MYLES BARELY HEARD his father’s wor

MYLES BARELY HEARD his father’s words for the din in his ears. The hall itself was not loud, but the pulsing of his heart muddled all other sound. They’d ridden without fanfare or mishap into the thick of the Sinclairs’ nest, and now he stood amid men he’d sooner skewer through than dine with. He pulled at the neck of his shirt. It was the finest linen from France, and yet today it scratched like a peasant’s rags.
His father squeezed his shoulder. “Easy, lad. The men will watch our backs and see no harm comes.”
Myles said nothing. It wasn’t a fight that had him rattled. In fact, he’d relish the chance to have at it and dispose of these Sinclairs once and for all. No, it wasn’t a brawl that made him quake. It was the thought of her. His bride. The word choked, even inside his own mind. Unjust was the next word that came.
King James had promised him a tender mademoiselle. Odette was her name, a sweet bit of French fluff with skin like fresh cream, and lips plump and succulent as a strawberry. She wept when she learned the king had called him home from France. Myles promised to return, but instead, he was standing here, inside a pit of vipers, waiting for a coarse Highland wench with two surly brothers and a vendetta against his family.
The room hushed. A tiny movement caught his eye. There she was upon the step, wearing a threadbare gown well past its days. It was too small and nudged her breasts skyward in a most sinful way. She faltered and rebuffed her brother’s outstretched hand. Her eyes sparked with defiance. No wilting miss was she.
The chasm between clusters of his men and theirs widened as she made her way toward him and his father. Her brothers flanked her on either side, the stocky, brooding one to her left and the tall, observant one to the right. As they approached, her eyes flickered over Myles, like a rabbit in a snare, and then settled upon his father. The tilt of her chin extended.
The earl’s arm dropped from his son’s shoulder as he turned to face them.
The dark one spoke first. “My lords, I am Simon, laird of the Clan Sinclair. This is my brother, John, and our sister, Fiona.”
John nodded once in acknowledgment, his lips pressed tight.
But Myles’s betrothed did not speak or nod or even blink. Her eyes bore into his father. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.
With some reluctance, Myles tore his gaze from her tantalizing cleavage. She was lovely, his bride to be, and he had not expected that. He thought she’d be plain or freckled, but she was neither. Her skin was flawless, her blue eyes brilliant though rimmed red with recently shed tears, and her hair, so rich in hue it was nearly burgundy, wound round her head in braids with a few curls, defying an attempt to tame them, falling loose. He swallowed and gripped his sword more tightly.
“Greetings to you. It is our honor to be welcomed into your home,” Cedric said.
Myles heard not a hint of sarcasm in his father’s voice, though certainly the honor was entirely the Sinclairs’. This keep was a rickety pile of limestone and mortar held together by piss and mud. Why the king had sent him here to claim his bride, delicious though she appeared to be, was beyond his comprehension.
Cedric reached out his hands to Fiona’s. “And you, my dear, how lovely you are. May the Lord bless and keep you.”
She kept her hands fisted at her sides. “The Lord has abandoned me, sir, for had He not, you’d be this moment smothering beneath a pile of dung.”
Gasps went round the room, followed by furious whispers. Her words struck Myles like a kick to the head. Not even the noblest of men insulted Cedric Campbell and lived to tell the tale. He turned to his father, expecting rage, but the earl smiled. Not a grand smile, but a genuine one.
“I see you’ve your mother’s spirit,” Cedric said, eliciting more whispers.
“A spirit set free too soon. How dare you mention her as if her death was not your doing!” She slapped the palm of her hand flat against his chest with all her apparent might and left in its place a silver brooch.
“This is yours, is it not?” she demanded.
Simon tugged her back roughly. “Fiona, have a care!”
“Is it not?” she asked again.
Cedric pulled the pin from the thick fabric of his garment and stared down at it. The lines of his face deepened and the smile faded from his lips. He flipped the pin to read the inscription. He raised his gaze to Fiona and then swept over her brothers.
