His Fair Lady (38 page)

“Upon my oath, I never forgot you, fair
maiden.” His rich voice grazed her senses. “‘Twould be an
impossibility, I assure you.”

Raising her hand to his mouth, Sir Royce
pressed a kiss to its back. As his lips lingered warmly there, a
horn sounded from the gatehouse. Within moments, the seneschal
appeared at the door.

“My lord, Penhurst has more visitors!”

Sir Royce continued to gaze into Ana’s eyes.
“I’m not of a mind to speak with more suitors today. Tell them to
return another time.”

“‘
Tis no suitor, my lord. ‘Tis the
Countess Linford who arrives with her escort. She’s entering the
ward as we speak.”

My dear, Royce.” Lady Sibylla extended her
gloved hand, glinting with jewels, from where she sat upon her
palfrey. Though wrapped from head to toe in sable, her eyes and
cheeks glowed bright, livened by the cold that sharpened the
day.

Ana watched from the door of the Great Hall
as Sir Royce lifted the countess from the horse. Lady Sibylla
slipped her hand through the knight’s arm and drew close to his
side, remarking on his smooth-shaven face as they started toward
the hall.

Ana retreated, heading for the exit at the
far end of the chamber, thinking to seek her private quarters.
She’d no wish to face the countess with her eyes puffy and red from
crying. Besides, her emotions remained in a broil, the day’s joyous
surprise and jolting revelations keeping them off balance.

As Ana passed through the back portal, she
impulsively restrained her step. Keeping from sight, she observed
Sir Royce and Lady Sibylla enter the hall and cross to the
fireplace. The countess accepted a goblet, at the same time
lowering her fur hood. Many in the hall stilled in their steps,
clearly struck by Sibylla’s elegant beauty.

“Why this is excellent!” the countess
praised, having sipped of the goblet. “Penhurst must have a very
fine ale maker. You must give your servant my compliments.”

Ana squeezed her hands at her sides. She was
the one responsible for the drink, much more a commoner than a
lady. As she continued to gaze on the countess, she felt keenly
aware of the gulf that separated them.

Ana shook herself. She could no longer
deny she was, in
fact, the heiress of Penhurst —
unpolished, perhaps, but still of noble blood. Even so, Ana knew
she could not begin to compare to Countess Linford.

“You must be surprised to see me, Sir
Royce.” Lady Sibylla purred throatily. “I am on my way to Wiltshire
but diverted my route here to bring you letters from the earl of
Pembroke.”

“William Marshal? Is it urgent?” Sir Royce’s
voice carried his surprise.

“Urgent insofar as he is anxious to have you
join him in the affairs of the realm.” Lady Sibylla touched her
gloved fingers to his chest, directly over his heart. “You have
impressed him. After you departed Wallingford, I tarried and took
the opportunity to indulge in several lengthy conversations with
him.” Her fingers moved upward to stroke the base of his throat.
“Once you are Earl of Linford, he holds specific plans for you,
ones that will place you in the crown’s inner circles.”

“You were able to learn all that from
Marshal? You are quite remarkable, my lady.”

Lady Sibylla smiled at the compliment. “More
so than you guess. Leastwise, I hope you will find that to be true.
But we can discuss these things further, after I’ve freshened and
changed.”

As Sir Royce called for a servant to see the
countess to her lodgings, Ana withdrew and returned to her chamber.
Lady Sibylla spun a web of enticements about Sir Royce, offering
what few women could — wealth, power, position, and beauty to be
freely claimed. What man could resist such an offering? Ana
wondered, feeling a throb in her heart.

»«

Two hours later, unable to avoid making an
appearance any longer, Ana arrived in the hall and moved to assume
her chair on the dais.

Sir Royce rose at once from his place. At
the same time, Ana’s gaze drew past him to the countess, nodding in
greeting when their eyes met. As Ana allowed the knight to seat
her, she noticed he already shared a trencher with Lady Sibylla.
She could blame no one but herself, she knew. She was inexcusably
late to supper.

“I invited your foster parents to join us at
table but they declined, saying they would feel more comfortable in
the hall,” Sir Royce confided to her quietly as he gave a nod to
where they supped and conversed with Guy of Lisors.

