Читать книгу Unexpected Pleasures - Mary Wine - Страница 5

CHAPTER TWO

Attending court left little time for sleep. Justina awoke when the horizon was turning dusty rose. Her maids were blurry eyed and rubbed the sleep away from their eyes when they thought she wasn’t watching. Anyone who drew their pay from the Viscount Biddeford earned every silver penny, and the slump of both girls’ shoulders confirmed that they were enduring the man’s harsh demands.

A hunting dress was pressed and ready for her today. No doubt the maids had spent several hours ironing the dress and polishing her shoes for the morning hunt. Even the hat had its feathers steamed and curled and the wool newly brushed free of every speck of dirt. Like everything at court, hunting was yet another time to observe and be observed. Her dress must be perfect down to the smallest details.

How she loathed it. Putting on a pretty dress was fun so long as it was not another chore.

Justina stepped into hose and shoes once again, only this time the shoes were more practical, lacking the high heels. They were tied with sturdy leather, and her garters were wool instead of silk. The dress was much more comfortable. Instead of a slip set with stiff hoops, there was only an underskirt of soft wool to keep her legs warm. The skirt was hemmed just above her toes, and it lacked the pull on her back of the court gown she had endured the day before. Today she wore a doublet buttoned to her neck and a more loosely fit set of stays. There were no pearls to worry about snagging, and the hat the maids brought forward was felted wool and, beside the feathers, only a ribbon to enhance it.

She liked the dress, liked it full well.

Yes, the time in the borderland had certainly left its mark upon her. There had been no need of court fashion at Amber Hill, and Justina admitted that she had a fondness for the lack of pomp and ceremony.

“You’d best hurry, my lady. The earl will be letting his hounds loose soon.”

It was a bold thing for a maid to say to her mistress but Justina understood what prompted the woman to speak. If the viscount was displeased, they would all suffer. There was no difference between them, no matter who wore the finer clothing.

The maid had spoken truly, though. Justina neared the south gate and heard the hounds howling with excitement. The Earl of Hertford’s household was turned out in large numbers and a great many of the court were also in attendance. The yard was a mass of horses and pages all attempting to ready the animals for riding. The sky was turning rosy pink now with yellow and orange streaking through it. Dark clouds were beginning to drift overhead, promising a storm before afternoon. The sound of trumpets broke through the buzz of conversations and the hounds yelped in response. The large animals pulled against their grooms, knowing the sound of the beginning of the hunt well. A group near the gate surged forward, with the colors of Hertford flying behind them. They took to the road, the hounds leading the way and falcons and hawks perched on arms with their leather hoods still in place. That didn’t keep the birds from showing their growing excitement. They moved their heads with sharp motions in spite of the leather covering them, and they flapped their wings, causing their handlers to make soothing sounds.

Justina mounted her mare and hooked her knee over the saddle horn. It was a precarious seat, but since Anne Boleyn had lost her head, women were wise to avoid riding like men. The former queen had been well known for her love of riding astride but it had been yet another charge used to condemn her.

The crisp air turned her cheeks cold and Justina leaned low over the neck of her mare to ride faster. She left behind her the aspiring daughters of nobles who were only there to be seen and possibly offered for, along with the good wives who attended in order to gossip. Riding away from the palace filled her with joy, and she urged her mare faster, allowing herself to live only in that moment, when there was nothing but the open forest. Her heart beat faster and her shoulders lost much of the tension that had been keeping her on edge since her return. Once they reached the woods, the falcons were loosed to spread their wings out and fly overhead.

Justina tipped her head back, grateful for the long steel pin that kept her hat in place while she watched the raptors soar over the top of the trees. She envied them, but smiled as she watched the way they floated far above everything.

She did know how to smile.

Synclair watched Justina, drinking in the sight of her.

Had it truly been only a few days since he’d seen her last? His lower back ached from too many hours in the saddle, but it was worth it because he’d managed to find the woman he’d spent too many hours thinking about. Her face inhabited his dreams, and he heard her voice when the morning was still dark but he was walking the walls and searching the night for signs of invaders. Whenever there was nothing for his mind to do, his thoughts filled with her. No amount of discipline seemed able to banish his addiction to her. The thing that doubled his frustration was the way the lady ran from him. This time, she had truly taken to the road to escape him.

