Hidden Honor. Anne Stuart
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you.”
She looked into his pale, troubled eyes and melted. Why weren’t there men around like him? Peaceful, kind, handsome men with light, soft voices that soothed rather than disturbed? Why waste such a paragon on a monastery?
Blasphemy, of course, but at least she’d been wise enough not to speak it out loud. Who more deserving than the mother church? It wasn’t as if she herself weren’t taking the only chance she had. It was an honor to serve God.
Brother Matthew leaned over and put his hand on hers. Soft, beautiful hands, with a heavy gold signet ring on one finger. “Promise you’ll come to me,” he said urgently.
His hands were cold. Surprising, because the sun was bright overhead. Her own blood tended to run hot—a convenience in a drafty, ill-heated castle, but she knew she was unusual. It only made sense that a holy brother would have cool skin. Maybe the heat that plagued her blood would still and cool once she joined the holy sisters.
He had taken her hand and held it, forcing their horses close together as they rode forward. Brother Matthew’s mount was a great deal more high strung, and Elizabeth could feel her own horse’s distress at his closeness. An anxiety that mirrored her own, though she wasn’t quite certain why. She could think of no way to pull her hand away from the well-meaning friar, and she squirmed in her seat again.
“Brother Matthew!” The youngest monk had ridden up to them, his voice urgent.
Brother Matthew released her hand, slowly, reluctantly, and turned to face the young man with almost insolent leisure. “Yes, Brother Adrian?”
“Prince William wishes to converse with you.”
“We’ll have more than enough time to talk when we stop,” he said, still keeping pace with Elizabeth. “We can discuss atonement and sin at length over dinner.”
“He says now, Brother Matthew.”
Brother Matthew’s smile was exquisitely charming. “The prince will have to accept the fact that he is on a journey of atonement, not of pleasure, and his desires no longer come first. I will join him later.”
Brother Adrian wheeled away, clearly annoyed, and Brother Matthew laughed softly.
“Was that a wise idea?” Elizabeth asked. Just because she was unreasonably enchanted by his sweet smile didn’t mean she’d lost her good sense. “Prince William doesn’t seem the sort of man it is wise to defy, no matter how penitent he’s supposed to be. Isn’t that how he came to be on a pilgrimage in the first place?”
“Indeed. And part of his atonement should be to hear and accept the word no each day.”
“Are you in charge of his penance?” she asked, curious.
“That surprises you? It does me as well—a prince of the land should have his soul under the guidance of an archbishop at the very least, not a simple friar from a small monastery.” There was an unexpected tone of resentment in his voice.
“You must feel very honored.”
Brother Matthew’s opaque blue eyes swept over her, and his smile was angelic. “An honor I could well do without,” he said, reaching for her hand again.
She was a better horsewoman than anyone suspected, and it was a simple matter to make her horse skitter away as if she were poorly controlled by a clumsy novice. Out of reach of his cold, gentle hands and his melting smile.
And then she realized the others had stopped, and all those around her were dismounting. The wretched prince had decided he was human after all and in need of a rest.
There was no mounting block. In normal circumstances she was agile enough to slip down off the back of a horse, but her current mount was higher than Melange, her skirts were wrapped around the saddle, and her muscles screamed at the very thought of it. Maybe she’d just stay where she was. If she got down, she’d simply have to get up on this instrument of torture once more, and that was one thing she wasn’t certain she could do.
Maybe Brother Matthew could help. She turned, but he’d slipped away without a sound. And there was no mistaking who was advancing on her, tall and dark and oddly menacing.
No, there was nothing odd about his menace, she corrected herself. Prince William was a danger to all women. And all the predawn trips to the chapel and penitential journeys wouldn’t change that. Not if you looked into his eyes.
Brother Adrian accompanied him, and when Prince William slid off his horse with effortless grace he tossed the reins to the young friar and advanced upon Elizabeth. The horse skittered back, feeling her nervousness.
He reached out and caught the reins, putting his hand on the neck of her mount, soothing her with only a touch—an unspoken communication that made Elizabeth even more nervous. He must truly be an instrument of the Devil. She firmly believed that animals had better instincts than humans did, and yet her horse trusted him. If he could trick animals he could deceive anyone.
“Time to dismount, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “If you stay too long in the saddle, you’ll stiffen up.”
Too late, she thought miserably. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said. “My lord,” she added hastily.
Her skirts were brushing against the fine wool of his cloak, and she could feel the warmth of his body, even through all those layers of clothing. She should have felt stronger, more powerful, looking down at him from her high perch. She didn’t.
“Get down, Elizabeth.” It was an order. No one was around except Brother Adrian, and he was trying his best to pretend he couldn’t hear their conversation.
If she tried, she’d fall at his feet. And she wouldn’t do that for any man. She looked down at him, wondering if a plain “no” would do any good. She had grave misgivings that it would.
“I don’t want to.”
“Get down.”
“I can’t!” she said finally. “If I try to climb down off this wretched animal I’ll fall on my face, and then there’ll be no way you can possibly get me back on her. I’m better off just staying here until we stop for the night….” The words trailed off in a whoosh, as he put his hands around her waist and lifted her down off the horse.
She was right, there was no strength in her legs. But he was holding her with just the power of his strong hands, so that she wouldn’t collapse, and slowly the trembling in her knees stopped and she could stand on her own. If only she could stop the rest of her body from shaking.
“She’s not a wretched animal. She’s a very fine horse, and you know it as well as I do,” the prince said in a mild voice that should have reassured her.
“You can let go of me now.”
“I don’t want to.” She wasn’t certain if she heard him clearly, since he released her even as he spoke and took a step back. She grabbed the horse’s reins for additional support, and ran her hand down her neck in apology before she realized she was touching her just as the prince had touched her. She pulled her hand away hastily.
“No, she’s not a wretched animal,” she agreed. “I’m just a bit…unused to riding for such a long period.”
“Indeed.” He nodded his head toward a stretch of woods. “You can go over there.”
“Why?”
“To relieve yourself,” he said bluntly. “Unless you’ve managed to control your bodily functions as well as you control your father’s household, you should be in need, and I doubt you want to join the men.”
She could feel a blush suffuse her face. Now that he mentioned it, she did need some privacy. “You could have put it more delicately,” she snapped. And then remembered to add “my lord” in a meek tone.
“You don’t strike me as particularly delicate, Lady Elizabeth.” He took the reins from her. “Go ahead.”
She’d