Swords and Shields (Reign of the House of de Winter) (8 page)

“I do remember,” she said softly. “I would imagine I am quite dirty now, having fallen in the mud. I must apologize for my appearance.”

Drake smiled faintly. “No apology is necessary, my lady,” he said. “In fact, I can hardly see the dirt at all.”

Elizaveta smiled; she couldn’t help it. He had a rather suave way about him, an impish gleam already in his eyes although she suspected that part of it was very practiced. It came fairly easily, a glimmer in his eye of interest but without warmth. She began to sit up, brushing at the dust on her fine clothing.

“You are kind to say so,” she said, shaking out her dusty skirt so the dirt fell to the floor at her feet. “Sir Drake, you said your name was? I have heard your name before… ah, yes! I remember now. Aren’t you supposed to be at the wedding in town?”

Drake had jumped to his feet when she sat up with the intention of offering his assistance should she become woozy again. He’d rather liked carrying her and the thought of holding her again to steady her was not a distressing one. But her question instantly had him on guard, feeling somewhat embarrassed and cornered.

“I suppose that depends on how you look at it,” he said evasively, eyeing the beautiful woman as she brushed the dust off her skirt. “What is your name, my lady? If I already was told, forgive me, for I do not remember.”

Elizaveta didn’t look up from brushing off her satin shoe. “I am a wedding guest but, due to circumstances, I find myself here at Thetford Castle,” she said. “I was told that Sir Drake was too ill to attend the ceremony. You look well enough to me.”

Drake stared at her. It was an odd statement on a subject that only his mother and father knew, an excuse that was only to be used with the bride’s family.
An illness has kept the groom away.
Yet his mother had evidently told this young woman. He knew his mother would not have told a random wedding guest that the groom was feeling ill. Therefore, this young lady had to be more than a random wedding guest. She had to be someone rather important to the event.

A creeping sense of shock began to fill Drake as to the identity of the mystery lady.
You look well enough to me
, she had said. Was it possible that she was actually the other half of this wedding equation? He was coming to suspect who she was. Not only did she know the groom’s excuse of illness, but she had blatantly refused to give him her name. More than that, she had brought up his absence from the wedding ceremony, not once but twice. Given the fact that she had returned to Thetford with his mother, and that his mother was uncannily crafty at times, Drake was coming to think that his mother had planned this little scene all along. A fallen lady and a chivalrous knight made a recipe that only his mother would concoct.

Damnation!
That was Drake’s first thought when he realized what had happened. But in the next breath, he found himself looking at the dark-haired lady on the bed and thinking all manner of swift and elated thoughts;
God’s Bones, she’s magnificent!
He studied the woman, her porcelain features and lovely, dark hair. He couldn’t see much of her figure because of the layers of clothing she wore, but he couldn’t imagine it was in any way imperfect.

Drake stared at the lady who was to be his wife, thinking that perhaps the marriage wasn’t such a bad idea after all, at least based on her physical appearance. Her character and personality, however, were another matter altogether. He wasn’t about to let any woman who would conspire with his mother get away with it.

He would lay a trap of his own.

“It is a malady that comes and goes,” he said in a calculated move, settling back in his chair as she brushed off the last of her dirt. “I am feeling better than I was.”

Elizaveta stopped brushing and looked at him. “Oh?” she said with feigned interest. “What malady is it? Mayhap there is a cure.”

Drake propped a big, booted foot up on the bed beside her, a foot that was as long as her forearm. “I am not entirely sure what it is,” he said.

“Have you seen a physic?”

He nodded, pretending to be coy about it. It was a great bit of acting on his part. “I have,” he said. “The physic has seen it before but… well, you will understand that it is difficult for me to speak of, especially in the presence of a lady. It is not a malady for delicate, female ears.”

Elizaveta frowned. “I do not understand,” she said. “I have never heard of a man having in indelicate malady. What terrible illness would have kept you from your own wedding?”

Drake shrugged, eyeing her, seeing that she was interested in his troubles or, at least, seemed to be. He thought to push her a bit to see how far he could go without sending her running.

“I lied to my mother about it,” he whispered loudly, as if it were a great secret. “I do not want her to know where I contracted this illness.”

“Where in the world did you contract it?”

He pretended to be ashamed. “The brothels in Paris,” he said, still whispering loudly. “My mother does not know I have frequented them. She believes me to be grand and virtuous, but the truth is that I caught something the last time I was in Paris. It causes… well, it is rather terrible to describe… something green and… it runs. It is most foul. It smells of cheese.”

Elizaveta’s eyes widened and she resisted the urge to slap a hand over her mouth in disgust and shock. “God’s Bones,” she hissed. “You are correct, Sir. It is indelicate to tell a lady such things.”

Drake shrugged carelessly. “You asked,” he pointed out. “If you did not want to know, why did you ask?”

Elizaveta was quickly becoming outraged. “You did not have to tell me
all
of it,” she said. “I do not need to know…
those
things.”

Drake slouched back in the chair. Truth be told, he was rather enjoying her revulsion. It was difficult not to smile in the face of her indignation.

“Then you should not have asked,” he told her. “You will not tell my mother, will you?”

Elizaveta shook her head and stood up. “I will not,” she said firmly. “And I will not discuss this with you any further.”

Drake stood up, too. Standing next to her, he could see what a petite, little thing she was, barely coming to his sternum in height. More than that, her cloak had billowed out when she stood up and he caught a glimpse of a full bosom and slender waist. He liked it a great deal.

“Do not go,” he begged, seeing just how much he could taunt her before she burst into tears. “I will not speak of the green, cheese-smelling slime again. Would you rather discuss the brothels where I caught it? The women there are actually quite fascinating. Some of them have great talents that you might appreciate.”

