and left this home to build her own.”
Rather than soothe Lady Straughton, this saw the tears begin to pool in her eyes at an accelerated rate. They were threatening to well over her lashes and pour down her face when Lord Willham Straughton -- who had been seated quietly in a chair by the fire -- stood with a squeaking of leather and the jangle of mail.
“No tears, my love,” he chided as he moved to join the women by the trestle table. “This is a joyous occasion. Besides, we had our Avelyn longer than I had hoped. Were it not for Richard and his crusades, we most like would have lost our girl at fourteen or shortly thereafter.”
“Aye.” Looking sad, Lady Straughton moved to lean against her husband’s side as he peered approvingly up at his daughter. “And I am ever grateful that we were allowed to keep her to twenty. Howbeit I am going to miss her so.”
“As will I,” Lord Straughton agreed gruffly. He encircled his wife with one arm and told Avelyn, “You look beautiful, child. Just like your mother on the day we were wed. Paen is a lucky man. You do us proud.”
For a moment, Avelyn was startled to see her father’s eyes go glassy as if he too might cry, then he cleared his throat and managed a crooked smile for his wife. “We shall just have to distract ourselves as much as possible from our loss.”
“I can think of nothing that will distract me from losing our daughter,” Lady Straughton said dismally.
“Nay?” A naughty look entered Willham Straughton’s eyes and Avelyn was amused to see his hand drop from her mother’s waist to cup her bottom through her skirts. “I may be able to come up with a thing or two,” he said suggestively, then urged her away from the table and in the general direction of the stairs. “Let us to our room so we might discuss these ideas.”
“Oh,” Lady Straughton sounded breathy and her next words, while a protest, were somewhat weak. “But Gunnora and I were going to count stores and see what-”
“You can do that later. Gunnora may go rest herself for a bit in the meantime,” Lord Straughton announced and the maid grinned, then slipped out of the room even as her lady protested, “But what of Avelyn? I should like to-”
“Avelyn shall be here when we return below,” he said as he urged her up the stairs. “She is not leaving yet.”
“If she leaves at all.”
Avelyn jerked in surprise at that softly spoken chuckle from behind her. She managed to keep her perch on the trestle table only thanks to her maid’s quick action in straightening and grabbing her arm to steady her.
Avelyn murmured her thanks to the girl and turned carefully to face the speaker.
Eunice.
Her cousin looked as mean-tempered as ever. Her narrow face was pinched and there was mocking amusement in the eyes that raked over Avelyn in her new gown. “What do you think, Staci?”
Avelyn’s gaze moved to the two young men accompanying the woman. Twin brothers to Eunice, Hugo and Stacius had matching pug-like faces that -- at the moment -- bore cruel smiles. The three of them must have entered while she had been distracted by her parents’ leaving.
Grand, she thought unhappily. If Avelyn had been blessed in having loving parents, fate had made up for that kindness by cursing her with three of the most horrid cousins in existence. The trio seemed to live to make her miserable. They enjoyed nothing more than a chance to point out her flaws. They had done so ever since their arrival at Straughton some ten years earlier when their castle on the border of Scotland had been overrun and their father killed. With nowhere else to turn, their mother had brought her children to Straughton where they had become the bane of Avelyn’s young existence.
“I think,” Staci’s thick nose turned up as he dropped onto the bench and tipped his head back to peer over Avelyn in her gown. “Once Gerville gets a look at what a bovine his betrothed has grown into, he will break the contract and flee for his very life.”
“I fear Staci is correct, Avy,” Eunice said with mock sympathy as Avelyn flinched under his words. “You look like a great huge blueberry in that gown. Mind you, I do not suppose the color is at fault, for in red you look like a great cherry and in brown a great lump of-”
“I believe I get the point, Eunice,” Avelyn said quietly as Eunice and Hugo joined their brother on the bench seat. She then tried to ignore their presence as the warm glow that had bloomed under her parent’s compliments died an abrupt death. She suddenly didn’t feel lovely anymore. She felt frumpy and fat. Which she was. Only when her parents were around with their unconditional love and acceptance did she briefly forget that fact, but then Eunice, Hugo and Stacius were always there to remind her.
“I have ever found blueberries lovely and luscious myself.”
Avelyn turned toward the door at those sharp words to find her brother, Warin, closing the door. She wasn’t sure how long ago he had entered, but the way he glared at their cousins made her think it had been a while. She wasn’t sorry when Eunice, Hugo and Stacius scrambled back to their feet and made a beeline for the door to the kitchens.
Warin glared after them until they were gone, then turned to his deflated sister. “Do not let them get to you, Avy. You do not look like a blueberry. You look beautiful. Like a princess.”
Avelyn forced a smile as he reached up to squeeze her hand, but merely said a quiet, “Thank you, Warin.”
His expression was troubled and Avelyn knew he didn’t believe he had convinced her. For a moment, she thought he would insist she was lovely as a good brother would, but then he seemed to let it go on a resigned sigh and instead asked, “Do you know where father is?”
“He went above stairs with mother,” Avelyn told him, then some of the twinkle returned to her eyes and she added, “To discuss methods of distracting her from moping over my leave-taking.”
Warin’s eyebrows shot up, then he grinned and turned toward the doors again. “Well, if they come down anytime soon, please tell father I need a word with him. I shall be down at the practice field.”
“Aye.” Avelyn watched him leave, then glanced down as her maid tugged at the material of her gown, pulling it this way, then that as she tested its fit. “What think you, Runilda?”
“I think we might take it in another little bit in the shoulders, my lady. ‘Tis a tad loose there.”
Avelyn tucked her neck in and tried to peer at herself. Her view of her shoulders was too close and fuzzy to tell how they looked. She had a better view of her overgenerous breasts, gently rounded belly and the hips that she considered to be too wide in the blue gown. A blueberry, Eunice had said and suddenly the cloth Avelyn had chosen with such care and found such pleasure in lost its beauty in her eyes. She imagined herself a great round blueberry, her head sticking out like a stem.
Avelyn fingered the material unhappily. It was lovely material. But even the loveliest material could not make a silly old round chicken into a swan.
“Milady? Shall I take in the shoulders?” Runilda asked.
“Aye.” Avelyn let the material drop from her fingers and straightened her shoulders determinedly. “And the waist as well. And cut away the excess.”
The maid’s eyes widened. “The waist? But the waistline fits perfectly.”
“It does now,” Avelyn agreed. “But it shall not by the wedding, for I vow here and now that I shall lose at least a stone - hopefully two - ere the wedding day.”
“Oh, my lady,” Runilda began with concern, “I do not think ‘tis a good idea to-”
“I do,” Avelyn said firmly. Smiling with determination, she stepped down from the table to the bench, then onto the floor. “I will lose two stone ere the wedding and that is that. For once in my life I will be pretty and slender and...graceful. Paen de Gerville shall be proud to claim me.”

Excerpted from The Perfect Wife - Lynsay Sands. Reprinted from authors website http://www.lynsaysands.net