Lord Of Danger

by Stuart, Anne

  “And you will marry me?” she persisted.

  He shook his head. “You need to marry a man with far more wealth than I possess, my lady. You need a man with a light heart and a merry soul.”

  “I’ll lighten your heart, Thomas,” she said.

  Little did she know she was tearing his heart apart. He shook his head, doing his best to keep his expression distant and austere. “No,” he said. “I will not marry you.”

  He wasn’t sure whether he expected relief or displeasure from her. He got neither. She simply nodded. “Very well,” she said calmly. “I shall simply have to be your leman.” And she launched herself against him, ignoring her wounded wrist.

  He fell back among the leaves as she covered his face with inexpert kisses, and he reached out to push her away, only to find that his hands were kneading her arms, and he was kissing her back with an unholy fervor, drinking the honey sweetness of her mouth.

  He tried to extricate himself, but she clutched him tightly, despite her injury. To get away from her he would have to hurt her, and that was something he simply could not do. He tried not to respond to her kisses, but that was another thing beyond his suddenly limited capabilities. He could no more keep from kissing her than he could keep the sun from rising and setting. He loved her, and there was no way he could deny it, or her.

  Her breasts were small, beautifully shaped, and she took his hand and placed it on her, and his fingers cupped her instinctively. He tried to sit up, but she simply climbed astride him, so that she was cradled in his lap, and he told himself he could stop fighting, at least for a moment.

  She was breathless, laughing, when she lifted her head to look at him. “You’d best change your mind, good knight,” she said. “If you won’t wed me I’ll seduce you, putting both our souls in mortal danger.”

  “My lady…” he protested helplessly.

  The light vanished from her eyes. “Thomas,” she said simply, “don’t you want me?”

  She looked as if she might cry once more, and he knew he couldn’t bear it if he were the cause of her tears. “Claire,” he said, “a man would be mad not to want you. I want you with every breath in my body, every drop of blood that moves through my veins. I want you so much I could die from it.”

  An impish grin lit her face. “Then have me.”

  And he knew he would. He would have her without her family’s blessing; he would have her knowing she could do so much better for herself. He would have her, and he would never let her go.

  He moved with surprising swiftness, surging off the forest floor, and she would have landed in an ignominious heap if he hadn’t caught her good arm and dragged her up against him. “Not without a priest’s blessing.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “You’ll wed me? Because I forced you?”

  He was perversely pleased to see his love could be as irrational as most women. Now that she’d gotten her way she seemed suspicious.

  “No, my lady,” he said with great patience, picking the leaves out of her tangled hair. “I’ll wed you because I love you.”

  “Why? Because I’m comely?”

  It was an obvious enough reply, but he had the sense to know that his bride wouldn’t be pleased with it. He picked a twig out of her hair. “My love,” he said with great patience, “your hair is a rat’s nest. Your eyes are swollen from weeping, your nose is red, your clothing is tattered, and your face is streaked with mud. You are still beyond passing fair, but not enough to tempt my immortal soul.” He wiped a patch of mud from her delicate cheekbone. “I love you because you have a fierce heart, a brave soul, a tender touch, and a woman’s grace. I love you for a thousand reasons that I can’t even begin to understand, when I didn’t want to love you at all. I love your mind and your heart and soul, and yes, I love your pretty face as well. But I’ll love you when you’re an old crone as well.”

  “I’ll never be an old crone,” Claire said with great confidence, clearly pleased with his confession. “I expect I’ll be a great beauty even when I’m fifty.”

  “I expect you will,” he agreed solemnly. “And why would you be marrying me? For my strong right arm?”

  “Of course not,” she said briskly, picking twigs out of her gown. “I’ve had a long time to think about it. I love you because you can’t resist me, no matter how much you disapprove of me. I love you because you’re not afraid of my brother, you’re not afraid of the wizard, and you’re not afraid of my frowns. I have a thousand reasons as well for deciding that only you will suit me, but I think that most of all I’m marrying you for your pretty face.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, the sound ringing through the forest, and she looked at him in shock. “I’ve never heard you laugh before,” she said ingenuously. “You should do it more often.”

