Lord of Danger

by Anne Stuart

  "Her future, perhaps?"

  "But why should I not be there?" she persisted.

  "I can think of any number of reasons," he said, hoping to placate her. "He might think you'd interfere."

  "Interfere with what?" Her voice had risen alarmingly, and Simon cursed silently. So his observant lady hadn't missed Richard's lascivious glances at his half-sister. "And what does his wife's return have to do with it?"

  She'd started toward the door, almost at a run, and he had no choice but to catch her around the waist, pulling her back against him with his unscarred hand. She struggled, but he was very strong, even using only one arm, and she was wise enough to know she was outmatched.

  He could feel the breath storm through her body, her heart pounding against his chest. He breathed in the rich scent of her perfume, letting it taunt him. "You won't do any good rushing up there," he said with deceptive calm. "He'll have a guard stationed at the door."

  "You knew what he was going to do?"

  "No. I still don't know, I simply know the way Richard's mind works. He wants your sister, and he's not a man to ignore his hungers."

  "She's his sister as well!"

  "I'm certain he's figured a way around that little problem. Richard is not possessed of a great brain, but he can be very cunning in getting what he wants in this life."

  She tried to pull away from him, but he had no particular desire to let her go. "And you intend to stand around and do nothing while he… while he… ?"

  "I don't know what he's planning to do. And it is never wise to interfere with Richard's pursuit of pleasure."

  She kicked backwards, connecting with his shin beneath the heavy robe. It startled more than hurt him, but he released her anyway, sure he could recapture her if she were fool enough to rush to her sister's rescue.

  "You're afraid of him!" she accused him.

  "No."

  "Then why won't you stop him?"

  "An interesting question," he said in a measured voice. "I've seen men do far worse and been unable to stop them. On the scale of atrocities, a man deflowering his half-sister is fairly mild."

  "Mild?"

  "I've seen children raped and murdered," he said in a cool voice. "I've seen an army of bound prisoners hacked to pieces. I've witnessed torture and barbarity that you can't even begin to imagine."

  "And done nothing to stop it?" she cried.

  He lifted his scarred hand, careful to keep it bent. "Where do you think this came from?"

  "And so you gave in? Let the horrors go on around you, unchecked? If it were me, I wouldn't have ceased fighting until they'd torn my body apart And even then I'd curse them, haunt them…"

  "I thought you were the quiet one," he said softly.

  "Not when my family is in danger. Not when innocent people are being hurt. And if you don't move out of my way," she said fiercely, "I'll curse your black heart till the day I die."

  "Ah, Lady Alys," he murmured, "I have no heart. Black or otherwise."

  He'd heard Godfrey approaching, always alert. Godfrey knew everything—he would be well aware of Richard's intent, and prepared for his master's wishes.

  Alys was fool enough to think the distraction of Godfrey's arrival was enough to let her escape. He caught her again, spinning her around and pressing her face against his shoulder. She didn't stop struggling, but this time he could use his scarred hand without her noticing.

  "Godfrey," he said in a casual voice. "Go find Sir Thomas du Rhaymer and have him attend Lady Claire in her solar. Impress on him the urgency of the situation."

  Godfrey disappeared in the silence with which he arrived, but Simon had no doubt that even without a tongue he'd be able to convey the message to Sir Thomas. It would have to do.

  He glanced down at the woman struggling in his arms. She chose that moment to sink her teeth into his shoulder, a mistake on her part It aroused him.

  He waited until her sharp white teeth released his flesh, then shoved her away from him, pushing her up against the daub and wattle wall of the workshop. She was too angry to be intimidated, and she glared up at him in mute fury, tears glistening in her hazel eyes.

  "The only one who stands a chance of stopping Richard is Thomas du Rhaymer," he said patiently. "He has a tediously rigid view of right and wrong, and he's been pledged to guard your sister."

  "But Richard was the one who ordered him to guard her!"

  "It makes no difference. Thomas has accepted the task and he will perform it. He will die rather than let Richard hurt her."

  "But he hates Claire. She said so!"

