course, who was to say there wouldn’t be a woman? Once her father was free of the restraining effects of Elizabeth’s potion, he’d doubtless find himself married once more, and her younger brothers would doubtless follow suit. In truth, there would probably be too many women rather than too few. Another good reason for her to leave—she wasn’t the sort to peacefully relinquish what little power she had.
But that would no longer be her concern. She might never return, never see her family again, and while she’d miss her monstrous younger brothers, she wouldn’t mourn. She would have a new family once she arrived at the Shrine of Saint Anne. A new family, a new name, a new calling. And no regrets.
The first of their guests strode into the courtyard, and Elizabeth watched in astonishment as Prince William himself headed toward the stable. He was fully dressed in his elegant clothing, the gold chasing glinting in the early sunlight, but he had no cap on his head, and she realized with some amusement that he was prematurely balding. His dark hair had been carefully combed over his skull, but it only just covered the crown of his head. He was almost as bald as a monk. It was a good thing he was so tall—most people wouldn’t have the vantage point she had.
Then again, it probably wouldn’t matter if he was fat and ugly, as well as bald. He was the only son of the king, powerful and privileged, and no one would dare say no to him. She couldn’t imagine how he could have killed a woman, or more than one if gossip were to be believed. What woman would dare to resist him, even one of high birth?
She could watch him quite safely, hidden away behind the thick walls of the castle, and she indulged herself for lack of something better to do. He moved with surprising grace for a man so tall, and his long legs made quick work of the expanse of the courtyard. He’d either spent the hours in such debauchery that he hadn’t bothered to get any sleep, or unlike his fellow travelers he’d spent a chaste, well-rested night in the solar. He didn’t look particularly chaste—there was too much knowledge in his eyes, but there’d been no screams in the night, and she could only assume that everyone had made it through safely.
Even Prince William. He passed the stable, heading directly toward the small chapel, and then he disappeared inside.
Elizabeth leaned back, astonished. Prince William’s current atonement had been forced on him, and if even half the stories were true, he was a heedless, cruel man with little regard for man or God.
Though he hadn’t looked particularly cruel last night. And cruel men didn’t kiss plain women on the forehead, did they?
It made no sense to her, and she liked things to make sense, but in the end it was the least of her concerns. The household was truly awake by then, and more of Prince William’s entourage had appeared, looking a great deal less sprightly than the prince himself. It was time to go.
There was no member of her family waiting to see her off—only the servants. Gertrude, the elderly laundress, was weeping openly, and even Wat the stable lad was blubbering. She hugged them all, fighting back her own tears, and approached the weary nag that her father had grudgingly given her for the journey with only minor trepidation.
The men were already mounted. The monks were on particularly fine animals, a surprise. Most holy brothers rode donkeys, not high-strung chargers. Poor old Melange would have a hard time keeping up with even the slowest of them, but it was the best she could hope for. Wat dragged the mounting block over, but before she could move the dark prince spoke, startling her. She hadn’t realized he was so near.
“You’re not riding that pathetic old nag,” he said flatly.
She’d forgotten his voice. She looked up at him, and tried to remind herself that despite his eyes he was nothing but a horrible, wicked, balding man. “It’s the only mount I have.”
“I’ve seen your father’s stables. He takes better care of his cattle than he does his women.”
“Don’t most men?” she responded, then bit her lip. Being outspoken was always a failing, and she didn’t want his dark, unnerving eyes on her any more than necessary.
“Brother Adrian!” he called over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving hers. To her surprise, it was the youngest, baby-faced monk who slid off his horse and came running.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Find milady a better mount. If she tries to keep up with us on that poor beast she’ll be left behind in no time.”
“I don’t know if Baron Osbert would be willing—”
“Baron Osbert has no say in the matter. He would scarce want to inconvenience his prince, would he? He is singularly lacking in wisdom, but even he can’t be shortsighted enough to offend those in power.”
“Indeed,” Brother Adrian said, advancing toward Wat, who stood trembling in his manure-stained boots.
“I don’t know what I can give you,” Wat said in a wavering voice. “The baron has never let her ride much. She’s such a hopeless rider that he was afraid she’d ruin any of his decent horses.”
Prince William was still looking at her. “You really are a disgrace, aren’t you?” he said softly.
“So I’m often told.” She wasn’t about to defend herself. She would ride whatever they put her on, just as long as it took her to her new life.
“Bring her Anthony’s mount. He won’t be needing it.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a brief moment to worry about poor Anthony’s fate before she spoke. “I’m certain Melange will be fine.”
“And I’m certain she won’t. Are you planning on arguing with me?”
That was exactly what she wanted to do, but she thought better of it. One didn’t argue with the king’s son, particularly when he was known to possess an uncertain temperament. “As you wish, my lord.”
He nodded. “A sensible decision. I knew you were wiser than your father. We’re already late in leaving.” He should have moved away. His huge black horse was restless, breathing heavily in the early morning air, ready to jump ahead, but he kept the beautiful creature under control with almost imperceptible effort as Adrian returned with a freshly saddled chestnut mare.
Elizabeth eyed the creature warily. The horse was bigger than Melange, and much livelier. But she certainly wasn’t about to waste her time thinking she had any choice in the matter. Life wasn’t about choices, it was about making the best of what was forced on you.
Riding a strange horse was bad enough, but going through the awkward business of mounting with the prince’s dark eyes on her was worthy of argument. Until she glanced at him and knew he wasn’t going to budge.
The mare held still with surprising patience as she scrambled onto her back, a good sign. Melange, for all her torpor, wasn’t as well behaved. Elizabeth sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward. If she hadn’t managed it she had little doubt the prince would have put his hands on her again, in front of everyone, and that was the last thing she wanted.
And then they were off, their cavalcade moving with stately grace through the early morning mist. Elizabeth looked back, one last time, at the assembled servants, the familiar shape of Bredon Castle, where she’d spent her entire seventeen years. And then she turned her back on it, facing her new life.
It
