by Anne Stuart
Brother Adrian didn't move, didn't even seem to be listening. He simply stared into Dame Joanna's calm blue eyes. And then he turned and left them without another word, practically tripping over his robes in his haste to escape.
"She shouldn't be here," Adrian said flatly.
Peter turned to look at him. They were well ahead of the caravan, which was moving with agonizing slowness now that they'd added a carriage to their group, and no one could overhear them. "Why not?" he said, knowing full well that Adrian was right. Adrian saw things far too clearly, and Peter was humble enough to listen.
"It's too dangerous. She's temptation itself, and you can't deny it. A man has only to look at her and think of carnal pleasure. It's going to make our task that much harder."
Peter sighed. "You're right, of course. Though I'm surprised you noticed. I thought saintly Brother Adrian was above temptation."
"I'm only saintly Brother Adrian until we reach the shrine, and then I'm back to being a simple knight. Saint Paul himself would not be above temptation with her," he said gloomily. "I'm surprised you're immune. Her mouth is… bewitching, and you know it."
Peter closed his eyes for a brief moment, remembering the taste of that mouth. He'd never tasted such innocence. Such warmth. "Indeed." He cast a glance at his young companion, aware of a strange emotion. One might almost call it jealousy. Foolish, of course. Adrian had every right to fancy a young girl—his vow of celibacy was all part of their masquerade. "We'll be rid of her within the week, Adrian. And while she's quite lovely, she's not likely to do anything about it."
"That's what you think," he said in a morose voice.
The spark of jealousy began to sizzle. "You must have imagined it. She has no interest in you or any poor monk."
"I know. Which makes it even more ridiculous. I suppose I could always tell her the truth…"
"You've given your oath, Adrian. No one is to know who the three of us are, or this sham will all be in vain. You wouldn't want to break your vow, would you? Beautiful green eyes are not worth the risk."
"Her eyes are blue," Adrian said glumly. "Lady Elizabeth's eyes are green."
Peter turned to look at him. "Are you talking about Dame Joanna?"
"Of course. Who else? Lady Elizabeth is hardly the kind of woman to lure a man from his holy vows. She's well-suited to the convent."
"You think so?" Peter murmured. He glanced back at the carriage as it lumbered through the woods at a snail's pace. The curtains swayed, but there was no sign of the women. Adrian's temptress was safely out of sight. As was Peter's far less likely one.
But out of sight was not good enough. He could still see the startled expression on her pale face when he'd kissed her lips, and it had taken all his iron determination not to pull her against him, bloody gown and all, and show her what a real kiss was.
She didn't need to know. He didn't need to remember. All he needed to remember was his duty, and what might lay at the end of it. Mortal sin, committed for the sake of the innocent. A fitting price for a man such as he to pay, and it would make no difference. All the penitence in the world wouldn't keep him from the fires of hell. They'd even followed his footsteps on earth.
The sin of murder would make little difference to his eventual fate.
But what would the sin of fornication do? Make the flames hotter? Send him there sooner?
Or simply make his time on earth more unbearable, as he'd know he'd destroyed one more innocent's life?
Death was his destiny. Murder, not love. And he would follow the path laid out for him with single-minded devotion. If the sight of Lady Elizabeth added to his pain, then it was nothing less than he deserved. He would keep her safe. He would kill Prince William if he must, once he was out of his protection.
And then he would take his own life, before he could destroy anyone else.
* * *
Chapter 7
Elizabeth woke with a start. She'd been dreaming, a terrible dream that the earth was falling apart, splitting into crevasses, and she was falling, falling into the darkness, into the steep black night. A hand was reaching out to her, not from the top to pull her back to safety, but out of the pitch black, luring her downward into destruction. She kicked out, trying to escape, and was rewarded with a muffled oath.
It was dark, warm, scented with a rich, spicy scent, and for a brief moment her panic increased, until Joanna's steady voice calmed her. "Are you all right, my lady?"
"Did I kick you? I'm sorry. How long have I slept?" Elizabeth asked.