That roused his temper because of the risk she’d taken. No woman should be pushed to such lengths; it was dishonorable of a man to do so. True honor was not the pride-filled nonsense that was so often displayed at court. He watched her and drank in the sight of her sitting safely on the side of her mare. It was a fine sight, one that he was determined to see more often.

Some might label it an obsession. Synclair didn’t know, but he was sure of one fact—he was going to put whatever was between them to the test. At last, at long last, because the single kiss he’d stolen from her was as fresh in his mind as the ale he’d consumed at midday.

Only far sweeter.

He guided his stallion closer to his prey. He’d spent hours watching her, waiting on her to emerge from her tower at Amber Hill so that he might approach her. Things would be different now. The rules that had governed his behavior while he was sworn to serve the Baron Ryppon were no longer binding him. He could feel something dark rising up inside him. It had kept him awake too many nights to count while his flesh burned for the touch of the woman intent on refusing him.

He chuckled softly. He still felt the sting of her hand across his jaw but all that did was increase his need to taste her honeyed lips once more. There was something between them and it was not just he who felt it. She might have resisted his kiss at first but that had turned to passion just as hot as his own within moments.

He was going to feel that again. Even if the lady sputtered in outrage at him. She would be his, and for reasons he did not understand, that idea persisted through the months she had hidden from him and refused him when their paths did cross.

He knew her reason, and that only fueled his desire to claim her even more. Synclair swept the area, looking for the man he suspected he might have to kill.

Actually, he wanted to kill him. The Viscount Biddeford was a blight upon the English nobility, a shame that needed wiping away. He used his guardianship for gain without any regard for honor.

Justina laughed, the sound sending sensations down his back. It was delicate and far too rare. He gave a tug on the reins in his hands and guided his stallion in closer.

“A hawk won’t return to its master unless it trusts him.”

Justina gasped, jumping as she jerked her attention around to face the man she had dreamt about last night.

It couldn’t be.

But Synclair sat in front of her, more real than she believed possible. His stallion was a full head taller than her mare, and he angled his head to look down upon her. Unlike the men surrounding the earl of Hertford, Synclair was wearing only sturdy wool garments. There wasn’t a bauble or length of trim anywhere on him, just the gold knights’ chain secured to the shoulders of his doublet which allowed the chain to drape across the wide expanse of his chest.

He looked more fetching to her eyes than any other man. Something flickered in his eyes, a hint of pleasure at knowing that she enjoyed looking at him.

“The raptor isn’t afraid of the world, even when it should be. Once it gains its freedom, it will take a strong bond to bring it back to the man who held it.”

He wasn’t talking about a hawk. The knight’s blue eyes were hard as winter ice and aimed directly at her.

“Rather insightful of the raptor; fear is for children.”

“Or women who are forced to endure guardians that lack honor.”

Justina gasped again. This time her mare danced in a circle, feeling her rider’s upset. Synclair’s lips twitched, hinting at a grin that never truly showed on his face, but there was an unmistakable flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He used a short pull on his reins to guide his stallion closer to her mare, sidestepping over to neatly push her away from the main body of the hunting party. Surprise held her in its grasp. Her heart accelerated and her thoughts whirled too fast to reign in. Synclair took advantage of that, cutting his stallion ever closer to her mare. Her horse retreated, until Justina pulled up on the reins to insist that the animal stay in place.

The action didn’t gain her the security she sought, instead Synclair urged his stallion closer, and unlike her mare, the animal seemed accustomed to being pressed against another horse. She felt Synclair invading her space and leaned away out of instinct.

“Enough, sir. Have done.”

“I think not, Lady, I have only begun. It is time you and I stand steady and see what happens when we are not being pulled apart by the rest of the world.”

“I disagree.”

She leaned farther away, too far to maintain her balance atop the mare.

The knight’s hand snaked out as fast as a lightning strike to grip her skirt. He grabbed a huge hand full of the cartridge-pleated material, holding her in place when her own movement would have carried her over the side of the mare.

“What are you doing at court?”

She couldn’t deal with him back at court when she was forced to remain, too. Something flashed in his eyes, a warning that cut through her like a knife. Her breath became lodged in her throat.

“Following you, Justina.”

