England 1192:
(The same fictional world as Enduringly Yours.)
“Am I wrong?” Matthew asked. “You’re fond of her. I gathered that much from your correspondence.” Why did he have to look so hopeful? If Matthew had any idea what his sister was doing to him he’d feel a lot different about the whole thing.
“You read my missives?” John thought back to what he’d written to Alana. He hadn’t thought anyone else would actually read them. Ah, damn. “Those were for her,” he said in warning.
“Down boy.” Matthew waved him off. “I knew you’d spent time with her at Peter’s wedding, and I got her into this mess, and I was curious.” Matthew looked at his cup and sighed. “She needs a husband. A real husband, not Besville.” He stopped, and then started again. “Most men wouldn’t understand her passion for the sword, or for horses. They’d try to change her, but not you. She’d be safe and happy here.”
Safe he could provide her with. That Matthew believed she would be happy with him was something else entirely.
Darcy Branwyn 
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