Lord of Danger

by Anne Stuart

  He had his back to her, busy with something on the wide, scarred worktable, and he didn't bother to look at her. "On which occasion?"

  He was annoying, she had to grant him that. "Last night," she said. "After I came to your room and threw myself on your mercy."

  "I have no mercy," he said coolly. "And in the future, I would prefer it if my future wife refrained from visiting men in their sleeping chambers."

  "How did I get back to my own room?" she persisted.

  "After you slid off your chair in a faint?"

  "I don't faint!" she protested.

  "Perhaps you're unused to the amount of wine your brother serves," he said serenely. "I would also prefer a wife who didn't drink to excess."

  She bit back the retort that begged to be spoken. She'd made this bargain with the devil—it was no wonder he was testing her. If she backed out now it would be Claire who would pay the price.

  "I didn't drink enough of Richard's wine to make myself giddy," she said with deliberate calm. "As it happens, the stuff you gave me was far more potent."

  He turned to look at her through the darkness, and his amber eyes glinted with amusement. "It was, wasn't it?" he said.

  The truth of it was so obvious she was breathless. "You drugged me." Her voice rose with accusation.

  "How could I have known you would seek me out?" he countered.

  "How could you know anything?" she said bitterly. "Through your pact with the devil."

  He laughed softly. "I made no pact with the devil."

  "That's not what people say."

  "You would be wise not to listen to what people say, Lady Alys. You will avoid a lot of misinformation and speculation."

  "Then who should I listen to? You, perhaps?"

  "Shouldn't a wife listen to her husband? Be guided by him in all things?"

  It was the expected response, and yet she'd never had time to consider it. The majority of her life had been spent under the strict rule of the Sisters of Saint Anne, and she'd been dutiful enough. But then, the sisters had encouraged her love of learning, her interest in experimentation, even as they'd deplored Claire's willfulness.

  None of that time had been spent around men, with the dubious exception of Brother Emory. She knew her duty well enough—a woman was a servant to her husband, bound to him in all matters. She just hadn't considered the reality of the situation.

  "I suppose so," she said slowly.

  She hadn't realized he'd moved closer, so that he towered over her. He probably did it to intimidate her, and it worked. "But you don't like it, do you?" he murmured.

  "It's the way things are," she said, wishing she could back away from him, unwilling to demonstrate just how much he unnerved her. She was used to a calm, ordered life. He set things on end, wickedly so.

  "Ah, but life is full of possibilities. Full of change," he said. "Maybe you'll poison me and run off and become Queen of the Gypsies."

  He startled a laugh out of her. "That's more likely what Claire would do. I would suffer in a martyred silence, hoping a plague would carry you off. And besides, I don't like horses. Gypsies always have horses."

  "I'm notoriously resistant to plagues," he said. He was too close to her. He was wearing black chased with silver, and he was warm. Strong. Distressingly strong. "And it would take rather a large amount of poison to even slow me down. Why don't you like horses?"

  She considered lying a sin, not to mention a waste of time. She was a very poor liar. "I'm afraid of them."

  "Why?"

  "I was almost trampled to death when I was very young. I don't remember much of the circumstances, I only remember the huge creatures surrounding me, their hooves flashing. I was only four years old but I still remember that day."

  "Four? Wasn't that the age you were taken from your mother?"

  His knowledge appalled her. In the ensuing years she'd tried to separate those two occurrences, even though they were inextricably entwined. The horsemen, chasing after her mother as she tried to escape with her only child. The rough hands that had ripped her from her mother's arms, only to drop her in the midst of the angry, restless horses.

  "You know far more of my history than I would have expected, my lord," she said, trying to keep the resentment and pain from her voice. "I cannot imagine why you should be concerned." For sixteen years she'd worked very hard at carving a calm, safe life for herself. Now in a few days' time that life had been shattered.

  "Knowledge is power, and I set a great store by power. I like to know things," he said, his voice low and oddly appealing. It danced across her skin like a warm summer breeze, and she wanted to shiver, to shake it away, even as she wanted to bask in its warmth.

