Medieval 01 - Untamed

had been prevented was so great she became light-headed. The church began to revolve slowly around her while light from the candles dimmed as though someone had drawn a veil over her face. The floor shifted beneath her feet.
    With a soft sound of dismay, Meg reached for Dominic to steady herself.
    Dominic heard Meg’s low cry, saw the color run from her cheeks, and caught her up in his arms before she fell. Silver swirled and seethed against black before flowing into place, soft Glendruid cloth matching each fold of Dominic’s war cape as though cut for that sole purpose.
    The steady beating of Meg’s heart against his hand told Dominic that relief rather than anything more sinister had temporarily taken her strength. He looked from her to the priest.
    The man’s face was as pale as a death lily, his guilt clear to see in the sweat standing on his brow.
    â€œFinish it,” Dominic said coolly.
    â€œI c-cannot.”
    â€œLady Margaret has done her part. Do yours or die.”
    The priest began talking, his voice shaking so much that the words were all but unintelligible. He completed the ceremony with unseemly haste.
    Meg heard the words as though at a great distance. Nothing was real to her but the knowledge that she had betrayed John and Duncan; and in doing so had saved Blackthorne Keep and its people from destruction.
    Gradually the power of the man who was holding her sank into Meg’s senses, giving her something tangible to cling to in a world that still seemed very insubstantial. She looked up at Dominic’s face, trying to gauge the fate to which she had agreed, wife of the dark Norman lord.
    Candlelight didn’t soften Dominic’s features. It brought them into bold relief, laying black shadows beneath his cheekbones and along the hard line of his jaw. His eyes were as clear and colorless as the eyes of the fabled Glendruid Wolf. And surrounding all was the grim winking of chain mail lying just beneath the flowing, midnight cape.
    The church whirled around Meg again, but this time it wasn’t the rushing of her own blood that caused it. The ceremony was complete. Dominic had turned and was striding down the aisle, carrying his wife in his arms as though she weighed no more than the mist her dress resembled.
    Just before Dominic reached the doorway of the church, he stopped in the shadows to assess the reaction of the people of Blackthorne Keep. He didn’t know if they, like the priest, had wished Duncan of Maxwell to be their new lord.
    An uncertain sound went through the tenants when they saw their lady being held inside the church by the grim Norman warrior as though he had sacked a city and taken her as a prize. Seeing the harsh planes of Dominic’s face, Meg could well understand the hesitation in her people. She herself could hardly believe Dominic had withheld the death that Duncan and her father had earned.
    Yet Dominic had shown mercy. Duncan and her father still lived. Dominic had taken advantage of the shock caused by her acceptance of marriage and used those precious instants not to slay, but to force a peace.
    Hidden within the shadows in the church doorway, Meg touched Dominic’s cheek just above the cold chain mail, reassuring herself that he was indeed flesh rather than steel, and that she herself was alive to feel his warmth.
    Dominic looked down into eyes that were the clear, burning green of spring itself.
    â€œThank you for not killing them,” Meg said.
    â€œIt wasn’t done from the softness of my heart,” Dominic said bluntly. “Much as I would enjoy hanging the men who would have forced war upon me and incest upon you, I have no wish to be lord of a ruined keep.”
    Chilled, Meg removed her fingers. “John is not my father.”
    â€œThen why didn’t he disinherit you?”
    As Dominic spoke, he stepped forward, carrying Meg into the tenuous, silver-white light of day. Again, an uneasy murmuring ran through the gathered vassals.
    â€œThe people,” Meg said simply. “They are why.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThis.”
    Again Meg touched Dominic.
    This time the people of Blackthorne Keep saw their mistress’s fingertips resting on the knight’s cheek where flesh rose above chain mail. It was a touch freely given by their lady to her new husband.
    If she was his captive, she was a willing one.
    A great shout went up from the people as they understood that this spring they would sow