Wolf Bride (32 page)

Unless all the charges were false, as Wolf seemed to suspect, and the queen’s trial merely an excuse for Henry to rid himself of another wife who was unlikely ever to bear him a son.

Eloise shuddered at the thought of such cruel treachery.

‘Shall we walk?’ Simon murmured.

She hesitated, then fell into step beside him with some small misgiving, closing her book of Italian poems.

Now that she considered it, it had been Simon who had given her the leather-bound poems. A love gift, he had called it, kissing her on the lips. Knowing now what love was, she found it hard to believe that Simon had ever loved anyone but himself.

‘You gave testimony before Sir Thomas Cromwell last night,’ he remarked. It was not a question.

She glanced at him in some surprise. ‘How did you know?’

‘Nothing is secret here,’ he said drily, then shrugged, his mouth twisting. ‘Or everything is secret, I cannot decide which. What did you tell him?’

‘You do not know that too?’

‘Perhaps I do,’ Simon admitted with a grin. He stooped to pick a long-stemmed daisy, twirling the small white flower between his fingers. ‘I know you spoke in my defence, and although I cannot be sure how helpful that was, I was released without charge this morning.’ He paused, a sudden grim expression on his face. ‘Not all those who were arrested have been so lucky.’

‘This is a terrible business.’

Her former suitor opened his mouth as though to agree, then closed it again. Fear had made him wary of speaking his mind even before her. ‘You would have done better to stay in the north,’ he commented, trailing the white-petalled daisy down her silken yellow sleeve until it brushed her wrist.

She stood very still. ‘The king himself summoned us. We had no choice.’

‘Ah.’ A wealth of understanding went into that sound. His eyes flicked to hers, then away again. He crumpled the daisy in his fist, then tossed it away, studying the broad River Thames with apparent fascination. ‘My father believes I was arrested because I am a libertine, and any such men near the queen are now suspect. He tells me I should curtail my romantic adventures, as he so discreetly put it, until . . .’

He stopped abruptly.

‘I would say your father is right,’ she said lightly, though both of them knew that he had intended to say, ‘until the queen is dead’.

‘He is a killjoy.’

‘Better alone in bed than alone in a prison cell,’ she pointed out, and he laughed, but she could see that she had annoyed him. Too near the truth, she thought.

‘And how is your husband?’ he asked silkily. ‘I remember you as a sweet virgin, how reluctant you were to indulge me. Does married life suit you, or are you ready for something a little . . . different?’

At first she thought he meant the king, and felt her cheeks flare with heat. Was what had passed between them in that intimate chamber last night common knowledge? Then she understood with a belated shock that he was propositioning her himself.

‘I am not . . .’ She stopped, unwilling to discuss her marriage with this young man who was already a stranger to her, though the river was empty on that stretch and there was no one there to see them.

‘Hush, no matter,’ Simon murmured, smiling down into her eyes as he laid a finger on her lips. ‘I understand you perfectly. Come, let me show you my gratitude.’

It was out of the sun there, close against the high palace wall, and the place was shady. Before she quite realised the danger she was in, Simon had taken her by the shoulders and bent his head to hers.

‘Are your lips still as sweet, Eloise?’ he whispered against her mouth, then kissed her.

She pushed at his chest, irritated that he should have taken advantage of her like that, and jerked her head away from his kiss.

‘Simon!’ she hissed, exasperated.

At the back of her mind though, she was already registering the startling realisation that Simon’s touch, the persuasive pressure of his mouth on hers, had meant nothing to her.

Nothing whatsoever.

There was a sharp rasp of metal, then her heart almost stopped at the sound of a coldly furious voice at his back.

‘Get your insolent hands off my wife, sirrah, and draw your weapon.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Simon dropped his hands from her shoulders as though she had stung him, and spun around.

Wolf was standing there, a long and brutal-looking dagger in his hand.

Eloise met his gaze and felt sick. Wolf’s face was a mask of chilly contempt, his eyes hard. ‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head.

But neither man was listening to her. Simon took one look at the glittering blade in Wolf’s hand and drew his own dagger, though Eloise noticed that his hand shook.

‘It’s not what it seems,’ he began, but Wolf interrupted him, his voice a whiplash.

‘I said, step away from my wife.’

‘My lord . . .’

‘Now!’

Wolf lunged out at him, growling.

Simon skittered backwards, nearly overbalancing in his haste to escape that long blade. He swore under his breath, back on his feet in a second, and for the first time she thought he understood that Wolf was not merely making a point for the sake of his honour but intended to end him.

The path ran close to the river bank at this point. Too close, she thought anxiously, watching their feet slip on the loose soil at the river’s edge. The Thames was high that afternoon, the tidal river at its peak, deep grey-blue water swelling at the bank.

One slip, and a man could easily drown in its depths, weighed down with leather and stout boots.

‘Be careful!’ she exclaimed, and earned a grim look over his shoulder from her husband.

‘What’s the matter, Eloise?’ He shifted the dagger from one hand to the other, then back again, watching Simon for the slightest movement, his whole body poised to do violence. ‘You enjoy a man’s kisses, but not their consequence? Perhaps you should have thought of that before arranging this intimate little rendezvous. Now you will have to stand there and watch your lover spitted on my blade.’

The icy flick of disdain in his voice did not fool her. His eyes were turbulent as they raked over her, letting her see precisely what he thought of her, then returned to the man he intended to kill.

Again he lunged, and again Simon danced just out of reach of his weapon. They had moved another few steps along the river into sunshine. Eloise looked at Simon and felt her heart wince. He was reckless and a libertine, but he did not deserve to die in this way. He was breathing hard, and perspiration had broken out on his forehead.