“You know it is. But I swear to you, as I swore to your father for all these years, ’twas not by my hand she died. This is our chance to start anew.”
Simon tugged her farther back and whispered in her ear. Her face blanched, and a tiny breath escaped her lips. John turned as well, to block her from view while the brothers plied her with hushed words.
Myles leaned toward his father. “This is going poorly. She appears to have a most disagreeable nature.”
“Would you not expect a beautiful rose to have some thorns?” Cedric whispered back.
“Aye, Father. But this one has talons. Were she a man, I’d kill her for insulting you so.”
Cedric shook his head. “She is impetuous, like her mother. But a spirited mare is far superior to a meek pony.”
Frustration tapped at Myles. “To ride? Yes. To live with? That is another matter.”
John stepped back into his place, and Simon hauled Fiona before them. Her cheeks were splotched with red; her lips quivered as she curtsied before them. “My lords, I beg you, forgive my imprudent speech. I was overcome with emotions. Have mercy and I shall prove a dutiful wife...and...daughter.” The last of this she choked out in a whisper so soft only they could hear.
At her capitulation, Myles felt an uneasy twist in his gut. He was wholly offended by the insults she hurled, and yet her abject surrender and plea for mercy made him feel grotesque, as if he had somehow abused her. Someday he would ask what threats her brothers had used to bend her will, and the thought gave him a start.
She was to be his wife. He had understood that in the abstract, when her name was merely ink scrawled upon parchment and sealed with the king’s insignia. But this woman would stand beside him all his days and nights forevermore. Suddenly, France and his little mademoiselle seemed very far away.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

MYLES hampir tidak mendengar kata-kata ayahnya untuk din di telinganya. Aula sendiri tidak keras, tapi berdenyut hatinya kacau semua suara lainnya. Mereka telah dikuasai tanpa fanfare atau kecelakaan ke tengah-tengah Bandara Sydney sarang, dan sekarang dia berdiri di tengah-tengah orang-orang yang ia akan cepat tusuk melalui daripada makan dengan. Ia menarik di leher kemeja. Itu adalah linen terbaik dari Prancis, dan belum hari tergores seperti seorang petani yang compang-camping.Ayahnya meremas bahu. "Mudah, pemuda. Orang-orang akan menonton punggung kami dan melihat ada salahnya datang."Myles mengatakan apa-apa. Bukan pertarungan yang telah dia bingung. Bahkan, ia akan menikmati kesempatan untuk memiliki itu dan membuang Bandara Sydney ini sekali dan untuk semua. Tidak, bukan perkelahian yang membuatnya gempa. Itu pikiran nya. Pengantin-nya. Kata tersedak, bahkan di dalam pikirannya sendiri. Tidak adil adalah kata berikutnya yang datang.King James telah berjanji kepadanya tender mademoiselle. Odette adalah namanya, sedikit manis fluff Perancis dengan kulit seperti krim segar, dan bibir gemuk dan lezat sebagai stroberi. Ia menangis ketika ia belajar raja ia dipanggil pulang dari Prancis. Myles berjanji untuk kembali, tapi sebaliknya, ia berdiri di sini, di dalam lubang ular beludak, menunggu dataran kasar Dara dengan dua bersaudara bermuka masam dan dendam terhadap keluarganya.Kamar berbisik. Gerakan kecil tertangkap mata. Dia ada berdasarkan langkah, mengenakan gaun tipis melewati hari-hari. Itu terlalu kecil dan mendorong payudaranya ke langit dengan cara yang paling berdosa. Dia goyah dan ditolak kakaknya tangan terulur. Matanya memicu dengan defiance. Miss wilting tidak adalah dia.The chasm between clusters of his men and theirs widened as she made her way toward him and his father. Her brothers flanked her on either side, the stocky, brooding one to her left and the tall, observant one to the right. As they approached, her eyes flickered over Myles, like a rabbit in a snare, and then settled upon his father. The tilt of her chin extended.The earl’s arm dropped from his son’s shoulder as he turned to face them.The dark one spoke first. “My lords, I am Simon, laird of the Clan Sinclair. This is my brother, John, and our sister, Fiona.”John nodded once in acknowledgment, his lips pressed tight.But Myles’s betrothed did not speak or nod or even blink. Her eyes bore into his father. