Three French Hens (8 page)

Now, Brinna just hoped that the girl, wherever she normally spent her time, had heard about her father’s arrival
and had returned to the room, prepared to take over her role as a member of nobility.

Royce stepped onto the dais directly behind Lord Laythem and tapped the man on the shoulder, offering a polite smile when he turned on his seat to glance at him.

“Royce. Greetings, son.” The older man stood at once, as did Lord Menton and his son William. “I hope you are having a good Christmas here with Robert and his family? I am sorry I haven’t been here from the beginning, but I fear the ague and chills felled me where many men have failed.”

Royce smiled at his wry words and nodded reassuringly. “I was told that you were ill. I hope you are recovered now?”

“Aye, aye. I’m still regaining my strength and I’ve a stone or two to put back on, but I feel much better.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Your daughter and I—” He turned slightly to gesture Joan forward as he spoke, then paused, blinking in surprise as he saw that she was no longer with him. “Where did she—” he began in bewilderment, and Lord Laythem clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled wryly.

“I think she slipped away when you moved through that one group halfway up the room,” Edmund Laythem told him dryly, revealing that he had watched their approach.

Royce’s eyes widened at this news. “Why would she—”

“She was none too pleased with me when last we met,” the older man confessed, then shrugged. “I fear I handled things badly. I never really bothered to mention the betrothal agreement until she arrived at court on her way here. It was all a great surprise to her and she was understandably upset by my neglect.”

“I see,” Royce murmured thoughtfully.

“Aye, well, I am sorry if she has caused you any trouble because of it?” It was a question as well as an apology, and Royce reassured him quickly.

“Oh, nay. She has been delightful. Of course, Lady Sabrina was another matter at first. She would not even let me talk to Joan for the first few days.”

Lord Laythem’s eyebrows rose at that, but he shrugged. “Sabrina can be a bit overeager when a task is set to her. No doubt that is all that was.” He smiled wryly, his gaze moving to the brunette, who still sat in her seat at the table, watching them anxiously. “Actually, I must have a word with her. Her father was at court over the holidays and arranged a marriage for her. He sent some men with me to retrieve her back to prepare for it. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course.” Royce stepped aside to allow the man past him, then took a moment to greet William of Menton and compliment Lord and Lady Menton on the feast he had just enjoyed before turning to survey the room in search of Joan. Catching a glimpse of her disappearing up the stairs, he excused himself and hurried after her.

Brinna opened the door to enter Joan’s room, and found herself pushed back out by a hand on her chest.

“I just have to check on something,” Joan trilled gaily before allowing her body to follow her arm out of the room.

“What—” Brinna began in confusion as the girl pulled the door closed, but Joan waved her to silence, then glanced quickly up and down the hall before dragging her to the shadows near the top of the stairs to keep an eye on the people below.

“My father arrived today,” Joan said.

“Aye, I know. ’Tis why I came up here. To avoid him.”

Joan nodded at that, but frowned as she rubbed her forehead. “This complicates things.”

“Complicates things?” Brinna goggled at her, but Joan didn’t notice.

“Aye. My maid came with him. That is who I was talking to in our room.”

“Your room,” Brinna said firmly. “And to my mind this doesn’t complicate things. It ends them. You shall have to go back to being you. ’Tis for the best anyway.”

Joan did not appear to see the sense behind the suggestion as she shook her head grimly. “Nay. I cannot. I need to—” Her expression closed as she caught herself, then said more calmly, “There is no need to end it now. I shall insist my maid rest for the remainder of my stay to recover from her recent illness and the journey here. That way you will not be expected to return to the kitchens, she will not get in the way, and we can continue with our agreement.”

“What of your father?”

“Oh, damn, here comes Lord Thurleah.”

Brinna glanced down the stairs at Joan’s anxious tones, her heart skipping a beat as she saw him start up the stairs toward them. Her gaze returned to the other girl in a panic. They were both dressed as Lady Joan at the moment. It would not do to be seen together. “What—”

Joan cut her off by giving her a shove toward the stairs. “Get him out of here. He must not see us together.”

“But your father!” Brinna cried in dismay, resisting her push.

