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

Simon appeared in the door. “You’re much later than I expected,” he said. “It’s well into the middle of the day. I thought you weren’t going to emerge from the bridal bower at all.”

“I had things to do,” Simon said coolly.

“I’m certain you did.” Richard smirked. “And where is the blushing bride? Did you fuck her bowlegged?”

“Your concern for your sister is touching,” he murmured. “Godfrey tells me she’s resting in her room in the east tower.”

“How could Godfrey tell you anything? You cut out the man’s tongue,” Richard said in his cheerful voice.

“In fact, I wasn’t the one who maimed Godfrey. He’d hardly be my devoted servant if I had done it. And we have no trouble communicating, I assure you.”

Richard grimaced, taking a huge gulp from his ale. “So why are you here, Grendel?” he demanded. “Have you changed your mind about which sister you want? If you haven’t managed to take her maidenhead then I suppose we could see about an annulment, though I can tell you right now I’m not about to part with the other one.”

“Such brotherly protectiveness is admirable.”

“I told you, I don’t believe Claire’s any kin to me at all. Her mother was a whore, like all women. Of course she’d lie about the girl’s parenthood, since my own father was dead and couldn’t deny it.”

“You say all women are whores. Does that include Lady Hedwiga?”

Richard laughed at that. “Would that she were, my friend. She’d be a lot more interesting than she is now. What do you want from me?” His red-rimmed eyes met Simon’s without wavering.

That was part of Richard’s particular strength. He had no qualms about his sins; he committed them boldly, without conscience.

“We both know what I want, Richard,” he said gently. “The draught is not yet tested. It could be dangerous…”

“The draught?” His face held the innocence of a gifted liar. “You told me you were days away from perfecting it.”

“It’s not perfected yet. It could have unfortunate, unexpected effects…”

“And you think I stole it from you? Which means, I gather, that it’s missing? That it’s fallen into the wrong hands?”

“Indeed,” Simon said. “Dangerous hands.”

Richard looked up at him from beneath his thinning blonde hair, and his expression was bordering on smug. “Then you’d best find it, before someone gets killed.”

Simon didn’t move. The warning was implicit, and yet there was nothing he could do about it. He had no proof—he could scarce accuse his liege lord of high treason against the young king. As long as Richard stayed at Summersedge Keep then the king was safe, it was unlikely that Richard would trust anyone to commit the murder without him there to oversee it. Richard had an inflated opinion of his own abilities, and he would assume that none of his minions could perform properly without instructions. Simon had time.

“That would be a great tragedy,” he said slowly. “Perhaps I simply misplaced it. You may be certain I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Richard’s grin was smug. “I’m certain you will, Grendel. I know I can always count on you in the end.”

“Always,” Simon agreed, lying effortlessly.

Alys slept, a deep, dream-crazed sleep, tossing and turning in the wide bed in her tower room. There had been no sign of her sister when she’d entered the room, only Madlen sitting by the fire, placidly working on her stitchery. She’d taken one look at Alys’s face, made a comforting, clucking noise, and quickly divested her of the rumpled rose gown and tucked her into the bed. Alys never heard her leave.

Her dreams were strange, tumbled things. They were pure sensation, touch and scent and taste that made no sense at all, and when she finally awoke the day was almost spent, and she was shivering.

She sat up in her bed. Long shadows moved across the tower room, and the wind blew through the narrow slits, stirring the heavy wall hangings. Her headache was gone, but her mouth felt thick and sluggish, and her brain wasn’t functioning properly.

“I thought you might be wanting a bath, my lady,” Madlen’s voice penetrated the sleepy haze that still befogged Alys’s brain. “Seeing as how you spent last night, that is.”

Alys blinked. How would Madlen know how she spent the previous night?

“Are you in much pain, my lady?” she asked, her solicitousness doing little to cover her avid curiosity.

Alys didn’t know what to answer. She tried to remember the horrors that Lady Hedwiga had warned her of. Pain and blood, she’d said. Wet and disgusting. For some reason she had yet to associate Simon of Navarre with things that were disgusting, but then, he hadn’t wanted her. That in itself was fairly disheartening.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “A bath would be lovely, but I would like privacy as well.”

“My lady, if I may be so bold as to say so, at times like these women need the advice of other women,” Madlen said, not giving up easily.

“Lady Hedwiga has already been more than helpful.”

“You’ve seen her today?” Madlen sounded doubtful.

Alys was becoming an adept liar. “We had private converse,” she said.

“But Lord Richard said she was unwell—unable to see anyone.”

Hell’s blood, Alys thought, adding cursing to her rapidly growing list of sins. “I brought her a posset,” she said. “An herbal concoction I learned from the nuns, to ease her discomfort.” She summoned a learned smile. “I’m entirely able to take care of myself as well.”

Madlen looked doubtful, as well she might. Alys knew full well that Madlen was twice her age and had outlived two strong young husbands and one elderly one. She knew more about women’s bodies than most midwives, and the last thing Alys wanted was to expose herself to Madlen’s prying eyes.

“As you wish, my lady,” she murmured politely, lowering her curious gaze. “If you change your mind you have only to summon me.”

There was blood on her thighs when she lifted her chemise, blood staining her clothing, and she knew a moment’s horrified uncertainty as she slid into