  “You’ll have to ride pillion with me. Paladin is strong enough for the extra weight, and I’m in no mind to see if that devil mare of yours decides to return.”

  “We’re in a hurry?”

  “We need a priest, my lady. You may have no care for your immortal soul, but I’m not so lax about such matters. I’ll have you with the church’s blessing and not before.”

  She looked at him, and there was a look in her eyes that in any other but an innocent he would have called pure desire. “Let’s find a priest,” she said, starting for his horse.

  They dragged her from her sleep in the midst of the darkness, rough hands pulling at her, yanking her out of the cage. She could hear Madlen’s useless protests as they hurried her away, and she wondered if they were going to kill her now, without further delay? If she weren’t so weary she would probably care.

  They took her to the magnificent tent that had been erected, one knight that she didn’t recognize pushing her through the opening, his gloved hand painful on her upper arm. She tripped, sprawling on the thick carpet, and for a moment she kept her head down, keeping her hatred a secret.

  “There’s my little sister now!” Richard boomed in a cheerful voice.

  She raised her head. Richard reclined against a vast pile of pillows. His beard was stained with grease, his face red from wine or heat, and he watched her from chill, evil eyes devoid of feeling. She didn’t bother to look at the man beside him, knowing it was useless. Simon of Navarre would give nothing away. He would simply stare at her as if she were an insignificant insect.

  Changing her mind, she allowed herself the luxury of glancing his way, just to solidify her rage, when the man who’d brought her to the tent gave her a rough shove with his foot, halfway to a kick.

  Simon surged to his feet, and the man fell back with a muttered oath. “Touch her again,” Simon said in a soft, silken voice, “and I’ll feed your entrails to the crows.”

  Richard bellowed with laughter as the knight stumbled from the tent, away from Simon’s golden eyes. “You’re possessive of the wench, Grendel,” he said, belching. “I wonder why?”

  Simon sat again, and the furious glow in his eyes faded to watchfulness. “I have a dislike of seeing helpless creatures abused,” he said mildly.

  “Since when?” Richard didn’t bother waiting for an answer, leaning forward and fixing his piggy little eyes on his half sister. “Are you ready to confess, Alys?”

  “Confess to what?”

  “The murder of my lady wife, of course. Unless you have other crimes to confess as well.”

  “I had no reason to harm Lady Hedwiga,” she said helplessly.

  “So you say. I care not for your motive. I have three servants who saw you with her. That will more than suffice for His Majesty.” There was a faint note of ridicule in his voice as he mentioned the king.

  “I didn’t…”

  “You know what they do to women convicted of murder, don’t you? They bury them alive. It takes a while, and they do tend to scream, at least until the dirt fills their mouths and weighs down their bodies.”

  She stared at her brother in horror. “No,” she whispered.

  “The executioner us
ually covers the head last. So the criminal has time to think on her crime and the justice being meted out.” He took another gulp of wine.

  “I didn’t kill Lady Hedwiga.”

  “I say you did. And no one will dispute me, isn’t that the truth of it, Grendel?”

  “Leave her be.” Simon’s voice was sharp and cool, and Richard turned to stare at him in mock dismay.

  ” ‘Leave her be?’ ” he echoed. “I swear you have a fondness for the girl.”

  “You aren’t going to have her killed, and tormenting her is needlessly cruel.”

  Richard’s thick lips curled in a smile. “Cruelty isn’t needless,” he said. “I enjoy it.”

  Alys rose with deceptive grace, thankful that her long skirts hid the trembling in her cramped legs. “If you have no further questions of me, brother,” she used the term with deliberation, “then I would prefer to return to my cage.”

  “Just one, my pet. I must confess you’re hostage for Simon’s good behavior. He insists that you’re an annoyance that he has no use for, but I find I cannot quite believe him.”

