She spoke up. “To give a child to the church is always cause for rejoicing.”
“Particularly when she’s no good for anything else,” her doting father observed.
“I’m not convinced of that,” the prince said, causing that shiver of unease to dance down her spine once more. His voice was almost worse than the intense gaze of his dark eyes. He made her want to squirm, to run away. To melt.
Running away was the most practical response. “I’ll just see to the brothers, then, and retire…”
“Which brothers? Yours, or the monks?”
“You’ve already assured me that my brothers are nowhere to be found, and of course you are right, Father,” she said. “I wish to make certain the holy friars are provided for.”
“Keep away from them.”
Prince William’s deep voice had lost its compelling edge. It was the voice of a royal, expecting to be obeyed.
And supposedly dim-witted or not, she didn’t dare countermand such an order.
Elizabeth sank into another curtsey. “As your lordship wishes,” she said demurely. She cast one glance over her shoulder, at the small group of monks in the corner of the great hall. Several had already stretched out on the rushes, sound asleep, but Brother Matthew, with the sweet smile and beguiling blue eyes, was still awake. Watching her.
“Perhaps you’re not that well suited to the convent after all, my lady,” William said slowly. “You seem to find certain men far too distracting.”
That made her jerk her head back in surprise. There was almost a touch of displeasure in his voice, as if he didn’t like the fact that she kept staring at the gentle monk. Surely a man such as Prince William didn’t have to have every woman fawning over him?
Apparently he did. “Accompany me to my room, Lady Elizabeth,” he said suddenly. “I find I’ve grown unexpectedly weary, and after your father’s fine wine I doubt I could find my way on my own.”
“I’ll be happy to find you a comely serving wench, my lord,” she began. In fact, she’d be happy to do no such thing. Entrance into Prince William’s bed was a dangerous thing, and she had no intention of sacrificing any of the women who would likely tempt his appetite, not even to save herself. And in truth, she couldn’t believe she was in any danger. Prince William was a notorious lecher, a connoisseur of beautiful women. She was hardly the sort of female to interest a man like Prince William.
There wasn’t time to dose him with her father’s herbal concoction—it took several days for it to take effect. It was a good thing she was safe from any stray lust on the part of the king’s son.
“A visiting prince deserves the company of the daughter of the house and no less,” he said, rising.
She’d been right, he was very tall indeed. Not as huge as some of her father’s best fighting men, nor as brawny. He had a lean, wiry grace to him, and he came around the table and took her hand in his, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Come, my lady,” he said, his voice brooking no opposition. “Bear me company. You can tell me of the pleasure to be found in this uncivilized place.”
Her father was still sitting in his chair, dumbfounded. He hadn’t even had the sense to rise when his honored guest had done so, but remained motionless, openmouthed in dazed shock.
The prince’s hand was surprisingly rough in hers. She would have thought a prince would have soft, babied skin. But then, word had it that Prince William was a fighter, as well as a lover, and the long hours of training with weapons would toughen him.
He certainly didn’t lack for strength. Before her father could utter a protest, or more likely a warning for her to please his guest, he’d drawn her from the smoke and heat and light of the great hall, into a darkened corridor, out of sight of everyone.
“Which way are we going?” the prince asked in an even voice.
“Where am I taking you?” Her own voice didn’t waver, a small miracle when in fact she was as close to panic as she’d ever allowed herself to feel. The man beside her was bigger, stronger than she was, and he was known for his unexpected brutality. She had no interest in bedding a tender lover, much less a monster.
“To my rooms. Where you will leave me, to spend one more chaste night under your father’s roof before you throw your life away with the holy sisters. I mean you no harm, Lady Elizabeth.” She might have believed him if it weren’t for the irony in his voice.
The torches cast a flickering light over the darkened hallway, and she looked up into his face, trying to read his expression. The shadows playing across his skin made him look as dangerous as he was rumored to be, and she wasn’t reassured.
There was nothing she could do at that moment—his grip on her hand, while not painful, was determined. She had no choice but to lead him to the solar, and hope that something might distract him along the way.
“Of course, my lord,” she said meekly. She started forward, in her nervousness forgetting to take the small steps that were considered proper in a female. She covered ground quickly, and he kept pace with her long stride, moving with an almost leisurely grace.
She had little doubt the prince would command the best rooms in the house, the warm and well-appointed solar in the south tower. It took no time at all to traverse the long corridors of the castle, and there wasn’t a soul in sight to impede their progress. No comely serving wench, no mischievous brother, no disapproving monk. They moved through the halls unwatched, unheeded. There was no one to rescue her, nothing but her own wit to set her free. If she was, in truth, in any danger, which seemed very unlikely.
The door to the solar was closed, keeping the heat inside, and she halted, her mind working feverishly. She could topple to the floor in a faint, and despite his height he’d still have a difficult time hauling her limp body into the room. Though doubtless he’d have no trouble finding someone to help him. He was, after all, a prince, albeit one by courtesy rather than law.
She could kick him in the shins, surprise him into releasing her hand, and make a run for it. He’d probably move faster than she could, but she had the advantage of knowing her ground, and there were numerous hiding places in the castle where she’d spent all her life.
Or she could simply accept her fate. It wasn’t anything worse than most women had been enduring for centuries, and there were countless martyrs who’d been ravaged and murdered. Maybe she’d become another of the dark prince’s victims, making her way straight to sainthood, skipping the convent altogether.
For some reason the notion didn’t appeal. She was still trying to come up with some plausible means of escape, when he simply released her hand.
“I told you, Lady Elizabeth, you have nothing to fear from me,” he said, his deep voice curling down her spine. “I have no interest in raping you.”
She felt her face flush, but it wasn’t with the gratitude that she would have expected. How mortifyingly foolish, to think someone like Prince William would prove any kind of threat to a skinny, overgrown redhead with a tongue like a razor. She wasn’t even woman enough to appeal to the most desperate men in her father’s household—why in the world should a dedicated lecher
