The Conquest Read Online Free PDF Page A

Rhiannon.”
    She would have preferred a loch, or as the English called it, a lake, but a river would do.
    “How old is Lord Malgor?”
    “Rhiannon!” her father said, his voice full of exasperation.
    “Six and fifty, I believe,” Adelstan said, his gaze intent as though gauging her reaction.
    Six and fifty! Disappointment twisted in her belly. She had hoped for a younger man, someone closer to her own age.
    Her spirits plummeted by the second. She was to marry an old man instead of a virile young warrior like the one sitting at her side. Her shock must have shown on her face, for Adelstan’s smile faltered, and she could even see a touch of sympathy in his beautiful green eyes.
    She forced a smile, even though she felt like crying. The last thing she wanted was to marry a man older than her father. Nay, she wanted a young, virile man like Adelstan. A man who would make the blood boil within her veins—and make her yearn for all they could experience together, especially in the bedchamber.
    Furious, Rhiannon turned to her father. “Did ye hear that, Father, my husband shall be older than ye.”
    Her father’s face fell, and she stared at him for a long moment, refusing to drop her gaze. There were deep lines bracketing his mouth and eyes, and a permanent furrow between his brows. Would Malgor’s stomach also protrude well past his belt, and did he have thinning hair, or mayhap he was bald already?
    She felt nauseous, the scent of mutton and cabbage making her stomach curl to her throat.
    “Lord Malgor is an honorable man, Lady Rhiannon, and he is delighted you will be his wife,” Adelstan said, as though that would help her volatile emotions.
    She didn’t have to look at her father to know he yearned to reach over and choke her.
    Rhiannon picked up a grape and rolled it between her fingers, her gaze shifting around the hall. From the corner of her eye she could feel Adelstan watching her.
    “Sir Adelstan, I do not detect a French accent,” her stepmother said, and the knight nodded.
    “Aye, my lady, I am English. My father was a Saxon Earl, and Braemere Castle was our keep in the north of England.”
    So he had been royalty…until King William had come. Rhiannon was not at all surprised. He had a noble presence. “It must have been difficult to watch your birthright go to another.”
    He nodded. “It was. My parents were killed, and my sister and I were forced to flee to Scotland.”
    “I am sorry, Adelstan,” Rhiannon said, touching his hand again, but this time briefly.
    “As am I,” Deirdre said, a soft smile on her face as she watched Adelstan.
    Rhiannon recognized the look. Her stepmother desired the English knight.
    “I know how difficult it is to lose a parent, and to lose both must have been horrific,” Rhiannon said, folding her hands in her lap. “Was it Lord de Wulf who killed—”
    “Rhiannon, it is a rude question.” Deirdre shook her head in exasperation.
    “Nay, it is a legitimate question. It was not my liege, but another who killed my parents. A cruel, pompous man who cared little of the innocent lives he took. My only regret is having waited three years to kill him.” A nerve in his jaw pulsed.
    “ Ye killed him?”
    A darkness came over his face, along with an untouchable pain that had her yearning to throw her arms around him and hold him tight. “Aye, I did.”
    “So that is how ye came to live in Scotland?”
    “Aye.”
    “Will ye be living at Castle Almeron?” Deirdre asked, obviously working very hard to stay involved in the conversation. Rhiannon could sense her father’s agitation.
    “Nay. My home is at Braemere—until I take a wife and gain my own fief.”
    Rhiannon’s stomach dropped. “And shall ye marry soon, do ye think?”
    “God’s breath, Rhiannon, will ye ever learn to hold your tongue? Ye have no right to ask such questions.” Her father looked to Adelstan. “Forgive my daughter for her impudence. As I mentioned earlier, she has little trouble