He spoke her name in a rough voice before stretching out his arm and allowing her body to slide down the side of the saddle. Even as shock held her in its grasp, she was amazed at the amount of strength in his body. He controlled her descent to the ground, lifting one leg up and over her mare so that he sat for a brief moment on top of the animal before he followed her to the ground. He might have simply released her skirt and dismounted from his own horse but he refused to allow her to drop so carelessly. His solid strength supported her all the way to the ground, while he followed her. It happened in a moment but her mind was frozen in shock, making every action slower and more noticeable.

“Did you doubt that I would follow you?” He made a low sound that communicated how frustrated he was. The tone of it made her tremble, an instant response that she neither considered nor controlled. It simply happened, just as heat began burning a path along her arms and up her neck, before it reached her face to set her cheeks on fire. Words failed her, her thoughts centering on the blush staining her face.

To think that she might still be capable of blushing ... Such an innocent action felt misplaced but it also sent a tingle of excitement through her heart.

Synclair lifted a hand and gently stroked her face before she shook off her astonishment. “How could you doubt that I would follow, Justina? I spoke my intentions clearly to you at Amber Hill.”

“Your intentions?” She stepped away from him, not because his touch offended her, but to escape the sheer enjoyment of having his skin against her own. “You locked me in a chamber.”

“Only for a week, and then you were given the freedom of the castle. Considering the peril you allowed Bridget to run into when you showed her the way out of Amber Hill, a week was a small penance. But it was by Lord Ryppon’s order and one designed for your protection. Your guardian is unfit. He sent you to deceive us and send Bridget into the night where she might have been harmed. Keeping you in the castle was to prevent you from returning to a guardian who has no conscience about how he uses you.” His voice was edged with hard command, but instead of striking her as arrogant, Synclair seemed worthy of the tone. His eyes sliced into hers. “You were the one who kept to your chamber after that, Lady. It was no simple task to meet you outside it.”

And yet he had managed it far too often for her faltering self-discipline. Each time he’d managed to intercept her had chiseled away at her resolve to push him away. Now, with his eyes on her again, she could feel every hole in the walls around her heart.

“I had to sequester myself because you lacked the sense to stay away from me.” He was too large and too tempting. Justina stepped away from him, needing distance to regain her composure. There were solid reasons why she could not allow him to pursue her; she simply couldn’t think of any of them at the moment.

“If either of us lacks sense, Lady, it is you.” Synclair didn’t follow her. The knight swallowed further words before they crossed his lips, frustration darkening his face. He gripped his wide belt and drew in a deep breath.

“Your guardian is unjust, Justina.”

“That is not uncommon nor does it change the fact that he is my guardian.”

He took a step toward her. “That does not excuse him.” Fury edged his words, noble fire that stole the breath from her lungs. All of her reasons for refusing him flew back into her mind. Her knees nearly buckled beneath the weight.

Justina clasped her hands together, making herself steady and poised for the rejection she must give him.

Synclair didn’t give her the chance. He closed the gap between them, his hand cupping her chin and holding it.

“Do not waste yet more of your breath.” There was a hard warning glittering in his eyes and his tone was as sharp as steel.

“I must. You cannot champion me.”

“I assure you, Justina, I can.”

She drew in a deep breath, frustration biting into her. Trust the man to take her words as an insult.

“It is not a matter of your ability; I am not a good match for you.”

The fingers clasping her chin tightened to the point of discomfort but he stiffened and forced his grip to relax before true pain needled her. He lifted his hand away and she pulled in a deep breath, determined to cut him with her next words and send him away before he was smeared with the stains of her sins. She couldn’t bear that idea, and it tormented her unmercifully.

“That is my choice, madam, and what I have decided is that you shall be mine.”

“Synclair—”

He moved lightning quick once more, reaching out to slide one arm around her waist and pull her against his body. He also stepped forward so that she felt like he was capturing her, and indeed the knight was. She felt his strength wrap around her in a solid curtain that blocked out everything except him.

“Mine, Lady. I swear it to you.”

Swear ... For a man such as he, that was a solemn oath. She witnessed it flickering in his eyes as her breath lodged in her throat. Justina shook her head, every fiber of her being refusing to allow him to come anywhere near her sordid life.

“I have said it, Justina, and I plan to keep my word.”

His mouth claimed hers in a motion that was forceful and demanding. She leaned away from him, seeking escape from her own longing for him. The hand that had cupped her chin found the back of her head and held it steady while his mouth reclaimed hers. There was no further way to avoid his kiss. He took her mouth, demanding that her lips part to allow the kiss to deepen.

