by Anne Stuart
The sobs broke free, noisy, ugly, wrenching. She was no beauty when she cried, and he couldn't resist her. He stroked her hair, smoothing it away from her tear-streaked face as he murmured soft, soothing words of comfort And she clung to him, Lady Claire did, crying her heart out, accepting the solid comfort he could give. Gradually the crying lessened to a few stray sobs. She shuddered, took a deep breath, and he was about to release her and step back, telling himself he wasn't reluctant, when she caught his arms and shook him.
Her beautiful green eyes were red-rimmed and swimming with tears, but her anger and fierceness were back. "I want you to kiss me," she said.
He couldn't quite believe her words. "What?" he said stupidly.
"I want you to kiss me," she repeated. "I need you to kiss me. I don't care that you're married, I don't care that you disapprove of me and think I'm a silly, stupid female. I don't care that kissing me would be endangering your immortal soul. I want you to kiss me so that I don't have to think of him kissing me." Her voice was deep with loathing.
"It won't endanger my immortal soul," he said slowly, sure of no such thing. And he swiftly brushed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss.
"No," she said. "Not like that. I want you to kiss me the way he did." And she reached up and put her open mouth against his, twining her arms around his neck.
He hadn't kissed a woman in years. Gwyneth had never been fond of kisses, or at least of his, and he'd been chaste since she left him, never even tempted. And now the first woman who'd been able to get past his stern morals and strict guard was pressing her body against his, demanding he kiss her, and it would have taken a saint to resist. And Thomas du Rhaymer, much as he regretted it, was no saint.
He cupped the back of her head with his hand, holding her still, calming her, and then he began the process of showing her what a kiss should be like, slowly, using his mouth to gentle her, nibbling lightly at her lower lip. She shuddered in his arms, and then she stilled, tipping her head back to allow him better access, pressing her body up against him so that he could feel her breasts through the layers of clothing that bound them.
He'd forgotten how sweet a woman could taste. Or maybe no woman tasted as good as Claire of Summersedge—he was entirely ready to believe that She kissed with complete innocence, following his lead, letting her tongue touch his, as she moved closer still.
He slid his fingers through her tangled hair, slanting his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss, feeling his soul slip away and no longer caring. He could make his confession later. He could repent later. But how could he repent of something that felt so miraculously wonderful?
He was out of breath, and so was she, and yet he didn't want to break the kiss. Neither did she. Once he pulled away, regret and recriminations would follow. As long as his mouth was caught with hers there existed nothing in the universe but the two of them.
A sound broke them apart A distant shout from the courtyard beyond the window, and he fell back, away from her, horrified at what he'd done.
"I must beg your forgiveness, my lady," he said in a rough voice. "I should never have touched you…"
"I made you do it," she said in a small voice.
He was afraid to look at her, he who was afraid of nothing, even death. "No," he said, shaking his head.
"You were distraught, you didn't know what you were asking. I took advantage of you."
"Oh, stop it," she snapped, strength returning to her voice. He forced himself to look at her, and the color was back in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright, and the life had flooded back into her body. If she'd looked brutalized and beaten before, now she looked radiant.
"It was my fault, not yours," she continued in a practical voice. "And you were noble indeed to indulge me. I'm the one who took advantage, not you."
"We shall have to disagree on that," he said stiffly, returning to his usual stern self. "I'll find someone else to guard you."
"No!" she cried, the panic back. "You can't! I don't think anyone else could keep me safe from Richard. You know it as well as I do."
The problem was, he did know it. It was a simple choice. If he kept watch over her, his immortal soul was in very grave danger, for all that he denied it to her. He wanted her, it was that shameful and that simple. He was a man accustomed to resisting his needs, but his ache for Claire of Summersedge was stronger than anything he had ever felt in his life. Stronger, perhaps, than his love of God.
But if he abandoned her, she would be lost. No one would be willing to protect her from Lord Richard, and she would be helpless. And he would be damned as well, for denying his duty to protect the weak.
She didn't look particularly weak at the moment She looked determined, tear-stained, and well-kissed. And he wanted to kiss her again.
"It will never happen again," he said in low voice. "It will never be repeated."
She kept her eyes chastely downcast, and perhaps she was agreeing. Or perhaps not.
She wouldn't know the power of that kiss, she who'd only been kissed by a man she hated. She wouldn't know that few kisses could shake one to the soul the way that one had. The one they'd shared.
He wasn't about to inform her. Years from now she might remember the passionate kiss they had shared on the landing at Summersedge Keep, and she might wonder why no kiss had ever been quite as glorious. Or maybe she'd be lucky enough to forget.
He knew he wouldn't be so blessed. He'd remember her mouth, the feel of her small, soft breasts pressing against him, he'd remember the tears and the taste and the scent of her. He'd remember the kiss until his dying day.
And he hoped it would come soon.
"I'll take you to Brother Jerome," he said shortly.
"I'm to confess my sins immediately?" she asked with a trace of laughter.
It was his sin, for all she denied it, not hers, but he forbore to argue it with her. He would do the confessing; she would take shelter from the rapacious men that surrounded her. Himself included.
