Rexanne Becnel Read Online Free

thought so.”
    Their eyes met and Rand felt a surge of desire for his wife.
Twenty years since first he’d laid eyes upon her. Twenty years that they’d raised a family, constructed a mighty fortress, and built a life he would trade for no other. Twenty years and he loved her better with every passing day—and desired her as fiercely as ever.
    He covered her hand with his and leaned eagerly toward her. “I know a green bower. Very private,” he said. “We can rejoin the others later.”
    Behind them Newlin smiled and rocked himself forward and back. There were changes ahead and they would not come easy. But come they would, and with them the chance for great joy—and for great sorrow.
     
    It proved to be a long day for Isolde. Despite her best intentions to complete the chapel, which project she had abandoned of late, her heart was not in it. By mid-afternoon the doldrums had settled heavily upon her.
    “I believe I shall go into the village,” she told Odo in the hall.
    “Better tell Osborn—and take a maid with you,” he added.
    She took a maid, but she did not tell Osborn, for she knew he would want to send two guards along, and she was not of a mind for that much company. Between her and Magda they could bring the daily basket of extra bread for distribution to several needy households. Besides, Magda was unmarried and near to her own age, and was sure to understand her dilemma.
    As they crossed the moat and started down the road to the village, Isolde looked over at the young maid. “Tell me, Magda. Has your father selected a husband for you?”
    The pleasantly rounded young woman shook her head. “I’m one of six girls and four boys. My father hasn’t the time for such arrangements as that. Besides,” she added, emboldened by her mistress’s frankness. “I’ve been walkin’ out with someone of late, and Da’ approves.” The maid shyly smiled. “’Tis plain your father loves you, miss. Is it so hard that he would pick a fine and wealthy husband for you?”
    “I think I’m better able to make such a selection than he. Besides,” Isolde grimly added, “you haven’t seen Mortimer Halyard.”
    Magda chuckled. “I take it he does not appeal to you?”

    Isolde grimaced. “Not at all.”
    “So. What do you want in a man?”
    What, indeed? As they entered the village below the castle Isolde considered the question. “Young—or at least not old. And vigorous.”
    “Handsome?”
    “Well, that would be nice. But it isn’t essential. Rather, he should be manly, and fair-minded.”
    “And tall?”
    Isolde grinned. “I suppose.”
    “With broad shoulders?” the girl pressed. “And a musician?”
    Isolde laughed. “Are you describing your young man, Magda?”
    The girl giggled and shook her head. “I was describing him.” She pointed at a man standing near the smithy’s shed.
    Isolde paused and studied the fellow. She could see why he’d caught Magda’s eye, for he was tall and broad shouldered, the very image of manliness. His back was to them, yet she sensed from his posture that he was young and vigorous. And he had some sort of musical instrument slung across his back. Whether he was handsome and fair-minded, however, was anyone’s guess, as was the stranger’s identity.
    Still, he was nothing like Mortimer Halyard, and for a moment Isolde let herself imagine a man like that taking her in his arms, sweeping her off her feet, and making her his own. That he was no lord, but rather an ordinary fellow, only made her fantasy more appealing. Her father wanted a title, property, and power in a son-in-law, whereas Isolde just wanted passion.
    A frisson of heat coiled in her belly at so impious a thought. But it made clear what she’d not previously realized. She wanted passion and drama in her life. She wanted a grand love with a man who would make her laugh and make her angry, and make her love him beyond all reason.
    As if the man heard those bold thoughts of hers, his stance