  "You already know my opinion of your sister's intellect Sir Thomas would defend his worst enemy in such a situation, but you may trust me on this, his feelings toward your sister are far more complex."

  She'd lost some of the wildness of anger and fear, and he almost missed it. "How do you know?" she whispered.

  "I watch people. It is the surest way to gain knowledge, and knowledge is power. If anyone can protect Claire, he can. Or he will die trying."

  She took a deep, calming breath, and he backed away from her, only a bit, enough to give her the illusion of freedom. "Very well," she said in a deceptively brisk voice. "I think I'll just go for a walk to calm my…"

  "No," he said. "And it's a waste of time to stare at me with such fury, I'm immune to your disapproval. You will stay with me until Thomas brings your sister here."

  "What makes you think he will?"

  He smiled, a cool, wintry smile. "Experience. Magic. Take your pick."

  She looked at him with great calm. "I hate you."

  "No, you don't. You're very angry with me right now, but when your sister is safely brought here you'll decide that I'm not such a monster after all. Despite this." He lifted his twisted hand deliberately, just to watch her reaction.

  She didn't even blink. "Having a wounded hand does not make you a monster," she said.

  "True enough."

  "It's your wicked nature that does it," she shot back.

  He wanted to laugh, but he had enough sense not to push her beyond bearing. In truth, he had no idea whether Thomas du Rhaymer would arrive at the solar in time. Perhaps he'd misread the lustful determination in Richard's eyes, but he seldom made mistakes. And if Claire struggled, and fought, Richard was entirely capable of killing her. He'd done it before.

  He wasn't about to share his doubts with Alys—she was already furious enough. "Go find a place to sit, my lady," he said gently. "Fall asleep again. I'll make certain no one disturbs you."

  The look she cast him was full of hatred and bitter contempt, but she knew there was no way past him. She was trapped in the workshop, trapped into waiting. It was small wonder she hated him.

  She would hate him even more, he expected. He wondered if she would love him as well. He hoped not. Women's love was an irrational thing, and it would only bring her pain. He could hope to spare her that.

  At that moment love was the furthest thing from her mind. She stalked past him, her ugly brown robe trailing after her, and sank down into a corner, wrapping her arms around her knees. She didn't look at him, or anywhere else but the packed earthen floor of the workshop. But he truly doubted that this time she would fall asleep.

  Claire was sitting by the deep-set window, making little progress on her needlework, when she heard the heavy sound of booted feet approaching her solar. She closed her eyes with a sigh, then allowed a tiny, wicked smile to play about her mouth. Doubtless it was Sir Thomas, come to watch over her once more, to glower and lecture. It had been absolutely grand that morning, racing through the thickly rising mist of dawn, Arabia strong and sleek and sure beneath her, the dour knight following at her heels. She wondered what would have happened if she had let him catch her?

  She'd been unexpectedly shy at the thought She knew about men with an instinct as old as time, not from any practical experience, and she knew that beneath Sir Thomas's fierce disapproval lurked a dangerous longing. One that called to her.


  She'd been a fool to prance away with Sir Hector, who was, without a doubt, the most boring creature in all creation, not to mention the fact that he liked to pinch her cheeks. She'd only done it to increase Sir Thomas's rage, but the advantage had soon paled beside the penance of listening to Sir Horace's heavy-handed flirting. She certainly hoped her brother had no fancy to wed her to the elderly knight. Even the terrifying Lord Simon would be preferable.

  The footsteps were coming closer, and she smoothed her thick curtain of golden hair, not bothering to retrieve the light veil she'd worn earlier. She had no qualms about appearing before the very noble Sir Thomas looking her best She tugged at the neckline of her simple gown, wishing it were cut lower.

  The heavy door slammed open without so much as a knock, and Claire's good-humored anticipation vanished in sudden dismay. She was already tugging her neckline upward when Richard the Fair strode into her room. "See that we're not disturbed," he said over his shoulder, and the door was closed behind him, leaving the two of them trapped inside the spacious solar. Leaving Claire alone with her half-brother.

