Kissing the Bride
Chapter One
The weather had not been altogether bad. South beyond
London, the Forest of Anderida had enclosed
them like a green ocean, but Henry had arranged for a
guide to lead them through its timbered vastness. Snow
had fallen, but not heavily, and not enough to slow down
his troop of men.
Henry, huddled in his thick, fur-lined cloak, had
thought wistfully of Christina, her long, dark hair covering
the smooth, pale skin of her back as last evening she'd
poured him wine from a jug. Her movements had been
graceful and languid, and as she had turned to him, she
had smiled. Aye, she had made a tasty picture, dressed
only in her ebony locks.
He did not love her, any more than she loved him.
Theirs was a relationship of convenience, and love was not
something that was part of the contract between them.
For Henry, women like Christina were a necessity -- a
necessary pleasure. If she was not the greatest conversationalist, and her intelligence wa ... read full excerpt from Kissing the Bride ebook
