Présentation de l'éditeur
She was rumored to be the fairest woman in all of England. But Holly de Chastel considered her beauty a curse. She had turned away scores of suitors with various ruses, both fair and foul. Now she was to be the prize in a tournament of eager knights. Holly had no intention of wedding any of them and concocted a plan to disguise her beauty. Yet she didn't reckon on Sir Austyn of Gavenmore. The darkly handsome Welshman was looking for a plain bride and Holly seemed to fit the bill. When he learned that he'd been tricked, it was too late. Sir Austyn was already in love—and under the dark curse of Gavenmore...
Extrait
Chapter 1
England
1325
Sweeter than the winds of heav'n is my lady's breath,
Her voice the melodious cooing of a dove,
Her teeth are snowy steeds,
Her lips sugared rose petals,
That coax from my heart promises of love.
Holly smothered a yawn into her hand as the minstrel strummed his lute and drew breath for another verse. She feared she'd nod off into her wine before he got around to praising any attributes below her neck.
Which might be just as well.
A soulful chord vibrated in the air.
The envy of every swan is my lady's graceful throat,
Her ears the plush velvet of a rabbit's
Her raven curls a mink's delight.
But far more comely in my sight–
Holly cast the generous swell of her samite-clad bosom a nervous glance, wondering desperately if teats rhymed with rabbit's.
The minstrel cocked his head and sang, "are the plump, tempting pillows of her–"
"Holly Felicia Bernadette de Chastel!"
Holly winced as the minstrel's nimble fingers tangled in the lute strings with a discordant twang. Even from a distance, her papa's bellow rattled the ewer of spiced wine on the wooden table. Elspeth, her nurse, shot her a panicked look before ducking so deep into the window embrasure that her nose nearly touched the tapestry she was stitching.
Furious footsteps stampeded up the winding stairs toward the solar. Holly lifted her goblet in a half-hearted toast to the paling bard. She'd never grown immune to her father's displeasure. She'd simply learned to hide its effects. As he stormed in, she consoled herself with the knowledge that he was utterly oblivious to the presence of the man reclining on the high-backed bench opposite her.
Bernard de Chastel's ruddy complexion betrayed the Saxon heritage he would have loved to deny. Holly's trepidation grew as she recognized the seal on the wafer of wax being methodically kneaded by his beefy fist.
He waved the damning sheaf of lambskin at her. "Have you any idea what this is, girl?"
She popped a sweetmeat in her mouth and shook her head, blinking innocently. Brother Nathanael, her acerbic tutor, had taught her well. A lady should never speak with her mouth occupied by anything other than her tongue.
Flicking away the mangled seal with his thumb, her papa snapped open the letter and read, "'It is with great regret and a laden heart that I must withdraw my suit for your daughter's hand. Although I find her charms unparalleled in my experience'"–he paused for a skeptical snort–"'I cannot risk exposing my heir to the grave condition Lady Holly described in such vivid and disturbing detail during my last visit to Tewksbury.'" Her father glowered at her. "And just what condition might that be?"
Holly rid her mouth of the sweetmeat with an audible swallow. She briefly considered lying, but knew he'd hear of it soon enough. Brother Nathanael was also partial to lurking behind tapestries in the gleeful hope of catching her in just such a wicked fable.
"Webbed feet," she blurted out.
"Webbed feet?" he echoed, as if he couldn't possibly have heard her correctly.
She offered him a pained grin. "I told him the firstborn son of every de Chastel woman was born with webbed feet."
Elspeth gasped in horror. The minstrel frowned thoughtfully. Holly could imagine him combing his brain for words to rhyme with duck. Her father wadded up the missive, flushing sca