  Alys darted a shocked glance at him, but as usual Simon’s expression gave away nothing at all.

  “What I wish to know, dear Alys, is did he deflower you?”

  She didn’t blush. She could keep her own face equally emotionless. “Why would you wish to know?”

  “Well, there’s no telling how this little drama will end. You may die at the hands of an executioner, or Simon might very well end up with his head parting company with his body. Anything is possible. You’re a commodity, Alys, a useful one, but no man wants another man’s brat to inherit his lands. I want to make sure there’s no bun in the oven if I choose to wed you elsewhere.”

  “I’m already married in the eyes of God.”

  “If he was incapable of fathering children then the marriage can be annulled.” He picked his teeth with the point of his dagger. “I find that I’m not so eager to let Claire go to some wealthy baron in return for loyalty. I have… plans for her. So you will be the chosen one. Answer the question, Alys. Did Grendel take your maidenhead?”

  “I know no Grendel.”

  “Don’t be tiresome, wench. Did Simon of Navarre tup you? Did he bed you as other men would bed you?”

  “I’ve lived my life in a convent, brother. I know nothing of other men.”

  “You’re a learned women!” he shouted. “And you’re no fool! Did he bed you as any other man would bed you?”

  She met Simon’s golden eyes for a breathless moment. “No,” she said. Simon smiled faintly.

  Richard let out a shout of triumph. “I thought not! You may have some value after all, for such a plain little creature. Behave yourself, and I just might forget about this poison nonsense.”

  “Poison nonsense?” she echoed.

  “Servants can be mistaken. They’re barely human as it is. Go back to your cage, Alys, and think on your sins. Pray for forgiveness, and thank God I married you to a creature like Grendel.”

  Simon reached for his own goblet of wine, seemingly inured to his lord’s insults. His eyes met hers over the rim of the goblet, but there was no reading his expression.

  “I do, my lord,” she said truthfully. “I do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was sheer luck that brought Claire and Thomas to the tiny church at the edge of the forest. Sheer luck that Brother Jerome had stopped to visit an old friend, and was standing in the portal of the stone church, watching their approach with disbelief and joy.

  Claire immediately ceased tormenting Thomas with her small, strong hands, ducking her head behind his broad back as she felt an unaccustomed flush mount her face. Thomas was right—she wasn’t particularly well-suited to illicit delights. However, she suspected she was most gloriously suited to licit ones, and she poked her head around Thomas’s strong frame to grin at the priest.

  “Will you marry us, Brother Jerome?” she called out.

  Brother Jerome’s delight faded into worry. “Is there need for haste?” he asked, catching the reins of Paladin and looking up at them.

  Thomas slid down from the horse, then turned and caught Claire around her slender waist, his hands strong and warm as he lifted her down. “Need you ask?” he said evenly.

  “With you, my son, no,” Brother Jerome said. “With Lady Claire as temptation, however…”

  “Thomas is very good at resisting temptation.” Claire didn’t bother to disguise the disgruntled tone in her voice.

  “I am happy to hear that,” Brother Jerome murmured. “Does your brother approve this wedding? You must know that it could be declared invalid if the lady’s closest kin has not given permission.”

  “Lord Richard has no say in the matter,” Thomas said flatly. “Either he is no kin to Lady Claire, and therefore has no say in her disposal, or he is the most unnatural of brothers, and cannot be trusted to see to her welfare.”

  Brother Jerome said nothing, staring at the two of them searchingly. Eventually he nodded. “I would be happy to do God’s will and unite the two of you in marriage. But have you thought, my son? Lord Richard is a dangerous enemy.”

  “I will keep her safe.”

  “I am satisfied that you will. I could only wish someone would be able to help poor Lady Alys.”

  Claire was jolted out of her happy anticipation with the rudeness of a blow. “What do you mean?” she demanded in a hoarse voice.

  Brother Jerome’s face was stern. “You do not know? Haven’t you heard? She’s been accused of murder. Lord Richard is taking her north to see the King, to put her to judgment. If she’s found guilty she’ll be buried alive.”