“How gallant of you to have asked them.” Ana
exchanged smiles with Georges and Marie across the distance then
brought her gaze back to Sir Royce, sending him an appreciative
look.

“Perhaps you would find an agreeable table
companion in Friar Tupper this eve.”

“Yes, I would like that.” She smiled,
finding herself edgy at the knight’s closeness, the sight of her
beloved squire, reflected in his face, still fresh and
unsettling.

At Sir Royce’s signal, the servants brought
forth a trencher, goblet, two bowls, and two spoons. The good friar
joined her and applied himself to ensuring they’d an ample amount
to eat and drink.

Ana glanced down the table to Lady Sibylla,
who was currently laughing at some jest she’d just shared with Sir
Royce. Ana felt pale in comparison to this vibrant woman with dark,
dancing eyes. The countess wore a gown of scarlet silk, the rich
color setting off her flawless features and swanlike neck. She used
her hands gracefully, expressively, gems sparkling on each of her
long, slender fingers. Again, Ana felt ordinary, unexceptional, in
contrast to Lady Sibylla’s sophistication.

“Hell holes,” the monk whispered beside her,
catching Ana’s attention and sending a meaningful look toward the
countess.

As he clicked his tongue beside her,
Ana saw how the lacings on
the side of of the
countess’s over- and under-gowns had been positioned, one atop the
other, and loosened to expose her bare flesh beneath. Ana widened
her eyes at the immodest display and reached for the
goblet.

“My dear, Juliana. Whatever has happened to
your hands?” Lady Sibylla leaned forward. “They are red and rough
like a laborer’s. You really must take care of them. However will
Sir Royce find you a husband? Fortunately, I have just the remedy —
extract of roses and linseed oil. I’ll give the receipt to your
maid.”

The countess returned her attention to Sir
Royce. “Have you made progress in finding Juliana a husband? There
must be someone suitable on the king’s list.”

The knight’s eyes briefly met Ana’s before
he dropped away his gaze to study his wine. “I am considering it,
and we’ve had a fair number of suitors arrive at Penhurst,” he
allowed stiffly.

“Good. Then you’ll be able to announce your
choice at Christmastide.” Lady Sibylla rose from her chair. “We
really should speak of the Earl of Pembroke’s missives in private.
Why don’t we take a turn about the ward?”

“As you wish, my lady.”

As Sir Royce and the countess excused
themselves from the table, Ana found her appetite had deserted her.
Leaving Friar Tupper to the bounty piled upon their trencher, she
sought her foster parents, bid them good night, then quit the hall
for her bedchamber.

»«

Ana slipped into bed, grateful Luvena had
warmed the sheets well with a pan of hot cinders. While the maid
finished the last of her chores, Ana stared at the canopy
overhead.

What were the countess and Sir Royce doing
now? Was Lady Sibylla in the knight’s arms once more, savoring his
kisses? Ana tried to blot out images of the two in the royal garden
at Wallingford but failed miserably. Worse, she felt the sharp horn
of jealousy.

She’d no right to feel thusly, Ana chastened
herself. Had she not treated Sir Royce abominably from their first
encounter on the church steps in Chinon? Had she not done all in
her power to turn him from her and to oppose him in every way?

Yet, despite their constant contest of
wills, they’d been drawn to one another like lodestones. ‘Twas the
night in the stable, in an explosion of emotions, that the barriers
had crumbled between them. Ana had welcomed the warmth of Sir
Royce’s lips upon her flesh, the strength of his arms surrounding
her, his hands exploring, possessing her.

She’d berated herself for betraying her
beloved squire in the embrace of the knight, unaware the two were
the same. Yet, since that night, she’d also been keenly aware of
the feelings she harbored for Sir Royce — feelings she’d ignored
and suppressed. Feelings that, nonetheless, ran deep through her
heart.

Now, knowing the truth of his identity —
despite their special bond of long past and the intimate moments
they’d so recently shared — she’d no right to expect him to set
aside Lady Sibylla in favor of her — to reject a countess who
offered him an earldom, for an heiress of only modest means.

Royce de Warrene was no more the squire
she’d loved through all these years. He’d become a knight of
distinction, one with a glorious future awaiting him as the Earl of
Linford. Come Christmas he would announce his engagement to Lady
Sibylla and that of herself to another.

