Hidden Honor. Anne Stuart
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had been doing her best to ignore him, but now she had no choice. She turned slightly, to get her first good look at the notorious Prince William.
She’d heard the stories, of course. His title was no more than a courtesy at that point. William Fitzroy was King John’s eldest son, but there’d been no marriage to sanction his birth. John Lackland’s first marriage had produced no children, only a divorce, but now he had a new wife, a French child he’d married when she was twelve. Three years later there was still no legitimate offspring, and people were beginning to wonder if William might be named the royal heir.
It would be an unfortunate day for England when that happened. The stories about William Fitzroy were legendary and disquieting. He was a spoiled lecher, a whoremonger whose current act of penance was occasioned by the accidental death of a young woman who shouldn’t have been in his bed in the first place, and so Elizabeth would have told her if she’d happened to have been there. Not that Elizabeth would have been anywhere near a prince’s bedroom herself, but she could always imagine what she might say.
In any case, it wasn’t the first unfortunate incident involving Prince William’s unpleasant habits. This time, however, the girl was of minor aristocracy, and her father, one of King John’s supporters, wasn’t as easily placated. So William was headed for the Shrine of Saint Anne to do penance, accompanied by an armed guard to protect the royal personage and a group of clerics to make certain he was cleansed of sin. And Lady Elizabeth had the dubious privilege of joining their party, to be delivered safely into the hands of the reverend mother.
She’d been wise to avoid the prince—she knew at first glance he was trouble. It was little wonder he’d managed to cut a swath of lechery across the countryside—what woman would have said no to him? Though apparently the problem lay in the fact that several women had done just that, and suffered the brutal consequences.
Sprawled lazily in her father’s chair, the dark prince was every inch the royal personage. He was long-limbed, she could tell that much, and his black hair was shorter than was the custom, though it curled about his strong face like a lover’s caress. His eyes were opaque, dark, almost black, and his skin was the golden color of a man who spent a great deal of time in the sun. Maybe he despoiled virgins in the light of day, Elizabeth thought critically.
He dressed in almost gaudy finery, with gold chasing on his tunic and his leather boots, a large ruby ring on his left hand, chains of gold hung around his neck, so many that a lesser man might bow beneath their weight. Not Prince William.
He didn’t have the mouth of a lecher. No thick, pink lips, no lascivious smile. It was a strong mouth in the midst of his clean-shaven face, almost stern, and she wondered if the spoiled prince ever smiled. He looked older than his years—old in the ways of sin, perhaps. He probably only smiled when he was molesting innocents.
“This is m’daughter,” Baron Osbert said, introducing her carelessly. “Not much to look at, but she’s quiet and biddable and won’t get in your way on the journey. Tell the prince what a great honor it is, to have his protection on your trip to the convent.”
“It is a great honor, my lord,” Elizabeth repeated dutifully.
But Prince William was looking at her with far too much interest. “Quiet and biddable, is she?” he murmured, and Elizabeth felt an unwelcome shiver run across her backbone. He had a deep voice, with a faint rasp to it that tickled her skin. “Just the way I like my women,” he added.
Baron Osbert hooted with laughter. “Not this woman, my lord. She’s hardly worth your time and attention.”
“All women are worth my time and attention,” he said in a slow, drawling voice. “Your name, my lady?”
All the bloody saints of Christendom! She didn’t want those dark, unsettling eyes on her, and she certainly didn’t want her existence to mar the even tenor of the prince’s self-indulgent life.
“Elizabeth,” her father answered for her. “Approach the prince, you dullard, and make your curtsey.”
Elizabeth had no choice but to do as she was bid, keeping her head meekly lowered. She’d perfected the gesture for a variety of reasons. Keeping her head low diminished her height, and it prevented people from reading the expression in her eyes. Even the dullest of her brothers would be unsettled if they realized just what their sister was thinking.
“You’re to become a holy sister, Lady Elizabeth?” the prince asked in his remarkable voice. “Are you certain that’s your destiny?”
She looked up at that, startled, and found herself meeting his gaze. Merciful Saint Anne, he had the most wicked eyes she’d ever seen. You could almost drown in them. If you were a susceptible female, which she certainly was not. She stared up at him, dumbstruck. There was no joy in those eyes, or evil. But there were ghosts.
“She hasn’t much choice in the matter,” her father answered for her once again. “She’s too tall and too slow to provide much use as a wife.”
“I’d never heard that wit was a desirable trait in a woman,” the prince murmured, watching her.
Her father bellowed with laughter. “True enough. But who’d want to warm himself with a bony creature like her? Give me a plump woman any day, one with curves and something to hold on to.”
“Whereas I’m a great deal more broad-minded. There’s untold pleasure to be had in the most unexpected of places, if a man has the wisdom to look.”
Enough was enough, Elizabeth thought, lifting her chin to risk the prince’s unsettling glance. “If I may be excused, Father? I have work left undone, and I wish to say goodbye to my brothers. God knows when we’ll see each other again—I don’t expect they’ll be traveling to Saint Anne’s to visit me anytime soon.”
“Not unless they’re forced to, and they’re too smart to get caught,” Osbert said carelessly, ignoring the fact that the powerful man beside him was at that moment paying the price for being caught. “I doubt you could find them. They’re healthy young animals, and tonight is a night for celebration, and I have little doubt they’re off enjoying themselves. They wouldn’t wish to be found by their elder sister. I’ll convey your farewells to them.”
“Celebration?” Prince William murmured.
“The honor you do our home,” Osbert said with unexpected smoothness. “And the departure of my daughter.”
“That bad, is she?” There was a thread of laughter under his deep voice and Elizabeth jumped. She’d always had a weakness for a man who laughed, but not at her expense.
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