Hidden Honor

by Anne Stuart

  "I tremble in fear," Peter said. "I repeat—touch her and I'll kill you."

  William shook his head in mock sorrow. "Be careful—your immortal soul is in danger. It must be the Devil tempting you with that red hair of hers—surely there's nothing else to make you forswear your vows."

  "I'm not forswearing any vows. And I suggest you worry about your own immortal soul, not mine. You're on a journey of repentance. If you arrive at Saint Anne's with no fresh sin on your conscience you will be shriven and be able to lead a new life."

  "I'll have no sin on my conscience," William said in a silky voice. "I sin without guilt. You, on the other hand, have guilt without sin. So which one of us is the madman?"

  "Do you have any doubt?" He could kill him now. Cut his throat and put an end to it, and no one need ever know. He could say an assassin had found them, killed the prince and then escaped before Peter could stop him. It would be simple enough.

  He'd killed, so many times he'd lost count of it. The Holy Lands were nothing more than a sea of blood in his memory, and he'd spent seven years trying to atone for that. It mattered not that his heart and motives had been pure, that he'd believed he was on Christ's business. At night he could still hear the screams of the dying. Not just soldiers. Women and children, as well, in a sea of flames. He swore never to kill again, unless in defense of innocence, and he'd held to that vow.

  This would be one man who was beyond deserving it. The journey of penance was nothing more than a sham, a sop thrown to a furious, grieving father. Once William was done with it he'd be back to his old ways, and if he hadn't hurt Elizabeth of Bredon beforehand then nothing would stop him then.

  Peter blamed himself. If he'd been less ready to protect the lady the prince would have doubtless dismissed her as unworthy. The prince was just as likely to turn his wiles on one of the younger knights, and he'd already put his hands on a shocked Adrian. At least the men had the supposed advantage of making a choice.

  He could always tell Lady Elizabeth, break yet another vow. He'd sworn that he would protect the prince's identity, and not even the household at Wakebryght had realized the switch. The only ones who knew were the three of them—Adrian, the prince and himself. It was far safer that way.

  William laughed then, a soft sound meant to be reassuring. "You worry too much, Brother Peter. I have no interest in the lady—surely you realize that? I prefer ripe flesh and great beauty in the women I bed. She will be perfectly safe, and we will reach the Shrine of Saint Anne in good order, and all will be well."

  Peter looked at him, not fooled. "As you say, my lord. But you should have no objections if I keep Lady Elizabeth away from you. 'Tis true, she is no great beauty, but when no one else is around one might fall into temptation, and your absolution depends on your arriving in a shriven state, just as you left London. Surely you wouldn't want to jeopardize that?"

  "Surely I wouldn't," William agreed tightly. "A few days more or less will make no difference. She wouldn't do well in a convent, you know. She's too outspoken."

  Peter said nothing. He had taken a vow, to the father abbot, to his king, to his God, that he would protect the dissolute prince and help bring him back to a state of grace. He wouldn't break those vows, and cut out William's heart.

  Until he had to.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  "You look as if you've seen a ghost, Lady Elizabeth," Dame Joanna greeted her as she stormed back to the campsite.

  "Do I?" Unconsciously she pushed her wild hair back from her face and tried to school her expression into one of serene unconcern. She expected it was a dismal failure, and that Dame Joanna, with her sad eyes, could see through her attempt at composure much too well. "As far as I can tell, the biggest danger comes from the living, not the dead."

  "In truth, you're probably right. Where were you? I was going to see if you'd accompany me for a walk. A day spent cramped in that poor excuse for a carriage is enough to make anyone ache."

  Guilt was not a familiar emotion, and Elizabeth found she didn't like it. "I should have asked you first. I went for a walk with Brother Matthew, down to the stream. We met Prince William down there, and I left the two of them arguing. I'm certain I would have had a much more pleasant time in your company than in theirs."

  Joanna raised an eyebrow. "The prince and the monk? That must have been a pretty sight. What did they argue about? You?"

  "What possible reason would they have?" Elizabeth demanded. "No, don't answer that. I assure you that neither man has the slightest bit of interest in me."

  "I imagine the convent will cure you of your talent for prevarication," Dame Joanna observed in a tranquil voice.

