Lord Of Danger by Stuart, Anne (free ebook reader for android txt) 📗

“Ah, but you’re forgetting,” she said blithely. “I’ll have all those stalwart knights to distract and entertain me.”

He laughed, and it was a strangely charming sound. “Unless you drive me to murder you first.”

“Do you murder women, then, my lord?”

“I haven’t yet, my lady. I usually restrict my murderous activities to those who deserve them. But I’m open to new experiences.”

It shouldn’t have been a matter of jest. Men did kill their wives, in rage, in cold blood. And Alys had no doubt whatsoever that Simon of Navarre was capable of killing.

But he was no threat to her life, she was certain of it. To her peace of mind, doubtless. To her well-being, to her immortal soul, perhaps. But he would never hurt her.

Would he?

“This hall is drafty,” he said with great patience, “and I have no strong desire to haul you up the stairs when you have two legs that can carry you up there.”

“And why are you taking me upstairs?”

“Not to swive you,” he said. “I’ve decided you need some training in the healing arts. If you keep putting horse dung on people they’ll all be dead, and I like having my needs attended to by servants. They won’t be able to do that if they’re dead. Therefore, their health is of concern to me, and since they’re all terrified of me, you seem the best choice to administer the proper herbs.”

She looked at him, taking this all in. “Yes, my lord,” she said with dubious meekness.

He wasn’t a gullible man. “Yes, my lord… what?”

“Yes, I do firmly believe that you have no interest in the welfare of anyone but yourself and your only concern for others is that they are well enough to see to your comfort,” she parroted. “And I will be more than grateful to learn whatever it is you wish to teach me.”

He let his eyes slide down her body. “I am not convinced of that, my lady.”

She fought hard against the color that rose to her cheeks. “I wish to learn about the healing arts. I’ll endeavor to pass on your treatments to those in need.”

He looked as if he were about to argue further, then thought better of it. “Then stop dawdling,” he said in a sharp voice, and started up the winding tower stairs. Leaving her little choice but to lift her heavy skirts and scurry after him, cursing his long legs and his rapid pace.

She was a demon, sent to bewitch him, Thomas thought morosely, setting his goblet back down on the table. It was bad enough when she was tossing her sun-bright hair, teasing him, fighting with him.

It was far worse when she was sitting at the table, a woeful, lost expression on her far too beautiful face. He couldn’t fight with a waif, no matter how lovely. It roused all his protective instinct, it made him want to draw her away from the rude voices, the bawdy comments floating through the air, to place her pretty face against his shoulder and cover her ears.

He was a careful man, and he kept his expression absolutely blank, but beneath it he mocked himself. She was a jade, there was no way she could be anything but, and her current megrims were doubtless due to a fit of sulks that she couldn’t have her way. Though at this point he had no idea what her way was.

And in truth, she’d been oddly beguiling in the presence of that huge daughter of Satan she called a horse. She had crooned to the giant creature, stroked her silky nose, whispered loving things in her attentive ear. And Thomas had watched, and wondered if his wife had ever loved any creature on earth half so much as this pampered beauty loved her horse.

He couldn’t help but approve. He had a knight’s appreciation for a worthy horse, added to a natural fondness toward all animals. You knew where you stood with four-legged creatures. They were honest and true and incapable of deceit, and it grieved him to think that Lord Richard would hand such a magnificent creature to the highest bidder for his half-sister’s hand. And he told himself it troubled him not at all that she, too, would be handed over to some elderly, wealthy baron who’d probably buried several wives already.

He’d been mesmerized by the sight of her hand, stroking the sleek, well-muscled flank of her horse. She wore no rings, which surprised him. He would have thought she’d be far more interested in gold and silver than a good horse. Her hand was pretty, well-shaped, but surprisingly strong-looking. But then, she’d have to have strong hands to rule an oversized creature like her mare.

Her days of riding her precious mare were done, whether she knew it or not. Lord Richard would see to it that she suffered a different kind of ride, and she would doubtless be well-pleased with her lot, as most women were. All they needed were creature comforts and the adoration of all the men surrounding them. And few men would be foolish enough to deny Lady Claire their besotted admiration.

There was a coarse laugh from beyond Lady Claire, and he looked to see Richard, wine-befuddled and belching, reach out and press a loud, wet kiss on his half-sister’s mouth. “Gad, you’re a pretty thing!” he shouted. “Damn me if I’m not half-tempted to keep you for myself.”

The others laughed at his absurd, ribald sally, even Brother Jerome. But there was something in Lady Claire’s wide green eyes, and in the furtive way she wiped the dampness from her mouth with the back of her hand once her brother had turned away, that made Thomas uneasy.

He looked closer at the faintly green tinge to her clear skin. She was going to hurl all over his lordship’s trencher if he didn’t get her out of there, and he decided it was his Christian duty to remove her. It mattered nothing that that was clearly what