God help her, she wanted to do exactly that.

Running through her was a current of excitement she had never felt before. In spite of her husband and lovers, a single kiss had never sent her blood racing through her body at such a speed that her head spun in a lightheaded manner. She had never noticed that a man’s mouth might taste sweet.

Synclair’s did.

A soft moan rose from her chest, somehow escaping through their joined lips, and the kiss changed. Synclair still held her hostage to his demands but his lips began to slip and slide across her own, gently teasing her lower lip before she felt the tip of his tongue flick over the sensitive skin. She shivered. Enjoyment took command of her body, making it impossible to control her responses. For all her experience, she discovered that she was powerless against his kiss because of the sweet sensation it unleashed upon her.

“Your body craves my touch, Justina. I can feel you trembling in my arms.”

She clamped her mouth closed against a sharp cry because she had never heard Synclair use such a tone before. It was deep and husky, touching off a moment of panic because she recognized how devastating that voice would be. She would become enchanted by it, in but a few more words.

“I am no stranger to lust.”

He growled at her, the hand holding the back of her head tightening while his eyes narrowed with his displeasure. She could see his temper straining against his control and the battle mesmerized her.

“Do not belittle yourself, Justina.”

She pushed against his chest, struggling when she knew that the only way she might be free was by his will. “Release me now.”

He grunted but his embrace opened, allowing her to place distance between them. She felt chilled the moment she moved, her body lamenting the steps that she took away from him. The skin of her lips was suddenly more sensitive than it had ever been, longing for her to return to him and offer him a kiss in return for the one he had given her.

“I am honest with you, Synclair. I have no more liking for it than you. Yet it is the truth. You must not seek me out.”

“And you, madam, would be wise to learn that I am not given to making declarations lightly.”

He meant what he said, she could hear the determination in his voice. It was there in his expression, too, and Justina discovered she had too much liking for the way he looked when he was staring at her. It was so tempting to sink into his gaze and allow it to wrap around her like a cloak that could cut the chill of life’s injustices.

A blast from a hunting horn broke through the early morning from somewhere back in the trees. The sound startled the horses, sending a twist of fright through her belly as she heard the stallion snort; if the animal reared up they would be directly beneath its sharp hooves. Synclair twisted in an instant and reached for the reins of his stallion, gripping the leather just as the horse was rising up. With a powerful motion of his thick arms, he controlled the huge animal, moving in a slow circle as he soothed it with several long strokes down its face. Justina blew out a stiff breath as relief tingled across her skin.

Hounds suddenly swarmed through the trees, weaving around the trunks while they pressed their noses to the ground.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Synclair, man, when did you rejoin the court? I thought you were with Baron Ryppon.”

It was the Earl of Hertford who came through the trees, his voice cutting through the silence. But his attention settled on her, his gaze sharp and questioning.

“Good day to you, Lady Wincott. I had not heard that you were returned to court either.”

Justina lowered herself, but Synclair answered the earl before she rose again.

“Lady Wincott passed the summer with Baron Ryppon and myself at Amber Hill.”

Edward Seymour, brother of the late queen, Jane Seymour, leaned over to offer his hand to Synclair. It was a mark of high regard from a man who held an extremely high position in England, thanks to the fact that his sister had given Henry the Eighth the son he longed for so much. He was a prince in everything but blood, and since Prince Edward Tudor was only nine years old, the earl would most likely have a great deal of power while the boy grew up.

“Has Ryppon given you leave for your service to him then?”

“I am finished with my time, my vow completed and satisfied.”

The earl nodded. “An excellent time to be finished with your training. I can use a man like you by my side.”

The hounds began to howl with excitement, and the earl turned his attention to them.

“Join me, man. We’ll catch some supper to enjoy together.”

The earl didn’t wait for them; he kneed his stallion and set off after his hounds.

Justina had taken advantage of their conversation to reclaim her mare. The animal had shied away from Synclair’s stallion and was searching through the fallen autumn leaves for grass, but there was little left alive. Running a soothing hand along the neck of the mare, Justina grabbed a handful of her skirt to allow her to place her foot in the stirrup. She was keenly aware that they were once more alone.

A shiver crossed her skin. She was far too sensitive to the knight, one of the reasons she had taken to the road to escape him. She lacked the strength to resist the pull she felt toward him.