“Just avoid him,” Joan snapped impatiently. “Now, get going.”

The shove she gave her this time nearly sent Brinna tumbling down the stairs. Catching herself at the last
moment, she cast a glare back toward the shadows that hid Joan, then hurried down the stairs to meet Royce.

“Where did you go?” were his first words. “One moment you were behind me and the next you were gone.”

“Oh … I … I went to my room to greet my maid,” she lied lamely, not surprised when Royce arched one eyebrow doubtfully.

“Before greeting your father?”

“Well, she was very ill when I left her at court.”

“As was your father,” he pointed out dryly, and Brinna grimaced.

“Aye, but—”

“Your father told me that you were angered with him for keeping the news of our betrothal to himself and not giving you warning,” he interrupted before she could say something else stupid.

“Aye, well …”

“And while he should have perhaps given you more warning, he seems to regret the rift between you.”

“Yes, well—”

“Besides, you do not mind so much, do you? About marrying me, I mean?”

“Nay, of course not,” she assured him quickly.

“There you are then. ’Tis only polite to greet him. Now, where has he got to?” Pausing halfway up the stairs, he peered about until he spotted Lord Laythem below talking to Sabrina. “Oh. He is still with your cousin. He is passing on a message from her father, your uncle.” Hesitating, he glanced back at Brinna, smiling wryly. “Mayhap we should leave them in peace until they finish. Would you care for a beverage while we wait?”

“Aye,” she murmured, then continued down the stairs with him until they reached the bottom and she spied a knight and one of the kitchen girls slipping outside. An
idea springing to mind, Brinna stopped abruptly, tugging on his hand. “Nay.”

He turned to her in surprise. “Nay?”

“Nay.” She paled slightly as her gaze slid past him to see that Lord Laythem had finished speaking to Sabrina and was now rising, his gaze on where she and Royce stood. “I-I need … air.”

Frowning with concern, Royce clasped her lightly by the arms. “Are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale.”

Brinna dragged her gaze away from the approaching Lord Laythem and focused on Royce. “Nay,” she said firmly. “I am not all right. ’Tis the heat. Do I not get out into the fresh air this minute, I’m sure to faint.”

It was all she had to say. She barely had time for one more glance over his shoulder at Lord Laythem as he weaved his way toward them; then Royce had whirled her toward the great hall’s doors and propelled her to and through them.

“Better?” he asked solicitously as the doors closed behind them.

Her arms moving automatically to hug herself against the cold winter night, Brinna glanced uncertainly about the courtyard. Lord Laythem had been close enough to see where they had gone to, and she very much feared his following them. Standing on the steps, handy for him to find on exiting the hall, hardly seemed the wisest thing to do.

“Perhaps the stables,” she murmured thoughtfully. Surely Lord Laythem would never look for them there? Certainly it was the last place Brinna would have chosen to go were she not desperate to hide.

“The stables?”

“What a wonderful idea.” Brinna beamed at him as if it had been his idea. “No doubt the stables shall make me
feel better.” Taking his arm, she attempted to move him down the steps. It was like trying to shift a centuries-old tree. The man was immovable. Certainly too damn big for her slight weight. “My lord? Will you not come with me to the stables? ’Tis warmer there,” she coaxed, tugging at his arm.

Heaving a sigh, he started forward down the stairs. “I thought you said that the castle was too hot and you needed to be outside else you might faint. Now you wish to go to the stables because ’tis warmer?”

“Aye, well, the castle is too warm, and the night too cold. The stables shall be just right, I am sure,” she muttered, dragging at his arm in an effort to speed him up. “Do you not think we might walk faster?”

“You were faint a moment ago,” he protested.

“Aye, but the exercise will do me good.”

Muttering under his breath, he picked up his pace a bit, hurrying across the courtyard behind her as she began a jog toward the stables.

“I am not sure this is a good idea,” Royce complained as they reached the stables.

Ignoring him, Brinna tugged the stable doors open and slid inside. Turning to glance back the way they had come as he slid in behind her, she spied a dark shape that could have been Lord Laythem standing on the stairs staring after them, and felt her heart skip a beat. Whirling away as he closed the door, she eyed the stables almost desperately, searching for somewhere to hide lest Joan’s father follow them. Then she started down the row of stalls determinedly.