"The entire day. Fortunately I slept most of the time, as well—we had a busy night with Lady Margery. We stopped to eat but I couldn't rouse you, and the prince told me to let you be. He seems very concerned with your welfare."
Elizabeth resisted the urge to snort. The last thing she wanted was another occasion of falling into the prince's arms, so she moved carefully, sticking her long legs out from the curtains and sliding down on the ground, holding the carriage securely so her legs wouldn't buckle. It was near dusk, though the night was warm, and the caravan had separated. The armed guard in one group, building fires, dealing with their horses, and the monks in another, doing nothing much at all. And Prince William was nowhere to be seen.
Her eyes fell on Brother Matthew, and she started toward him. He could provide protection, spiritual comfort, and the undeniable pleasure of his sweet smile, and he'd keep danger far away. She walked slowly, relieved to find her legs steady enough beneath her, despite her stiffness.
Brother Matthew was sitting on the ground, off a ways from the other monks as they worked, his head bowed in prayer. Elizabeth hesitated, loath to interrupt, when he raised his head and looked directly at her, almost as if he'd known of her approach, and his half smile was welcoming as he climbed to his feet.
"You do me honor, my lady," he said softly, taking her hand in his soft, cold one.
"I don't want to disturb you," she protested. She wasn't used to people touching her, and she wanted to pull her hand free. Silly, because the one man who did touch her was Bredon's priest, Father Bennett, and she'd always felt quite comfortable when he would hold her hand.
But Father Bennett was old, and saintly, while Brother Matthew was young. Saintly, too, perhaps, but she pulled her hand away nevertheless, and he let her go with only a faint reluctance.
"You're no disturbance at all," he said. "I'd just finished my devotions. I wish I could offer you a suitable seat…"
"Sweet Mary, I don't want to sit!" Elizabeth moaned, then realized her choice of words was not the best. "I've been sitting all day," she added.
"Then will you walk with me? It's not yet dark and it will be a while before we eat."
Elizabeth cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The prince was nowhere in sight, but Dame Joanna was standing by the carriage, alone, looking at her with a troubled frown.
"Perhaps Dame Joanna would like to accompany us," Elizabeth suggested, suddenly guilty at abandoning her.
"Dame Joanna is no fit company for a child such as you, my lady," Brother Matthew said in a low voice. "It grieves me to say so, but you're better off in my company than in hers. She's a Magdalene, born of sin." He didn't take her hand again, but somehow she felt herself guided away from the others.
"But didn't Mary Magdalene repent of her sins and become a saint? Didn't our lord and savior love her more than the tax collector?" Elizabeth argued, as she often had with Father Bennett.
Matthew smiled. "You're a learned young woman. But the whore who travels with us hasn't repented. And even if she has, our Lord is not here to absolve her of her sins, and I would not dare to. She's a dangerous influence, Lady Elizabeth. You are much safer with me."
That was the second time he'd insisted he was harmless, and Elizabeth glanced at him curiously. It seemed such an obvious thing—why would he bother mentioning it? What possible harm could a gentle monk do her?
She'd lived her life around men, and she trusted her instincts. Those instincts told her
that the dark prince was a far greater threat to her peace of mind than this passive brother could ever be, despite his pretty face, and she was foolish to even think twice about it.
They'd wandered away from the others, down a narrow pathway into the woods. The voices of the men, the sounds of the horses faded into the distance, and she glanced back to watch the plume of smoke from the cooking fire. It would be at least an hour before they ate, and she was with Brother Matthew. She smiled at her companion.
"Indeed, I feel very safe," she said. "I'm so glad you're with the party watching over the prince's penance."
"I trust the prince has done nothing to disturb you. Brother Adrian has particular care of him, though I have grave doubts about the wisdom of that decision. Prince William would have no more hesitation in seducing a man than a young woman, and Brother Adrian seems a bit too young."
His simple suggestion managed to shock Elizabeth, who'd always thought herself unshockable. "I've seen no sign of anything—"
"He's very sly," Matthew said. "He fools every-one he meets, but his appetites are twisted and insatiable. He may even come after you."