Two hands closed around her waist, drawing a gasp from her startled lips. Synclair lifted her easily to the back of her mare, his lips twitching with amusement when she stared into his eyes with astonishment. Many a man boasted of his strength, but there were few who might actually prove it. Among those, she had rarely discovered one who knew how to control his grip such as Synclair seemed able to do. His embrace had been solid, yet painless. She felt her resolve weakening even further because to have a man that was considerate of his strength for a lover must be pure delight.

It was something she must not allow herself to taste, but she saw in his eyes the intention to make his touch intimate. Synclair didn’t hide it from her, and let her view the desire darkening his eyes. A chill went down her back, spreading out over her skin until it reached her breasts. Behind her corset, her nipples drew into hard beads, startling her with the quickness of the response.

“You should not.” She didn’t finish her warning because it was too difficult to form into words what she wanted him to refrain from doing, and she feared that her voice betrayed her growing desire. It was more than his touch, it was the way his blue eyes probed hers and the way her belly tightened just because she knew he was closing the distance between them.

“And you should not protest when you enjoyed my kiss so well.”

Her hand gripped his, where it still sat at her waist, prying at his fingers to remove them, but he captured only her hand, pulling his fingers along her bare palm before relinquishing his hold on her.

“It is a pity we were interrupted, Justina. I promise to remedy that.”

Her eyes widened once again and she scoffed at herself. Such lack of control was unlike her and destined to land her in a great deal of misery.

“Do not. There is nothing for us to talk about.”

Synclair moved to his horse and gained the saddle in another fluid motion that left no doubt about how much strength the man had in his body. The stallion turned in a circle, demonstrating that it was a fit mount for the knight who rode him. The animal snorted, shaking its head while pawing at the ground with eager anticipation.

“I disagree, Justina.”

Only three words, but they sounded like a sentence being issued by a magistrate. She felt them as much as she heard them, her body quivering with trepidation. Synclair shot a hard look at her before giving his stallion its freedom. The animal surged forward and her mare followed instantly. She tried to pull the reins up to slow the mare, but heard Synclair chuckle in response to her efforts.

“The mare has more wisdom than you, Justina.” He turned to look at her. “She does not fight against what she craves.”

The mare was increasing her speed to catch the stallion, and the stallion tossed its head again to encourage the mare. Justina felt her face turn red with her temper.

She was not a mare.

Lust would not control her, not now, not ever. She refused to crumple in the face of her emotions. Even if she did enjoy his kiss, there was nothing to be gained from yielding to such pleasure. The only thing that would happen would be more despair when the viscount decided to whom she would be sent. She would be tormented by the lack of enjoyment she found in that bed, because she would now know what it felt like to enjoy being kissed.

Better to never know. It would be far wiser for her to bury the need clamoring inside her so deeply that it might never rise up to tempt her.

Better ... wiser ... and more lonely than she had ever felt.

Yet that was the way life was.

Biddeford was waiting in her chambers again. Whitehall Palace had several secret passageways, and she had been placed in her current chambers to ensure that the man might come and go without being witnessed. Still trying to regain her composure, Justina was far from pleased to see him. She needed sanctuary, a place to collect her thoughts and seal them behind her poise once more.

It seemed she was going to be denied that as well. She frowned and turned her back on the viscount under the guise of placing her riding gloves on the table, but she could not remain there for long.

“You did well this morning.”

Justina didn’t enjoy the compliment. Any form of praise coming from Biddeford always had an ulterior motive. She could see the way the man’s eyes shifted while he plotted. In a way, she pitied him, because he never seemed satisfied. He wore the finest clothing and supped on the best food. He didn’t reek from hours spent breaking his back in the fields, and still the man struggled to gain more.

“I was quite surprised to see you riding with the Earl of Hertford, but that pleased me greatly. What was he talking about?”

“Hunting.”

The viscount frowned at her, his eyes narrowing. A trickle of fear made its way through her.

“He wasn’t talking to me but to Sir Synclair, who is newly returned from the north.”

“I noticed such.” Biddeford paused for a moment while he considered that fact. “Synclair desires your sweet body.”

“He does not.” The words left her mouth too quickly and too sharply. Justina turned her face away and sat her hat on top of a table to conceal her expression while she struggled to regain her composure.