“What are you doing?” Royce asked curiously, following her the length of the building until they reached the last stall.

“I thought to check on my mare,” she lied grimly.

“She was back near the door,” he pointed out dryly, and Brinna rolled her eyes at that bit of news, then for want of any other thought of what to do, whirled, caught him by the tunic, and reached up onto her tiptoes to plaster her lips on his. It was the only thing she could think to do. His kisses made her thought processes fuzzy and scattered and made her willing to follow him anywhere unquestioningly. She could only hope they had the same effect on him and would stop his questions. Unfortunately, it did seem to her that he was better at this. While their earlier kisses had been fiery and passionate, now, without his participation, it did seem to be a wasted exercise. Brinna was about to pull away when he suddenly relaxed and kissed her back.

Sighing in relief, Brinna leaned into him and let her arms creep up about his neck. She had the curious urge to arch and stretch against him like a cat, but he pulled away before she could, a question in his eyes.

“How do you feel now?”

“Wonderful,” Brinna purred, leaning her head on his chest with a small sigh, only to stiffen at his next words.

“Then mayhap we should head back.”

“Oh, nay,” she gasped anxiously.

“We shouldn’t be here alone. It isn’t proper, Joan.”

Joan. She stared at him silently. He was Joan’s. But for just this moment in time, she wanted to pretend he was hers. Joan wouldn’t care. She didn’t want him. But Brinna did. She wanted to hold him close for one night. Then hold those memories close for all the days of her future as she worked in her little cottage.

“Joan?”

“Mayhap I don’t feel proper,” she whispered huskily, and Royce’s eyes widened incredulously. For a moment they stood frozen in silence. Then he suddenly groaned
and pulled her back into his arms, his mouth lowering to cover hers in a kiss that made her legs weak. This time there was no restraint. Nothing held back. He gave her all his passion, overwhelming her with it as his hands closed over her breasts through her gown.

Pressing her back against the stall, he broke the kiss and turned his attention briefly to undo the lacings of her dress. Brinna gasped as the neckline slid apart and he tugged the collar of her shift down, revealing her naked breasts. Cold winter air chilled them briefly before Royce covered them with his hands. Growling deep in his throat, he cupped them, his thumbs running over her erect nipples as he pressed another hard, fast kiss to her lips. Then he made a trail down her throat, across her collarbone, and down to the erect tip of one breast, which he sucked into his mouth hungrily.

Brinna shuddered. Her hands clenched in his hair, then dragged his face back up for a kiss, and she thrust her own tongue into his mouth as he had done to her. Releasing his head, she dropped her hands down to slide her fingers beneath his tunic, fanning them over his hard flat stomach, then running them up over his ribs to his chest.

She felt the cool breeze creep its way up her left leg with some peripheral part of her mind, but really didn’t realize what it meant until his hand brushed against her hip. Before she could register surprise, his hand had slid around between her legs and up the inside of her thigh, a warm caress. Brinna gasped into his mouth, jerking in his arms as his hand covered her womanhood, cupping it briefly before he slid a finger between her folds to investigate her warmth and heat as he urged her legs further apart with a knee between her own.

She heard the keening whimpers for quite a while before she realized that they were coming from her own
throat. Suddenly embarrassed, she tugged her mouth away and turned her head until she found his shoulder. Pressing her mouth against it, she retrieved her hands from beneath his shirt, then wasn’t sure what to do with them. When Royce caught one of her hands and drew it down to the front of his braies, pressing it against the solid hardness that had grown there, she froze, raising fear-filled eyes to him. He met her gaze, read her fear, and paused, his hand stilling between her legs. She saw uncertainty burst to life in his eyes, and would have kicked herself had she been able to.

“You are afraid. Mayhap we should stop and—” he began, his voice dying, eyes widening in shock as she suddenly moved the hand that clasped him through his braies, and slid it down the front of his braies to touch his bare flesh.

“Move to the straw,” she suggested huskily, giving him a gentle squeeze.