As she pushed away from him, a surge of color returned to her cheeks, making her eyes look an even brighter blue. Lines of strain marked each side of her mouth, and her voice was tight. “ ’Tis a poor jest, my lord. Of all the men in England, you are the one I would least consider as a husband. And my brother will never agree to a marriage between us.” “Your brother,” Rolf said coldly, “has already indicated his willingness to negotiate the terms of an agreement. He requests a portion of your inheritance for his assent, of course. ’Twas not unexpected. Yet the king dictates the terms. He has even generously excused me from serving him in France and bade me remain in England to wed you properly. Only your overlord sees our union as damaging, for ’twill yield your estates to me.” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she caught it between her small white teeth to still it. Staring at him with eyes so wide and blue that he was reminded of a summer sky, Annice whispered, “But can you not refuse to wed me?”
