When father walked her up the aisle, she had the idea that he was seeing her as a human for the first time in seventeen years. It didn’t matter, though, because he was still going to deliver her to her unwanted fate.
To a man who actually licked his lips when the priest pronounced them wed.
She endured the wedding breakfast with crawling skin, and when he handed her into his carriage her stomach threatened to rebel. The carriage was halfway up the pass when fate took a hand.
Her cuckolded husband still hunts the robber who stole his bride.
Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Four Hundred and Ninety-Seven
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