Lord Of Danger

by Stuart, Anne

  The room was silent at last He could still smell the flowery scent she used. He could still feel the warmth of her lips against his. The wisest thing he could do would be to have Godfrey bring him a willing serving wench to rid him of his lust, but, he reminded himself yet again, his random lie had ruled out that particular notion. He was trapped in his celibacy.

  And she still didn’t know the answer. Hell’s imps, of course she did, he mocked himself. She saw him far too clearly, saw past his sorry attempts at evil, past his subterfuges and fancies. But she hadn’t seen Aidan of Montrose’s body smashed into a lifeless pulp on the flagstones beneath. She hadn’t seen the charred corpses of the women of Constantinople. She still had no idea how evil men could be.

  And he was a man, there was no denying it One who had done more than his share of terrible things. There would be no forgiveness from a merciful God for sins of such magnitude. And Simon would be damned before he would forgive God for creating a world where men could commit such atrocities.

  He moved to the window and pushed the shutters open again. Torchlight illuminated the scene beneath the tower. Aidan of Montrose hadn’t fallen as far as Simon had hoped, and there was little doubt from which window he’d plunged. One of the servants looked up to see him standing there, watching, and he quickly crossed himself. They all feared and hated him, exactly as he wanted them too. This would only solidify their beliefs.

  He had earned their hatred. He had earned his own. Stepping back, he pulled the shutters closed once more, and Alys’s pale, shocked face swam in his mind’s eye. And he took his strong right hand, tightened it into a fist, and slammed it into the fresh wound in his side, bringing it away covered with blood.

  She wouldn’t have left him if Godfrey hadn’t appeared. In the end, she had no choice, but at least she’d left him shocked and bemused. He’d struck her a painful blow, one that stunned her with its cruelty, but it wasn’t a killing one.

  It was odd that she, who considered herself totally without vanity, would be wounded by his words. Perhaps because he’d insisted that he did see beauty in her, and she’d wanted to believe that a man could.

  Beauty faded. It was no gift to Claire—it brought her pain and unwanted attentions, even the possibility of incestuous rape. Surely they would all be better off without it.

  But Simon of Navarre had looked at her with a gleam in his golden eyes; he’d touched her with his two strong hands, stroked her skin, kissed her, and she knew he wanted her. No matter what cruel words he flung at her.

  Godfrey was hurrying her along, and she struggled to keep up with his longer legs. Trust Simon to have a mute servant, one incapable of spilling his master’s secrets. Alys had no need of Simon’s secrets. She only wanted the truth about who and what he was.

  She drew back at the foot of the tower stairs. There was no one around; they’d made their way through the night-darkened castle without witness, and she was breathless and feeling stubborn.

  “Did he cut out your tongue?” she demanded abruptly.

  Godfrey stopped, looking down at her out of his sad, aging eyes.

  “They tell me he did. That he cut out your tongue so you couldn’t spread the truth about him to anyone. But I don’t believe it of him, even if he’d want me to. He didn’t, did he?”

  A faint smile lit Godfrey’s thin mouth, and he shook his head.

  “And he’s not the bad man he wants me to believe he is?” she persisted.

  Godfrey’s response was not as encouraging this time. He shook his head again, but less emphatically. He pointed to the stairs, but she refused to move.

  “He’s really a good man, isn’t he, Godfrey?” she asked, hearing the note of pleading in her voice and hating it. “He’s capable of love and decency, isn’t he?”

  And slowly, slowly, Godfrey shook his head, his eyes full of sadness.

  She turned and ran then, holding her skirts up. Madlen slept on the floor by the door, snoring lightly, oblivious to her mistress as Alys skirted her sleeping form and slipped into the bedroom she shared with Claire.

  She half expected Claire to sit up and demand to know where she’d been. But Claire had suffered too cruelly that day, and she lay in exhausted sleep, sprawled in the middle of the bed.