"I told your… Lord Richard I was taking you to see Brother Jerome," he said. "It's best if we stick to the original design."
"He is my brother, you know."
"I know. There was a stronger resemblance when he was younger, but there's no doubt the two of you are close kin."
She shivered, but there was nothing she could say. She lifted her head, and her small smile was very brave. "Then let us go find Brother Jerome," she said.
And he took her arm, cursing himself under his breath.
"She's safe."
Alys jerked her head up to stare at the wizard. She had done her best to ignore him for the last, endless stretch of time, too busy concentrating on controlling her fears. So much of her life was beyond her control. In the convent she'd been able to watch over Claire, to keep her safe from her wilder urgings, and there had been no men to threaten her.
But now, out in the real world, their greatest threat had come from one who should have been their greatest protector, and Alys was helpless to do anything about it.
She looked up at the man towering over her, anger and hope warring within her. "How do you know?"
"My servant came and informed me. Sir Thomas has taken her to Brother Jerome for safety and succor."
"I didn't hear any voices."
"Godfrey is mute."
"Then how do you know… ?"
"We have our own ways of communicating. Suffice it to say, your sister is safe."
"For now," she said bitterly. "What if Sir Thomas isn't around to guard her the next time my brother decides to break God's laws?"
"Richard spends most of his life breaking God's laws, not to mention his own," Simon said in a pragmatic voice. "But by tomorrow Lady Hedwiga will have returned, and if Richard is afraid of anyone, it is his sour-tongued wife. And I expect Thomas will keep a closer watch on her from now on. Before he simply thought he had to protect her from her own foolish impulses."
"How can he protect her from his liege lord?"
"The same way
he does everything. Sir Thomas is a man of tiresome nobility and integrity. He will forfeit his life to protect your sister. And Richard may demand just that," he added, unmoved at the prospect.
"Would you?"
"Would I?" he echoed, perplexed.
"Would you give up your life for the sake of another? A woman?"
"You, perhaps?" he said lightly, and Alys kept the color from mounting to her cheeks by only the strongest effort. "I doubt it. I have learned to keep my own best interests in the forefront. If a woman dies, there is always another to replace her."
He sounded perfectly reasonable, and yet for some reason she didn't believe him. The serving woman's burnt arm came to mind, and his efforts to secure Claire's safety.
"You are a liar, my lord," she said abruptly.
His golden eyes narrowed. "Husbands have killed their wives for saying less," he warned her.
"But I am not yet your wife. And I suspect you are loath to kill, particularly a woman."
There was no denying the bitterness of the smile that curved his mouth. "And you, my dear Alys, are a dreamer. Don't make the mistake of thinking I value human life above my own comfort. I don't People are a bountiful commodity. If someone dies there is always someone to replace that person, be it a woman, a servant, or a king."
There was no reason why she should think his words were anything but idle banter. And yet there seemed a thread of meaning beneath that Alys found profoundly disturbing.
"I'll take you to your sister," he said abruptly, before she could question him more closely. "Doubtless she is completely distraught and will need the comfort and care of another woman even more than Brother Jerome's tender ministrations."
For once Simon of Navarre was proven wrong. When they entered the chapel building the room was smoky with incense, and Alys could see a figure prostrate in repentance in front of the altar. But it wasn't her sister, it was a man, and as she started forward she recognized Sir Thomas du Rhaymer.
Navarre caught her arm, drawing her back before she could stumble in on the man's private communion with God, and turned her toward Brother Jerome. His kindly face was drawn and troubled.
"A bad business," he said, shaking his head. "A bad business indeed. Lord Richard must have been plagued by dishumors, to have been so disordered in his mind as to assault his sister. We must pray for him, Lady Alys."
That was the last thing Alys wanted to do, but she'd been strictly raised, and knew her duty. "Of course, Brother Jerome."
He smiled at her benevolently. "Your sister is in the herb garden. Go to her, my child, while I discuss this sad affair with Lord Simon."
Claire was seated on a stone bench amidst the lemon thyme and lavender, her face pale and set. Alys's first instinct was to rush toward her and envelop her in her motherly arms, but something about Claire's demeanor stopped her. She approached slowly, knowing her sister was aware of her, and sat beside her on the bench, saying nothing.
After long minutes Claire reached out and put her hand in Alys's, still not raising her eyes. There was blood on her fingernails, doubtless from Richard, and Alys found she could rejoice with bloodthirsty simplicity.
"I was frightened, Alys," she said eventually, in so low a voice Alys almost couldn't hear her.
"I know, love," she replied.
"I didn't know what it was to be frightened. I didn't know what it was to be so helpless. He wouldn't listen to me, Alys. He wouldn't stop."
"But Sir Thomas came in time," she reminded her.
"But what if he doesn't the next time Richard conveniently decides I'm not really his sister?" She turned to look at Alys, and her great green eyes were dark with stormy tears. "He might not be there…"
"He will be there, Claire," Alys said firmly. "Lady Hedwiga will return, and Brother Jerome and Lord Simon will aid us."
"That horrible creature?" Her voice was raw with disbelief. "How could he stop Richard? Why should he bother?"
