Hidden Honor

by Anne Stuart

  "I imagine I feel the same." She was so exhausted she could feel herself begin to sway. Prince William lounged lazily in a chair, and he hadn't asked her to sit. She should stay standing until he said otherwise. It didn't matter—she sat down on the wooden bench opposite him, silently daring him to object.

  He smiled at her—totally irritating. "Feeling dangerous, are you, my lady? Is it the blood of Lady Margery? Shall I wish you happiness?"

  "What?" She didn't care that she sounded stupid—her wits seemed to have vanished.

  "Lady Margery took your place in this household, sending you back to the tender care of your father, according to the gossips. Your appearance here set their tongues free—until now I think you were fairly well forgotten. With Thomas's wife dead you can assume your rightful place and marry him."

  "People have been far too busy informing you of my past." Her voice was cool and measured. "I would think you had more interesting ways of passing the time."

  "Not particularly. This household seems unreasonably devoid of attractive women apart from Dame Joanna, and besides, as you doubtless haven't forgotten, I'm on a journey of penance. Such occasions are not suited to lechery."

  "You strike me as someone always suited to lechery." Again her unruly tongue betrayed her. "I beg pardon," she added swiftly.

  "Oh, don't apologize," he said airily. "I find your candor quite refreshing. I'll miss it on the rest of the journey."

  "Why do you keep assuming I'm staying here? Lady Margery has delivered a healthy baby boy, and she herself is strong and recovering rapidly. I don't doubt she'll go on to present Thomas with a dozen offspring before she's done."

  "That shouldn't please you."

  "Why not?" She stared down at her bloodstained gown. She was a mess, and she had brought no other clothes with her. Once she reached Saint Anne's she'd be wearing the clothes of the holy order, and there was no need to waste good cloth, her father had said. Her cast-off dresses would do for the servants. "I don't know what they told you—if it was Thomas's mother then she was doubtless unkind. She never liked me, and was well rid of me when Thomas changed his mind. In the end, it's all for the best. I am better suited for the convent."

  He snorted with laughter. "I've yet to meet a lady less suited to the convent, unless it's perhaps your new friend Dame Joanna. But you're right, it's for the best. The insipid Thomas would have bored you to tears in a matter of months, and I suspect you know it."

  She didn't bother to argue—one didn't argue with even a bastard prince of England. "I expect to be very happy and useful in the convent. I hardly have Dame Joanna's…" She struggled for the right phrase, unwilling to say anything unkind about the woman who'd worked so tirelessly by her side. "I don't have… Dame Joanna is a very…"

  "Dame Joanna is a leman," he said bluntly. "A woman who survives on her back. She's also a woman who survives on her wits, and despite your attempts to prove otherwise, I do believe you're a very clever woman. Dangerously so."

  She leaned back against the wall, the cold stone reaching into her bones through the thin gown, but she was too weary to move.

  "I don't feel particularly clever right now," she said. "When do we leave this place?"

  "When will you be ready?"

  She glanced at him. "I cannot believe it will be my choice. But if it were up to me, the sooner I'm gone from here the better."

  He nodded. "You'll want to wash up and change those rags of yours."

  "I have no other rags to wear, my lord," she said.

  "Then we'll find you some. I'm not traveling with a woman smelling of childbed blood. It could draw wild boars to our caravan, and we have enough danger to contend with without the added complication of marauding animals."

  "And what if I were…" She stopped, horrified at what she'd almost said. If she weren't so tired she would never have brought up such a blunt subject.

  "If you were having your monthly courses?" he finished for her, unmoved. "We'd find ways to deal with it. I believe you are blushing, Lady Elizabeth. You seem so matter-of-fact and practical—I'm surprised that a natural bodily function would leave you tongue-tied."

  "It's not something discussed with men," she said sharply. "And I'm not! That is, the time isn't right…" she added.

  "You're snappish enough that you might be. I know more of women's bodies than you'd expect, my lady. I have an interest in medicine."

