The priest looked miserable. “She will have to tell me freely that she has changed her mind.”

“How freely?”

A shocked expression flitted over Father Robert’s round face, but he swallowed it. “I suppose she need only say the words to me.”

“Then I must see that she agrees to say them, mustn’t I?”

Father Robert cast Marcus a horrified glance. He sighed hopelessly, and aimed for the doorway like a man who didn’t want to know what would happen.

Marcus gestured for his knights to leave as well. They headed back to the hall, but one stayed behind. Paul, his closest friend, allowed his outrage to show once they were alone. He paced around, spitting curses that desecrated the chapel.

Paul finally squared off and gave the matter a sharp contemplation while he scratched his head through his curly dark locks. His full lips pursed in annoyance. “That girl is too proud, Marcus, and stupid as well if she dares such an insult.”

Immersed in his own dark anger, Marcus only knew one thing for sure. The woman who had dared this insult was not stupid.

“We will keep her from food until she comes around. Once we get her mark on the contract, this priest will not ask questions, I’ll see to that,” Paul said.

“I will not starve her.”

“It is that or beating her. Otherwise she will pretend to agree, and the next time in front of a priest she will deny you again.”

“I will not beat her, either.”

Paul’s gaze caught Marcus’s, and understanding flickered. With a resigned sigh, he looked away. “Pity to lose the lands. Llygad’s are no great prize, but the other property promised to you would bring a good income.”

“I do not intend to lose anything, but I cannot force the girl. You know that.”

Paul’s expression said he did know that. Someone else had surmised as much, too. Like an opponent in a joust, she had ridden a few passes and immediately spotted his weakness.

Nay, not stupid. Brilliant.

He left Paul to go find the woman who had expertly foiled him today.

The chamber door did not crash open. It swung slowly, gently pressed by a strong, masculine hand. The quiet entry put Nesta on her guard more than if a battering ram had pounded the door to pieces.

Marcus stood at the threshold, his stance as casual as if he visited merely to pass some time. He filled the doorway with his strength, but no bluster or threat puffed him up. With his golden hair and skin and blue courtly dress, he appeared quite magnificent and disarming.

Nesta wasn’t fooled in the least. Marcus was dangerously angry. It could be seen in the wicked humor of his eyes and the line of his crooked smile. It oozed out of him and affected the air like an approaching storm.