  She had risen, nervously, but she was smart enough to know that one should never show fear in front of a dangerous animal. Therefore she smiled, setting down her needlework and advancing on Richard's burly form. "Dear brother," she murmured, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his bearded cheek, "how kind of you to honor me with a visit I'll have one of my serving woman go find Alys and we can…"

  He caught her arm in his meaty grip. The expression in his slightly reddened eyes was unreadable. Disturbing. "No need to bother the serving women, or your sister," he said. "As a matter of fact, I've seen to it that they won't be bothering us. I thought it was time that the two of us became better acquainted."

  She wondered whether she could vomit again. Unlikely—it had been hours since she'd eaten, and despite her uneasiness her stomach was sadly calm. She took a step back, but he still gripped her arm with his strong, rough hand. He reached out and caught a strand of her hair, pulling it toward him painfully.

  "Pretty," he murmured thickly. "Pretty hair, pretty girl. Give us a kiss, love. I haven't been kissed by such a pretty girl in a long time."

  "I just kissed you," she said, trying to still the terrified beat of her heart.

  "Not that way. I want a real kiss." He hauled her toward him, but she was strong, used to controlling Arabia, and she was struggling, pushing him away.

  "We are brother and sister," she said fiercely. "To touch me would be an abomination in the sight of God and man."

  "As for that, I'm thinking maybe we're no kin at all. Your mother lifted her skirts for my father—who's to say she didn't do the same for a dozen others? A whore is always a whore. You might just as well be the daughter of some handsome knight who wouldn't take no for an answer. One like me."

  She squirmed, struggling desperately, furious. "You're neither a knight nor handsome," she spat at him. "Let me go or I'll scream."

  "Then I'll have to shut you up." And he covered her mouth with his.

  His breath was rank, foul, his mouth wet, and she slapped at him, pulling his thinning hair, raking her nails down the side of his face until he thrust her away. She fell, hard, breathless, against the floor, staring up at her half brother in horror.

  His eyes were narrow, amused, and the long red streaks on the side of his face showed where her nails had traveled. "I like a lass with spirit," he said. "But you do that again and I'll kill you before I fuck you."

  He was fumbling with his breeches when she screamed, as loud as she could, scrambling across the floor through the thick rushes. He leapt for her, but she was too fast for him, and she was almost to the door when it opened.

  Sir Thomas du Rhaymer stood there, calm, strong, a faint trickle of blood at his mouth.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Richard screamed. "Get out, damn you!"

  Thomas didn't even blink. "You bade me watch over Lady Claire and make certain no man molested her. I'm doing your bidding."

  "I'm the one who gave the orders, damn it. Get out of here."

  Thomas didn't move. Claire cowered against the stone wall of the solar, terrified that he might leave her. "I can't do that, my liege. I gave my oath before God and I am bound to keep it."

  "Stupid bastard," Richard fumed. "Guard!"

  "Your man and I already discussed the situation," Thomas said, touching his faintly bloody mouth. "He was moved to agree with me."

  "Agree with you about what, you impudent bastard?"

  "That your gentle sister be brought to Brother Jerome to make her confession."

  Claire opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again, wisely, at a quiet signal from Thomas.

  Richard took the opening he was given. "And well she should," he said, straightening his clothes and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "She has been unseemly. And you have not watched her closely enough, Sir Thomas. This was in the nature of a test, to see how well-guarded she was. A test you have failed miserably."

  "Aye, my lord," he said, lowering his head dutifully. "I will endeavor to improve."

  "I'll be finding someone else to watch over the girl. Someone I can trust. In the meantime, keep a close watch on her and don't let anyone talk to her. You understand? Or I'll have your heart on a stake."

  "Aye, my lord," he murmured again, making no protest.

  "Take her away, damn it," Richard mumbled, heaving his bulk onto the bed. "And have someone bring me some wine. I find I'm in sore need of it. Unless you killed the guard, you bloodthirsty bastard?"

  "Only… disarranged him a bit, my lord." He held out his arm for Claire, and for a moment she just stared at him, unwilling to trust even him for a moment.

