But she was so beautiful she took his breath away! She was wearing his mother’s dress, a dress that would have been equally beautiful a hundred years ago. She looked timeless and serene and incredibly lovely. In fact, she looked just as a princess should.

His princess.

For a year.

The time frame was suddenly gut-wrenching. But then…he saw the exact moment she registered that Mike and Leo were by his side. He saw the serenity and solemnity vanish, along with the fear. Laughter flashed into her lovely eyes, her lips twitched with pleasure and as she reached him he heard a low, lovely chuckle.

‘Oh, Alastair…’

Her laughing face was raised to his and he gazed down at her for a long, long moment.

Then he calmly took her hand and smiled back.

This was suddenly very, very OK.

His princess.

Her prince.

And while the world watched, they turned together to be made one.


The wedding celebrations went on through the day and far into the night. And what a night! Because the weather was perfect, the sides of the marquee were raised so the dance floor was partly over the river and partly over the pasture. The moon was brilliant. The night was brilliant! No one wanted to go home.

And everyone wished to dance with the bride. She was passed from one partner to another and her feet barely had time to touch the ground. Alastair was free to do as he willed.

Which was just what he wanted, he told himself, trying not to follow his new wife with his eyes. She was dancing with one of his business partners now, clasped around the waist in a manner that made him want to-

‘Alastair?’

He paused as he realised who was calling. Belle…

Belle’s presence had been necessary here, if only to allay gossip, and there was no reason now that they shouldn’t speak.

Strange that it felt almost like a betrayal…

But Belle didn’t notice. She looked very pleased with herself. ‘I’ve been talking to Marguerite,’ she announced. ‘She tells me you’re taking Rose’s family on your honeymoon. That’s a great idea.’

‘It’ll take the pressure off,’ he agreed, still watching his wife twirling across the floor. Then he thought about what he’d said. Why should there be any pressure?

Belle was raising one elegant eyebrow. ‘Pressure? Surely you’re not worried that she’ll ravish you?’ She wasn’t worried at all. Rose was such an insignificant little thing, her tone implied, and Alastair was forced to smile.

‘Of course not. I mean…having other people to share the conversation. It’ll help.’

He received a blinding smile of sympathy. ‘She’ll bore you within a day,’ Belle agreed. ‘Poor darling.’

It wasn’t fear of boredom that was worrying him, he decided, but if that’s what Belle thought, maybe it was just as well.

‘I can cope. This marriage is only for twelve months,’ he reiterated, and it was as if he was reassuring himself.

‘Of course it is.’ Belle kissed him lightly-a gesture that was as natural as any guest congratulating a bridegroom-and then she stepped back. Their path was set and she, for one, was sure of the rightness of what they were doing. ‘Secure your fortune and then we’re settled for life. Off and do your duty, my darling. Just don’t let the creature fall in love with you.’

The creature…

Belle hadn’t meant it as it had sounded, Alastair decided as he succeeded in claiming and dancing with his lovely new wife, but the description rankled.

It rankled for the rest of the evening.

She was not a creature. She was his wife.

Just for a year.

His hold grew imperceptibly tighter, and his patience with other men wishing to claim her grew thin. A year wasn’t very long…

‘Belle’s looking lovely,’ she told him as the music slowed and he held her close.

‘She is.’ He swirled her around and smiled down into her dancing eyes. ‘And so’s the man you were just dancing with.’

That had her startled. ‘What-lovely?’

‘You might say that. He wouldn’t mind. Maurice is gay.’

‘Oh…’ She choked on laughter. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No, but if he insists on wearing a pink bow-tie and matching braces he has to expect a suspicion or two.’

She choked again. ‘What an ungentlemanly thing to say. You sound almost jealous, Alastair de Castaliae.’

‘How could I be jealous?’

‘How indeed? When you have Belle right where you want her.’

Right. She was right. He did have Belle. Sort of.

But meanwhile, he had his wife right where he wanted her.

In his arms.


They danced until dawn. Then, as they bade farewell to the last stray guest, Alastair glanced at his weary bride and felt an almost overwhelming urge to pick her up and carry her back to his castle. Further. Back to the ready and waiting bridal chamber.

Which was all very well, but he wanted a change to their plans. He wanted the door between them to be unlocked!