  She looked up at him, keeping her gaze level and fearless. "And I like privacy in some matters."

  He touched her. He'd kept his twisted hand hidden, though she wasn't bothered by the sight of it, but he lifted his strong, good hand and brushed it against her cheek. It couldn't be called a caress, more an odd act of claiming. She froze, helplessly aware of the unexpected beauty of that one hand, the long, graceful fingers, the narrow, well-shaped palm. A clever, well-made hand, gifted with talents.

  "You will be my wife," he said. "You will have no secrets."

  "Will you?" It was an outrageous question, and another man would have beaten her for it.

  But Simon, avowed monster that he was, merely smiled. "Always, Lady Alys," he murmured. "Always."

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Sir Thomas du Rhaymer stared down at his hand. It still amazed him that she'd managed to draw blood�he would have thought his hide was thicker than that. The wound was small, and on any other occasion he would have ignored it. But knowing it had come from her, from her sharp white teeth, made it burn.

  As he would burn, in hell, for the thoughts he was having. Richard and his wizard knew human nature far too well. He was a man who'd lived a cold, celibate life for years, but he was a man with eyes to see beauty, a mouth to taste it. For three years he had been impervious to all womanhood, including his bewitching, errant wife. And now, suddenly, he was vulnerable. Wanting.

  It merely gave impetus to his determination, he told himself, climbing the broad stairs with a deliberate pace. The best battles were the fiercest, the most hotly contested. The battle for his immortal soul would doubtless be a monumental one, and with the stakes so high, he shouldn't expect it to be easy.

  But neither had he expected to be lured by a vain, tempestuous beauty. Or touched by her as well.

  He'd become a dour, disapproving soul, and he knew it His squire had told him that, with the tactlessness of youth, and Thomas had accepted it willingly enough. Until he'd met Gwyneth of Longmead he'd been a reasonably simple, straightforward man. A dutiful son, a dedicated squire, a worthy knight who served his liege lord. But his lust for Gwyneth had shaken him, and her betrayal had shattered him. He'd built his life back, a steady, simple life devoted to God and Lord Richard, and now a new siren had come to tempt him again.

  As long as she continued to hate him he was safe. And he had few delusions on that score. He was a good ten years older than she was, battle-scarred and hard, and he had every intention of keeping it that way. It was fortunate she was such a lively, high-strung creature. It was child's play to infuriate her, and that fury would distract her. She would never even realize he had an errant, sinful thought about her. The small, high, perfect breasts that pressed against her soft green gown. The glowing eyes, full of mischief and anger and unexpected humor. That mouth that had closed over his wrist and bitten the hell out of him.

  He would be cold, and hostile, and he would be safe. She would never think twice about him, except to hate him.

  And he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he mounted the stairs to the solar of Richard the Fair's sisters.

  Married, Claire thought, not for the first time, pacing the room in barely controlled rage. She heartily pitied his poor wife. He must have made her life a living hell. Doubtl
ess he beat her, often and severely. Doubtless she'd been sensible enough to run from him before his brutish temper resulted in her untimely death.

  She had no idea why Richard had set such an ogre to watch over them, but then, Richard the Fair had proven to be a great disappointment to his younger sister. She'd always stubbornly clung to the notion that he'd just happened to forget their existence, but sooner or later he would ride down on the convent, his golden hair gleaming in the sun, and rescue the two of them, restoring them to their rightful place at Summersedge Keep.

  Well, in effect he'd done that But his golden hair was straw-like and thinning, his eyes were cruel, and if it were up to Claire she would have spent the rest of her days in the convent, safe behind those walls, with her sister for company and her precious Arabia for love.

  She wanted to go back. She wanted to rescue Alys from that tall, strange creature who haunted Richard's side; she wanted to force her onto Arabia's back and ride off into the forests, never to be found again.

  But that was only a dream. She had no way to get to her horse, and her guardian ogre would be watching her.

  Not to mention the fact that Alys would rather be torn limb from limb than get within ten feet of a horse.

