His Fair Lady (27 page)

“Consider my offer carefully,” she
whispered, closing the space between them. “Marry me and you will
gain an earldom. Together we will beget a dynasty.”

She grazed Royce’s chest with her breasts.
Then, sliding her hands over his shoulders to the back of his neck,
she pressed her body against his.

“You will find my appetites can be quite
insatiable. With the right man, that is. And you, Royce de Warrene,
are most definitely the right man.”

Drawing his head down to hers, she captured
his lower lip with her teeth. She rasped the flesh lightly before
releasing him. Moving against him, her mouth sought his in a hungry
kiss.

»«

Ana found the bedchamber swamped in shadows
when she entered, illuminated solely by the light of the fireplace.
Luvena bustled forth to meet her, bringing a candle to help guide
her way.

As Ana stepped deeper into the room, she
heard whisperings and soft, feminine laughter from the other side.
Peering through the dimness, she spied the ladies with whom she
shared the chamber, gathered at the window and gazing out.

“Luvena, put out that candle. They will see
us,” one hissed over her shoulder.

“Ladies of good breeding shouldn’t be spying
on others,” the diminutive maid admonished. “And I’ll not have Lady
Juliana risk breaking her leg, stepping around your pallets in the
dark.”

“Shh, Luvena! You’ll ruin everything,” the
youngest in the group snapped. She looked to be scarcely older than
the queen.

Lady Pamela, the only one Ana knew by name,
turned from the window. “Sir Royce and Lady Sibylla are in the
garden below. Alone. They are standing very close, and have been
talking ever so long.”

“Oh! Look there! Did you see how she brushed
up against him? And with her breasts, no less. How bold,” another
exclaimed.

“Brazen is more the word,” Lady Pamela
declared. “Lady Juliana, come quick. I think they’re about to . .
Oh yes, look there. . . .”

Unable to restrain her curiosity, Ana
quickened to the window, earning a decided frown from Luvena.
Shouldering her way through the others, she peered out, catching
sight of two figures softly illuminated by moonlight, their forms
melting to one. Ana watched, stunned, as Lady Sibylla’s arms slid
around Sir Royce’s neck and drew his head down to her, their lips
coming together in a deep, devouring kiss.

Ana fell back from the window, jolted by the
sight, her heart racing in her chest.

“You’re quite right, Luvena, ladies
shouldn’t be spying on others, and I am the sorrier for it.”

“Come away, my lady. Time to bed. A sound
night’s sleep is what you need.” Luvena took her by the arm and led
her to her pallet.

Much later, having made her ablutions and
undressed, Ana lay abed, her emotions roiling. She felt thoroughly
miserable — angry and downcast, awash with tears that would not
come. Surely, her anxiety rose from the knowledge that her dear
squire had not returned from the Holy Lands. Certainly, it had
naught to do with Sir Royce. Why should she care if the knight had
succumbed to the countess’s charms? She didn’t, she assured
herself. ‘Twas her fears for her squire that afflicted her, that
and no more.

Ana brushed her fingers over her lips,
remembering the touch of Sir Royce’s mouth. The image of Lady
Sibylla crowded in, claiming the knight, her lips locking with
his.

“Insufferable man,” Ana fumed and turned
onto her other side.

Catching up the silver cross, she closed her
fingers around it, banishing the knight and the woman he held in
his arms from her thoughts. Instead, she gave the whole of her
attention to the one who mattered most to her, the one who secretly
held her heart of hearts.

“Wherever you may be, most beloved squire,
may God safeguard you and keep you well. And may He keep all manner
of evil from your path in whatever form it may seek to afflict you.
Amen.”

Ana tossed on her pallet as a jumble of
vibrant images swirled through her dreams. She caught glimpses of
faces, vaguely familiar, and breath-stealing mountains and green
valleys. There was also a looming structure — a dwelling — she
could not quite make out, but she sensed ‘twas impressive and built
of stone.

