Lord Of Danger Stuart, Anne (classic fiction .TXT) 📖

faithless wife. If he were to damn his eternal soul by breaking his God-given vows, then he’d rather do it with Lady Claire than by running away.

He wasn’t going to do either, and he cursed himself for even thinking such a thought. She was out of sight of the castle now, just beyond the copse of trees, and he cursed again. Summersedge Forest was no place for the likes of her. It was a wicked place, filled with wild animals and evil spells, and the paths were strewn with dangers, low hung branches, up-shot roots. She could be swept from her horse, her fragile bones smashed against the ground, and he would have to carry her corpse back to her brother.

But her bones weren’t fragile, they were strong. And she was too good a rider to take foolish chances. He was a halfwit to worry about her. Besides, it wasn’t Lady Claire he was worried about, it was facing her brother with no good excuse.

He couldn’t find her. She had melted into the forest like the first snow on a bright day in December. The leaves were thick along the narrow trails, and he couldn’t even attempt to track her.

He waited, he searched, he called for her, knowing full well she wouldn’t answer even if she heard him. In the end he turned back to face his punishment. If Lord Richard wanted him hanged from the battlements, so be it. There were far worse futures he could face.

The castle was awake and a-bustle when he rode back over the drawbridge. His squire, Alain, was waiting for him, but the boy had the sense to keep his questions to himself and simply take Paladin’s reins and lead him back to the stables.

Lord Richard would be in the Great Hall, breaking his fast. Most of the castle would be there as well, either eating or serving. It was as good a time as any to confess his transgressions. That way a hunt could be mounted for the missing beauty as quickly as possible.

He didn’t pause during his headlong dash into the hall, and the doors banged loudly as he pushed through, causing an uncustomary silence to wash over the busy place. He strode down the middle of the huge room, past the side tables, skirting the huge fire, coming directly to the dais and the curious, merciless eyes of Richard the Fair.

“What kept you, Sir Thomas?” he demanded, taking a deep draught of his morning ale. “Have you forgotten your duties? Overslept, eh? And with whom? None of the serving wenches claim any knowledge. Perhaps you prefer young boys?”

Thomas didn’t even blink, so intent was he on confession and punishment “Your sister, my lord…” he began in a rough voice.

“Don’t tell me you’ve bedded my sister, for I’D know you for a liar,” Richard said with a coarse laugh. “She’s been here this last half hour, wondering where her chaste champion had gotten himself to.”

He hadn’t seen her. Too intent on confession and punishment, he hadn’t even noticed that she was seated next to her boisterous brother, albeit as far away as she could manage. He stared at her in dumbstruck disbelief. Her hair was chastely plaited, with a loose veil and circlet covering its golden glory. Her clothes were somber, her eyes utterly calm as they met his.

“So?” Lord Richard demanded. “Where were you, Sir Thomas?”

He managed to pull his gaze away from Lady Claire, but only with supreme effort “Er… I was lost in prayer, my lord.”

Richard’s contemptuous snort was reply enough. “That’s no way to watch over a high-bred filly like m’sister. You’d best watch yourself, lad. She could lead you a merry chase.”

Thomas cast a sudden, suspicious glance at his liege lord, but Richard had no idea how very close he’d come to the mark. “Aye, my lord,” Thomas said in a dutiful voice. “A thousand pardons.”

“A mere handful is enough, and see that it doesn’t happen again. If my little sister continues to behave herself, you might find her a nice little palfrey and allow her a gentle ride within the castle walls. Something suitable for a lady. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my dear?” he demanded of his sister.

She lifted her willful chin. “You are too generous,” she said sweetly.

Thomas looked at her doubtfully. He couldn’t believe her sudden docility; he couldn’t believe the neat hair and calm demeanor that suggested a woman just risen from her bed. She seemed a far cry from the hoyden he’d chased through the forest. Her color was high, but Richard’s crude jests could be the cause.

Old Sir Hector was seated next to her, drooling over her, and Thomas had to content himself with a seat at the lower table, where he could look up at her and torment himself with his indecision. His morning ride had increased his appetite, and indeed, Lady Claire seemed equally hungry. She never looked in his direction; she kept her face down and her expression demure, but he told himself he wasn’t fooled.

Richard stood up abruptly, signalling the meal was at an end, and the others hastily followed suit, a few of them choking on their ale-soaked bread. Thomas vanished back into the shadows of the hall, waiting his chance to accost the devious wench, to find out the truth.

But luck was still against him. She came sailing by on Sir Hector’s arm, flashing a brief, triumphant smile in his direction. “There’s no need to hover, good Sir Thomas,” she murmured. “I’m certain Sir Hector can be trusted to keep me safe.”

The elderly Sir Hector preened, and Thomas knew a sudden, unworthy desire to kick the old man’s cane out from beneath his gnarled fist. “As you wish, my lady,” he said, bowing slightly as they moved past.

And then her ladyship looked back at him, and there was a wicked smile in her eyes. “You might spend your free time improving your riding skills, Sir Thomas. You never know when you might find yourself