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

sighed, nuzzling against his hand like a sleepy kitten, and he knew it was too late. She would probably try to kill him when she awoke and remembered her rude deflowering. He didn’t care. He was lost, captured by an innocent, destroyed by a would-be nun, and there was no way the monster, Simon of Navarre, Richard the Fair’s Grendel, would ever be the same.

Claire lay alone in the bed she had shared with her sister, dry eyed and desperate. Sir Thomas had left her at the door, coming no further, and there was no sign of her serving women, including faithful Madlen. She was alone, with no one to attend her, no one to come to her rescue if her lecherous brother should once more decide to ignore the laws of God and man.

She had reached out a hand and placed it on Thomas’s strong right arm, feeling the bone and muscle and heat through the rough wool of his tunic. “Stay,” she pleaded. “I’m frightened. Help me.”

But Thomas had withdrawn his arm with hasty gentleness, looking at her as if she carried the pox. “No one will come near you, my lady. I’ve given my vow to keep you safe, and nothing will stop me.”

“I don’t want to be alone in that room,” she said desperately. “I need you to guard me. There’s a trundle bed that Madlen…”

“No!” He took a step away from her, and she half expected him to ward her off with the sign of the cross. “I’ll keep you safe, I’ll fight for you, I’ll die for you, but I won’t lie at your feet like a tame dog. I won’t be led into temptation.”

“Temptation?” She stared at him in amazement. “Are you telling me I tempt you?” The very notion was absurd.

Except that she met his wintry eyes, and they were no longer so cold. They were hot with pain and longing, and she took an instinctive step backwards, shaken by such naked need.

“You tempt me to my complete destruction, my lady,” he said in a harsh voice. “And even if I had no care for my immortal soul, I could not destroy you as well.” And he turned and walked away from her before she could stop him.

The night was endless. She could hear him pacing beyond the door, his heavy boots steady and reassuring and maddeningly distracting on the stone floor. Every now and then he would come closer, and she would hold her breath, waiting for the door to open. But it never did.

She dreamed of him. She had never heard him laugh, but in her dreams he did. He put his arms out to her, and she went to them, gladly, weeping with joy, only to have him turn to ashes in her arms. She looked up into his face, calling for him, but all she could see was Richard with his lecherous, blood-shot eyes, and she woke up screaming.

“There, there, my lady.” Madlen scurried to her side, her plain face knit with worry. “You must have had a bad dream, and no wonder. Sit up and I’ll help you out of that accursed dress.”

It was morning, gray and overcast, and somehow Claire had managed to sleep. “Have you seen my sister?” she questioned, turning her back so that Madlen could unlace her.

Madlen shook her head. “She’s with her husband still. If it were any other bride I would say we won’t see her for a day or two, but there’s no telling with Grendel… Lord Simon.” She hastily corrected herself. “But don’t you worry, my lady. I’m certain she’s fine. These things are difficult for convent bred ladies, but she’ll grow accustomed to it eventually.” Madlen looked more doubtful than her calming words. “In the meantime, you need to eat something, and you need some fresh air. Sir Thomas said I was to accompany you to the stables where you might see your brother’s horse, but by no means was I to leave you unguarded.”

Claire froze. “Where is Sir Thomas?” she demanded. “He swore he’d watch over me, protect me…”

“He’s left, my lady. He’s been called away. Who would he be protecting you from, my lady?” Madlen asked with deliberate innocence. “No one wishes to hurt you.”

“Except my brother,” Claire said bitterly.

“Nay, my lady. Lord Richard wouldn’t harm a hair on your lovely head, I’m sure of it,” she said earnestly, ignoring the faint bruising that still remained on her mistress’s neck. “And Sir Thomas should return by late today, I’m certain. In the meantime I expect Sir Hector would be happy to keep you company…”

“Sir Hector is no match for my brother.”

“No one is, my lady,” Madlen said softly. “He’s the lord of this castle, and no one is going to stand up to him.”

“Except Sir Thomas, who’s abandoned me.”

“He had reason.”

“And what was that? A prayer retreat?” Claire didn’t try to contain the bitterness in her voice.

“He had to see to his wife’s burial.”

Claire dropped the brush she was holding. “What?”

“Word came last night, and Richard sent for Thomas to tell him. His lady wife died in childbirth two days ago at Hawkesley Court and her babe with her.”

” Oh, no!” Claire cried, shocked out of her own panic. “To lose his wife and his child… !”

“Not his child, my lady. Nor his wife in anyone’s eyes but the law. Gwyneth of Longmead ran off with Baron Hawkesley, and she was carrying his child when she died.” Madlen shook her head. ” ‘Tis a sad thing, but Brother Jerome would tell us it was God’s judgment.”

“God wouldn’t kill a child to punish a woman,” Claire said firmly.

“I’ve seen it happen too many times to doubt it. He’ll be back tonight, after he’s taken Lady Gwyneth’s body back to her family holdings. You can keep yourself safe that long, can’t you?”

“You’ll take me to see Arabia?” she asked, her mind turning feverishly.

“Aye, my lady.”

Claire smiled, a devious, obedient smile. She could do nothing for her sister,