  She closed her eyes, settling against the cool stone. "I have no doubt you're completely conversant with women's bodies, my lord William. I find the medical interest to be less likely."

  "Are you accusing your prince of lying?" His voice was so mild she was forced to open her eyes, to ascertain whether or not she'd finally gone too far. If she'd said half the things to her father that she'd said to a bastard prince of England, she'd be whipped.

  But Prince William looked unperturbed. "There are a great many things about me that would surprise you."

  In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. "I prefer not to discover them."

  His smile was faint. "You really should watch your tongue, my lady. Most men are not so forbearing as I am, and I would hate to see you run afoul of someone inclined to brutality."

  "As opposed to you?" The words were out before she could stop them, but she had the sense to quickly apologize. "I beg pardon, my lord. I'm too tired to realize what I'm saying."

  "You're too tired to stop from speaking your mind, my lady. You still know exactly what you're saying. Shall we have Lady Isobel attend you, bring you one of her dresses?"

  "No! She's half a foot shorter and a great deal rounder than I am. And she hates me—she'd probably drown me as I tried to wash myself. Any servant girl with reasonable height will do. She could probably get the blood out of my dress and use it for her own, and while worn, the cloth is quite fine. I oversaw the weaving of it."

  "You have all sorts of hidden talents, my lady," he said. "But I think I won't travel with a lass dressed like a serving wench. It would be bad for my reputation. And no, you needn't point out that my reputation is beyond saving. Dame Joanna is of a fair height, though not so lanky as you, and while her hips are more generous than yours, you both seem equally well-equipped in the chest. Her clothes should do, and be more suitable."

  She was beyond objecting at this casual appraisal of her physical attributes. After a moment all she could manage was a faint protest. "Lord Owen ordered her to wait for him."

  "I had the impression that Dame Joanna would be just as happy to be excused from whatever Owen of Wakebryght has in mind." He rose, looming over her, and a belated sense of propriety forced her to try to scramble to her feet.

  It was a waste of time. He put one big, strong hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down on the bench. In the two days she had known him he had touched her more than any other man. His hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment, and she must have imagined the slight squeeze that was almost a surreptitious caress.

  "Behave yourself, Lady Elizabeth. Prince William is not known for his patience. Watch your tongue when others are around, or you'll force me to do something I'd rather not do."

  And what would that be? she thought, but she managed to keep silent. "Good girl," he murmured in an approving voice. And to her utter astonishment he leaned down and gave her a soft kiss on her lips. He was gone before she had time to react.

  She touched her mouth. No one had kissed her mouth since Thomas had experimented, and she hadn't found his passionate attempts to be particularly stirring. Whereas Prince William's chaste salute…

  No, his kiss was anything but chaste, despite its brevity and softness. For such a brief, offhand kiss it carried with it a wealth of suggestion, and Elizabeth could feel an odd tightness in her stomach. Lack of food, she told herself firmly. And if Prince William had no interest in the women of Wakebryght Castle, then he'd hardly deign to waste his energies on a sharp-tongued woman on her way to becoming a nun.

  Still, it would have been reassuring if there'
d been at least one other woman traveling to Saint Anne's with them. Someone to bear her company and keep her out of the prince's clutches. His interest in her made no sense—it was simply lack of anything else to occupy his mind, when in truth he should be thinking about the error of his ways. Perhaps Thomas's mother would be so overjoyed that she both had a grandson and that Elizabeth was leaving forever that she might spare a serving woman to accompany them.

  She leaned back again and closed her eyes. She could still feel his hand on her shoulder. Still feel his mouth brushing against hers. Sweet Jesus, the sooner she was locked away in the chaste safety of the convent the happier she'd be.

  She must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew it was full daylight, her entire body was cold and stiff, and Dame Joanna had returned, freshly washed and coiffed herself, carrying an armload of rich clothing. "I've had them fill a bath for you, my lady," she said. "Your prince requested I bring you something to wear, but most of my garments are unsuitable for an innocent such as yourself. Neither are they particularly useful for long journeys on horseback, but I've done what I can." She tossed the arm-load of clothes onto the table, then turned to face Elizabeth.

