To None But Me

La Belle

Erik was perplexed by the young woman before him. He'd recognized her as soon as he'd seen that flash of dark hair, and his protective side was brought to the surface as he'd watched the pudgy man grab at her. For a moment, he forgot about Anna. For a moment, his sole mission was to save her once more, to protect her and the strange innocence she exuded.

As she stood before him now, glaring, he was stumped. She was shaking, but her eyes and facial features were cold and lifeless as stone. Yes, she was afraid, but he wasn't sure if that fear was from this situation, or if it stemmed from something much deeper, much more sinister. A sick feeling curled in his gut as he recalled the jagged scar she adorned. There was something about this young woman that intrigued him greatly.

And she was beautiful, in every sense of the word. From her small, pointed nose, to her pink lips, to her slender (albeit a bit starved) frame, she was everything Erik would have wanted in a wife. With a lurch, he realized the extent of his lust for her. His cheeks reddened, knowing that by tomorrow evening, his virginity—and possibly hers—would be no more.

Although discovered in a brothel, he'd sensed she wasn't a whore. The way she'd fought off Simon to preserve her virtue, her life...

Erik felt a tremble of fury work its way up his spine, and the poor girl took notice, tugging to be free from his grasp. It was too late, though. If only she knew Erik would be kind to her. If only she could read his thoughts and know he would give his life to keep her safe. It was his only purpose in life, now—to be a husband in every sense of the word. He'd been raised that way, to cherish and protect what was his. It was how his father had been, before his mother had died.

He calmed himself for her benefit, reigning his emotions in before giving her a slight nod. She stared back, face blank, but her hands shook enough to rattle her chains. With a heavy sigh, he led them to the record keeper, falling into line behind newly betrothed pairs. He glanced up near the pulpit, locking eyes with the Duke, who gave him a small nod of approval. Erik had completed his task, it seemed. She was the one meant for him.

They shuffled forward every minute or so, but the young woman refused to look his way. He kept his hold on her, for fear that somehow she would slip away. She had that way about her, and he sensed that, given the opportunity, she would take it and run. He worried, then, about the brands on his shoulder. If she saw them, if she understood their meaning—how would he ever assuage her fears? He grit his teeth in anger as his burnt flesh tingled and smarted.

They made it to the front of the line as Erik's mind ran rampant with worry.

"Names?" the man drawled without glancing up. Erik cleared his throat, knowing the girl wouldn't be the first to speak.

"Erik Jameson Wilhelm-Pedersen."

The deep intonations of his voice made the slim man glance up in surprise, eyes widening as he took in the giant before him. He coughed to cover his shock.

"Age?"

"Twenty and four."

He watched from the corner of his eye as the woman glanced up, surprise etched across her features.

"And you?" the man asked, nodding to Erik's new bride. The thought sent a thrill through him.

"Brigid Riona Macdonald..." she said, voice low, timid. Brigid. Finally, a name for this beauty. Erik stared at her anew, wondering what her name meant, why her parents had chosen it. The man's brows furrowed as he shuffled through another stack of papers, seeking to match records from the hospital to the names being given.

"O'Sullivan?" he asked after a moment. Erik felt her stiffen at his side, bristling like a caged wolf.

"Yes," she hissed. The man ignored her surly disposition.