White Lion's Lady Read Online Free Page A

watched as fellow travelers and pilgrims passed on the narrow road, headed, as she was, to points north. She listened to the songs some of them sang to pass the time, wondering at the people’s various futures and destinations almost as curiously as she wondered at her own.
    With her past falling away by leagues, what lay ahead of her?
    Isabel tried to picture Montborne, a place she had never been but had heard of often, the place that was soon to be her home. She closed her eyes and easily imagined its vast rolling meadows and fertile fields, the thriving villages and glorious stone castle that presided over it all. She pictured the joy on her little sister’s face when Maura would arrive at Montborne, delivered from life at the convent and brought to live with Isabel and her husband as a family.
    As she had tried numerous times since first hearing of her betrothal, Isabel tried to picture Sebastian, the Earl of Montborne, her fiancé. She tried to envision herself meetinghim, marrying him … and here is where she failed. For although she had heard many accounts of the youthful earl’s dark good looks, somehow, whenever Isabel tried to imagine the man who would be her husband, her mind conjured the image of a brave, handsome knight with tawny hair and flashing green-gold eyes.
    She pictured Griffin of Droghallow.
    In truth, she had never forgotten about her childhood hero, the boy who had rescued her from certain doom a decade past and left her with a token of his courage and honor—the white lion medallion that Isabel carried with her every moment of every day. She had drawn on it for strength the day her father was arrested, and she had relied on its power to see her through each painful night that she spent at the abbey, frightened and alone, separated from her family and all she loved.
    With a glance at Felice to make certain the woman still slept, Isabel withdrew the medallion from within the bodice of her gown and held it into the light coming through the litter’s curtains. Lovingly, she smoothed the pad of her thumb over the enameled metal, knowing the careful embossment by heart: fashioned out of a disc of bronze that had been cut in half vertically, the medallion contained the heraldic representation of a fierce white lion rampant, a majestic creature of great courage that Isabel had always likened to Griffin of Droghallow himself.
    Not a day passed when Isabel did not think about Griffin, wondering what had become of him and if she might ever see him again. She included him in her prayers without fail, asking God to keep him safe and happy. Isabel dreamed more frequently than was seemly that she would see Griffin again, that somehow their paths would cross and she could return his medallion and thank him personally for all he had given her with his kindness those ten years ago. She had dreamed of other encounters with himas well, encounters vivid enough to bring a blush to her cheeks just to think on them in the bald light of day.
    Isabel shook her head as if to sweep her sinful thoughts away, the same way she must learn to sweep aside her girlish fascination with a man who was little more than pleasant memory to her now.
    She was to wed Sebastian of Montborne. She would honor that vow in all ways starting this very moment, she decided as she put away the medallion and shifted in her seat, closing her eyes and settling back against the cushions with a sigh.
    She must have nodded off for a while, for she woke with a start when she heard one of her escorts shout an impatient hail to someone ahead on the road.
    Felice roused at the sudden bark of command as well. “What is it? Are we finally arrived?” she asked through a groggy yawn.
    “We have stopped for some reason,” Isabel answered, peeking out of the curtains.
    It was nearly dusk outside, though the encroaching forest made their surroundings seem darker than twilight. The road this far north would be more accurately described as a path, the narrow,