  Once more Elizabeth was stunned by her beauty. Dame Joanna was possibly a full ten years older than she was, with a mature, elegant body and a sad, wise smile that didn't quite reach her beautiful blue eyes. Her hair was a golden blond, rippling down her back beneath her simple headdress, and her cheeks and lips were touched with a color at odds with her pale, unblemished skin. She smiled, and even her teeth were perfect. "You look half asleep," she observed. "The prince wishes to leave by midday, and the monks are already grumbling about the delay. That gives you an hour. If it's not enough, I can tell them you're unwell."

  "And then they'd leave without me. Abandon me here with Lady Isobel." Elizabeth couldn't control her shudder. "She hates me."

  "She's never been overly fond of me, either. Lucky for her I'm to accompany you to Saint Anne's."

  Elizabeth jerked her head so abruptly that she slammed it against the hard stone wall. She rose, rubbing her scalp. "You are?"

  "Prince William decided you needed another female along to keep you company. I'm to spend two months at the convent, repenting of my sins, and then return to start sinning once more." She shrugged, seemingly untouched by it all. "I'm just as happy to get away from Owen for a bit. He's fast and rough and far too demanding. A brief respite from the needs of men would be a blessing."

  For a moment Elizabeth was unsure what she should say. The company of another woman was a gift she hadn't dared hope for, and from the moment she met Dame Joanna she'd felt an odd kinship with her. Nevertheless, she couldn't subject anyone to the dangers of the notorious Dark Prince. At least Owen of Wakebryght had never killed a woman. "Are you certain there would be no… new demands from our escort?" she asked.

  Joanna moved behind her and began helping her pull off the bloodstained gown. "I confess it was my first thought, and warming Prince William's bed would be less of a chore than most, despite the danger. He's a very handsome man."

  "He's killed two women. At least."

  Joanna shrugged. "There are worse ways to die," she said philosophically. "But in truth, Prince William has no interest in me as a lover, nor is he bringing me for the other men, if I am to believe what he said. And oddly enough, I do. I'm there for your sake and nothing else."

  "I find that difficult to believe," Elizabeth muttered as she pulled off the plain worsted dress that was little better than a servant's garb. "I've yet to meet anyone who cared about my well-being. Besides, I've been doing my best to keep out of his way. He's the one who keeps appearing wherever I am."

  Dame Joanna laughed softly. "I think it makes perfect sense. You're very young, aren't you? You'll understand when you're older. Though if you're im-mured in a convent perhaps you might never need to learn."

  She helped slip the gown off Elizabeth's shoulders, so that she stood there only in her plain linen chemise. "Your father did dress you like a serving maid, didn't he?" she said. "I think you'll find my chemise a little more to your liking. The fabrics are very fine."

  "I shouldn't be taking your clothes," she protested as Joanna herded her toward an adjoining room and the tub filled with steaming, scented water.

  "I have more than I need, and I can easily acquire anything I want. Besides, in truth I have little need of clothing in my chosen profession. Don't blush, little one," she added in amusement, stripping the shift over her head so that she stood naked by the tub. "It's the way of the world."

  Growing up in a household of brothers, Elizabeth was unused to having people see her nude body. She practically leapt into the tub, splashing water onto the floor and the hem of Joanna's dress as she quickly sank up to her shoulders in the blessed warmth. "You can't call me little one," she said after a minute. "I'm taller than you are."

  "You're taller than everyone." The words were matter-of-fact, devoid of insult. "But in many ways you're still a child."

  Elizabeth resisted the impulse to argue. The warmth of the water was too soothing to her aching muscles, and she liked Joanna. "Older and wiser than you think," she said, ducking her head under water and letting her long, thick hair swirl around her.

  "So very old and wise," Joanna said softly when she emerged. "Fortunately you'll be out of harm's way soon enough, so I won't have to enlighten you as to the true nature of most men. And in the meantime Prince William has made certain that you'll have the best possible protection."