A slight trace of annoyance slid into Alys's compassion. "He's responsible for alerting Sir Thomas this afternoon," she said sharply. "He sent his servant to warn him. If it hadn't been for him, no one would have come to your rescue."
If she had hoped Claire would be chastened she was disappointed. Her sister merely looked perplexed. "Why would he care? Why would his risk his liege lord's displeasure?"
"Why did Sir Thomas?" she countered.
"Because of a vow," Claire said bitterly. "That's all he cares about, his vows and his honor. He would have rescued a sow he'd been sworn to protect, and risked his life in the process."
"I doubt he looks upon you as a sow."
"No, I'm a great deal less useful and more inconvenient," she said with a weary sigh.
"But far prettier," Alys said lightly.
It was the wrong thing to say. "Curse this prettiness," Claire said bitterly. "If it brings me the attentions of my own brother, I would rather look like…"
"like me?" Alys supplied lightly.
Claire turned to look at her for a long considering moment. "No," she said. "And if I were you, I'd give a care about Richard. You are looking far too lovely recently, and he might have a preference for swiving his blood kin."
Alys didn't know whether to laugh or to weep. "Let us go to our solar and dress in our ugliest clothes," she said. "We can smear our faces with dirt, tangle our hair, perhaps pluck out a tooth or two. If you can bear to do it, I can too."
She managed to lure a small, rusty laugh from her sister. "I dread to inform you, dear sister, but you are already wearing your ugliest clothes. Perhaps I'll borrow from your wardrobe. It might give Richard a disgust of me that nothing else has managed."
Alys put her arms around her, and Claire clung to her, shivering in the bright autumn sunlight. "If he touches you again, I will cut out his heart," Alys promised fiercely.
"And I'll hand you the dull knife to do it with," Claire said. And her rough little laugh caught with a sob.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
There were times when discretion was called for, and times when it was best dispensed with. Simon of Navarre was a man who trusted his own judgment in such matters, and he was seldom mistaken.
Richard the Fair was seated in his solar, a cool, herb-soaked cloth laid against his scratched skin. Simon could smell the tangy scent of lemon balm, and he wondered who had treated Lord Richard. There were other remedies, more efficacious and less painful, but Richard deserved all the discomfort that could be visited upon him.
Lady Hedwiga was probably responsible for the remedy. She was sitting by the embrasure, stitching dutifully, and her disapproving face was pinched and sour, as if she had never been absent on one of her interminable religious retreats. It was a fortunate thing that she spent the majority of her narrow-minded, disapproving life either on pilgrimage to holy places throughout England or in private retreat in her solar, speaking to no one but her servants and Brother Jerome. If Richard had had to spend much more time with her he probably would have had her strangled.
As usual she refused to acknowledge Simon's presence. Hedwiga ignored anything that didn't fit within the neat little boundaries of her life, including her husband's peccadilloes, her bastard half-sisters-in-law, the needs of the people of Summersedge, or the social niceties of castle life. She kept to her solar and lived a life of austere chastity.
"I rejoice to see you looking so well," Simon said with a deliberate drawl as he approached Lord Richard. The buxom serving girl who was attending to him scuttled away at Simon's approach, crossing herself hastily.
"The bitch clawed me," Richard said gruffly.
Lady Hedwiga didn't look up, determined to ignore both of them. "Which bitch is that, my lord?" Simon inquired blandly.
"The woman who calls herself m'sister. Which I take leave to doubt is the case," he added self-righteously. "I was never too certain about it in the first place, and the more I see of her, the more I'm certain she's some other man's by-blow. Her mother knew a good thing wh
en she saw it, saw how honored Alys was, and sought the same for her bastard."
"I gather Lady Alys was torn from her dying mother's arms and locked in a convent for the next sixteen years of her life. It hardly seems that attractive a prospect."
Richard didn't even ask him how he knew of Alys's past "It just goes to show how little you know of life, Grendel," he said, as he dropped the herb-soaked cloth to expose his mauled cheek. Lady Claire had done a thorough job. "Claire's mother got rid of her infant, knowing she'd be well-provided for, and then went on with her life of frivolity. It isn't to be wondered that she lied."
"Where is she now? If you have real doubts you might ask her—"
"She's dead these ten years past Died of a pox, I suppose, though I don't really know. Nor care."
"Brother Jerome is concerned."
"Brother Jerome's always concerned," Richard said in a peevish voice. "He should know well enough to leave me be. He's to look out for the women—they're the sort that need his infernal interference. Not me."
"I believe that's exactly what he is doing," Simon said blandly. "He is concerned for your sisters."
"She's not…"
"She is, my lord," Simon broke in with steely firmness. "One has only to look at the two of you side by side to recognize it. Only blood kin could have such similar beauty." He wasn't averse to outrageous flattery if it served his purpose, and Richard was vain enough to swallow it whole. "I know not what evil demon made you think she was anything other than your sister, but that wicked suggestion has not served you well."
Richard would need a scapegoat, as Simon well knew. He could only hope that onus wouldn't fall upon some poor innocent who would undoubtedly be put to death in order to assuage Richard's conscience, or at least his reputation, but that was the very least of his worries. Life was hard, and death was always close at hand.