  Who would have thought serene Alys would be crippled by such a fear? It made no sense to Claire, but then, little in this world was logical. At least she had been given a reprieve from marriage for the time being. Alys had sacrificed herself to the monster, but Alys was made of calmer stuff. She would endure, she would bend, not break under the burden of such a loathsome marriage.

  She didn't even seem to consider it particularly loathsome. And in truth, Simon didn't seem particularly Grendel-like. Apart from the twisted hand he kept hidden in the folds of his tunic, he was not ugly. There was, she supposed, even a strange kind of beauty in his distant, elegant face.

  If only he didn't have those eerie eyes. Ghost eyes. That stillness that clung to him, like a mantle. He was a creature unlike any that Claire had ever imagined, and she could only hope Alys was fully aware of the danger she'd gotten herself into, by making such a noble sacrifice.

  The alternative, of course, was far worse. Alys had a strong chance of surviving. Claire wouldn't.

  "My lady, the knight is waiting outside your door."

  Madlen, the serving woman, was hesitant as she broke through Claire's abstraction. "Which knight?" Claire asked, though she knew only too well.

  "Sir Thomas, my lady. He bids me ask if you wish to take the air before the evening meal."

  "If I wish to take the air I will do so," she snapped. "I certainly don't need his approval."

  Unfortunately Sir Thomas was not conversant enough with polite behavior to keep his distance. He'd already ducked beneath the low portal of her room, and he glowered at her impressively. "I'm afraid you do, my lady. Neither you nor your sister are to step outside the keep unaccompanied."

  Claire immediately retreated to the deepest window, perching herself on the broad expanse of stone beneath it. "My serving women will attend me."

  He shook his head. "You may apply to your brother, my lady, and he will tell you what I have told you. Neither you nor your sister are to venture anywhere beyond your room or the great hall without my protection."

  "There are two of us, and only one of you, Sir Thomas. How can you be in two places at the same time?" she demanded. "For that matter, where is my sister now? Perhaps she's being tortured and assaulted by Saracens…"

  "There are no Saracens at Summersedge Keep, Lady Claire. And the Saracens do not make war on women."

  He caught her interest, much as she deplored it. "Did you go on Crusade, Sir Thomas?"

  "Yes, my lady."

  "And was it to seek forgiveness for sins already committed, or to be prepared in case the urge to sin overcame you later in life?"

  "Sin is always in the midst of us, Lady Claire," he said.

  "But I'm certain you manage to avoid it better than most." She shifted, moving closer to the window as she felt a soft breeze blowing in the unshuttered opening, stirring her hair. She pushed it back with annoyance. "Unless you call mistreating women a sin. I imagine you wouldn't."

  "Have I mistreated you, my lady? I see no marks on your body."

  He had a bandage wrapped around his hand, and Claire knew a moment's shame. She was too hot-tempered; Alys had tried to reason it out of her, the nuns had tried to beat it out of her, but the fact remained that she was far too quick to anger. And there was something about handsome Sir Thomas with the distant expression that made her want to stir him.

  "You've been looking at my body, Sir Thomas? For what reason? Surely that's a sin as well. And you a married man!" she chided.

  The arrow hit its mark, quite nicely. Faint color deepened his already sun-dark skin, though in the end she couldn't be sure which of her words had disturbed him. The mention of her body, or his wife.

  "My immortal soul is not your concern, my lady. Nor is my wife."

  "And what is my concern, sir knight?"

  "That you behave yourself chastely and modestly at all times, that you prove yourself worthy of the husband your brother chooses for you, that you love God and esteem your betters, that you strive to be grateful for the gifts God has given you and the instruction of your elders."

  "And is your instruction one of the gifts I'm supposed to be grateful for?" Her voice was arch.

  He ignored her question. "You've been gifted with high-birth, good health, and family. Few people are so lucky."

  "Are those the only gifts I should be grateful for?"

  "Aye, my lady. For your undeniable beauty is nothing more than a curse, for you who bear it and for those, like me, who are sworn to protect it."

