Hidden Honor. Anne Stuart
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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 want her when there was far more abundant pleasure to be found? And why was she feeling faintly aggrieved rather than gratified by her close escape?
Perhaps because it hadn’t been that close. She couldn’t quite summon the vacant expression she usually reserved for irritating men, but she nodded. “If you desire anything you have only to ask one of the servants,” she said, starting to move away before he could change his mind. Not that he was likely to.
But to her shock he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, halting her escape. Strange, but the feel of his hand against her shoulder, bare flesh against bare flesh, had been oddly disturbing. This time the weight of his hand through solid layers of clothing was even more unsettling. Hands touched all the time during the course of the day. Seldom did people touch any other part of her body. Particularly tall, handsome males. And there was no disputing that Prince William was very handsome indeed.
“I won’t be needing anything. As doubtless you’ve heard, this is a journey of penance.” There was a faint distaste in his smile, though she wasn’t sure whom it was directed at. Himself, or the powers that had decreed he must atone. “You would be wise to seek your bed as well, my lady. We’ll be making an early start of it, and my guard tend to be impatient.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And the friars will see to themselves. They’ve taken a vow of poverty, remember? They’re perfectly adept at taking care of their own comfort. They don’t need you hovering around them.”
“I don’t hover.”
“You looked as if you wanted to,” he said. He hadn’t lifted his hand from her shoulder, and the weight of it was warm, heavy, spreading through her body in a most disturbing manner.
“I’m mistress of the castle,” she said. “That’s been my purpose in life, to see that my father’s guests are well taken care of.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ll be putting your talents to something more useful,” he said. “Do I have your promise?”
She jerked her head up to look at him, honest surprise wiping every other consideration from her mind. “Promise, my lord?”
“To keep away from the great hall?” he said patiently. “To seek