In days of old he could have done it, he thought savagely. If the prince were the real lord of the manor, he could have claimed this woman for twelve months-properly taken her-then discarded her and taken another.

But he couldn’t think of another. He could only think of the woman by his side. He absorbed the weariness on her lovely face, the way her soft body yielded to his touch, the fragrance of her. The way she looked…

He’d never seen a woman as lovely as his wife looked tonight.

His wife?

He was going nuts, he thought. He should stop thinking like this. He must! She was just…Rose. There was no ‘his wife’ about it. Not really.

This was a business arrangement and nothing else.

‘Tired?’ he managed, and she chuckled.

‘How can you doubt it? Oh, but, Alastair, it’s been the most wonderful day. A day to remember for ever. And my gorgeous gown hasn’t turned to rags yet.’ She managed another chuckle. ‘The pumpkins have stayed at bay, and I have twelve months to go before my midnight.’

She did. Twelve months. Twelve whole months. The thought was suddenly immensely cheering. She’d be with him until then, working as he worked…

The thought of her work reminded him of something important.

‘I have a wedding gift for you,’ he told her.

‘A wedding gift…’ She gazed up at him in surprise. ‘There’s no need. You’ve given me enough.’

‘Not quite enough.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I realise I don’t know you very well, so I asked Bert what you most wanted, and I’ve got you just that.’

‘You asked Bert… Then I can’t imagine,’ she said faintly.

‘Shut your eyes.’ The dawn was just starting to break. The bride and groom had decided not to make a formal departure, which left them now at the entrance to the marquee, on the river bank and alone.

‘I’ll lead you,’ he said softly, and he took her hand in his. ‘Trust me?’

With all my heart, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She merely nodded, and let herself be led.


Her wedding gift was on the other side of the castle. They made their way in the soft dawn light across the pastures of buttercups and poppies, to where the new wall was being built.

The team had finished the most urgent repairs, but there were miles of fencing yet to go. A whole year’s worth of stone-walling, Penny-Rose thought happily.

And then she saw Alastair’s gift.

It was a vast mound, about six feet high and eight feet square. It was wrapped in some sort of white parchment, and a vast gold bow about three feet high adorned the whole thing.

What on earth…?

‘It’s soap and a hand-towel,’ Penny-Rose said faintly and Alastair grinned.

‘Some soap! Nope. Bad guess. Try again.’

‘A toaster, then?’ She giggled. ‘Or a casserole?’ Her thoughts slipped sideways. ‘We’ve been given so much… We’ll have to keep careful notes and send everything back.’

At the end of the year…

It was a bad thought. It sobered them both. But the parcel was still in front of them, enticing in its mystery.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Alastair demanded.

‘I don’t think I dare.’ She was eyeing it as if it might bite. ‘It looks like it could be a rhinoceros.’

He grinned. ‘Damn, you guessed.’

She smiled, but her smile was troubled. ‘Alastair, you needn’t have done this. It makes it seem…’

‘Makes it seem what?’

‘It makes it seem almost a proper wedding,’ she whispered, and her words felt good to Alastair.

He might only have her for a year, but a year was better than nothing.

For heaven’s sake, what was he thinking?

The current had caught him unawares, and he was being swept along without realising it. Which was ridiculous, he thought savagely, hauling himself back to some sort of common sense. Hadn’t he made himself a vow when Lissa died? Had Lissa’s death taught him nothing?

This was a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.

As was this gift to his wife. It wasn’t a proper gift. It was only…

‘Open it,’ he said, and she cast him an uncertain glance. Something had changed.

‘Open it,’ he growled, and she took a deep breath. OK. Keep it formal. Concentrate on the parcel.

And what a parcel! She had to tug the vast ribbon until it floated free, and after that she had to pull aside the parchment. And inside were…

‘Copestones?’ She stood back in incredulity. ‘You’ve given me copestones?’

‘Bert said one of the reasons he employed you was that you were a copestone perfectionist,’ Alastair said, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. These stones had taken a lot of organising. ‘He also told me the main reason your hands are a mess is because you chip the damn things until they’re perfect.’

‘But otherwise they don’t look good.’ Penny-Rose was lifting a single stone and staring at it in disbelief. Copestones were the stones used to top and weight her wall. Chosen and chipped well, they made the wall look great-the icing on the cake! But it could take her almost half an hour to chip a stone to this shape, and on this job Bert had refused to give her the time.