Suzanne Robinson (9 page)

“Dear God.” He stared at the earth, at the root that had tripped Honor. “You lackwit. You tried to take her in the dirt in the middle of the ward.”

“Lordship?”

Ralph was hovering over him. “Lordship, she just appeared with those dolts and began measuring the place for her manor house. I couldn’t stop them.”

“Not now, Ralph.”

“I told her you’d be back, but she heeded me not.”

Galen jumped to his feet. “Quiet, I charge you. Or I’ll toss you in the moat.” He stomped off to find his horse. Ralph’s plaintiff cry resounded after him.

“But the moat’s dry, lordship.”

S
EVEN
 

I
n the solar at Castle Stafford Honor stared out an open window. It was a clear June morning, crisp with the coolness of winter’s lingering grip, but Honor wasn’t interested in the day’s beauty. She glared in the direction of Durance Guarde; things were not going well. Her latest attempt yesterday to force Galen de Marlowe out by building a house around him had been a disaster, and now there was more unhappy news. She glanced at the letter in her hand. It had come by messenger this morning. Her lovely new printer’s press sat at the bottom of the English Channel in the ship that had been carrying it. The Italian merchant who owned the ship had insured the cargo, but delivery of a new press would take many months, perhaps a year.

“Mayhap old Leekshanks cursed the vessel,” Honor said aloud.

Dagobert entered carrying a basket of mending, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Who, my lady?”

“Never mind,” Honor said. “Jacoba said Father had a visitor. Who is it?”

Dagobert set the basket down. “Oh, my lady, such a great lord. Came on a giant black destrier, he did. As I passed through the hall I saw him, all dressed in silk and gold jewels and furs and—”

“But who is it?”

“Don’t know, me lady.”

Dagobert pursed his lips, but Honor knew that bright-eyed look.

“You’ve been listening to privy conversations again, haven’t you? You spied on them, and you do know who it is.”

“It’s him!”

Honor frowned. “Who? God bless me, you mean de Marlowe?”

“Aye, me lady. I never seen Lord de Marlowe, but you’ve been talking about him ever so much, and I’m sure it’s him.”

Jumping up, Honor hurried from the solar with Dagobert at her heels.

“Where are they?”

“By the fire in the hall, me lady.”

“I can hardly believe it, by my troth.” Honor almost ran downstairs in her haste. “He’s come to complain of me to Father.”

“Is he truly a sorcerer?” Dagobert asked.

“Don’t be foolish,” Honor said as she left the stairs.

She stopped abruptly. Dagobert ran into her and almost knocked her over, but she recovered quickly.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “I’ll not play the clumsy lackwit in front of him again.”

“Sorry, me lady.”

Honor glared across the hall at the two men by the fire, but her grimace disappeared as she beheld a stranger in an amber silk tunic shot with gold, black hose, and soft leather top boots. A heavy, ornate gold chain was draped across his shoulders, and another encircled his waist. Shafts of light coming through the windows highlighted the sun-bleached strands of his hair. Honor was suddenly transported back to the ward at Durance Guarde. She felt his body bearing her down, pressing hard against her. Immersed in the memory of his lips, she started when Sir Walter turned and saw her.

“Ah, my dear. I was about to send for you. Come, come. You remember Lord Galen de Marlowe of Argent.”

Hoping she wasn’t flushed, Honor approached them, slowed by the power of that memory. She knew he’d touched her like that only to frighten her into giving up Durance Guarde. She knew his reputation for seducing but never remaining with women. She knew there was little about her to tempt such a man to court her with sincerity. She
knew all these things. She’d discussed them with herself late into the night. None of it made a difference. When he had touched her, all her senses fled, and she had been left quivering like a freshly boiled pudding.

Only once before had this happened to her—when Aymer first played the role of suitor. He’d done so throughout their betrothal. Then had come the wedding night, one best forgotten. And afterward, no pretty words, no hours spent together in conversation or other pursuits.