For some reason Elizabeth felt faintly offended at the thought that she would be the last choice, when in fact it had seemed as if she were the first. "He already has," she said glumly.
The monk beside her tripped, then caught himself, as they moved deeper into the forest. "He's forced himself on you, my lady?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"No. Just kissed me," Elizabeth confessed. "Twice." The moment the words were out of her month she regretted them There was no reason why she shouldn't tell Brother Matthew—he was part of the company in charge of the prince's penance, and he had every right to know. But she still wished she could call the words back. She shook her head. "You must be right, though. I'm not the kind of woman to entice men. He must be deviant indeed to want me."
"There is no imagining the depths of Prince William's depravity," Matthew said gravely.
Brother Matthew was totally oblivious. Clearly he'd spent no time around women or he wouldn't be so quick to agree with her disparaging self-assessment. The subject needed changing before she used her sharp tongue on the gentle monk.
She could hear the sound of running water, and the thought of something cool to drink was intoxicating. "This path must lead to a stream."
"I believe so. We can sit by the edge and talk."
But she'd already moved ahead, away from him, feeling suddenly oppressed. If it were midsummer, and if she were ten years old, and if no one was around, she'd strip off her clothes and plunge into the water, letting it flow around her. She'd always loved water, and even though she'd just taken a full bath, the idea of cool, clear water was unbearably seductive.
She ran ahead, following the winding path that must have been made by animals, leaving Matthew to follow behind at a more leisurely pace. He was out of sight, and she was alone, blessedly alone, when she reached the wide stream that ran over rocks with merry abandon.
Brother Matthew was far behind her. She could take off her slippers, just for a moment, and dip her feet into the water. Perhaps she could even convince Brother Matthew to go back without her. Or she could even do the unthinkable, and simply leap into the water, dress and all, and pretend she'd slipped.
Ah, but Dame Joanna's dress was already too tight across the chest, and damp clothes had a habit of clinging far too closely. And if Joanna were willing to lend her dry clothes, they might very well be even more revealing than the soft wool dress. Still, as she stared down into the roiling water, she was fiercely tempted.
"It's quite cold."
The sound of his voice was such a shock that she jerked, almost precipitating an unplanned descent into the waters. At the last minute she regained her footing, to look up into the dark eyes of the missing prince.
She could see where he'd been. He was dressed, though only in breeches and an undertunic, and his hair was wet. He must have been bathing, and thank the good Lord that she hadn't arrived even sooner to find him without clothes. The very thought was horrifying. Interesting, but horrifying.
"I had no intention of going in," she lied. "One could get very sick, exposing your body like that."
"I haven't exposed my body to anyone but the forest at this point," the prince said in his cool, slightly mocking voice. "And I developed a taste for frequent baths during my time in the Holy Lands. I'm willing to put up with a bit of cold water in return for the pleasure."
"You went on crusade?" she asked, astonished. The self-indulgent prince seemed unlikely to risk sacrificing himself, either for the sake of others or his immortal soul.
"In truth I went looking for adventure, clothed behind a veil of piety."
"And what did you find?"
The look on his face was brief, swiftly gone, and so bleak it clutched at Elizabeth's heart. "You have no need to hear such stories, Lady Elizabeth. I prefer you to stay innocent of just how evil man can be."
At that moment Brother Matthew appeared through the brush, slightly out of breath. He stopped short at the sight of Prince William, and Elizabeth could feel the tension in the air.
"We had no notion you were here, Prince Wil-liam," Brother Matthew said in a cool, disapproving voice. "Did I interrupt something?"
"A discussion of evil. I was about to explain to Lady Elizabeth that it lies everywhere, even in the most innocent of guises. And that she'd be better off staying in a group at all times."
"I am capable of protecting my lady from anything that threatens her," he said in a frosty voice.
"I'm sure you are, Brother," he said. "The question is, what threat are you? And who, in fact, could stop you?"
