Anne Stuart - Hidden Honor

Her eyes flew open, swimming in tears, but there was no spectre of death in their depths. “You can’t have either of them!” she whispered fiercely.

Elizabeth laughed, too tired to hide her feelings. “Your son and Thomas are yours with my blessing. Just stay strong enough to keep them.” And then she left the room, closing the door behind her and collapsing against the thick stone wall, closing her eyes as weariness washed over her.

They would make her get on a horse in a matter of hours. Perhaps she could find an open window and jump from it. Anything was preferable to another day riding, with no sleep, no rest to smooth her way.

The hall was deserted. Maybe no one would know where to find her, and she could just slump to the floor and sleep. Sooner or later someone would come in search of her, but right now they were probably all too terrified to hear what they were certain would be tragic news.

She closed her eyes, sinking back against the cold, hard stone. She could sleep standing up, like a horse, if no one came to disturb her. Just a few moments…

The door beside her opened, and she jerked upright to face Dame Joanna’s calm, beautiful face. “Let me take you away from here,” Joanna said, surveying her. “You’ll need to wash, and a few hours’ sleep wouldn’t come amiss. I’ll tell them you’re not to be disturbed.”

“You’ll tell Prince William? And you think he’ll listen?”

Dame Joanna smiled. “I don’t usually have trouble making men do what I want. Within reason. If need be I’ll offer him up a few hours’ distraction while you rest. Owen won’t object—he’s already shared me with lesser worthies.”

“No!” Elizabeth said, horrified. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have to do it every night, my lady. And your prince is very striking. He would be if he were just a stable boy.”

“Not my prince!” Elizabeth corrected her, then realized how ridiculous that sounded. “And you wouldn’t want to bed him. Perhaps you haven’t heard, but he kills women for sport. During the act of love.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your party spent the night here before they went on to Bredon, and I had a conversation with the prince. There are men who equate pleasure with pain, both in the giving and the taking, but he is not one of them.”

“He told you so? And you chose to believe him?”

“He told me no such thing. You think a prince would confide in a whore? But I know men, my lady, far better than I would wish. Prince William is not the man people say he is.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That is always a possibility, I suppose. I really don’t care to find out what kind of man he is.”

“Don’t you?” Joanna’s voice was faintly disbelieving. “I know women, as well. Don’t look at me like that, child. Concentrate on happier things. Such as how powerful you feel, having wrested Margery and her child from the grip of death.”

“It was God’s hand…” she began dutifully, but Joanna interrupted her.

“You and I both know it was your skill, and whether you choose to admit it or not, you’re filled with triumph. The convent will be good for you, my lady. You’ll be out of the reach of men’s stratagems, and you’ll learn to use your power.”

“But I don’t—”

“Don’t bother trying to argue with me, Lady Elizabeth, you’re too tired. You’re a clever girl, but I’m a wise woman, and right now you’re no match for me. Just come along and let me get you settled, and then I’ll tell Lord Thomas he’s a father. Unless you’d rather be the one who imparted that particular news? There’s old business between you and the two of them, though the gossips at Wakebryght Castle haven’t been as efficient as they usually are or I’d know all about it.”

“It’s not of much interest, even to gossips,” Elizabeth said. “And I’d be happy never to see Thomas of Wakebryght again.”

“Indeed,” Joanna said in an approving voice. “Thomas is pretty enough in a pleasant manner, but he’s nowhere near the man your prince is. I don’t blame you for choosing danger over safety.”

“I didn’t make any choices! And he’s not my prince!” Elizabeth said again, too loudly, ready to weep.

“But you’d like him to be, would you not? I know men, and I know women, and I think you’d gladly toss your habit to the four winds for him.”

Elizabeth managed a rusty laugh. “You’re mad. You’ve never even seen the two of us together.”

Joanna pushed open a door set deep in the wall, holding it for Elizabeth to precede her. “I don’t need to. I’ve seen him, and I’ve seen your reaction every time his name is mentioned. You’d quite happily bed the dark prince, wouldn’t you?” she said.

“Would she?” Prince William asked, clearly curious.

He was seated by the fire in the luxuriously appointed room, and Thomas’s uncle Owen was standing near the window. He was a heavyset man, and food stained his overly embellished tunic. He looked at the two of them in the doorway, and there was no missing the possessiveness in his small eyes as they roamed over Dame Joanna.

“Phaugh!” he said. “The two of you look like you’ve been to a hog butchering. I presume my niece is no longer on this earth. Are you planning to take her place, Lady Elizabeth, as you once longed to?”

If that was the first time the prince had heard of her previous connection to the household, he didn’t seem surprised. “Didn’t you hear your lady, Owen?” he asked lazily, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “It’s me she wants.”

Elizabeth was not amused. “Lady Margery was delivered of a healthy son.”

“Praise be,” Owen muttered piously. “Then maybe this household can get back to normal. If my lord will give me leave, I’ll bring the happy word to the rest of the family.”

Prince William waved a hand in airy dismissal, and Owen backed out of the room, a model of obsequiousness. He paused at the door, surveying his leman. “Go make yourself presentable,” he said—an order, not a request. “I’ve no great liking to see my woman drenched in the blood of childbed. I’ll join you as soon as our guests leave.”

Dame Joanna inclined her elegant head. “As you wish, my lord.” She bowed low, to both the prince and Elizabeth. “God speed, my lady. Prince William.” There was no missing the trace of deviltry in her voice that almost overshadowed the bleakness that had settled over her perfect features once more.

And she left the two of them alone in the small bedroom.

“You’re a pretty sight,” the dark prince observed lazily. “You look almost as bloody as a soldier at the end of a long battle.”

“I imagine I feel the same.” She was so exhausted she could feel herself begin to sway. Prince William lounged lazily in a chair, and he hadn’t asked her to sit. She should stay standing until he said otherwise. It didn’t matter—she sat down on the wooden bench opposite him, silently daring him to object.

He smiled at her—totally irritating. “Feeling dangerous, are you, my lady? Is it the blood of Lady Margery? Shall I wish you happiness?”

“What?” She didn’t care that she sounded stupid—her wits seemed to have vanished.

“Lady Margery took your place in this household, sending you back to the tender care of your father, according to the gossips. Your appearance here set their tongues free—until now I think you were fairly well forgotten. With Thomas’s wife dead you can assume your rightful place and marry him.”

“People have been far too busy informing you of my past.” Her voice was cool and measured. “I would think you had more interesting ways of passing the time.”