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

He watched her go, and now he could see the dew-bright dampness on her thick plaits. And he wondered, quite absently, whether anyone had ever spanked her. And he wondered if he were going to break his self-imposed rule against violence to women, and administer that punishment.

“You seem quite cheerful this morning, Sir Thomas,” Brother Jerome observed, coming up beside him. “It’s not often that the morning finds you smiling.”

Thomas jumped guiltily. “You must have misread my expression, Brother Jerome. I was thinking of someone quite troublesome.”

Brother Jerome followed his gaze quite pointedly, looking at Claire’s disappearing figure. “Some of the most delightful creatures in God’s creation are troublesome indeed, my son. We missed you at morning prayers.”

“I… was called away,” Thomas mumbled, aware that he was treading perilously close to telling the good brother a lie.

“Were you?” Brother Jerome glanced at Claire again. “I am not the man to remind you of your vows—you are much harder on yourself than our Savior would ever be.” He leaned closer, putting a gentle hand on Thomas’s clenched fist. “Trust me, my boy. There’s nothing wrong with smiling.”

She found him in his workshop. It was a small blessing—Alys had no desire to broach Navarre in the intimacy of his solar. In truth she had no desire to face him at all, and her reaction to his absence at the breaking of the fast was relief tinged with anxiety. The longer she put off seeing him, the worse it became. She would have much preferred facing him in public. The memory of last night was still too strong in her senses, and she wanted to avoid a replay, or even worse, an escalation of last night’s kiss. She had been tormented, unable to sleep, pacing the floor for long hours as she listened to the distant crack of thunder. For once it wasn’t her fear of storms that kept her awake. It was her fear of Simon.

Not that she was about to let him see it. He was busy at the far end of the low, narrow building, and when she stepped inside he didn’t look up; he was absorbed in whatever potion he was concocting, completely unaware of her presence. Or seemingly so—with Simon of Navarre one could never be certain of anything.

It gave her a chance to study him at her leisure, with no one as witness. Viewing him dispassionately, she should have found nothing to be afraid of. He was a man, with all the frailties of mankind, no doubt, even if he had yet to display any. He wore his hair long, a thick rich brown streaked with lighter colors, as if he’d spent many hours in the sun. And yet he was a creature of shadow and darkness, was he not?

His skin was a faintly golden color as well, matching his light, amber eyes. He looked a bit like some exotic being, not quite human, and he doubtless did what he could to reinforce that impression. His long robes were better suited to an older man—they were elegant, made of rich fabrics in jewel-like colors. The dull gold that he wore today matched his gilded features, and she imagined him as some great wild beast, a huge cat, perhaps, sleek and dangerous.

He moved with elegant, unhurried grace, and his back was lean and straight beneath the robe. He lived among books and herbs and healing, away from far more natural and tedious male pursuits such as hunting and riding and fighting. Why would he be interested in something as mundane as kissing?

Except that there had been nothing even remotely mundane about last night’s kiss. Even with her total lack of experience she knew those moments with his mouth upon hers were unlike what most people felt from such embraces. She had endured it, and then she had reveled in it. And now it frightened her.

The room smelled of spices, thick and mysterious, and she could feel the smoke dancing through the air, swirling toward her, calling to her. She felt herself sway toward it with sudden longing, and she wanted to reach out her arms and embrace it, embrace him, when cold, wicked sense shattered the illusion, and she saw there was no smoke swirling in the room, and the man at the far end was watching her with his calm, jewel-like eyes.

“Did you wish to see me, my lady?” His voice made her skin shiver. She wondered why. It was low, even, but in all, very powerful. Another weapon that he used wisely, she told herself, struggling for equanimity. And failing to find it.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said, summoning the manners Sister Agnes had drilled into her. “You hadn’t realized I was here, and I planned to come back later…”

“I knew you were here,” he said, watching her. “And you make a habit of disturbing me.”

She flushed, her nervous fingers pleating the ugly brown stuff of her loose-fitting gown. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been particularly good at being demure and fading into the background. You would think I’d learn the art of dutiful silence with a glorious creature like my sister to revel in being the center of everyone’s attention, but I’ve always had difficulty controlling my tongue and my thoughts. You wouldn’t believe the penances I’ve suffered, and they’ve failed to curb my questioning mind. The nuns had given up hope of me.” She stopped abruptly, realizing that she’d been babbling.

“Merd, mon dieu, “he said softly. “There are different forms of disturbance. You manage to disturb me when you’re sound asleep.” He glanced toward the dim daylight beyond the open door to his workshop. “I assume you aren’t about to fall asleep again, are you? You would probably find better rest in your own room.”

The memory of her sleepless night assailed her, and she grimaced. At least he could have no notion of how restless she’d been. “I’m not tired,” she said, a boldfaced lie.

“Astonishing,” he said softly.