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turn what should be a joyous, solemn occasion from a bleak mockery.
    Emma knew she’d gone too far, but didn’t know what she could have done differently. Had she not spoken out, Darian could now be on his way to the gallows instead of standing beside her before the king, who looked impossibly pleased with himself.
    Darian didn’t appear to be pleased in the least. He held himself plank stiff, his hands clasped behind his back, frowning mightily, giving all the impression he might prefer the gallows.
    Damn. The ungrateful wretch could truly look a bit less put out. She
had
saved his neck from a noose. She saved his life and he didn’t appreciate her sacrifice one whit. But then she didn’t appear any more pleased with this turn of events, even though it saved her from starving for a year.
    She should have remembered that nasty penance before confessing to fornicating with a man not her husband. But she’d been hard-pressed and blurted out the first credible tale that had come into her head.
    “Lady Emma, we require your vows.”
    Was it only four months ago she’d witnessed her sister’s wedding, listened to Gwendolyn pledge to Alberic? That hadn’t been the happiest of occasions, either, but at least the bride and groom had since come to an understanding and learned to love each other.
    Could she and Darian one day come to the same pass? Her vision of him had revealed they would become lovers, but showed her naught of afterward. Uncertainty nagged at her, making her once more wonder if she’d done right to interfere in Darian’s affairs.
    “Lady Emma?” the king prodded.
    “I take Darian of Bruges as my husband,” she said before her throat closed up, blocking vows of love and honor and obedience.
    Apparently the king didn’t notice because he immediately turned his attention to Darian, who sighed before he said, “I take Emma de Leon as my wife.”
    King Stephen clapped his hands. “We realize the haste prevents the gifting of a ring, but we are sure you can remedy the lack in a trice. Can you not, Darian?”
    Reluctantly, Darian nodded.
    “We are also certain you are aware that Emma de Leon is a royal ward, and therefore important to us. We will have your assurance she shall be properly sheltered, clothed, and fed by her husband.”
    Darian rolled his shoulders, as if adjusting them to this new burden. “I shall see to her maintenance.”
    Once over the amazement that the king would care what happened to her henceforth, Emma had to wonder what Darian considered proper maintenance. She might starve anyway.
    “Wonderful! Henry, would you kindly bless their union?”
    Bishop Henry’s expression clearly stated he would as soon excommunicate her, or worse. His blessing consisted of an angrily waved sign of the cross with no words, more a sign of dismissal than a blessing.
    Sweet mercy, she’d thwarted the plans of the most powerful bishop in the kingdom, and had the feeling that her victory might come back to haunt her.
    Or Darian.
    Had he murdered de Salis? Emma thought not. She believed his fervent protest of innocence, one of the reasons she’d come forward. Had she not believed Darian’s stalwart denials, never would she have meddled, not even to ensure her vision came true.
    “Go with our blessing,” King Stephen intoned, then turned around in dismissal.
    Darian grabbed hold of her arm, his grasp firm but not hurtful. The heat from his hand seeped through the sleeve of her topaz gown and sent tingles up her arm.
    Though he nudged her toward the door, she wasn’t yet ready to leave. Through all that had happened, she hadn’t completely forgotten the reason why she’d dared sneak into the king’s presence.
    “Not yet,” she told her new husband. “I must speak with King Stephen about—”
    “Have you not done enough harm for one day?”
    Emma bristled. “I need only a moment to make my request.”
    Darian sneered. “I doubt the king is of a mind to listen right now. We have been