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

and care of another woman even more than Brother Jerome’s tender ministrations.”

For once Simon of Navarre was proven wrong. When they entered the chapel building the room was smoky with incense, and Alys could see a figure prostrate in repentance in front of the altar. But it wasn’t her sister, it was a man, and as she started forward she recognized Sir Thomas du Rhaymer.

Navarre caught her arm, drawing her back before she could stumble in on the man’s private communion with God, and turned her toward Brother Jerome. His kindly face was drawn and troubled.

“A bad business,” he said, shaking his head. “A bad business indeed. Lord Richard must have been plagued by dishumors, to have been so disordered in his mind as to assault his sister. We must pray for him, Lady Alys.”

That was the last thing Alys wanted to do, but she’d been strictly raised, and knew her duty. “Of course, Brother Jerome.”

He smiled at her benevolently. “Your sister is in the herb garden. Go to her, my child, while I discuss this sad affair with Lord Simon.”

Claire was seated on a stone bench amidst the lemon thyme and lavender, her face pale and set. Alys’s first instinct was to rush toward her and envelop her in her motherly arms, but something about Claire’s demeanor stopped her. She approached slowly, knowing her sister was aware of her, and sat beside her on the bench, saying nothing.

After long minutes Claire reached out and put her hand in Alys’s, still not raising her eyes. There was blood on her fingernails, doubtless from Richard, and Alys found she could rejoice with bloodthirsty simplicity.

“I was frightened, Alys,” she said eventually, in so low a voice Alys almost couldn’t hear her.

“I know, love,” she replied.

“I didn’t know what it was to be frightened. I didn’t know what it was to be so helpless. He wouldn’t listen to me, Alys. He wouldn’t stop.”

“But Sir Thomas came in time,” she reminded her.

“But what if he doesn’t the next time Richard conveniently decides I’m not really his sister?” She turned to look at Alys, and her great green eyes were dark with stormy tears. “He might not be there…”

“He will be there, Claire,” Alys said firmly. “Lady Hedwiga will return, and Brother Jerome and Lord Simon will aid us.”

“That horrible creature?” Her voice was raw with disbelief. “How could he stop Richard? Why should he bother?”

A slight trace of annoyance slid into Alys’s compassion. “He’s responsible for alerting Sir Thomas this afternoon,” she said sharply. “He sent his servant to warn him. If it hadn’t been for him, no one would have come to your rescue.”

If she had hoped Claire would be chastened she was disappointed. Her sister merely looked perplexed. “Why would he care? Why would his risk his liege lord’s displeasure?”

“Why did Sir Thomas?” she countered.

“Because of a vow,” Claire said bitterly. “That’s all he cares about, his vows and his honor. He would have rescued a sow he’d been sworn to protect, and risked his life in the process.”

“I doubt he looks upon you as a sow.”

“No, I’m a great deal less useful and more inconvenient,” she said with a weary sigh.

“But far prettier,” Alys said lightly.

It was the wrong thing to say. “Curse this prettiness,” Claire said bitterly. “If it brings me the attentions of my own brother, I would rather look like…”

“like me?” Alys supplied lightly.

Claire turned to look at her for a long considering moment. “No,” she said. “And if I were you, I’d give a care about Richard. You are looking far too lovely recently, and he might have a preference for swiving his blood kin.”

Alys didn’t know whether to laugh or to weep. “Let us go to our solar and dress in our ugliest clothes,” she said. “We can smear our faces with dirt, tangle our hair, perhaps pluck out a tooth or two. If you can bear to do it, I can too.”

She managed to lure a small, rusty laugh from her sister. “I dread to inform you, dear sister, but you are already wearing your ugliest clothes. Perhaps I’ll borrow from your wardrobe. It might give Richard a disgust of me that nothing else has managed.”

Alys put her arms around her, and Claire clung to her, shivering in the bright autumn sunlight. “If he touches you again, I will cut out his heart,” Alys promised fiercely.

“And I’ll hand you the dull knife to do it with,” Claire said. And her rough little laugh caught with a sob.

Chapter Thirteen

There were times when discretion was called for, and times when it was best dispensed with. Simon of Navarre was a man who trusted his own judgment in such matters, and he was seldom mistaken.

Richard the Fair was seated in his solar, a cool, herb-soaked cloth laid against his scratched skin. Simon could smell the tangy scent of lemon balm, and he wondered who had treated Lord Richard. There were other remedies, more efficacious and less painful, but Richard deserved all the discomfort that could be visited upon him.

Lady Hedwiga was probably responsible for the remedy. She was sitting by the embrasure, stitching dutifully, and her disapproving face was pinched and sour, as if she had never been absent on one of her interminable religious retreats. It was a fortunate thing that she spent the majority of her narrow-minded, disapproving life either on pilgrimage to holy places throughout England or in private retreat in her solar, speaking to no one but her servants and Brother Jerome. If Richard had had to spend much more time with her he probably would have had her strangled.

As usual she refused to acknowledge Simon’s presence. Hedwiga ignored anything that didn’t fit within the neat little boundaries of her life, including her husband’s peccadilloes, her bastard half-sisters-in-law, the needs of the people of Summersedge, or the social niceties of castle life. She kept to her solar and lived a life of austere chastity.

“I rejoice to see you looking so well,” Simon