A Knight of Passion - By Tarah Scott Page 0,34

the duchess feared their combined forces. Was that why she had released them? Or was it the fact that their mother was with child? Sorrow wound through Riana. Why had her mother not told her? If a son was born, he, instead of Riana, would be heir to Fyvie Castle. What kind of man would he grow to be? Her heart went cold. He would be just like his father, a puppet for the duke and duchess—if they survived the sentence of forfeiture Lord Fostar had planned for them.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Soon, the Duke and Duchess of Arundel would be penniless and without authority to harm anyone. Siusan would marry and bear children. She would have a good life.

What of her? Riana came up short. Would Sir Bryant want children? What would it be like to feel his child growing inside her? A tremor rippled through her. What would her son think of the fact that his mother was a whore? What of their daughters? Riana bowed her head. If God was kind, He would allow her to keep that secret. Would Sir Bryant keep her secret? She recalled his gentle touch. He wasn’t a cruel man.

Siusan rose, crossed herself again, and started back down the aisle. Riana stood and, when Siusan reached her, linked arms with her. They reached the chapel door and Riana glanced back at the dais. The Christ hung behind the altar, head downcast, eyes upturned. Something seemed to flicker in his eyes. Riana started, before realising it was nothing more than the play of candlelight against the painted irises. She let the door close behind her and they walked along the path leading to the castle.

Siusan gave a cry and Riana halted at sight of Glen emerging from the small group of trees ahead on the left. Siusan pulled free of her and raced across the short distance to him. She threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her close for a long moment before she straightened.

“You are well!” Siusan cried.

He nodded, eyes soft, then turned his gaze to Riana as she stepped up to them. She hugged him close, her tears bathing his shirt. He drew back and smiled.

“How?” Riana asked.

He reached inside his shirt and withdrew a letter. Riana took the paper. She spotted the duke’s seal and fear streaked through her. Glen grasped her trembling hand and squeezed. She looked at him. A corner of his mouth lifted in encouragement. Siusan leaned in close. Riana considered sending her into the castle, but didn't. Siusan was no child. She should understand her fate. Riana broke the seal and read.

Riana,

I will not speak of your treachery. Instead, I will give you the opportunity to set things right. As you can see, I have freed Glen. This is only the first of my mercies. I also release Siusan. She may stay with Sir Bryant and we will dower her. All this we will do, if you return home. Glen will escort you to Arundel, where you will immediately wed Sir Ross. Do not fear the sham of a marriage to Sir Bryant will prevent this. I have already dealt with the matter.

“She cannot annul your marriage,” Siusan cried as Riana read the last lines.

You will leave Arundel a legally married woman and live with Sir Ross until it is time to occupy Fyvie Castle.

The Duchess of Arundel

“How dare she?” Siusan seethed.

Riana looked at her, surprised at the edge in her sister’s voice. “She dares because she can. Just as she can keep her hold on you, if she pleases.” Riana looked at Glen and sadness entered his eyes as he nodded in agreement. She grasped his arm. “You are free. There is nothing she can do to us now. I will speak with Sir Bryant.”

Glen nodded, relief obvious in his eyes.

“Sir Bryant will protect us,” Siusan said with confidence.

Riana nodded. After all, he’d said she was his to spread her legs, his to fuck and his to love.

* * * *

“Murder?” Riana repeated. She stared at Sir Bryant, who sat beside her at the head of the table in the great hall.

The din created by the men gathered for the evening meal nearly drowned out the word, but he smiled gently, and said, “The assassin was unsuccessful.”

She envisioned the downward slice of the knife that had grazed his arm instead of plunging into the muscled flesh between his shoulder blades as intended. She dropped her gaze to his left arm, wrapped with