The viscount clicked his tongue in reprimand. She heard his steps behind her and she stiffened as revulsion went through her. He was going to touch her and she hated his fingers upon her flesh. Today, she had to fight the urge to cringe because her emotions were so unruly.

He turned her to face him and tapped her chin with one finger.

“Yes, you were separated from me too long.” He leaned closer, so that she felt his breath against her cheek. “I suggest you find your balance, sweet Justina, else I shall have to design some task that will firmly remind you whom your master is.”

He placed a kiss against her neck, and she shivered with distaste. Bitterness filled her mouth to the point that she had to fend off retching. She discovered herself agreeing with him because she had been away too long and now she knew that there were places where life was decent such as it had been when she was with Lord Ryppon. Such knowledge bred a desire to escape from everything at court but her son’s fate would not allow such. She swallowed her distaste, forcing it deep so that she might turn to look at the viscount with an expression that was devoid of her true emotions.

“I did as you commanded this morning, my lord.”

The viscount snickered. “So you did, but that does not change the fact that our newly returned baron finds you pleasing to his eye.”

“Baron?”

Biddeford shrugged and moved to the small door that would lead him to the concealed passageway. “Yes, Synclair has inherited the title of Harrow from his uncle who died without issue. Since he appears to be in good standing with the Earl of Hertford, you shall allow him to think you find his attentions ...”

Justina felt her breath freeze in her throat. She couldn’t use Synclair; she didn’t have the ability to conceal what she was thinking around the knight. She would fail, and revulsion for such a task was thick enough to choke her. Synclair was everything noble. She couldn’t soil that.

“I shall allow him to think I find his attentions ... how, my lord?”

“Amusing, for the moment. I am more interested in the Earl of Hertford. Dress yourself more fashionably and see if you can gain an invitation to join his party for supper.”

She had never known so much relief as she did when that door closed behind her guardian.

Except for the day her husband had died.

Her knees felt weak and she pulled in deep breaths while she attempted to steady herself. Despair wrapped its boney grip around her now, threatening to crush her beneath the weight of what Biddeford demanded. Oh, one would think it a simple matter, so much less repulsive than some of the things she had done in the past, but Synclair’s face rose up to torment her with how noble he was.

Could she not at least have one memory of a man that was untarnished by the smut and soot that seemed to be her life? If for no other reason than it kept part of her heart alive with the notion that there were men, rare and few, but living, breathing men who spoke the truth and served honor.

She needed that. Needed it so badly she ached with it. Tears burned the corners of her eyes.

“My lady? A letter arrived from your son.”

A sob broke through her lips as she turned to take the folded parchment the maid offered her. The woman assumed she cried because she longed for her child so greatly, but the truth was that she wept because she simply could not fend off her unsteady emotions any longer and feared they might consume her, leaving her child at the mercy of Biddeford.

Brandon’s writing was neat and clear, his spelling correct even if his sentences lacked the polish that age would bring. The maid fetched her a linen square to keep her tears from marring the letter. Justina read it three times through before forcing herself to fold it and lock it in the small chest that sat on top of the table where she kept all of Brandon’s letters, from the very first ones that were naught more than a practice of his letters, with pictures of what he would have rather been doing instead of his studies, to the one that she held today. The neat stacks of parchment gave her the strength to banish her tears and turn around to wash and dress. Brandon was in the country, her efforts gaining what was truly important. Her own feelings did not matter, that was the path that all mothers must follow.

At least the good ones.

The Earl of Hertford enjoyed merry company.

The man had his own large chambers in the palace and that included a large receiving room he must have set his servants to preparing before he left on the hunt. Long trestle tables lined the room, with ornately carved chairs set along their outer edges so that all who sat there would face in at one another. The tables were laid with fine pewter plates and silver-handled dinnerware. There was pepper and nutmeg, their scents casting even more joy to the moment because of the great cost such spices sold for. At the end of each table was placed a salt cellar, its position indicating that the master of the house granted leave to everyone to speak freely while supping this night. He might have kept the salt near his hand, and no one below the salt’s position might speak unless they were addressed. Sitting below the salt was never much fun.

