Lord Of Danger by Stuart, Anne (android based ebook reader .TXT) 📕

The fire was dying, but he made no move to stir the coals. In the distance he could see a flash of lightning, and he remembered Alys’s fear. Was it the lightning that kept her awake and pacing? Or was it the memory of his kiss?

It certainly wasn’t a guilty conscience that kept her from her bed. Alys was truly innocent, untouched, unsoiled by the darkness that roamed the earth and seemed to have settled in Simon’s soul.

He would soil her, and part of him regretted that feet. But in truth, it was only a very small part, the tiny piece of his conscience that still remained. He managed to push it aside with no great difficulty.

He would make the fatal draught, and he would swive Lady Alys. And the devil could take his soul. If he hadn’t already.

He slept, sitting in the chair, dreaming of Alys wrapped in nothing but her silken hair. He dreamed of Alys, her mouth opened in a scream of horror.

And then he saw them. The children. Slaughtered along the road to Damascus. Bought and sold as amusements for depraved soldiers. The Children’s Crusade. The last frail hope in a world gone mad, now blighted by horror. And there had been nothing he could do to save them, nothing at all.

And he woke with an anguished cry.

Chapter Ten

Sir Thomas du Rhaymer awoke in a cold sweat, sitting upright on his straw-filled pallet, shaking in the frigid morning air. As a knight he was deserving of better sleeping accommodations, but the narrow pallet on the stone floor was suited to his nature, and he slept hard and well upon it.

Not that night, however. His dreams had been tormenting, restless, wicked dreams, and as he scrambled out of bed to splash his face with icy water, he thanked a merciful God he couldn’t remember them. The evidence still remained on his wayward body—he was hard as a pikestaff—but he told himself it was no more than the need to relieve himself. And he knew he lied.

It was early, even for the most energetic of the Keep’s inhabitants. He could smell fresh bread baking on the cool, pre-dawn air, but the garderobe was empty, and all around him people slept.

He washed and dressed quickly, his early morning plan simple. He would head for the chapel and morning prayers, then find a quiet place in the still, cool air to contemplate his sins, both real and imagined. By the time the spoiled beauty roused herself from her bed he would be fully prepared to resist any temptation she might throw in his way.

There were two chapels inside the castle walls: the small, family chapel in the Keep itself, and the larger one that abutted the curtain wall. With luck Brother Jerome would be about, and Thomas could make his confession. Brother Jerome would be too lenient with him, but Thomas could add to his own penance. Indeed, his proximity to Lady Claire of Summersedge was a penance in itself.

A few stray dogs were slinking about the courtyard as he made his way to the larger chapel, shivering in the crisp air, but there were no people about He was just reaching for the door, when he heard the distant whirrup of a horse.

He froze. That noise could have come from any number of the horses lodged in the vast stables at Summersedge Keep. It could have come from a workhorse, or one of the knights’ steeds. It could be a gentle lady’s palfrey, restless in her stall.

But he knew it was no such thing. He slowly turned, in time to see the huge mare flash by in the murky predawn air, a pale figure clinging, saddleless, to its broad back. And there was never a question in his mind who that stubborn creature was.

He moved quickly, speed an essential part of his soldier’s training, telling himself there was no way in heaven she could get beyond the castle walls. At that hour of the day the drawbridge should be up, the portcullis down, all entry and exit barred even in this less than hostile time.

But he’d underestimated the treacherous female. He didn’t know who she’d managed to bribe, or cozzen, but the entrance to the castle was free and clear, and no soldier of Lord Richard was about to put a crossbow bolt in a lady’s back if she refused to halt.

He was cursing under his breath as he ran for the stables, too furious even to notice the wickedness of his language. He’d ridden since he was a child—he had no more need of a saddle than that hell-bent female - and he found Paladin easily enough amidst the horses. Within moments he was thundering out the gate after her, but she was so far away, a mere speck in the distance, that he doubted she knew she was being followed.

He hadn’t ridden bareback, without armor, in years. He bent low on Paladin’s neck, urging him faster, and a sense of glorious power filled him as the wind tore through his short cropped hair. It was a cool, damp air, redolent of mist and dry leaves, and for one brash, wild moment he thought of simply urging Paladin faster, faster still, until he passed the troublesome wench, leaving her in the dust. Leaving all of Summersedge Keep in the dust, the memory of his wife, his duty to a corrupt lord, his troublesome urges that had chosen a fine time to reappear and torment him.

He could just imagine the expression on Lady Claire’s beautiful face as he soared past her, ignoring her. He could equally imagine Richard the Fair’s shock that his most holy of knights had turned his back on duty and honor and simply returned home to his neglected estates in the north.

It wasn’t to be. His liege lord might be unworthy, but Thomas had made his vows to him, just as he had to his