  She should have been furious. And she was. But she was enchanted as well, and she wondered at the foolishness of his pretty wife, who unimaginably had found someone more desirable.

  "Shall I wear a veil, Sir Thomas? To cover my distracting face from the sight of clamorous men?"

  "You'll need sackcloth and ashes as well," he said gloomily. "And a wimple for your hair."

  "Are these compliments?"

  "No, my lady. Statements of fact."

  If he hadn't sounded so doomed she would have laughed out loud. "I doubt my brother would agree to it," she said, and an unconscious shiver ran across her body at the memory of the unholy look in Richard's pale eyes. Imagination. Alys had always told her she allowed her fancies too much free rein, but this particular illusion had to have sprung from some dark, poisonous part of her brain, something she'd never realized existed. Either that, or it hadn't been her imagination.

  "Lord Richard wants you kept safe," Thomas said.

  "Yes, but for what reason? To make me a more valuable possession?"

  "Surely for love of a sister?"

  Alys was the one who excelled at keeping her emotions hidden. Claire always let her stormy responses out for all to see, and the very notion of Richard's brotherly love sent a shiver down her spine.

  This time she did her absolute best to keep her expression serene, and felt proud of her abilities. Until Sir Thomas spoke.

  "Why does that distress you?"

  She slid down from the deep stone window. "You asked if I wished to take the air. I would, though I'd rather do it in the company of my women or my sister."

  "Certainly they may accompany you, my lady. You'll simply have to bear with me as well."

  At least she'd managed to distract him. For some reason the thought of Sir Thomas' keeping her company was not nearly so loathsome. He was overbearing, annoying, and humorless. He was very handsome, and very married, and he disapproved of her most profoundly. Which was utterly fine with her. Sparring with him kept her mind off her worries. About Alys and her accursed marriage. About Arabia. About her half-brother who was, more likely, Richard the Foul.

  She shook her head, letting her long mantle of hair flow free. She knew from old what it would look like�a curtain of gold, shimmering down h
er slender back. She allowed herself a sly glance at Sir Thomas, to see his reaction to her flaunting gesture.

  He didn't even blink. Immune to her.

  Claire sighed. "Let us go for an evening walk, Sir Thomas, and you can further instruct me on my maidenly duties." She held out her delicate arm, and after a moment's hesitation he placed his beneath it. His forearm was strong, well-muscled beneath the woolen sleeve of his tunic. Warm, living flesh.

  She had seldom touched men in her life. They were different from women, harder, warmer, more disturbing. Or perhaps it was simply Sir Thomas who disturbed her.

  She wasn't about to let him know it. She was strong as well, from schooling horses. Her half-brother was right, Arabia was no lady's mount, but Claire had the strength to handle her. If she could control a mare of that weight and strength, surely a puny human knight would be child's play.

  Except that Sir Thomas was far from puny. He was tall, and solid, honed by years of fighting to an iron-tempered strength. And besides, Arabia loved her and wanted to do her bidding. The man beside her was a different case indeed.

  "Are your thoughts disturbing, Lady Claire?" Sir Thomas asked, and it took Claire a moment to realize she'd been standing there, her arm in his, staring up at him in an abstracted manner.

  Quickly she gathered her wandering wits. "I was thinking of horses, Sir Thomas," she said with complete truth.

  For a moment he didn't look nearly so severe. "The air by the stables is not the freshest, my lady. But we could still walk in that direction if it pleases you."

  It took her a moment to realize what he was saying. At least she would be able to see Arabia, to touch her, to croon soft, comforting words in her pale ear. It was a far cry from riding, but more comfort than she had imagined.

  "I thought your job was to keep me away from my horse."

  "My job is to protect you and your sister, to accompany you if you step outside the keep. If your path takes you by way of the stables it will be no fault of mine. I'm simply keeping you safe."

  Her hand trembled, but his arm was strong beneath hers, and she found she could manage a very small, very real smile for the tall, disapproving knight. "You have a kinder heart than I would have suspected, Sir Thomas," she said softly.