The Knight's Redemption. Joanne Rock

She shifted on her feet as if suddenly nervous. Wary. Lifting her gaze to peer into the sky quickly shifting to twilight, she reached one slender arm to point heavenward. “There is the first star of the night, my lord. Let us wish upon it that you may find the maid of your dreams for a bride.”

      Damn.

      She could not have found a faster way to cool the fire in his blood than with her fanciful wishes. “I assure you I am no dreamer.” The chill of the water seeped into his skin, calling their conversation to an end and drawing Roarke to the task at hand this eve. “Perhaps I should allow you to do the wishing for us both.”

      As if sensing the darkening of his mood, the lady took a step back, her hand falling to her side once again. “Although I am quite accustomed to casting extra wishes on behalf of those around me, I would not steal that right from a stranger. May you find that which you seek, Lord Barret.”

      She disappeared into the forest as quickly as she had arrived, noiseless and invisible in the growing dark. Roarke knew a moment’s pang at having scared her off with his surliness, but there had been no point in idle chatter with a woman he would never see again after tonight.

      Hauling himself out of the water now that the maiden had left, Roarke scaled the slippery moss-covered rocks in time to spy his friend and fellow knight Collin Baldwin tromp down the bank opposite where Ariana Glamorgan had recently stood. Friends from Roarke’s days at Barret Keep, he and Collin had traveled together ever since—Roarke seeking to expand his fortunes, Collin seeking any joy that life had to offer.

      “I thought you were growing fins down here, Barret.” Collin scrubbed a hand over a scruffy beard he’d been growing since they entered Wales and threw Roarke a length of linen. “Are you aware Glamorgan’s dinner awaits?”

      “Aye.” Unwilling to speak of his interlude with the lady Ariana, Roarke blotted at the rivulets on his chest before taking up his tunic. “And though you are simply eager for your next meal, I am seeking a wife. Such pursuits are not easily forgotten.”

      “Should be a pleasure fondly remembered if you did it the right way. Do you even speak the Welsh tongue?” Collin had been scouting Glamorgan lands for signs they were being followed. Now, he whickered to Roarke’s horse while he waited for Roarke to dress. “If you wed a low-born wife, as you seem intent upon, she will not know English or French.”

      “And what, pray tell, will we need to speak to one another about?” Roarke wondered aloud, mentally plaguing his friend for raising the subject again. “The last I knew, the begetting of heirs did not require a great deal of talk.”

      Searching his saddlebag for fresh clothing, his fingers brushed the small lute his mother had given him. Although she bade him play the stringed instrument for peace of mind, Roarke associated it with his mother and her dreamy-eyed weakness. The lute rarely left the bottom of his traveling bag, but he could not help his occasional need to prevail upon it, taking solace in the haunting sounds of the strings.

      “Ah, you may have to talk a little, my friend.” Collin raised a blond brow, his big body lounging against a tree. “You would not be so cruel as to force a woman the way Fulke Kendall did your mother.”

      Roarke tensed. Only Collin could push him this far. And only Collin had interpreted Lady Barret’s faithlessness as merely an act of aggression on Lord Kendall’s part. “Since when does a man have to force his own wife? I plan to wed the woman who will bear my sons. ’Tis more than my father did.”

      “Speaking of your sire, what news have you from Southvale? Surely you must have inquired after Lord Kendall’s health while you were in London.”

      “Reports of my father come to me without my asking, as you well know,” Roarke muttered, seating himself on the mossy bank to lace well-worn leather boots.

      Collin skipped rocks across the creek while he waited. “Has he heard of your new lands? Do you think he will try to make peace with you so he might add Llandervey to the Kendall holdings?”

      “I will not allow hard-earned lands or wealth to be sucked into the noble house of Kendall.” He tugged his bootlaces harder, the leather lightly biting into his hands. “Fulke can maintain his wealth of holdings and I will be happy to keep my own.” Strapping on his sword and smaller knife, he strode toward Glamorgan Keep, alert to any small movements in the forest.

      In case the watcher returned? Or did he hope to catch another glimpse of Ariana?

      Collin hastened to catch up as the bell tolled the hour for vespers. “Think you Glamorgan has found a suitable wife by now?”

      “If by suitable, you mean Welsh, then I am certain he has.”

      “It is not too late, Roarke. You could still convince the king to change his mind about a Welsh bride.”

      Roarke paused in the clearing just outside the keep gates to face his friend. “It is much too late. I care not who I take for a wife.”

      Torches flickered brightly through the narrow windows of the keep. Two horse-drawn conveyances deposited guests, mostly laughing females, at the front doors of Glamorgan.

      “But if you had longer you might find happiness—”

      “Happiness is not a component of most noble marriages.” Roarke ground his teeth, trying not to remember his half brother Lucian had found utter fulfillment with his bride. “Frivolous emotion will not bedevil my household.” Pivoting on his heel, he stalked toward the gates, ready to meet whatever woman Fate sent his way.

      The kitchen staff was given orders to serve the meal late in the day so that as many women as possible could be gathered for Roarke Barret to view. By the time the delayed dinner hour arrived, Ariana’s transformation was complete.

      She peered back at her reflection, her raven locks artfully hidden underneath the long cinnamon tresses Ceara contributed from her own crowning glory. Her father would never suspect their deception.

      “You look beautiful, Ariana. Far better than I did with that hair.” Ceara stared at her cousin’s face in the polished-silver looking glass. They each possessed the same red hair now, but Ceara’s barely reached her shoulders, her locks dispensed with so Ariana might carry out her plan to break the curse.

      She bit her lip, sorry to have taken something that most women held so dear. “I feel awful about your hair, cousin. My father will flay me alive when he learns what I have done.”

      Ceara smiled wistfully, twisting one of Ariana’s new red strands around her finger. “Maybe now he will understand how serious I am about taking the veil. I have no need of such adornments.”

      Ariana only hoped her cousin’s gift would not be in vain. What if she could not make herself attractive to Roarke Barret tonight? Heaven knew, she had failed miserably in her attempt to draw him into conversation by the creek.

      “You, on the other hand, need this small donation very much.” With a girlish impulsiveness she rarely demonstrated, Ceara hugged her cousin. “I consider it a worthwhile cause to help you leave this place. Do you think this stranger is really the one meant for you?”

      “He seeks a bride as desperately as I seek a husband.” Ariana hummed a tune, as she picked through the herbs she’d collected earlier and hoped she did not overestimate herself. She had no experience with interpreting male interest, thanks to her lifelong reputation as a cursed Glamorgan woman. But she would like to think she’d seen a flicker of interest—heat, even—in the knight’s eyes.

      “But he is so big.” Ceara shuddered. “So dangerous looking. What will he do when he learns how you have deceived him?”

      But Ariana had not thought that far ahead. Since seeing the knight and experiencing the strange tingle of excitement when she looked at him, she could only think about escaping Glamorgan and freeing her nieces from the family legend that seemed to have taken on a life of its own. “I’m not sure. I only know I must act quickly, or rue the day I did not take a chance when it came along. A