Elizaveta was aghast. “I would
not
want to speak of those women,” she seethed. “What kind of a fool are you to speak to a woman that way? Do you honestly believe I wish to discuss the whores you have known?”

He pretended to be quite baffled by her anger. “I was simply making conversation, my lady,” he said, completely fake in his innocence. “I will not discuss whores if you do not want me to. What else shall we discuss?”

Elizaveta was at the end of her patience. She turned for the door. “Nothing,” she said flatly. “Good day to you, Sir Drake. I hope you recover from your… illness.”

Drake could no longer hold off the smile as he watched her storm to the door. “Speaking of illnesses, you seem to have recovered quite swiftly from yours.”

Elizaveta came to a halt, turning to look at him. There was something in his tone now, something different that hadn’t been there before. There was a knowing hint, something that suggested he might be more intuitive and sharp than she had given him credit for. As she looked at the man, that impish glimmer in his eye had turned into something deeper, something more humorous and perhaps even more wicked.
He’s toying with me
, she thought.
He is trying to upset me
. Aye, it was all quite clear to her. Drake de Winter was toying with her. Was it possible that he suspected her identity even though she’d not told him? Was it possible that he was more astute than she had surmised? All of these things were quite possible but rather than allow him to chase her from the room with talk of a whore’s disease, she wasn’t going to leave. Perhaps
she
could be the one to force
him
from the room. If he thought he could rid himself of her so easily, he was grossly mistaken.

The game was on.

“Not entirely,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead and moving back into the room, towards the bed. “My illness, too, comes and goes. It is a female affliction, something unseemly to discuss with men.”

Drake watched as she sat upon the bed, seemingly exhausted whereas moments before, she had seemed quite strong and irate. He eyed her with some suspicion. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “Have you seen a physic?”

It was the same question Elizaveta had asked him but she was prepared. Knowing the man was on to her identity, at least assuming he was, she would taunt him just as he had taunted her. She would send him crying from the room before he could do it to her.

“I have,” she said. “Much like your malady, he is unsure what it is, either.”

Drake was rather enjoying the anticipation of her answer. He was fairly certain she was on to his game just as he was on to hers. The battle of wills, and taunts, was escalating.

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said with mock regret. “Where did you contract this malady?”

She batted her eyelashes at him quite exaggeratedly, so much so that he almost smiled. It was an effort not to.

“Well,” she said reluctantly. “I… I suppose I can tell you since you were so open in sharing your affliction with me. I did not contract my malady in a brothel, as you did. I contracted it in the house of a great lord.”

Drake pretended to be very interested; he folded his enormous arms over his chest in a thoughtful gesture. “I see,” he said. “What happened, if I may ask?”

Elizaveta had been waiting for that question.
I’ll show him, the arrogant fool
! “It was in France,” she said. “You know they are much different in France, at times. Much different.”

“Different how?”

“In the way they treat women.”

“How did they treat you?”

“I was used for entertainment.”

His eyebrows lifted. “What
kind
of entertainment?”

She averted her gaze, too dramatic a gesture to be a real one with real feeling. “For other lords,” she said. “One time I was to act like a dog and men were permitted to pet me. One time, I was ordered to be a horse and men were actually allowed to ride me. And if a man desired to whip me, he was permitted to. I have scars all over my… well, suffice it to say that none but my husband will see them. By looking at me, you would think that I am young and quite perfect, but I promise you the opposite is true. That is why my parents have had such a difficult time finding a husband for me.”

Drake eyed her; he was fairly certain that she was jesting with him because she suspected he had been jesting with her, but he couldn’t be entirely certain. He didn’t know the woman, after all. What if there was some measure of truth in what she said?

“How old
are
you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I have seen nineteen years,” she said. “But it is not my age that has been troubling. It is my sordid past. Men do not want a wife who has permitted men to ride her like a horse, pet her like a dog, or spank her like a naughty child. My flesh is covered with whip marks and big handprints from men slapping at me. No one wants a wife who has been used in such a terrible fashion.”

Drake’s eyebrows lifted. He kept telling himself that she was only taunting him, that she was getting back at him for the teasing he dealt her about the green slime, but even so, he didn’t like to hear it. What if some, or all, of it was true? He didn’t want a wife who had been used like a common strumpet even if she
was
the daughter of the Earl of East Anglia. But for as much as she was going to push him, he was going to push her back.

“Let me see your marks,” he said. “I will tell you whether or not a husband will want you.”

Elizaveta’s head jerked to him, her eyes wide with surprise at his request. “I will not let you see them,” she said. “It is not your right.”

“It is my right, Lady Elizaveta du Reims,” he said, watching the astonishment in her expression. “Aye, I know who you are now. I am to be your husband, so I am told, so let me see your marks.”

Elizaveta’s outrage cooled dramatically as the obvious, the entire reason for their meeting, was acknowledge. The secret was out in the open, now spoken for both of them to hear. She stared down Drake just as he was staring her down. There was tension in the air, one waiting for the other to break. But Elizaveta refused to break.

“Show me your green slime,” she said in a crafty gesture, “and I will show you my marks.”

“You first.”

She shook her head. “You told me of your malady first,” she said. “A true knight will never deny a lady’s request. You show me first.”

She was right.
Damnation!
Drake thought.
She is right!
He drew in a long, contemplative breath, all the while scrutinizing the woman he was supposed to marry. The truth was that he liked the fact that she was quite sharp and cunning. She was more than an intellectual match for him. She was also lovely to watch, well spoken, and beautiful. But she had one hell of a stubborn streak in her… and so did he.