  Indeed, Elizabeth knew it was a lie. What she couldn't even begin to fathom was why? Why a notorious and dangerous lecher, a man of power and undeniable physical beauty, would even look her way? It wasn't as if she were the only possible choice. Dame Joanna was now among them, and her beauty was breathtaking. Prince William was also known not to confine his sexual proclivities to the opposite sex, and their small caravan was made up of a surprisingly large percentage of good-looking men. Not to mention Brother Matthew, whose classic beauty rivaled Dame Joanna's…

  That was it. Pure and simple. She was a pawn between the two men, as she'd always been a pawn in her father's household. She had not the faintest idea why they would be using her, but she had no doubt that they were. Neither of them wanted her—they simply didn't want the other one to have her.

  It was a depressing thought, and Elizabeth's reaction was immediate. "I'm starving," she announced. "What's cooking?"

  "Rabbit. Have you spent much time outdoors, my lady? There's nothing better than fresh game cooked over an open fire."

  "I'll take your word for it," Elizabeth said doubtfully. "I've never spent the night anywhere but my father's house and Wakebryght Castle. This will be a new experience for me. Where are we expected to sleep?"

  "On the ground, my lady. Wrapped in our cloaks and the blankets from the carriage."

  Elizabeth looked at her in dismay. "You sound as if you look forward to the prospect."

  "I do. I love being outdoors. The fresh air and night sky make up for the hardness of the bed."

  "And bathing in cold streams is preferable to hot baths?" she said in a doubting voice, as unbidden, the image of the dark prince came back to her, his hair wet and long, his shirt clinging to his still-damp chest. His breeches…

  "It can be very refreshing."

  Elizabeth shook herself. "You astonish me, Dame Joanna. I would have thought you were a hothouse creature, unused to harsh conditions, and yet you seem to revel in them."

  "It's the only freedom I've ever had," she said simply. And then she smiled brightly, the smile not reaching her eyes. "Pay me no mind, my lady. This reminds me of my youth, when as a young girl I was allowed to run free. We all long for the halcyon days of our childhood, don't we?"

  Elizabeth considered it for a moment. Her father's ready temper and readier fists, her teasing brothers, the loneliness as her father's wives died, one after the other, and then she was left, the only woman in the household, to cater to a group of spoiled men. "I think my new life will have far more joy than my old," she said.

  "Perhaps."

  Elizabeth looked across the clearing. Their caravan had divided into strict groups—the handful of knights surrounding one fire, the enticing scent of roast rabbit wafting from the pit. At a distance, the six monks worked in quiet concert, though the odors wafting from their cooking pot were not nearly as enticing. Monks were known for their culinary excesses, but these seemed more intent on mortifying the flesh with something that smelled like boiled weeds.

  Brother Matthew stood to one side, watching. He seemed to have some position of power in the small group—he seldom seemed to be doing any of the actual labor, but merely looked on. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he looked up, meeting her gaze across the distance, and the sweetness of his smile would have melted the wariest
of hearts.

  "I'd be careful if I were you, Lady Elizabeth," Joanna murmured in her ear.

  "Careful of a holy brother?" she responded, aghast. "I cannot imagine anyone who would be safer."

  "Men are not what they seem. Ever," she added in an uncompromising voice. "Be they knight or monk or prince of the land."

  "And women? Are they what they seem?"

  Joanna had the sorrowful smile of a Madonna, an odd thing in a woman of dubious virtue. "You have only to look at me. I appear to be a whore, and in fact, I am one. Doomed to be passed from man to man until I am too old and ugly to please, and then I'll end my life on the streets, begging."

  For a moment Elizabeth said nothing. And then she shook her head. "Nonsense," she said briskly. "If you don't like your life, change it. I am certain the Sisters of Saint Anne would welcome you gratefully…"

  "Your certainty is misplaced."

  "Well, perhaps if you come with a big enough dowry," she amended. "I'm not totally innocent in the ways of the world, Dame Joanna. I know that one must buy one's way into God's grace—my father complained loud and long at the price he must pay to get rid of me and my interfering ways. You have jewels—surely they would be enough to secure your entrance. If you really wanted it."

  Dame Joanna touched the small cloth bag at her waist, as if to make certain it was still there. "I would come with a heavy burden of sin on my soul, and I doubt the unimpressive contents of my purse would be enough to lift it."