Like all men, Simon had been taught how to handle a blade, that was clear. But he was a courtier, not a born fighter. He would not last long in a hand-to-hand fight with a soldier of Wolf’s experience.

‘Wolf!’

She was suddenly angry herself, and bitterly so. It was not as though Wolf felt any emotion for her; this was merely his male possessiveness again, his insistence that she must belong to him and never look at another man. Meanwhile he could sleep with any woman he chose.

‘Put up your dagger,’ she raged at him, sick with fear for them both. ‘What are you about? Stop this nonsense before one of you is killed.’

‘That is the idea,’ he pointed out coldly.

Simon feinted suddenly, taking advantage of this distraction, and Wolf ducked sideways at once. He turned on his heel, crouching low, a deadly smile on his face.

‘Fool,’ he breathed.

Wolf thrust hard, catching Simon off guard, and their blades met with a sickening, steely impact. Simon staggered backwards, a mere inch from the water’s edge, fear in his face. Eloise gathered her skirts and ran forward, determined to stop them before it was too late.

Wolf whirled, perhaps mistaking her for a second enemy coming from behind, and struck out by blind instinct, the full force of his body behind the blow.

‘Jesu!’

Somehow he managed to turn the blade sideways at the last second, just missing her chest. His body slammed abruptly into hers, unable to halt the momentum, and would have knocked her down but for his hand, which grabbed at her arm as she fell and jerked her upright again. He swore under his breath. His hot blue gaze met hers, wild as a summer storm.

‘Are you out of your wits, woman? I could have killed you.’

She stared at him and could not seem to breathe, slowly realising how close she had come to death.

A shout behind them made her turn, and she almost sagged in relief when she saw a group of palace guards running along the river path towards them.

‘Hurry, put up your daggers!’ she hissed at them again. ‘Or you will both be arrested for public brawling.’

Simon hesitated, then looked at Wolf and very slowly and deliberately slid his dagger back into his belt. He too seemed relieved by the appearance of the guards, for the fight had not been going his way.

‘Another time perhaps,’ he managed breathlessly, then bowed. ‘My lord.’

But Wolf leaned in close as he sheathed his weapon. His eyes narrowed to slits, his voice a snarl. ‘I catch you near my wife again, Thetford, I’ll slit you open and toss your innards to the dogs. Do I make myself clear?’

Simon nodded, but she saw the heightened flush of anger in his cheeks, and feared he would try to take his revenge on Wolf if he could.

The palace guards closed in on them, flushed and breathless in the sunshine, their pikes lowered.

‘What’s this? Brawling within the jurisdiction of the king’s palace?’ one of them demanded harshly, perhaps not having seen who was involved in the disturbance. ‘It is forbidden to fight here. Speak or lose your liberty!’

Wolf turned at once, his back very straight, a cold authority in his voice. ‘A misunderstanding, Captain Tanner. Nothing more. We are finished.’

The man considered him in silence, his gaze moving slowly from Simon’s flushed face to Wolf’s calm demeanour. Then he nodded. ‘Very well . . . I see.’ He gestured his men to turn back, and bowed before departing. ‘Lord Wolf.’

‘Captain Tanner.’

Eloise was surprised by this exchange, but said nothing. Did her husband know every guard and soldier in the king’s employ?

As the palace guards raised their pikes and marched swiftly back to the side gate, she looked about for Simon. But of course he had vanished. Slipped away while no one was watching, she thought drily, and could find nothing in her heart but contempt for him. Why had she ever thought herself in love with such a creature? But then, he was skilled at dissimulation. It was a lesson to be more careful with whom she trusted in future, for even those who seemed most like friends could be her enemies.

And now she was alone with Wolf. He looked at her and she knew she was unforgiven. His face was hard, set in impassive lines, but his eyes gave him away.

He took her by the wrist, dragging her after him.

‘Where are we going?’ she demanded, suddenly afraid.

‘Somewhere private.’

Wolf did not know where he was taking her. All he knew was that he was incandescent with rage and hurt, and could not bear the thought of his shame being overheard by anyone at court. He had to get away from the palace before the tension inside him exploded like gunpowder at the merest touch of a spark.

‘You’re hurting me,’ she exclaimed, trying to wriggle free of his grasp.

The sound of her anger cut him to the quick. What right did Eloise have to be angry? What had she been whispering in her lover’s ear when he came upon them just now, walking the river path in search of his wife only to find her in the arms of another man?

‘Good,’ he told her bitingly.

‘For pity’s sake, it meant nothing. It was nothing.’

He flicked her a lethal look, barely able to trust himself to reply without giving rein to his fury.

‘Letting another man kiss you is not “nothing”, Eloise. It is the first step on the path to adultery. Some husbands would reckon even a kiss adultery, and have you soundly whipped and put in the stocks for it.’

‘I did not let him kiss me. Simon took that kiss. I was unwilling.’

That was not what he had seen, Wolf thought, unable to stop replaying the encounter in his mind, sick to his soul as he saw again her hands on Thetford’s chest, her head tilted back eagerly, her mouth entwined with his.

Damn her, he thought. Damn them both to hell.

‘Where is our queen now, and for what reason?’ he growled, jerking her closer. ‘Answer me that.’

She looked at him aghast. ‘Her Majesty is innocent.’

‘Not according to her accusers.’

‘You do not believe in the queen’s guilt any more than I do,’ she muttered angrily, but Wolf noted that she could not meet his gaze.

‘Perhaps not, but that does not mean I will allow my wife to play the same dangerous game unchallenged.’ He ground his teeth, wishing now that he had killed Thetford while he had the chance. The young courtier would be laughing at him, no doubt awaiting another opportunity to take his wife to bed. ‘I have not been a stern enough husband. I have given you too much liberty. It is time we laid this headstrong tendency of yours to rest.’