LITMIR.BIZ

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day his world had crumbled beneath him and revealed him as a bastard instead of a true Barret.

      And although he’d searched for a true place to call home ever since, he’d discovered only a power-hungry lord for a true father and other half brothers who lacked the sense of honor that had always been second nature to his mother’s other son, Lucian.

      A man five times the man Roarke had ever been.

      Now he tread the endless corridors of Glamorgan, certain he was at last on his way to securing his own lands and his own place in the world. Squinting into the shadowy passages, he tried to decide if he should forsake the rations until he returned to the keep later that night for supper, when he heard a light footstep on the stone walkway.

      The footfall was accompanied by a fanciful love song trilled out in soft, sweet notes.

      For a moment, he envisioned that delicate feminine voice accompanied by his lute. A musical harmony that would feed the soul more than any hunk of day-old bread he might find in the kitchen.

      But then the voice halted along with the feet, bringing him back to cold reality and the need to distance himself from whimsical thoughts.

      He discerned the slender female form in the corridor a few feet away, the memory of her song making a greater impression upon him than any visual image of the young woman.

      “My lord.” She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. “I did not expect to meet anyone else in the living quarters.”

      He recognized the voice of Glamorgan’s mysterious daughter he’d met earlier and regretted not being able to see her more clearly. Her raven-dark hair and striking amber eyes had snared him for a moment, making him wish he could choose a wife on the basis of attraction.

      A foolish notion.

      No doubt, he was better off being blind to Ariana Glamorgan’s enticement in this dim hallway.

      “Perhaps I misunderstood your father’s directions to the kitchens,” he began, realizing his voice took on a gruffer note than necessary. “I seek rations for my trip but am unable to find the stairwell your father described.”

      She surprised him by laughing. A rich, musical sound that caught him off guard. “Perhaps my father misled you on purpose, my lord. He is reputed to have acquired much wealth through unrepentant stinginess. The kitchens are on the other side of the great hall, and I would be glad to show you the way myself.”

      The desire to walk alongside this enigmatic woman churned through him with palpable force. All the more reason to deny himself the pleasure. A beautiful woman held too much power over a man. Even his own mother’s beauty had made her a target for another man’s lust.

      Nay. He would not allow himself to be tempted by such a woman, no matter how alluring her siren’s song. Not now, and not tonight when it came time to choose a bride.

      “I will not detain you any longer.” He inclined his head just low enough to catch a whiff of her rose-scented hair. Another tactical error. Straightening, he brushed past her, seeking freedom from the dark intimacy of the shadowed corridor. Freedom from his own hungry thoughts. “Thank you, my lady.”

      And although he managed to escape their conversation, Roarke knew her haunting song would echo in his head long afterward.

       Chapter Two

       R eaching the safety of her chamber, Ariana eased out of her cloak and tossed the woolen garment across the neat, creamy-colored linens of her bed. Despite the cool autumn weather, her whole body felt alive with heat in the wake of her chance encounter with Roarke Barret. The first man who seemed to see beyond the fog of the Glamorgan legend, the man who could be the key to her destiny.

      Excitement tripped through her despite his refusal to let her accompany him to the kitchen. Now more than ever she needed to find a way to make herself eligible for marriage, to present herself as an option tonight at the supper where he would choose his bride.

      She twirled about the bright chamber hung with colorful tapestries and the few other decorative pieces she’d managed to smuggle from her dead mother’s belongings before her father, in a fit of morose heartache, had everything else burned. She hugged herself to calm her thudding heart when a soft tap sounded at the adjoining door.

      A voice whispered through the heavy wooden barrier. “It’s Ceara. May I come in?”

      Ariana hurried to unlatch the door and admit her cousin. “You know you are always welcome.”

      Ceara Llywen hurried into the chamber as if demons were in pursuit. Long cinnamon-colored hair floated more regally behind her. Though still awkward and shy at sixteen years old, she was quite beautiful and happily unaffected by the family curse thanks to her relation on Ariana’s mother’s side. Ceara’s amber eyes, so like her own, were wide with dismay. “Is it true a stranger has come to seek a bride?”

      “Aye, but you’ve no need to be frightened of him.”

      Ceara moved about the room, fingering small objects as she flitted from one spot to another. Now she ran her fingers over the intricately carved mahogany that framed a looking glass. “Is he not a nobleman?”

      “Aye. Or soon will be. The king just granted him a Welsh keep, it seems.” Ariana responded distractedly, trying to decide if she wanted to delve into the bag of Eleanor’s charmed herbs in an effort to work a little magic tonight.

      Not that Ariana credited the bag of dried plant leaves with much more power than a good-luck charm. But what if the herbs really could help make her visible to the stranger?

      Ceara cleared her throat. Replaced the looking glass. “What if your father seeks to wed me to the man?”

      The question, so full of trepidation and fear, captured Ariana’s attention.

      “And you would not want to marry him, Ceara, honestly?” Ariana set down the mysterious bag of herbs and settled beside her cousin, unwilling to allow her own desires to infringe upon Ceara’s tender heart.

      “Nay!” Ceara’s violent head shake sent cinnamon strands dancing over her shoulders. “I do not wish to wed any man. I hope with all my heart I might take the veil once your father realizes how adamant I am in my course.”

      Though Ceara was not cursed by Glamorgan legend because she was Ariana’s maternal cousin, she longed for the fate Ariana had fought the last four years. Sadly, Ariana wondered if her father might not force Ceara to wed against her will just to spread the legacy of Glamorgan unhappiness.

      “Even if I did marry,” Ceara continued, “I would never, ever, wed such a man as the giant who rode here this afternoon atop that great black beast.”

      Eleanor’s prediction floated back to Ariana.

      The knight we have dreamed of enters the realm before nightfall.

      “You saw him when he rode in?”

      Ceara nodded. “I have never seen a horse or man so huge. He is a man of war and English besides. They thrive on battle.”

      Ceara’s parents had been killed two years earlier in an uprising along the Welsh-English border. She’d lived at Glamorgan ever since, a ward of the most notoriously miserable household in Wales.

      Ceara did not want to wed. Ariana did. Thomas Glamorgan wouldn’t let Ariana marry an unsuspecting foreigner, but would gladly allow Ceara to marry a man she feared.

      A far-fetched scheme began to take root in Ariana’s mind.

      “If you do not wish to be considered as a bride for the stranger, Ceara, I have a wonderful plan that will benefit both of us.” Ariana smiled to encourage her cousin. “But it will require you to stay in your rooms tonight. You will have to allow me to bring you supper.”

      Would it ever work? Would she dare a ploy so underhanded to escape Glamorgan?

      Ceara nodded eagerly. “It is my fondest wish to avoid the

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