They were no longer talking about her, Elizabeth thought. There was something else between the two men, both of them so very different. The one a gentle monk, the other a prince of such degeneracy that even his less-than-exemplary father had been revolted. It was a battle between good and evil, a gauntlet thrown down between them. And Elizabeth had the unpleasant notion that she was that very gauntlet.
"A good question indeed. I'm a simple monk and therefore quite harmless. One might almost say… impotent. The prince of England, on the other hand, has been called a monster, incapable of knowing right from wrong, heedless of human compassion, rapacious, murderous and vicious. So wherein lies Lady Elizabeth's danger?"
But neither of them looked at her. "I believe you know the prince very well," the taller man said. "But such darkness lives in all mankind, even the best of us. Lady Elizabeth would do well to heed that."
"Perhaps she wants a taste of darkness before she's shut away forever," Matthew suggested.
"The taste you have in mind could choke her to death."
Matthew smiled. "You're uncommonly wise for a king's son, Prince William. I'll remember not to underestimate you. We'll both watch over Lady Elizabeth, shall we? We can see which one of us will keep her safe."
"Merciful Jesu!" Elizabeth broke in, having had enough. "What is wrong with the two of you? Arguing over me, when I'm standing right here, and when neither of you could actually be interested except that for some reason you want to spite the other. I refuse to be fought over like two dogs with a bone that has no meat or value to it. Fight over Dame Joanna if you must, but leave me in peace. Both of you," she said sternly, glaring at Brother Matthew. "I'm going back and find something to eat. I'm famished. And if either of you come anywhere near me I'll push you into the fire."
She'd managed to shock and horrify Brother Matthew. But the prince simply laughed, perhaps because he knew there was nothing she could really do. "You'll lead the nuns a merry chase, lady," he said. "Don't you know you're supposed to be humble and obedient?"
"I'll obey the rule of the holy sisters. I just have no intention of listening to you." Without another word she turned away from them, covering ground as fast as her long legs would take her, till the quiet, deceptively polite sound of their voices faded into the spring air.
"Touch her and
I'll kill you," Peter said, pushing his damp hair back from his face. His heart was still racing—he'd heard the voices of Elizabeth and the supposed monk from far off, and had dressed in record time. His sword lay on the ground, not far away, and he had a knife strapped to his ankle within his reach. If need be. "It matters not if you're the son of a king ox a butcher," he continued, looking at his charge. "If you hurt her I'll cut out your heart."
William's too-pretty face curved in the angelic smile he'd perfected over the years. "You seem overfond of such a maypole. You're the one who's taken holy orders, despite the game we're playing. She's beyond the reach of a celibate monk, but not beyond mine. It's always possible I've seen the errors of my ways, fallen in love for the first time. Perhaps I'll marry Lady Elizabeth and become a good man."
"And perhaps hens will talk and pigs will fly," Peter replied, his voice as cool as his still-damp skin. "Until that time, keep your distance."
"I think you're the real danger to her, Brother Peter. How long have you been celibate? Seven years since you came back from crusade and decided to immure yourself in a monastery. You've been at my father's court—it mystifies me that you've been steadfast in the presence of some of the most beautiful women in England, and yet fall prey to a girl like Elizabeth of Bredon. She's no longer young, she's too tall, too thin, too strong-minded, too intelligent, too freckled, and her hair is the color of the Devil. I expect even Brother Adrian would tell you you're mad to even be tempted."
"Then I would expect you would have no interest in her, either. You prefer to inflict pain on unwilling children."
"I share my esteemed father's tastes. Have you met his new bride? She was twelve years old when he married her. And I gather my own mother was barely thirteen when she died."
"Thereby saving her the heartache of watching her son grow into such a monster."
William laughed, a light, eerie sound. "You tempt fate, Brother Peter. You are in charge of my spiritual and physical safety until we reach the Shrine of Saint Anne, but once I'm done my penance and have been shriven then we are back in our rightful places. You, a guilt-ridden monk who's taken a vow of chastity, poverty and obedience, trying to expiate sins that will never be cleansed, and me, the only son of the king of England. We already had an old score to settle. The more time I spend with you the less likely I am to forget."