  Alys didn’t have the heart to move her. She’d slept well in Simon’s bed, in Simon’s arms. And she wasn’t about to believe his words, or his servant’s sorrowful assurances, or gossip, or common sense. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but a change had come over her, a shift in her life. She belonged to Simon of Navarre, and he would belong to her. And nothing would get in her way.

  She sat down on a pile of pillows, wrapped her arms around her knees, and began to cry in utter silence.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I am not pleased with you, Grendel,” Richard growled. His pale blue eyes were red-rimmed as he sat at the small table in his solar, picking apart a piece of honey bread. There were no servants about, which could only be on purpose. Richard must have been expecting him.

  “Neither am I pleased with you, sire,” Simon said in his cool, emotionless voice. “I thought you trusted me to see to your best interests.”

  “It was taking too damned long!” Richard said in something very close to a whine. “And it cost me one of my best men. Aidan of Montrose was a very talented young man, most happily unburdened by a conscience. I had great hopes for him.”

  “It is indeed a tragedy to see a promising life snuffed out too early,” Simon said with only a trace of irony. “I gather he fell from the battlements.”

  “You can gather all you like. You and I both know you tossed him out your window when you caught him in your rooms,” Richard said with a disapproving sniff. “I didn’t expect you to behave in such a manner. You didn’t have to be quite so brutal, you know.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord. I suppose I should have allowed the young creature to cut out my liver.”

  Richard’s eyes lit up. “Did he try to stab you? I knew the boy had the makings of greatness in him. There are very few people in Summersedge Keep who would go anywhere near you.”

  “Aidan of Montrose was brave to the point of foolhardiness,” Simon said.

  “And now I’ve got to make excuses to his mother, who’s some kind of kin to me.” Richard’s whine was back. “And what’s this I hear about you being unmanned? You never said anything about that.”

  “You never inquired.”

  “My sister will want children.”

  “And you are very concerned with your sisters’ desires, are you not?” Simon said smoothly.

  Richard laughed. “Still, I don’t trust a man with nothing between his legs. It’s not natural.”

  “Neither is attempting to fornicate with your sister.”

  Richard slammed his fist down on the table, and the dishes jumped. “She led me on,” he said. “Besides, I’m not convinced she’s my sister after all.”

  “If you persist you’ll lose another of your best men. Thomas du Rhaymer might be burdened with a conscience, but he has few peers when it comes to fighting. I doubt you’d want to dispense with him, and the only way you’ll get your hands on Lady Claire is to kill him.”

  Richard glared at him. “You’re annoying, Grendel. Did you know that?”

  “It’s a rare talent,” Simon purred.

  Richard leaned back in his chair, wiping the crumbs from his tunic. “I can’t afford to lose any more of my most trusted men,” he said slowly. “Neither my fighting men nor my advisors. But I’m not a man possessed of patience. When I decide on a course of action I see to it.”

  “Some tilings are out of your control, my lord.”

  Richard stared at him blankly. “No.”

  Simon shrugged. “I wish my concentration were as perfect as yours, my lord. I find myself distracted far too often. By strangers sneaking into my rooms, looking to disturb my work. By weeping women needing protection.”

  “I doubt Lady Claire came to you for protection
, Grendel. You have a less than comforting demeanor.”

  “Her sister trusts me.”

  “Does she indeed?” Richard sat upright. “Do not tell me you’ve won the creature’s heart? She’ll be much distressed when she finds you don’t come fully equipped.”

  “Perhaps she’ll be relieved,” Simon murmured.

  Richard looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment. “Send Brother Jerome to me,” he said abruptly.

  “Do you plan to make your confession?”

  “Ha! I have nothing to confess. Send Brother Jerome, and then send someone in search of those two supposed sisters of mine. A thought has come to me.”

  Simon looked at him warily. He’d learned never to underestimate his liege lord, and Richard’s ideas usually boded ill for everyone but Richard himself. “As you wish,” he murmured. “I’ll spend the day working on the sleeping remedy you requested.”

  “Certainly,” Richard said, waving a blunt hand. “I’ll summon you when I require your presence.”

