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

I promise I won’t be unreasonably angry. Has Richard been telling lies? Has he disparaged you in any way… ?”

“It’s not about Richard,” she said, never able to keep a secret in all her seventeen years. “And it’s not about me.”

“Then what is it?”

Claire reached up and caught her sister’s hands, pulling her down to sit beside her on the bed. “Are you certain you want to marry Simon of Navarre?”

Alys kept the calm expression on her face by force. “I wasn’t aware there was much of a choice in the matter,” she said, avoiding commitment “It was either you or me, and we decided that you wouldn’t thrive in such a circumstance.”

Claire bit her lip. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” she said, more to herself than to Alys.“This is probably very good news indeed. At least you’ll be spared…”

“What news, Claire?” Alys couldn’t keep the faint tone of impatience from her voice. “Has something happened to Lord Simon? Is he hurt?”

“Not recently,” Claire said.

“Would you please explain yourself?” Alys didn’t wonder at the tension in her voice. She was growing accustomed to experiencing heightened emotions when it came to the man who would wed her.

“Apparently Simon of Navarre’s hand is not the only useless part of him.”

Alys looked at her blankly.

“He’s been castrated.”

Chapter Fourteen

It didn’t take long for Simon of Navarre to understand the odd looks he was being given. He sat beside Lord Richard at supper, barely touching his food, intent on his own thoughts and nothing else, when he began to realize that he was being paid even more attention than usual. The inhabitants of the Keep were always wary of him, always casting furtive glances his way as if to ward off roaming evil, but tonight there was even more revulsion than usual. It wasn’t until he remembered his conversation with Sir Thomas that he guessed what must have spread around the castle like wildfire.

He’d lived a seemingly chaste life during the two years he’d been at the Keep—there would be no one to deny that he was less than a man. The thought amused him. It had only been an errant taunt, and yet he could turn it to his advantage. If Alys heard the tale, and she was bound to, she would make the mistake of thinking her chastity was safe.

Even Lord Richard was giving him odd glances, and it took all Simon’s concentration to keep his face expressionless. The meal was likely to last for several more hours—there were musicians and jugglers to keep the revelry going, but Simon had had enough. Godfrey had already brought the important herbs and philtres to his solar. He could work in peace tonight, secure that no sleepy female would intrude upon his solitude and his concentration.

He ought just to bed her and have done with it She’d become far too much a part of his waking hours, and he should resent anything that distracted him. As he did resent her, for disturbing his concentration, for arousing him, for making him doubt his life’s course.

Richard looked almost relieved to dismiss him from the table. Like most men, he probably had an obsession about his genitals, and the thought that another man might be lacking made him feel vulnerable as well.

Simon was enjoying himself completely.

There was a strong wind blowing that night, ruffling the tapestries on the walls in his tower room, and he peered out into the night, finding his gaze traveling automatically toward Alys’s window. It was still bright - which was no wonder. The hour was not that advanced, and it had been a tumultuous day for the two sisters. He wondered if she’d heard the tale yet.

He turned his back on the window, on Alys, moving to the makeshift workbench and stretching out both hands, loosening the cramped right one. He couldn’t afford any more distractions. The potion needed to be completed, that much was certain. Whether he ended up giving it to Richard was yet to be decided.

He pushed his hair away from his face, rolling up his long sleeves. He would concentrate on his work with single-minded diligence. And he wouldn’t think of Alys at all.

Except to wonder if she’d heard and believed.

“He’s been what?”

“Castrated. Unmanned. Like a gelding,” Claire explained with great patience. “Surely you’ve heard of that?”

“Not with people,” Alys said. “What makes you think that?”

“Because he told Sir Thomas.”

“Sir Thomas doesn’t strike me as the sort for gossip.”

“The servants overheard the conversation.”

“And how did it go? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m missing my manly parts?’ “

“You don’t believe me,” Claire said, shocked.

“Oh, I believe you were told that. I just don’t believe it’s true,” Alys said calmly.

“It would be a blessing if it were. No risk of dying during childbirth, no submitting to his beastly desires…”

“It is our Christian duty to submit to our husbands’ beastly desires,” Alys pointed out. “And children are worth the risk.”

“You could get the marriage annulled. Marriage is for the procreation of children, and if there’s an impediment…”

“Marriage is for political purposes, and for that matter, there’s been no marriage,” Alys said sharply.

“Pray God that there never will be.”

Alys stood up abruptly, striding away from her sister as she rubbed her arms. It was a cold night, and she was restless, troubled. “I thought castration changed a male. Turned them placid, like a gelding, or plump, like a capon. Simon of Navarre is neither placid nor plump.”

Claire rose too, pushing her golden hair away from her face. “Since you’re so doubtful, why don’t you simply ask him?” she said in a sharp voice.

Alys turned. “I think I will.”

“Alys!” Claire shrieked in utter horror. “You’re not going…”

But Alys had already left the room.

It was late, but the Great Hall was still noisy with revelry. Alys kept to the shadows, moving silently toward the tower steps that led to the wizard’s rooms. She was cold, and she wrapped her arms around her body, shivering slightly as she mounted the curved steps. The wind