  "Prince William has no interest in protecting me. No interest in me at all," she protested. There were dried rose petals floating in the water, perfuming the air.

  "And we'll keep you believing that as long as possible," Joanna said. "Would you like a serving girl to help you with your hair?"

  Elizabeth remembered the contemptuous maids of Wakebryght Castle far too well. They'd clearly deemed her unworthy of their lord, and in the end he'd agreed. No, she didn't want any of them coming around her, mocking her.

  "I'm used to dealing with it myself," she said. "I prefer privacy."

  "In that case I'll await you in the other room. The maids are busy enough packing clothes for my journey. I suspect when I return some of my favorite pieces will be missing. It will give Owen the perfect chance to buy me more."

  "He likes spending money on you?" Elizabeth asked. Her father had always bemoaned even a farthing spent on his wives or lemans.

  "When he spends money on me he knows he can expect something in return. It gives him a way to win my gratitude, and he always takes full advantage of it."

  "I don't understand. Aren't you obliged to do what he tells you to do, anyway?" she asked, unable to hide her curiosity. It was one of her besetting sins—one she would no longer be able to indulge in a convent.

  "Up to a point. But there are certain things a man like Owen of Wakebryght enjoys that I can refuse. I'm a courtesan, not a whore. If he wants to do something painful or degrading he has to pay for it."

  "But wouldn't that make you a whore?" Elizabeth said, confused. And then realized the severity of what she'd said. "I beg your pardon, I shouldn't have…"

  "Out of the mouths of babes," Joanna murmured. "You're right. In the end that's what I am. I simply have more say in whom I bed and what acts I perform. And I do it on linen sheets, not in a stableyard."

  Elizabeth cursed her unruly tongue. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. You'll be spared such an existence. And it's not without its benefits. I dress well, eat well, sleep well when I'm left alone. It's better than being locked in a convent."

  "I think I'd prefer being locked in a dungeon to spending time in Owen of Wakebryght's bed," she said with a shudder.

  "Then be glad you're spared. You only have a few short days before you're locked behind those safe walls, and if we can keep you away from the prince all should be well."

  "The prince has no designs on me!" Elizabeth pro-tested for what seemed the hundredth time. "He just wa
nts to finish his pilgrimage, get rid of me and the monks, and go back to his life of debauchery."

  "If you say so, my lady," Joanna said softly. And she closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  It took Elizabeth longer to dress in the unfamiliar clothes than she had ever taken in her entire life, something she attributed to lack of sleep and physical exhaustion. She'd spent the previous day bouncing around on a horse, the previous night wrestling for Lady Margery's life, and she was facing another day of grueling travel. It was no wonder she stood and stared at herself in the wavering reflection of the looking glass, too dazed to decide what to do about Dame Joanna's dress.

  It was made of rich green cloth, and brought the green out in her eyes. Her flame-red hair looked blessedly dark when wet, and she'd plaited it in two tight braids, then had to loosen them as the pain in her head increased. The second time she simply twined the damp hair into one thick braid and tossed it over her shoulder. It hung past her waist—in the convent they would cut it off, wouldn't they? She'd always hated it—it would be a blessing to be shorn.

  But even with the demon hair darkened by water and tamed behind her back, there was still the problem of Dame Joanna's dress. It was a bit too snug in the chest, a fact that Elizabeth found deeply disturb-ing, since Dame Joanna's bountiful breasts were far too noticeable. If Elizabeth were even more generously endowed, it could garner the wrong sort of attention.

  The fine cloth swirled around her long legs. The soft linen undergarments caressed her skin, and for a brief moment she stared at her reflection and imagined what it would be like to be a beauty. To spend her nights in the bed of a man who worshipped her.

  She shook her head, her long plait whipping around, and common sense returned. All the fine clothes in the world wouldn't make her anything but what she was. A plain young woman unsuited for the world. Too smart, too outspoken, too impatient, too tall for the likes of men.