  Simon hid his reaction with the ease of long practice. “I would have thought you’d prefer me to work on your commission.”

  “There’s time for everything,” Richard said, ignoring the fact that he had just sent a man to steal the item in question from his trusted advisor. “I think I’ll go visit Hedwiga.”

  “I’m certain your wife will be honored,” Simon replied politely.

  “I’m certain she won’t, but she knows she’s to do my bidding, whether she likes it or not” Richard rose, rubbing his thick hands together with anticipation.

  An anticipation that filled Simon with grave misgivings.

  “I won’t go,” Claire said flatly. “I don’t ever want to see his face again.”

  “I don’t think we have much choice in the matter, my love.” Alys struggled for the calm she seemed to have lost over the last few days. “If Brother Jerome is to be there as well we truly have nothing to fear. It is always possible Lady Hedwiga has finally chosen to grace us with her presence. And I expect Sir Thomas to be hovering nearby as well. He takes his responsibility to you very seriously.”

  There was no reading Claire’s odd expression. “He takes life too seriously,” she muttered.

  “You don’t think it’s a serious matter?”

  Claire made a face. “To be sure, it’s a serious, sad, painful business where everyone dies at the end, most of them sooner than they should. But that doesn’t mean we have to spend our days in mourning for what might never happen. It doesn’t mean we cannot let a smile cross our lips. It doesn’t mean that joy can’t be found, stolen, snatched away from a jealous fate.”

  “What has Sir Thomas got to do with joy?” Alys asked.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Claire said gloomily. “You won’t let Richard touch me?”

  “Not on my life. Nor on Sir Thomas’s life, for all his gloom. I expect Richard simply wants to apologize for his behavior.” Alys didn’t truly believe any such thing - Richard was not a man who recognized his own faults - but she wasn’t about to share her doubts with Claire. At least they would have protection. Madlen, in bringing the summons, had come directly from Brother Jerome, who’d been ordered to appear as well.

  There was no word as to whether Simon of Navarre would be present at the audience, and Alys wasn’t sure whether she was ready to see him again. He’d managed to confuse her totally, she who prided herself on her sharp brain and steady nature. He was a sham, a trickster, a man who killed quite easily and without compunction. Alys had seen men die before, but never so swiftly. At one moment the man stood there, Simon’s supposedly crippled hand wrapped tightly around his throat, and in the next he was gone, smashed onto the paving stones below.

  “You have a far more hopeful outlook than I do,” Claire said with a frown. A moment later Madlen reappeared, carrying a swathe of deep rose-colored material trimmed in yellow gold. “Lord Richard said you were to wear this, my lady,” she announced, draping the gown across the bed.

  It was a glorious thing, Alys thought with a faint longing. The prettiest shade of rose she’d ever seen. Long, bell-like sleeves lined in rich golden yellow. A beautiful dress for a beautiful woman.

  “I’m not wearing it!” Claire announced sharply. “I won’t let him dress me up for his pleasure…”

  “It’s not for you, my lady,” Madlen announced flatly. “It’s for Lady Alys.”

  Claire’s astonished expression would have been comical if Alys hadn’t been shocked as well. “You must be mistaken, Madlen,” she said after a moment. “This dress is clearly suited to Lady Claire, not to me. I couldn’t…”

  “Lord Richard said you were to wear it, and I don’t fancy dealing with his anger if he’s disobeyed, do you?” Madlen said with great good sense. “It’ll look a rare treat on you.”

  Claire struggled for words. “It’s too fine a dress,” she said flatly, touching it with a faintly covetous stroke. “What need would my sister have for such a thing?”

  “I have no idea, my lady,” Madlen replied. “Perhaps he wants to please his sister.”

  “I don’t think our happiness is of any particular interest to my brother,” Alys said, edging nearer the dress. What would Simon of Navarre think when he saw her in it? Would he still call her plain? Or would he stare at her with that deep, unsettling look in his eyes? Would he kiss her again? And again?

  “I’m to take you to Lady Hedwiga as soon as you’re ready,” Madlen continued. “And I don’t think either the lord or his lady are in the mood to be kept waiting.”