  The alternative was far worse. Her brother was watching her out of brooding eyes, and she could still taste the foulness of his mouth on hers.

  But she had been well-taught, by Alys and the holy sisters. For all Richard's excuses, she knew she was the daughter of a lord, and she stiffened her back and accepted Thomas's proffered arm.

  "God give you peace, brother," she murmured politely as she started out the door.

  And in her heart she cursed him to hell and back again.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  She clutched Thomas's arm so tightly he felt pain as he led her from the room. He could have tensed his muscles, but he didn't, letting her hurt him, letting her fingernails dig deeply into his flesh.

  They stepped past the unconscious guard, but Claire didn't even glance down at his body. If she had, she probably wouldn't have seen him. She had the blind look in her eyes that Thomas had seen before, on women who'd seen more than they could bear, on soldiers who had done more than they could bear. Her rich blue dress was torn, and he could see the marks of rough handling on her pale skin. Though Lord Richard looked far worse, with those red streaks down the side of his face. How was he going to explain that to his lady-wife upon her return to the Keep? Lady Hedwiga was one of the few people able to make demands on Lord Richard, and he usually complied. What would be his excuse?

  Claire's face was absolutely expressionless, eerily calm.

  Her mouth was swollen, her hair disordered, but as far as he could tell he'd gotten there in time.

  He wondered what his liege lord would do when he realized that Thomas had stopped him in his unholy pursuit. He'd only gotten Lady Claire away from him by sheer luck, and it would take all his ingenuity to keep her safe.

  He wouldn't be able to do it alone. Brother Jerome could be counted on to prick Lord Richard's conscience and keep him from such an atrocity. And the most unlikely allies of all, Simon of Navarre and his mute servant, had given him warning in time. As far as he knew, Lord Simon had never done a thing that didn't benefit himself.

  Certainly Lady Claire's older sister would be distraught. But Grendel had no need to impress his future wife. And he risked endangering his relationship with his lord if Thomas had told Richard who sent him.

  Simon of Nava
rre was not a man to be trusted. But he was a man whose aid could be used.

  The woman beside him stumbled as they started down the winding stone steps of the east tower, and he caught her other arm, peering at her in the dimly lit confines of the stairway. She was still calm, and when he released her she stood steadily enough, looking at him out of her clear green eyes.

  "Could you leave me for a moment, Sir Thomas?" she requested in a calm, polite voice that for some reason caught at his heart.

  "It's not safe…"

  "My brother won't come after us. He'll have to think of another excuse before he tries it again. I'm perfectly safe. Just walk ahead a bit and I'll catch up with you in a moment."

  He stared at her, torn. She seemed so reasonable, and in soldierly confusion he tried to imagine some intimate female thing she had to take care of that would require his absence. He could scarcely ask her to explain.

  "I'll wait for you around the next turn," he said finally, reluctantly, and she nodded, seemingly accepting.

  He knew how to listen, and he couldn't rid himself of the notion that she might race back upstairs and try to cut out her incestuous brother's heart. It was the sort of thing she'd probably dream of. But there was no sound of running footsteps as he paused one turn down on the curving staircase. Only a faint, animal-like sound, muffled, silenced.

  He knew how to listen, and how to move. He remounted the steps, his thick leather boots silent on the stone, to find Lady Claire huddled in a tiny heap on the landing, her fist in her mouth to silence her sobs. She was shaking, so hard he thought she might shatter with it, and the tears were streaming from her beautiful eyes and turning her face into a mottled, miserable mess.

  The muffled sound became a choked sob, and he told himself he should disappear back down the stairs, to give her privacy until she could compose herself. He hated women's tears—like most men he felt helpless in the face of them, and a hasty retreat seemed the better part of valor.

  But he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave her there in a crumpled heap to cry her eyes out He took a step closer, but she didn't notice. He stared down at her for a long moment, and then he simply reached down and pulled her up on legs that could barely hold her, wrapping her shivering body in his strong arms and holding her against him.