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Her predication had come back to haunt her: You aren’t my betrothed husband and never will be.
How wrong she’d been. Her father had seized the marriage offer from Richard, leaving Berengaria to wonder whether it was Queen Eleanor’s idea…or Richard’s. She’d been unable to stop thinking about the stolen kiss in the garden. He’d awakened such feelings within her, tremulous thoughts that made her blood quicken.
On their arrival in Sicily, he’d stood awaiting the ship. And later that day, he’d arranged for a private meal with her.
‘For once, I can make a royal alliance that pleases me,’ he’d said.
Though Berengaria wanted to believe him, her doubts held strong. The table was set so that her chair was at his left, and during the meal, he’d touched her hand several times.
‘My lord, why? There are dozens of princesses who would make a stronger alliance for you. Some wealthier than I.’
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