Ana bit her lip, fighting back a rush of
emotion. How would she endure it?

“I’ll lay out your gown for the morrow,”
Luvena called from where she opened the clothes chest. “Which would
you prefer, my lady?”

“The rose-colored one,” Ana replied, wholly
dispirited. “‘Tis my favorite and Sir Royce’s too, I think.”

Luvena reached into the trunk. “Oh, see
here! I never opened this bundle — the one the laundress gave me
when we left Wallingford. I suspect ‘tis someone else’s gown. You
are missing none.”

The maid brought the bundle to the bed and
freed its wrappings, revealing a rose-colored gown, the exact shade
as the other Ana possessed.

“By the saints!” Luvena exclaimed softly as
she unfolded it. “‘Tis a twin. But look here, the laundress did not
get out the stains. They look to be streaks of some kind. Streaks
of—”

“Of blood,” Ana uttered in amazement,
recalling the debacle with the falcons and the birds in the royal
feasting hall. “Sir Royce must have ordered a second gown to be
made for me.”

“Ah, Sir Royce is the very finest of men.”
Luvena sighed.

Guilt flooded Ana anew. How horribly she’d
dealt with him — lying, stealing, telling him time and again that
he’d ruined her life. And through it all, how kindly he’d dealt
with her, even bringing her foster parents to Penhurst this day.
The knowledge sat as burning coals upon her heart.

»«

“Think of it Royce, the great Marshal offers
you a place beside him. Once you are the Earl of Linford, he
desires to mentor you, groom you in matters of the crown.”

Sibylla toyed with the brooch securing
Royce’s mantle, then lifted her dark, seductive eyes once more to
his. “Consider, William Marshal grows old. When he passes, you will
be in a position of high authority, next to the throne.”

Royce caught her fingers. “I did not realize
you were so ambitious, Sibylla.”

“My ambitions are for you, darling.” She
freed her hand and brushed her fingers along his throat. Again he
trapped them in his.

“I would remind you, Countess, I am a
warrior, seasoned in battle, not politics. My own aspirations
spring solely from the knightly code — to defend the church, the
land, and its people, to champion what is right and good against
injustice. It does not include self-aggrandizement or the coddling
of kings.”

Especially one who would
cheat his own knights of what was rightfully theirs
,
Royce added mentally, then amended the thought. Likely, he would
never be sure which of the sovereigns had played him false —
Richard or John.

“But ‘tis through the king you can realize
your goals — all of them, my darling. From a station of import, you
can accomplish more than you’ve ever conceived.”

She drew her fingers from his and fumbled
with his brooch once more. “Then too, King John will surely beget
an heir on his queen and soon, as much as he beds her. What if
something should befall him?” She gave a light shrug. “Kings are
mortal after all. What then of the child king? Instead of affecting
the lives of a few, you could affect the lives of an entire kingdom
by safeguarding and guiding its heir. If you position yourself well
now, that is, and take advantage of Marshal’s offer.”

Royce stared at the countess through the
dimming light, startled by the height of her ambitions. Sibylla
took hold of his hands and, drawing them beneath her mantle, placed
them on her sides, over the open lacings on her gown. Instantly,
Royce felt her bare flesh warming his palms, as she intended.

“Your future stands before you, destined to
shine as bright as William Marshal’s. I promise, you shall find in
me a most capable consort.”

Royce could not deny that her vision stirred
his blood, or that her words held appeal. Sibylla offered him an
earldom and opportunities beyond his dreams. How much more he could
achieve as an earl of the kingdom, than one of its small barons? He
held the promise of that luminous future in his hands, in the
person of Lady Sibylla. He’d be a fool not to seize the gift she
offered and marry her. Yet something dragged at his soul, and the
words he need speak, committing himself to the countess, failed to
climb to his tongue.

“Did I tell you how handsome I find you
without your beard?” Sibylla stroked her fingers over his cheek and
jaw. “I look forward to helping you fulfill your appetites as well
as your ambitions.”

Sibylla pressed her lips to Royce’s, her
distinctive scent of roses wreathing him, weaving a fragrant
web.

»«