A young girl suddenly appeared, perhaps
seven or eight years of age. ‘Twas the same girl who’d run through
the corridors of Dover Castle. Her silvery hair spilled freely down
her back as she stood at a table in a hall. She was not alone, but
played at some game with a boy. He looked to be slightly older,
perhaps ten. Each clutched a small, jointed knight, knocking and
slamming the figures together as they fought a mock battle. The boy
became thoroughly engrossed in their efforts, smashing his little
warrior into the girl’s with increasing vigor, eager to win.

“Cur! Taste my steel. Take that, and that,
and that!” He pounded on her knight with abandon. His fist, a blur
of motion, accidentally jabbed his piece into the back of the
girl’s hand, cutting her midway between the thumb and
forefinger.

Screaming, the girl dropped the toy and
gazed in horror at the blood dripping from her hand.

“My lady? My lady, are you all right? You
cried out.”

Ana frowned. Luvena? What was she
doing in her dream, in this place, wherever
this
was? Ana turned onto her other side,
sinking deeper into another layer of sleep.

“There, that is better.”‘Twas the
blond-haired woman again, the one with wide arching brows.

Ana couldn’t see her features clearly, but
knew that the lady smiled as she finished wrapping the girl’s small
hand and placed a light kiss to it. She then took up a beautiful
comb — an ivory comb with intricate carvings on its spine. She
began to sing comfortingly as she drew the comb through the young
girl’s hair. Her voice was the sweetest Ana had ever heard,
beautiful and crystal clear.

Again the images altered, but Ana continued
to hear the woman singing sweetly. A lute now accompanied her fine
voice and there seemed a familiarity about it all. To Ana’s dismay,
she could no longer see the golden lady nor the instrument. Ana
seemed to be at a short distance, perhaps in an adjoining room
somewhere. Confusingly, she — or was it the child? — was sitting in
water, naked and wet. Several people moved about her, servants she
thought. They, too, listened to the delightful song.

Abruptly, the singing stopped. ‘Twas odd,
Ana thought, for she felt certain the lady had not ended her song.
Those around her went strangely still and silent, gaping toward the
other room. Shouts sundered that brief quiet, then screams filled
the air.

Ana gasped for breath, darkness enveloping
her. Impossibly, she was now outside, beneath the stars, running,
running, someone gripping her hand and dragging her along as they
fled into the night.

Ana jerked awake and found Luvena leaning
over her, patting her hand and cheek.

“My lady, you’ve had a bad dream. My lady,
wake up.”

Her heart battering against her chest, Ana
pushed herself up to a sitting position. With shaky fingers, she
shoved back her hair.

“Yes Luvena, just a bad dream. That is
all.”

Glancing about her, she saw the other ladies
in the chamber beginning to wake. Servants bustled about,
unshuttering the windows and allowing in the early morning
light.

As her breaths evened, Ana again brushed
wayward strands of hair back from her face. She halted her hand in
mid-motion, stilling as she recalled the first part of her
dream.

Drawing her hand slowly down, she held it
before her. She need not look at it, of course, for she already
knew what she would find — a small jagged scar on the back of her
right hand, midway between the thumb and forefinger. It had been
there for as long as she could remember.

»«

After morning chapel, Ana headed for the
northwest tower to break her fast with Lord Gilbert. On arriving,
Godric informed her the lord still slept and deeply so. In
accordance with his master’s instructions, he directed her to the
tutor Lord Gilbert had retained — Peter Coffey, by name, and highly
recommended. Today, she would begin her lessons in reading and
ciphering.

For the next several hours, Ana bent over a
tablet of wax, stylus in hand, struggling to copy letters of the
alphabet onto its surface. She wielded the stylus awkwardly,
following the tutor’s explicit directions. Being better coordinated
with her left hand — and out of sheer frustration — she switched
the instrument over to it.

“Lady Juliana! Must I tell you again?
The devil rules your left hand,” Peter Coffey snapped impatiently.
“Use your right hand,
only
the right!”

Ana grit her teeth as she transferred the
stylus back and began again. Clumsily, she dropped the instrument
onto the floor. Next, she dug the point too deeply into the wax,
somehow dislodging a large chunk of the material and causing it to
pop free of its wood backing.

“Look what you have done to the tablet!”
Master Coffey howled. “Has life among commoners allowed you no
refinements? Young woman, you must have more care, more respect
when handling such items. They do not come cheaply after all.”

