Rimea stood frozen in the sunlit gallery, looking at Cedric through a blur of burning tears as the weight of his betrayal settled over her.
Ten years. She had spent a decade married to this man, ten years sharing his bed, his table, bearing his moods, standing beside him through the bitter, isolated cold of the northern highlands, and the burdens that came with being Lady Valecroft.
She had entered the marriage with resentment in her heart, and though her heart had not belonged to him when the priests bound their hands, she had slowly, painfully learned to care for him and time had slowly worn away some of that bitterness.