Justina heard the minstrels before she entered the room. The sounds of them playing their lutes, mandolins, and even the virginals set the mood for celebration to the delight of the courtiers fortunate enough to be allowed past the Earl’s personal retainers. Somewhere, the Queen would be holding her own supper, most likely with the princesses in attendance. Still another gathering would be around the Chancellor Wriothesley and the men who supported him. While the King failed to appear, court would become a separated place, with each person having to make a choice on whom to attend. People were judged by such decisions, the gossips keeping track of who attended whom. Justina approached the Hertford retainers and watched as they cast a look back at their captain for his word on her. A barely noticeable nod from the man granted her liberty to walk into the room with all of its festivities.

A juggler performed at one end of the room, capturing the attention of most of the guests. But Justina discovered herself drawn to a large bird sitting near the head table. As large as a pheasant, the bird’s feathers were blue and gold and its beak curved. It was a parrot of some sort; the king kept one that she had heard speak several words. The bird watched her with large eyes, looking for all the world quite intelligent.

“You have a taste for the exotic, as do I.”

Francis de Canis wasn’t wearing velvet or brocade. The man was more of a rogue and dressed in clothing that was functional. His face bore the proof of his rugged lifestyle, with scars that told of fights in years gone by.

He stood between her and the room because she had stepped up onto the raised dais the bird’s perch was sitting on. Behind her lay a hallway, used to connect to the private chambers of the earl.

“I enjoy a good chase, Lady, and you have not disappointed me.”

Justina stood her ground, conscious of the hallway behind her and how easy it would be for de Canis to molest her in one of the rooms beyond. No servant would help her and the nobles were all occupied with the juggler.

“I do plan to disappoint you, sir, for I shall have none of this game.”

His clothing had warned her that he was a man who enjoyed doing things himself, but that still did not keep her from being shocked when he pushed her down the hallway. His hands delivered a sharp jab to her belly, below her stays where her flesh was soft and unprotected. Her breath went sailing out of her lungs, leaving her gasping for enough to cry out with. Pain filled her body and she stumbled backward out of the need to shield herself from more blows.

“You shall have it, Lady, and the rougher the better will please me well.”

The light from the festivities became muted when de Canis reached for her again. This time, he grabbed her upper arms and flung her toward a doorway like a bundle of laundry. Justina stepped on her skirts and fell across the floor in a tangle of fabric. She was torn between the need to cry out and the fear that being rescued might offend the nobles who considered de Canis indispensable.

The bastard knew it well, too. His face was glowing with victory and a smug smile sat on his lips.

“You are no maiden and no man’s wife. Your last lover is gone to the borderland to breed his wife, so you, madam, need a new master, and I will be happy to prove my worth to you.”

He reached for her, but the word master ignited her temper. She was sick unto death of hearing that she must obey.

“You are not my master!”

She launched herself at him, clawing at his face while pushing at the floor with all of her strength. Her nails sunk into his skin, drawing warm blood for a moment before a heavy blow landed across her face. Her body twisted with the strength of the strike and she stumbled away from him, trying to keep her footing while turning to glare at him.

“Step aside, sir, for I will not play your game.”

De Canis smiled and chuckled beneath his breath. Gloating sparkled in his eyes while his expression turned mean.

“I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

He stepped toward her and Justina gathered her strength to fight him. She would not yield to him even if it might save her the pain of being beaten. She preferred the bruises of the flesh to ones on her soul.

But a strangled sound came from him and his foot never touched the floor. Instead he was hauled backward and thrown into the hallway. Justina gained only a glance of the man responsible and it was enough to send a shiver down her back.

She had never seen Synclair so angry. His face was darkened by rage and his hands outstretched as though he planned to rip de Canis apart with his bare hands.

De Canis wasn’t afraid of him, though. He gained his feet and growled at him. “So you want to fight over the meat? I am your man!”

De Canis lunged at Synclair but the knight met him, and flesh connected with flesh. Both were hardened men who knew the art of fighting well. Justina stumbled to the doorway to see them struggling in the tight confines of the narrow hallway. The harsh sounds of struggle filled the stone-lined walls as the two men tried to kill each other. Their bodies strained but the close confines prevented them from doing more than wrestle. Synclair pushed de Canis back, sliding the man’s boots across the floor until they reached the doorway that led to the reception room. With a harsh growl of satisfaction, Synclair threw de Canis into the room, startling the parrot.