Ana glared at the man, stunned by his
outburst and slighting remarks.

Oblivious to her rising anger, he continued.
“The tablet can be repaired of course, but the wax will need be
heated and reapplied to the board again. For now, you will have to
use that portion of the tablet you have not ruined, but mind what
you do.”

Boiling inside, Ana took up the
stylus, not realizing until a moment later she’d done so with her
left hand. Before she could shift it to her opposite hand, the
tutor brought down his rod with a loud
thwack
, hitting the surface of the table where
Ana sat.

“Not the left!” he shouted. “You will never
be an accomplished lady if you cannot follow the least of my
instructions!”

“Perhaps I was never meant to be a lady.”
Ana shot to her feet, her temper exploding, and flung the tablet
onto the floor.

“Now see what you’ve done. Lord Gilbert
shall hear of this!”

“He most certainly will!” Ana stormed toward
the door. Then, unable to resist, she halted and spun around,
thrusting up her chin into the air. “You, sir, may consider
yourself dismissed!” she declared boldly, then swept out of the
room and fled down the stairs into the courtyard.

What had she done? Ana reproached herself as
she crossed the ward, her emotions snarled into knots. She’d far
overstepped her bounds. Where did she get such audacity? Yet, she
knew in her heart Lord Gilbert wouldn’t abide the man belittling
her so. Not for one minute. He must be informed of the tutor’s
outrageous behavior. Her own too, before Peter Coffey could supply
his own version.

Ana flexed her right hand, stretching the
muscles, cramped from gripping the stylus. Absently, she dropped
her gaze to the scar she bore. Indeed she must talk with Lord
Gilbert, but not only of the wretched tutor.

Ana entered the tower and mounted the
stairs, her emotions continuing to churn and collide within her.
‘Twas not just the rudeness she’d suffered just now that stirred
her feelings and agitated her so. A host of other concerns gnawed
at her as well.

In part, ‘twas the knowledge that Sir Royce
knew something of her squire. What would he tell her, when she
asked of her dear squire’s fate? Would it be favorable, or would
the knight’s words cleave her heart in two?

Then, there was the heady dance she’d shared
last night with Sir Royce — he touching his lips briefly to hers,
almost kissing her. Almost. She still could feel the warmth of his
breath, the tickle of his mustache, the smooth firmness of his
lips. What was that about? A mere flirtation on his part? And why
had he made the advance, given that within the hour he was
indulging himself with the countess, savoring her kisses? Not that
it mattered. It didn’t, Ana assured herself. Vexingly, she couldn’t
seem to shut it out of her mind.

And then there were the images in her
dreams, images she wasn’t wholly sure she was prepared to explore,
not if it meant reliving that horrible night in Vaux.

Arriving at Lord Gilbert’s chamber, Ana
found herself face to face with the queen’s physick and barred from
entering.

“Come later, child. We do but examine his
lordship. He taxed himself greatly last evening, as you know. We
only wish to assure he’s brought no harm to himself.”

“We?” Ana raised a brow, then, through the
cracked door, spied the man, Renfeld, standing within. She could
not see Lord Gilbert, however.

When the queen’s physick again insisted she
return later, Ana withdrew, but not before extracting fresh
promises from Godric and Brodric that Lord Gilbert’s wishes would
prevail in all matters.

Reluctant to leave, but satisfied by the
servants’ assurances, she descended the tower stairs and headed
back toward the keep. Partway there, the young page who’d sought
her out yesterday appeared, burning a path straight toward her,
then skidding to a halt.

“My lady, the queen wishes you to join her
and her ladies in her solar,” he huffed out, then gulped the
air.

Ana groaned inwardly, thinking of the
tapestry and how badly she’d botched the little bird with her
stitches. Hopefully, the women engaged in something other than
sewing this day.

“Very well.” She forced a smile. “I will
rely on you, good page, to lead the way.”

»«

“Come back on the morrow, Sir Royce. With
luck, Lord Craven can see you then.”

Royce slammed both his hands down flat on
the table and leaned menacingly forward, causing the little toad of
a man sitting on the other side to jump.