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.With some reluctance, Myles tore his gaze from her tantalizing cleavage. She was lovely, his bride to be, and he had not expected that. He thought she’d be plain or freckled, but she was neither. Her skin was flawless, her blue eyes brilliant though rimmed red with recently shed tears, and her hair, so rich in hue it was nearly burgundy, wound round her head in braids with a few curls, defying an attempt to tame them, falling loose. He swallowed and gripped his sword more tightly.“Greetings to you. It is our honor to be welcomed into your home,” Cedric said.Myles heard not a hint of sarcasm in his father’s voice, though certainly the honor was entirely the Sinclairs’. This keep was a rickety pile of limestone and mortar held together by piss and mud. Why the king had sent him here to claim his bride, delicious though she appeared to be, was beyond his comprehension.Cedric reached out his hands to Fiona’s. “And you, my dear, how lovely you are. May the Lord bless and keep you.”She kept her hands fisted at her sides. “The Lord has abandoned me, sir, for had He not, you’d be this moment smothering beneath a pile of dung.”Gasps went round the room, followed by furious whispers. Her words struck Myles like a kick to the head. Not even the noblest of men insulted Cedric Campbell and lived to tell the tale. He turned to his father, expecting rage, but the earl smiled. Not a grand smile, but a genuine one.“I see you’ve your mother’s spirit,” Cedric said, eliciting more whispers.“A spirit set free too soon. How dare you mention her as if her death was not your doing!” She slapped the palm of her hand flat against his chest with all her apparent might and left in its place a silver brooch.“This is yours, is it not?” she demanded.Simon tugged her back roughly. “Fiona, have a care!”“Is it not?” she asked again.Cedric pulled the pin from the thick fabric of his garment and stared down at it. The lines of his face deepened and the smile faded from his lips. He flipped the pin to read the inscription. He raised his gaze to Fiona and then swept over her brothers.“You know it is. But I swear to you, as I swore to your father for all these years, ’twas not by my hand she died. This is our chance to start anew.”Simon tugged her farther back and whispered in her ear. Her face blanched, and a tiny breath escaped her lips. John turned as well, to block her from view while the brothers plied her with hushed words.Myles leaned toward his father. “This is going poorly. She appears to have a most disagreeable nature.”“Would you not expect a beautiful rose to have some thorns?” Cedric whispered back.“Aye, Father. But this one has talons. Were she a man, I’d kill her for insulting you so.”Cedric shook his head. “She is impetuous, like her mother. But a spirited mare is far superior to a meek pony.”Frustration tapped at Myles. “To ride? Yes. To live with? That is another matter.”John stepped back into his place, and Simon hauled Fiona before them. Her cheeks were splotched with red; her lips quivered as she curtsied before them. “My lords, I beg you, forgive my imprudent speech. I was overcome with emotions. Have mercy and I shall prove a dutiful wife...and...daughter.” The last of this she choked out in a whisper so soft only they could hear.At her capitulation, Myles felt an uneasy twist in his gut. He was wholly offended by the insults she hurled, and yet her abject surrender and plea for mercy made him feel grotesque, as if he had somehow abused her. Someday he would ask what threats her brothers had used to bend her will, and the thought gave him a start.She was to be his wife. He had understood that in the abstract, when her name was merely ink scrawled upon parchment and sealed with the king’s insignia. But this woman would stand beside him all his days and nights forevermore. Suddenly, France and his little mademoiselle seemed very far away.