Sweet Enchantress Read Online Free PDF Page A

nobility. "Nevertheless, I am Montlimoux’s comtessa.”
    "You never were,” he said calmly, relishing the moment. "Officially, your fiefdom has been without a suzerain for twenty years, since France adopted the Salic Law, prohibiting females from either inheriting or passing their inheritance on to their descend—”
    "I know th e Salic Law!” She moved forward until she stood a cloth bolt's ell from him. Gardenia, lavender, rose, and other delicate scents he was not familiar with invaded him, making him feel strangely off balance. Behind him, he could sense John and the bodyguards tense. Behind her, the towering and aging Knight Templar, along with her lackeys, stiffened their stance.
    "Let me understand you,” she said in a low voice, her words clipped, her eyes narrowed. "Montlimoux is to be passed to King Edward of England, who claims this land as an extension of his Duchy of Aquitaine?”
    "You do show promise of grappling with the intricacies of politics and diplomacy.”
    His sarcasm went ignored. She lifted a brow. "Do you not find it curious that the English king claims the duchy nominally his through his French forebear, the female, Eleanor of Aquitaine?”
    He shrugged. "Your barbarous French passed the Salic Law, not the English.” Which had been the source of Edward’s vexation to begin with. By doing so, the French prevented Eleanor’s Plantagenet descendant from inheriting the French crown, now worn by a Valois, Philip VI.
    "They are not my barbarous —”
    “ You are most fortunate,” he said in a quiet, but threatening, tone, "that you do not reside in England, where secular law states that the deaf, the dumb, the insane—and the female —cannot even draw up a contract."
    "That is in England!”
    "Well, then,” he said with imperturbability, “I shall precede on ecclesiastical law, which bases its curtailment of the rights of a woman on her secondary place in creation and on her primary part in original sin.”
    A muscle flickered in her clenched jaw. "You are the barbarian!”
    “As you are now my vassal, mademoiselle, I could have you whipped in public for such an utterance of disrespect. Let it be your last.”
    "Your vassal?”
    The moment had arrived. His smile was tolerant. "Now that King Edward has at last put forth his claim as Duke of Aquitaine and now that I, Paxton of Wychchester, have been appointed Grand Seneschal of its County of Montlimoux, you are by law in my custody. You may still assume the title of Countess but you hold neither the authority which comes with that title nor the authority which comes with the one of chatelaine.”
    She stared at him. Comprehension of the enormity of what had just transpire d was evident in the sequence of her facial expressions: doubt, followed by horror, then rage, and, finally, the realization of her helplessness. He half expected her face to turn into a domino of tears.
    Defiant in defeat, she turned abruptly to leave the room with her chin held high. Her retinue stood frozen, unable to cope with what they had witnessed. He let her get as far as the pointed arch doorway, then called, "Mistress, from this moment on, it would be wise of you to take your leave by my permission.”
    She whirled around. Her hands were balled, her dusky complexion waxing scarlet, visible even from that distance. "You . . . I can’t . . . .
    He crossed to her justice chair and sprawled in it. He was fatigued from the day ’s journey. "Try,” he told her.
    S he swallowed. The span of a moment passed in which his gaze dueled with hers. "With . . . your . . . permission.” Each word was forced, as if she were choking.
    "Messire,” he prompted.
    "Messire!” A cat could not have hissed any better.
    His smile was magnani mous. "I grant you permission to take your leave.”
     
     
    For Dominique, Montlimoux held a beauty that was unsurpassed and from her maternal forbears, she had inherited a consuming love for it. As a child, she had reveled in old Iolande’s