  Alys did her best to hide her dismay. “You see, Claire,” she said. “I was right. Lady Hedwiga has finally chosen to welcome us to Summersedge Keep. There is nothing to fear, is there, Madlen?” She turned to the serving woman. “Lady Hedwiga is a good woman who spends her life on prayer. She could hardly wish us ill.”

  Madlen shrugged her thick shoulders. “As to that, I’m sure she’s a holy woman, though I can’t say why she wants to see the two of you. She’s never spent much time on anything but her religion.”

  Claire made a face. “Maybe she found out what Richard tried to do and she wants him to apologize.”

  “I doubt it. More likely she wants to berate you for leading him on,” Alys said wryly as she presented her back to her sister for unlacing.

  “Wretch,” Claire muttered, under her breath. “You’re probably right But then, why would you be summoned as well? In such an unsuitable dress?”

  Alys slipped her ugly gown off, casting a wistful glance at the glorious swathe of rose and gold. “It will probably look hideous on me,” she said warily.

  “If it’s as bad as you think you can give it to me,” Claire said with her usual artless generosity, helping her sister into the heavy folds.

  Alys went to stand in front of the wavery reflection of the mirror. Her hair was a tangle down her back, in sore need of replaiting, and the unlaced gown drooped loosely around her. But Alys didn’t need Claire’s indrawn breath or Madlen’s sigh to know the truth.

  “You’re not getting this gown, Claire,” she said flatly. “Lace me up.”

  Claire did so with swift competence, moving out of the way as Madlen approached with a brush. “No plaits today, my lady,” she said in a voice that brooked no disagreement. “You have very pretty hair when you don’t hide it away. No wimple or veil either—just a ribband around your hair.”

  “I prefer to have my hair covered.” Alys’s voice was uncertain.

  “Madlen’s right,” Claire said. “If you’re going to be a beauty you might as well go all the way. She’s right - your hair is lovely and I never realized it It has glorious streaks of gold and brown and honey amber. Why in the world do you always hide it away?”

  Alys didn’t bother to explain. She knew perfectly well that no matter how beautiful her dress, how pretty she was, she would always pale next to her glorious sister.

  And since she spent her life in her sister’s company, false vanity seemed an absolute waste of
time and energy.

  But at that moment, looking at her reflection in the glass, she was ready to kill before she gave up that dress. She wanted Simon of Navarre to see her in it. She wanted him to weep at what he’d thrown away.

  Except that he hadn’t thrown her away. He’d insulted her, dismissed her, but as long as he wanted her, fate and her brother decreed that he would have her.

  And as long as he wanted her, she was willing to pay the price. As long as she could divine a way to make him suffer regret.

  She didn’t know if he was a man who felt regret. He didn’t seem as if he would, but she had a strong suspicion that he was very different from the mysterious creature he appeared to be. She already knew his lame hand was only a sham. His supposed unconcern for the people of Summersedge Keep was belied by his dung-free remedies.

  She suspected he had a strong reason for speaking those cruel words last night, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what that reason could be. She would be a fool and a half to suspect him of any noble motives, and she had never been a fool. He had sought to demoralize her and drive her away, at least temporarily. She could only wonder why.

  Lady Hedwiga was not, at first glance, that intimidating a woman. She was ordinary looking, a good ten years older than her husband, with a pinched mouth, dark, disapproving eyes, and thin, claw-like fingers that fondled a large crucifix attached to her girdle. Alys had spent her life among the professionally religious, from merry Sister Agnes to the dour Reverend Mother Dominica, but never had she seen someone as coldly removed from the warmth of everyday life as her half-brother’s wife.

  “My lady,” Alys greeted her with determined friendliness as she advanced into the room. Claire held back, and Alys gave her a surreptitious shove in the small of her back, propelling her forward. “How joyous it is to find a new sister…”

  She’d been planning to plant a respectful kiss on the woman’s pale, papery cheek, but Hedwiga held up a restraining hand.