The music died abruptly and the assembled guests looked around to discover the cause. De Canis recovered quickly and dove at Synclair with a curse spilling from his lips. The knight drew back his arm and landed a solid punch directly on de Canis’s face that sent the man spinning into the men who rushed forward. They grabbed him, struggling with him when the man tried to continue the fight.

“I’ll see you rotting in an early grave, Harrow! Baron or not, I’m going to rip your throat out with my own hands!” De Canis struggled violently against the arms holding him, rage glittering in his eyes.

“I am your man, de Canis! This world will be well rid of your brand of filth.”

Synclair looked as if he meant to continue the fight, but the Earl of Hertford stepped in front of him, placing a hand flat against his chest. The earl leaned in to whisper something near Synclair’s ear and the assembled guests all leaned forward to attempt to hear what it was.

Synclair snarled at the earl but the man lifted his hand and looked at the musicians.

“Play!” He turned his head and looked at a groom. “Bring the meal!”

There was a scurry as everyone tried to please the earl. He swept the nobles nearest to Synclair with a hard look that sent them all back across the room.

“Francis de Canis, I believe it best if you retire for the evening. It appears that my friends do not please you.”

De Canis shrugged off the men around him and tugged on his doublet to straighten it. His lips curled into a sneer, without a care for the high position of the earl. Being asked to leave was a public set down, one the assembled guests did not miss. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd instantly.

“No, your lordship, I do not care for that one.”

Soft hands cupped her shoulders, startling Justina. An older maid gently pulled her back.

“Come away, ma’am, you have blood upon your lip. It will ruin your gown if we don’t tend to it.”

Still far enough back in the hallway to avoid being seen, Justina saw the wisdom in the maid’s suggestion. She allowed herself to be guided away from where Synclair and the earl spoke in lowered tones. But the stone walls pressed in on her, making her feel as if it were impossible to draw a complete breath. Her lungs burned and she fought against the urge to scream with all of the tension trapped inside her. Every muscle felt tight enough to snap and her blood was rushing so quickly through her veins, keeping to an even pace became impossible.

“I’ll see to it myself, thank you.”

Justina didn’t spare more than a quick glance for the maid. She plucked a piece of cloth that was tucked through the woman’s apron tie before she quickened her pace and turned the corner. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she couldn’t remain inside without going mad.

The corridors were made of thick stone and Justina hurried through them because it felt like they were pressing in on her. She finally made it outside and leaned over a half wall to pull in large breaths to feed her burning lungs. She pressed the fabric to her mouth and felt her eyes widen when it came away stained with crimson. Emotions assaulted her—fear, anger, pain, and too many others to comprehend. The air was bitterly cold and she looked across the yard to see that snow was gently falling. It wasn’t melting now that the sun was sinking on the horizon. Patches of it covered the ground and clung to the leafless branches of the trees.

She cursed, muttering the foulest words her overwhelmed mind might recall.

“My thoughts exactly, Justina.”

She turned in a swirl of brocade skirts to discover Synclair behind her. His face was still darkened by temper and his eyes were narrow with dissatisfaction. But the cloth in her hands drew his attention.

“That bastard bloodied you.”

Justina felt her hand begin shaking and she turned back around to look away from the palace. She felt as if her every muscle was quivering, and was on the verge of either collapsing or running away.

“It shouldn’t matter but I find that I cannot stomach these walls.” Her voice sounded far too needy but she didn’t care; all that mattered was gaining freedom. She saw a reflection of her own desperation in his eyes and she didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. The sound of horses came around the side of the building and Synclair grinned. It wasn’t a kind expression, but it was a relief from the rage that had transformed his features into a stranger.

A groom led his stallion, the animal more than eager to see his owner.

“Then let us escape, at least for the moment.” He took the reins from the groom and mounted, his body showing all the tension that she herself was battling. He looked down at her and offered his hand.

“Come with me, Justina. The night will give us the solace we seek.”

She didn’t think. Her hand lifted and his fingers closed around her wrist. He lifted her off her feet and she landed in front of him, sitting side saddle with his arms going around her to control the animal.

She didn’t need to think and she didn’t believe that she was capable of it at the moment. All that filled her head was the sound of his voice when he used the word solace.

With his arms around her, Justina was sure that she had found exactly what he had promised her.

She needed to feel the warmth of his body, encasing her while they rode away from the palace and all its worries. The snow drifted down on them but she wasn’t chilled, didn’t shiver with the cold.