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

She didn’t even blink. “Having a wounded hand does not make you a monster,” she said.

“True enough.”

“It’s your wicked nature that does it,” she shot back.

He wanted to laugh, but he had enough sense not to push her beyond bearing. In truth, he had no idea whether Thomas du Rhaymer would arrive at the solar in time. Perhaps he’d misread the lustful determination in Richard’s eyes, but he seldom made mistakes. And if Claire struggled, and fought, Richard was entirely capable of killing her. He’d done it before.

He wasn’t about to share his doubts with Alys—she was already furious enough. “Go find a place to sit, my lady,” he said gently. “Fall asleep again. I’ll make certain no one disturbs you.”

The look she cast him was full of hatred and bitter contempt, but she knew there was no way past him. She was trapped in the workshop, trapped into waiting. It was small wonder she hated him.

She would hate him even more, he expected. He wondered if she would love him as well. He hoped not. Women’s love was an irrational thing, and it would only bring her pain. He could hope to spare her that.

At that moment love was the furthest thing from her mind. She stalked past him, her ugly brown robe trailing after her, and sank down into a corner, wrapping her arms around her knees. She didn’t look at him, or anywhere else but the packed earthen floor of the workshop. But he truly doubted that this time she would fall asleep.

Claire was sitting by the deep-set window, making little progress on her needlework, when she heard the heavy sound of booted feet approaching her solar. She closed her eyes with a sigh, then allowed a tiny, wicked smile to play about her mouth. Doubtless it was Sir Thomas, come to watch over her once more, to glower and lecture. It had been absolutely grand that morning, racing through the thickly rising mist of dawn, Arabia strong and sleek and sure beneath her, the dour knight following at her heels. She wondered what would have happened if she had let him catch her?

She’d been unexpectedly shy at the thought She knew about men with an instinct as old as time, not from any practical experience, and she knew that beneath Sir Thomas’s fierce disapproval lurked a dangerous longing. One that called to her.

She’d been a fool to prance away with Sir Hector, who was, without a doubt, the most boring creature in all creation, not to mention the fact that he liked to pinch her cheeks. She’d only done it to increase Sir Thomas’s rage, but the advantage had soon paled beside the penance of listening to Sir Horace’s heavy-handed flirting. She certainly hoped her brother had no fancy to wed her to the elderly knight. Even the terrifying Lord Simon would be preferable.

The footsteps were coming closer, and she smoothed her thick curtain of golden hair, not bothering to retrieve the light veil she’d worn earlier. She had no qualms about appearing before the very noble Sir Thomas looking her best She tugged at the neckline of her simple gown, wishing it were cut lower.

The heavy door slammed open without so much as a knock, and Claire’s good-humored anticipation vanished in sudden dismay. She was already tugging her neckline upward when Richard the Fair strode into her room. “See that we’re not disturbed,” he said over his shoulder, and the door was closed behind him, leaving the two of them trapped inside the spacious solar. Leaving Claire alone with her half-brother.

She had risen, nervously, but she was smart enough to know that one should never show fear in front of a dangerous animal. Therefore she smiled, setting down her needlework and advancing on Richard’s burly form. “Dear brother,” she murmured, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his bearded cheek, “how kind of you to honor me with a visit I’ll have one of my serving woman go find Alys and we can…”

He caught her arm in his meaty grip. The expression in his slightly reddened eyes was unreadable. Disturbing. “No need to bother the serving women, or your sister,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve seen to it that they won’t be bothering us. I thought it was time that the two of us became better acquainted.”

She wondered whether she could vomit again. Unlikely—it had been hours since she’d eaten, and despite her uneasiness her stomach was sadly calm. She took a step back, but he still gripped her arm with his strong, rough hand. He reached out and caught a strand of her hair, pulling it toward him painfully.

“Pretty,” he murmured thickly. “Pretty hair, pretty girl. Give us a kiss, love. I haven’t been kissed by such a pretty girl in a long time.”

“I just kissed you,” she said, trying to still the terrified beat of her heart.

“Not that way. I want a real kiss.” He hauled her toward him, but she was strong, used to controlling Arabia, and she was struggling, pushing him away.

“We are brother and sister,” she said fiercely. “To touch me would be an abomination in the sight of God and man.”

“As for that, I’m thinking maybe we’re no kin at all. Your mother lifted her skirts for my father—who’s to say she didn’t do the same for a dozen others? A whore is always a whore. You might just as well be the daughter of some handsome knight who wouldn’t take no for an answer. One like me.”

She squirmed, struggling desperately, furious. “You’re neither a knight nor handsome,” she spat at him. “Let me go or I’ll scream.”

“Then I’ll have to shut you up.” And he covered her mouth with his.

His breath was rank, foul, his mouth wet, and she slapped at him, pulling his thinning hair, raking her nails down the side of his face until he thrust her away. She fell, hard, breathless, against the floor, staring