A Warrior's Lady. Margaret Moore
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beloved brother’s name, she stiffened.
Damon and Benedict were the children of their father’s first wife. Anne and Piers were born of his second, who had died giving Piers life when Anne was seven years old. Since then, Anne had stood in a mother’s place for him, and her love for Piers was as intense as any mother’s could be.
“I would have preferred to tell him what happened myself,” she said, trying not to let Damon see how upset she was.
“I could not allow that,” Damon said, his smile thin and smugly satisfied.
No, he would want to paint his own picture and put his despicable actions in an honorable light.
It was bad enough to imagine the rumors and gossip flying about the court; she could not bear to think of Piers being fed lies. “What exactly did you tell him?”
“The truth—that our family honor was sullied and we punished the man responsible.”
“And me? What did you say of my part in it?”
“I said the same to him as I have said to everyone, that Sir Reece insolently accosted you. I told him, as I did all the other nobles, that you were quite innocently set upon.”
Damon’s expression darkened. “Do not even think of contradicting a word of what I have said to anybody when I let you out tomorrow—not even Piers—or you know what I shall do.”
Yes, she did know. He had made the same threat for years, ever since she had been old enough to marry off, or sent to a convent. If she did not do as he said, he would see to it that she never saw Piers again.
“Very well, Damon,” she replied, her loathing increasing as it did every time he threatened her.
Steepling his fingers, Damon smiled. “You have not asked how we fared in the tournament.”
“I do not have to.” She could tell by the look of blatant triumph on his face. “You are obviously uninjured, so I assume you were victorious.”
“I won a fine ransom that amounts to nearly what we spent on you.”
Damon acted as if she had personally bankrupted the family, but considering how little they had spent on her before deciding it was time to display her at court, she did not think the sum could be so very great.
Damon slapped his hands upon the arms of the chair and heaved himself to his feet. “Tomorrow you may rejoin the court. I would not be so cruel as to prevent you from seeing your beloved Piers on the day of his first melee.”
Her heart lifted. Although she had done her best to hide her fears from the rest of her family, she was worried about Piers’s first tournament, when he would be competing with other knights’ squires. Damon and Benedict had taught him what they knew, but they were not good teachers and their lessons were faulty. They depended upon brute strength to win, not wisdom or skill. She dreaded that Piers, thinner and less muscular than they, would discover the hard way that rushing in and striking as often as possible was not necessarily a winning method.
Damon reached out and grabbed her chin, squeezing it hard enough that it brought tears of pain to her eyes. “Make sure you smile at Lord Renfrew when next you see him, Anne. He is most concerned for your welfare and impressed by your maidenly dismay.” Damon’s expression hardened. “And remember this. You agree with everything we say about what happened last night, or you’ll regret it, just as Reece Fitzroy does.”
At the reminder of the cowardly way they had set upon Sir Reece, her temper flared once more.
“You’re bruising the merchandise, Damon,” she muttered despite the pressure of his hand.
He laughed as he let her go. “Merchandise. I like that,” he remarked as he sauntered toward the door.
While she rubbed her aching jaw, he paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. “A commodity to be sold or traded—that’s exactly what you are, and all you’re good for. Never forget that, Anne, no matter how many young fools talk to you.”
Chapter Three
“Oh, la, my lady!” Lisette cried as she tied the lacing at the back of Anne’s bodice the next morning. “You have been the talk of the court.”
Rejuvenated by the bread, cheese and ale Lisette had brought from the kitchen—“For your brother says you are still too distraught to attend mass and break the fast in the hall, my lady!”—Anne didn’t bother to subdue a sigh. She would be the object of curiosity and speculation, and it was tempting to stay in her bedchamber of her own volition, except that for once Damon had kept his word and she wanted to be in the hall waiting for Piers when the squires’ melee was over. She could not watch the actual tournament, for that was considered most improper for ladies. The sight of two groups of armed combatants clashing in battle, even with blunted weapons, was thought to be too upsetting for their delicate sensibilities.
“There is no need for sorrow, my lady,” Lisette said, sympathy in her cheerful voice as she adjusted the shoulders of Anne’s emer-ald-green overtunic. The gown beneath was a darker green, trimmed with gold embroidery. “No one blames you for what happened that night.”
Anne went over to the dressing table and sat upon the stool so that Lisette could arrange her hair. She picked up her hand mirror, an expensive item that Damon had complained about but purchased anyway. She was sure he had done that only to impress the maidservant, who was sure to gossip with other ladies’ servants, who would tell their mistresses. He wanted all the court to believe they were wealthier than they actually were.
Anne ostensibly examined her eyes, but she was really looking at Lisette, to gauge her reactions better. “What do they say of Sir Reece’s part in it?”
The maid flushed as she reached for the comb made of ivory. “I do not know what they think.”
Anne didn’t believe that for a moment. “It will not upset me if you speak of him, Lisette.”
Indeed, she felt nearly desperate to learn more about the only man who had ever come to her defense. Of course, he had been wrong to approach her, but she had forgiven him for that almost at once.
Lisette’s hazel eyes got back their familiar sparkle. “They are saying it must be a misunderstanding, my lady, for he is an honorable man. But he is young and so perhaps…” Lisette hesitated a moment, obviously searching for the appropriate word. “He was overeager, carried away by desire. There is no denying your beauty, my lady.”
“Does this often happen with Sir Reece? Has he been ‘carried away’ before?”
Lisette shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no, my lady. That is why all the other ladies’ tongues are moving so quickly. Never before. Yet he is so handsome, so strong, so silent, so mysterious…there is probably not a one of the unmarried ladies who do not wish he had followed her instead.” She smiled slyly. “I think more than one married lady wishes he had, too.”
Strong, silent and mysterious—exactly the words to describe him. He was not anxious to boast or brag of his accomplishments, or spout fulsome compliments on her looks. Yet those eyes of his, so serious, so intense…no man had ever made her feel so beautiful or desirable, and all before he had said a single word. “As long as they did not have relatives quick to anger. What do they say about what my half brothers did?”
Lisette frowned. “That they, too, were impetuous, and overzealous in their protection of their sister.”
Anne could barely keep the scowl from her face.
Lisette’s slender fingers moved swiftly and with great skill as she braided Anne’s bountiful blond hair. “They are all young men of spirit, my lady. What can one do but excuse them?”
Anne was in no humor to excuse Damon and Benedict, but she had no wish to discuss them more. “Sir Reece’s name is vaguely familiar, yet I cannot remember how I may have heard it.”
“His