  “Oh, God,” Claire cried out. “She killed him?”

  Brother Jerome looked confused. “She’s accused of poisoning Lady Hedwiga.”

  Relief flooded her. “Lady Hedwiga is dead? But that’s ridiculous! Why would Alys do such a thing? And where would she come across poison?”

  “Her brother has accused her of trafficking with the devil,” Brother Jerome intoned.

  “Well, of course,” Claire snapped. “He had her marry him. What’s her lord husband had to say to all this?”

  “As far as I know, not a thing. I was sent from the Keep when they left for York, and all I’ve been able to do is pray for a just outcome.”

  “A just outcome? My sister is no murderer, and you know that as well as I!”

  Thomas put a restraining hand on her arm. “Brother Jerome has not accused her, love. He’s only repeating what he knows. Where have they gone?”

  “They’re heading north along the North Road. King Henry is in residence at Middleham Castle.”

  “How fast are they traveling? Surely they aren’t making Alys ride?” Claire demanded.

  “I saw her placed in a traveling carriage that… er… resembled a cage.”

  “And her monstrous husband did nothing to stop this?”

  “Nothing, my lady.”

  She turned to Thomas. “We’re going after them,” she said.

  “No.”

  “You can’t expect me to ignore my sister’s plight! I have to do something, I have to save her! All her life she’s taken care of me, sacrificed for me, and I’ve selfishly accepted everything she’s done as if it were my due. Now that she needs me I can’t turn my back on her.”

  “I’m not expecting you to. I’m expecting you to wait here with Brother Jerome while I go after her.”

  “I won’t do it! What makes you think you’d have any better luck than I would? He might have you killed on sight for deserting his household…”

  “He doesn’t know that I have. As for as he’s aware, I’ve gone to see to my wife’s burial. If I show up he’ll merely think I’m resuming my duties. If I show up with you he’ll probably geld me.”

  “You think he will listen to you?”

  “No.”

  “He’d listen to me,” Claire said in a bitter voice. “I have something he might be willing to trade fo
r my sister’s life.”

  “And what is that, my lady?” Brother Jerome asked.

  “Me.”

  Brother Jerome crossed himself, uttering a hasty prayer. “You can’t consider such an abomination,” he said.

  “I can consider anything to save my sister,” she said fiercely. Thomas stood beside her, remote, powerful. “Are we going after them?” she demanded. “Or do I leave you behind?”

  “You should beat her,” Brother Jerome said. “Often, and severely.”

  “Once we’re married,” he agreed carelessly. “Have you a horse? Lady Claire lost hers.”

  “That would leave me without a mount!” the good friar protested.

  “We’ll bring it back to you,” Thomas promised. “And you may marry us upon our return.”

  “And if you don’t come back, my son?”

  “Then pray for our souls, Brother Jerome.”

  If Richard the Fair, had had any sense, they would have avoided the market town of Watlington and the boisterous festival that spilled over into the countryside.

  A man of robust appetites, he loved a fair as well as most, but he had more important things to attend to. There’d be time enough for feasting and whoring when they’d finished at Middleham Castle. Time enough once the king was dead.

  Grendel would have to die as well—it was an unfortunate necessity. Richard was wise enough to know that he would never be secure as long as someone held the secret to his power. As long as he kept his plain, pious sister in her cage, Simon of Navarre would do exactly as he wanted. But that wouldn’t work for long.

  Richard found it vastly amusing that his partner in wickedness would have done anything as absurd as fall prey to a quiet little sparrow of a creature. In the years that Simon had been Richard’s chief advisor he’d shown not a trace of weakness or partiality, not for women or other men or young boys. He had seemed powerful and inviolate.

  But his sweet little sister Alys had brought a change to all that, and it had been sheer luck that had brought them together. Richard had never thought Simon would choose the plainer of the sisters, he had a love of beauty and finery, and to choose the lesser one seemed unlike him.