the beauty was beforehand, he would have known to steer very clear of her, and her vicious brutes of brothers.
“The French make no protest about the Delasaines’ accusation, of course, because of their relationship to Eleanor. Everyone else refuses to believe them. There have been several arguments already, and I think Blaidd Morgan’s been in three fist-fights.”
“Oh, God.”
“Aye, Reece, it’s not good—but they started it.”
“I started it,” Reece muttered. “I shouldn’t have followed her.”
“Harmless, that was.”
“Obviously, it was not.”
Gervais studied him closely, as if trying to read his thoughts. “It’s, um, not like you to talk to a woman you haven’t been introduced to, or even one you have, Reece.” He ran his hand through his shoulder-length hair. “God’s wounds, brother, it’s not like you to talk to a woman at all, especially one as beautiful as that. What got into you?”
“I wish I could say it was the king’s wine,” Reece muttered, feeling the heat of a blush and recalling Blaidd’s teasing comments that made him want to squirm.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. He shrugged, then winced.
“You should have at least told us where you were going.”
Reece quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, and you and the others would not have joked and teased and made sport of me all the more?”
Gervais wisely did not even try to disagree.
“I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.”
“Aye, but you cannot change it now. Still, Father isn’t going to be happy, and Mother will have a fit when she sees your face and hears you’ve been stabbed.”
Gervais always was a master of understatement. His father was going to think he had taken leave of his senses and acted like a fool. As for his wounds, his mother would want to examine him and fuss over him and generally make him feel about six years old.
He gingerly touched his swollen cheek, wondering how he looked. “Is it bad?”
“It’ll take a while for the swelling to go down, and you’ve bled in your eye, so it’s as red as a demon’s. The infirmerer says you should regain your strength soon enough, since you are—” Gervais assumed a learned, pompous air “—a healthy young man in the prime of life.” He resumed his normal manner. “Mother and Father will both be glad you’re not dead, of course, but I think maybe we should leave Anne Delasaine out of it when we tell them what happened.”
“How can we?”
“The important thing is that you were viciously attacked on a poor pretext.”
Reece shook his head. “I made a mistake, and there’s no point lying about it.”
“I’m not saying we should lie,” Gervais retorted, mightily affronted. “I’m simply suggesting that we leave the lady out of it.”
“What reason would you have me give for my beating? And unless you plan to muzzle everyone at court or swear them to secrecy, they will hear the truth eventually. It would be better if they heard it from me.”
Gervais’s brows lowered as he regarded his brother’s resolute face. “You won’t say you deserved it or some such nonsense?”
“The Delasaines were wrong to attack me as they did, but I was wrong to follow Lady Anne and speak to her alone. I will say that to anybody who asks or speaks of what happened.”
“Damn your honorable hide,” Gervais muttered as he plucked at Reece’s blanket. “I should have known better than to suggest anything less than the full and complete truth to you. Well, Father will make them sorry, whatever they say.”
Reece tensed. “This is for me to deal with, Gervais. My lesson to teach.”
Gervais’s brown eyes flared with bright understanding and a warrior’s approval. “I should have known you were going to say that, too.”
“Then you agree to let me deal with this matter as I see fit?”
Gervais got to his feet and bowed with a flourish. “As you command, my liege, thus it will be.”
“Good,” Reece mumbled, knowing he could trust Gervais to keep his word, no matter how jestingly he spoke. “Make sure Trev understands this, too.”
“I will, brother, I will.”
Standing at the window of her chamber in the king’s castle assigned to her use during her family’s residence in Winchester, Anne watched the sun set. The rest of the night and a whole day had passed since she had encountered Sir Reece Fitzroy in the corridor.
Closing her eyes, she again saw Damon’s vicious, dishonorable blow. She had grabbed his arm and pulled him back, but he had shaken her off the way a dog might shake a rabbit. Thank God the king’s guards had arrived.
They had listened to Damon explain, aided by Benedict, as some of the other soldiers carried away an unconscious Sir Reece. Once she knew he was safe, and seeing her half brothers occupied, she had slipped away and fled to her chamber. She had not seen Damon or Benedict since, but someone had turned the key in the lock of the door to her chamber later that night, and she was imprisoned yet.
As the hours had slowly passed, she had hoped Sir Reece’s injuries were not life threatening. He had lost blood, the damp stain on his tunic evidence of that, and a terrible bruise had been forming beneath his eye the last time she had seen him.
She had remembered other things, too—the excitement most of all. She had never felt that way in her life and probably never would again. She doubted any of her brother’s choices for a husband would be able to create even an instant’s desire or passion. Unfortunately, if Sir Reece survived—and please God, he must!—she was sure he would never want to have anything to do with her again.
How long Damon intended to keep her here without food or water she could not guess, but this was the king’s castle, not Montbleu, so her continued absence would be more difficult to explain. Surely they could not keep her here without food or water for much longer.
Anne started when she heard the key in the lock of her bedchamber door, then steeled herself as Damon sauntered inside. She had been right not to expect Lisette, a maidservant from the queen’s household assigned to her upon their arrival, Damon being too parsimonious to bring any servants from Montbleu. In truth, however, she preferred the vivacious, merry Lisette to the dour, ancient maidservant who cared for her at home.
Her half brother twirled a heavy iron key around his finger as he surveyed the chamber. This room was certainly much finer than the small bedchamber she had at home, and better furnished. In addition to the wide bed with feather tick, there was a dressing table and stool, a chair and bright tapestries on the walls. The coverlet on the bed was silk, and the candles on the table were made of beeswax. In the corner stood the large chest containing the new garments Damon had purchased for her before they came here, fine feathers to entrap a rich husband, which was why he had been so uncharacteristically generous.
“Hungry?”
