Every woman considered stealing a horse and running away on her wedding day, didn't she?

Isabel de Godred fought the restlessness building within her. It was her duty to obey her father. She understood it, even as she clenched the crimson silk of her kirtle and eyed the stables.

In her heart, she knew an escape was futile. Even if she did manage to leave the grounds, her father would send an army after her. Edwin de Godred was not known for his tolerance. Everything was done according to his orders, and woe to anyone who disobeyed.

The marriage might not be so bad, part of her reasoned. Her betrothed could be an amiable, attractive man who would allow her the freedom to run his estates.

She closed her eyes. No, highly unlikely. Otherwise her father would have paraded the suitor before her, boasting about the match. She knew little about him, save his Irish heritage and rank. 'Are you ready, my lady?' her maidservant Clair asked. With a conspiratorial smile, she added, 'Do you suppose he's handsome?'

'No. He won't be.' Toothless and ageing. That's how the man would look. Panic boiled inside her stomach, and Isabel's steps felt leaden. Her rash escape plan was looking more and more appealing.

'But surely—'

Isabel shook her head. 'Clair, Father wouldn't even let me meet the man at our betrothal. He's probably half-demon.'

Her maid crossed herself and frowned. 'I heard he's one of the Irish kings. He must be wealthy beyond our imaginings.'

'He isn't the High King.' And thank the saints for that. Though she might rule over the tribe, at least she did not have the burden of ruling a country. As they walked down the wooden staircase outside the castle donjon, she wondered how her father