Meriel Fuller - Commanded By The French Duke

He picked up his shirt, pulled it over his naked torso. ‘Religion works the same in both our countries; don’t try and fob me off. What are you hiding?’

‘Nothing,’ Alinor bit out. Apart from a poor, frightened girl in the cellars, but Bianca was none of his concern. ‘I’ve finished,’ she announced, swiftly gathering up the spare bandages, the unguent, clutching the bowl of water to her chest. The water slopped against her gown, splashing dark spots. ‘I suggest you get some rest, like your men.’ She glared pointedly at the curled bodies huddled in front of the fire, wrapped in their cloaks, her tone dismissive.

He tilted his chin, the brindled slash of his brow arching upwards. ‘And stop bothering you.’

‘And stop bothering me.’ Alinor turned her back on him, flouncing away.

* * *

She returned to the large table in the middle of the infirmary, popping the unused bandages back into the shallow wicker baskets, looking around the beds to see if anyone else needed her help. Every nerve-ending in her body seemed alert, highly strung, as if bracing themselves for some further onslaught; at any moment, she half-expected Guilhem to step beside her, asking more questions.

‘Everything all right over there?’ Maeve appeared at her side, tilting her head towards the fireplace. ‘I had to find the Prince something to eat, but he’s happy now; I’ve left him in the kitchens.’

‘Everything’s fine,’ Alinor reassured her. ‘I think most of them will sleep now.’

‘Do you want to fetch some food for him?’ She pointed at Guilhem, sprawled back in the chair, staring into the flames.

‘No, I do not,’ Alinor replied, scuffing at a mark on the floor with her leather boot. ‘I’m sorry to say this, but he’s not very pleasant. He’s doing everything in his power to annoy me.’ A bandage slipped from her grasp, unwinding down to the flagstones; she began to roll it up again, her movements precise and controlled, as if by performing the task perfectly she could take control of her thoughts and stop thinking about him.

‘The Prince told me to look after him. Apparently he’s his right-hand man, the Duc d’Attalens.’

Alinor jerked her head up, staring into Maeve’s pale, lined features. ‘Who?’

‘The Duc d’Attalens? I think I’ve pronounced his name correctly. Goodness, Alinor, you’ve become quite pale. Are you quite well?’

Alinor stared over at the man by the fire. Guilhem, Duc d’Attalens. Bianca’s brother.

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