Isobel had never been happier. She smoothed the skirts of her ice blue gown and took a final look at herself in the mirror. The low scooped neck of her gown accentuated her breasts perfectly. She knew that Tristan would love the gown, but she also knew that he could complain that his men would be admiring her over much. Her hair was unbound, just as Tristan liked it, and cascaded in loose waves down her back. Her maid had painstakingly woven pearl studded hair pins into the braids that adorned the crown of her head. She felt beautiful, just as a woman should on her wedding day. As she reached for the handle of the door she had a sudden pang of longing for her father. Despite his unconventional ways, she knew that her father had loved her greatly. Isobel wished that he could have been here today to give her hand to Tristan. She scrunched her eyes shut tightly when tears of longing threatened to break loose. Taking a deep breath, Isobel opened the door and stepped into the chapel. Her dressing room was down the corridor from the main atrium. Isobel walked briskly down the corridor, the swishing of her skirts and the clicking of her shoes on the flagstones the only sound.