Honor had grown used to loneliness. Now she didn’t mind having no one to share her life’s path, a partner upon whom to depend, one to whom she could give this great treasure of love hiding inside her. She had put away any useless longings. It had taken her years, but she had done it. And no seducing knave was going to make a fool of her simply because, in a small corner of her soul, she harbored nonsensical desires.

With each step she took toward the fireplace Honor grew more and more angry with herself. By the time she reached her father, she also was furious with Galen de Marlowe for stirring up desires she hadn’t felt before and had trouble controlling.

“Honor,” Sir Walter said, taking her hand. “Lord de Marlowe heard you’d come home, and he has called to offer a most valuable service.”

Eyeing Galen, Honor said, “Indeed?”

De Marlowe leaned against the chimneypiece and gave her a smile of such charm that she
blinked. It was a devastating smile, the kind of smile that surely got him accused of working magic on the ladies of the court. That smile shot at her like an arrow, hurtled past her defenses and zinged into her body, setting off clattering chimes of pure desire. Honor dragged her gaze from his lips and forced herself to listen to her father.

“What?” she said faintly.

“Lord Robert de Mora, Earl of Malvern. His lands are in the north, bordering those of the Percys. He has recently succeeded to the title and must marry. Isn’t it kind of Lord Galen to take an interest in your welfare?”

Honor narrowed her eyes and hissed, “God save me, you’re speaking of a suitor?”

“Not yet, not yet, my dear. Don’t be hasty. Lord Galen will speak to him on your behalf at the royal banquet the king is giving after the wedding of his ward, the Countess of Elstow. I vow it’s a most happy coincidence that we’re all going to attend.”

“I’m not going, and I need no help finding a suitor.”

“Nonsense,” Sir Walter said with a pat on her hand. “Don’t be ungracious. You told me Sir Lionel and Lord Andrew were terrible. Said you feared one of them would try to abduct you, and you hated the man the Jennings wanted to match you with. What was his name? Scattergood.”

Seething, Honor darted a hot scowl at Galen and found him still smiling at her, but the smile
had now turned stiff. It was like the chain he wore, something he put on for show.

“I had not heard of these unsuitable suitors,” he said. “You were wise to rid yourself of them. Sir Lionel Titchwell is an evil-minded bastard—your pardon, Lady Honor—and Lord Andrew Swan would begrudge you even a scrap of bread to break your fast.”

“Better a miser than a rapacious seducer,” Honor snapped.

“Now, my dear,” said Sir Walter, “the Earl of Malvern has no reputation as a seducer of women.”

Galen arched an eyebrow and gave her an ingenuous look. “Upon my word, Lady Honor, he does not. Rob de Mora is a most courteous and honorable man. As chivalrous as King Arthur.”

“Nevertheless, my lord, I decline to accept your offer. I have many arrangements to make before I think of marriage again.”

“I’m sure your father will agree that an alliance with the Earl of Malvern is an opportunity not to be missed,” Galen said smoothly. “He’s a wealthy man in great favor at court, even if he does have Lancastrian connections. He manages to placate both York and Lancaster, a marvelous feat of diplomacy in these troubled times. Such a man would serve as a formidable protector for you and your demesne.”

“But I—”

Sir Walter shook a finger at her. “Oh, no, my dear. None of your protests. We’re going to
London to meet Lord Robert, and that’s my final word. We’ll leave in three days’ time.” Sir Walter stopped and craned his neck to look out the window. “Perkin? Perkin, I see you in that cart. Are those quince saplings? They are, by my troth. Don’t you try sneaking away. You wait right there. Pray excuse me, Lord Galen. I won’t be a moment.”

Sir Walter hurried out of the hall, leaving Honor to glower in impotent fury at her oppressor. She glanced around the hall and found it deserted. Her voice strong and loud, she uttered a curse.

“The devil take you, Galen de Marlowe. What a loathsome thing to do just so you can keep my land.”

“What is this about your being a vowess?” Galen asked. “You don’t wear the widow’s barb, although I vow it’s sometimes difficult to discern what you’re wearing since most of it looks like old rags.”

“My clothing is none of your concern,” Honor snapped. “We were speaking of your evil character. It’s cowardly of you to try to keep Durance Guarde this way.”

With one step Galen was suddenly so close that she could see the gold flecks in those dark-brown eyes. Honor tried to put distance between them, but he caught her arm, held her close, and spoke in a fierce whisper.

“I’m not trying to keep the damned land, Honor. I’m trying to get rid of you.”

Twisting her arm to make him release her, she said, “It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not, God help me.” He ignored her attempts to make him let her go.

“Pray, why not?”

Without warning she was lifted so that her face was close to his.

“Why not? After yesterday, you surely realize why we must not continue to dispute. Another quarrel like that, and we’ll end up in some haystack or barn, naked and—”

“We will not!”

Honor rammed her fists against his chest, and he let her go. She scuttled out of his reach, gasping for breath, but he closed the distance between them. Honor backed up and hit the chimneypiece. Before she could scoot sideways he was on her.

“You may deny what happened, if you like,” he said softly. “I’ll prove the truth to you.”

Honor turned her head aside as he tried to kiss her. He chuckled and kissed her ear. She caught her breath as his tongue touched her earlobe. He breathed into her ear, and Honor’s body ignited. She put her arms around his neck and dragged him down. His mouth covered hers, but as suddenly as he’d begun the embrace Galen lifted his head, stepped out of her arms, and strolled over to one of the chairs. In a heated daze, Honor watched him, her mouth working.

Galen leaned against the chair, gripping its back so hard his knuckles whitened. “Now do you
see?” She said nothing, and he gave her that sorcerer’s smile and looked past her. “Sir Walter. I trust all is well?”

“Yes, dear boy. A small disagreement with the gardener. You know how it is. When a family has worked at one’s estate for generations, it’s difficult to convince them they don’t own it.”

Honor listened in a haze of confusion. She hadn’t even thought about who might see her with Galen. He’d kissed her, and she’d lost her wits. If he hadn’t stepped away when he did, her father would have seen them, and disaster would have ensued. But he’d been aware of everything—the deserted hall, how long her father had been gone.

“So mayhap we could travel to London together,” Sir Walter said.

“What?” Honor cried. “No. I’m not going. I—I don’t feel well.”

“You look well,” Sir Walter said. “Why, your color is high. Lovely red cheeks, my dear.”

Galen grinned at her. “Indeed, most comely.”

She heartily desired to smack that smile off his face, but contented herself with glaring at him.

“If Lady Honor objects to Rob de Mora, I can recommend you to several other honorable and suitable men, Sir Walter. This banquet is a timely opportunity for such delicate introductions.”

“I agree.”

Feeling as if everyone was contented but her, Honor pounded her fist against the chimneypiece. “By my faith, I do not agree.”

“I’m sorry, my dear, but I’ve decided. We’re going to London.”

“But—”

“God give me patience!”

Honor jumped at her father’s shout. He calmed and bowed to Galen.

“Your pardon, my boy. She tries me most disgracefully.”

“You have my sympathy, Sir Walter.”

“We’ll see you at the banquet, then.”

“Until then, may God protect you and your lovely daughter.”

Honor could do nothing but fume and silently curse as she watched Galen de Marlowe walk out of the hall. She was going to tackle her father again, but he bustled away and was through the screen in search of Perkin before she could speak. She was left alone, angry, confused, and suffering from a painful feeling of incompleteness, of pleasure cut short. Every time she touched Galen, she wanted more touching, and when she didn’t get it, her body ached most dreadfully. The pain of not touching was growing worse.

And the man who provoked the pleasure and the pain had just let her know he didn’t want to be the one to do that anymore.

E
IGHT