  "Then as a lay sister?"

  "You have much to learn, little one. Lay sisters are no more than unpaid servants, doomed to perform the most menial tasks with little benefit."

  "But isn't that what a holy sister should do? Devote herself to good works without reward?"

  "And such saintlike aspirations are what inspire you, Sister Elizabeth? I would have thought you had too much intelligence and too much ambition to long for a life of pure self-sacrifice."

  "Well, I should long for a life of self-sacrifice," she admitted. "But you're right—I'm far too selfish and conceited to want to waste my talents mucking out stables in the name of Christ. But it's wicked of me. I should welcome even the most degrading of chores."

  "Why? Everyone has their own gifts, and there are countless people on this earth who could best be occupied cleaning stables. No doubt most people think I'm one of them, but given my choice, I'd rather live in sin, in a warm bed with a full belly, than live in rags in a state of grace."

  "Even if that warm bed contains someone like Owen of Wakebryght?"

  Joanna's pretty mouth curved in a mirthless smile. "The price one has to pay. You should have learned that by now—nothing is ever given to you. You've made your own bargain—the chance of power and using your brain in return for your freedom. The loss of children as a price for the blessed loss of men."

  "You have no children?" Elizabeth asked, momentarily distracted.

  "My body was not made to bear children."

  "Well, neither was mine," Elizabeth said.

  "Why do you say that? I would have thought you were untouched."

  "Of course I am! You forget—I have assisted at a great many births. The women I helped have always told me my hips are too narrow for childbearing. The discussion is moot, since I have no intention of ever letting a man beneath my skirts, if anyone is unlikely enough to want me."

  Joanna shook her head. "For such a clever young woman you really are quite blind, aren't you?"

  "I think I see things very clearly."

  Elizabeth heard the nervous throat-clearing from behind her, and she turned. Brother Adrian stood there, as tall as she was, his head bowed slightly so that he didn't have to look either of them in the eye. But bless him, he brought food. Roast rabbit.

  "Brother Adrian, you are an answer to a maiden's prayer!" she cried, reaching out for the tin platter.

  He made an odd noise, almost dropping the food, but Joanna moved swiftly, taking it from him, and her hands brushed his. He pulled back as if burned, but still kept his head lowered. The moment his hands were free he pulled his hood up, covering himself, and without a word he backed away, tripping over the hem of his robe as he went, moving as swiftly as if pursued by the Devil.

  Joanna turned back to Elizabeth. She was watching the monk's rapid disappearance with a thoughtful expression on her face. "I wonder what he's so terrified of?" she murmured. "He must think women are the spawn of Satan."

  "He wasn't afraid of me."

  "No? Then clearly it's fallen women who offend his holy sensibilities, not future nuns," Joanna said lightly. "Either that, or his chaste vocation is not as secure as he would like it to be."

  "That's a terrible thing to say! He's such a sweet boy!"

  "Is he? I've met very few sweet boys in my life, and whether they wear monk's robes or crowns, they all seem interested in one thing. And sooner or later. they all act on it. Just remember that, when you think you're safe in your convent."

  "I'm not likely to entice men into forgetting their vows."

  Joanna looked at her, a slow, measuring look, then took a bite of her rabbit haunch. "We shall see" was all she said, seating herself on the ground, ummindful of her rich dress.

  By the time Elizabeth had devoured the generous portion of roasted rabbit she was feeling much livelier. Unfortunately Dame Joanna wasn't similarly inclined—she simply wrapped herself in her cloak and stretched out on the ground beneath the tree, clearly ready and able to sleep.

  The rest of the caravan had settled down, as well. The sound of the monks chanting evensong floated in the night air, and Elizabeth leaned back against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. There was a soft evening breeze blowing, tangling her hair, and she wondered if it would make life simpler if she took a knife and hacked it off ahead of time. It would be shorn once she reached the convent, and if the flaming color wasn't bad enough, the sheer, bold abundance of it only compounded the matter. She would make a better impression on the mother abbess if she arrived as a shorn lamb.

  Dame Joanna had a small, ornamental dagger at her waist, but she was already asleep, and Elizabeth was loath to wake her. Besides, Joanna would probably refuse to help her. She had such odd ideas about Elizabeth's appearance, including the unlikely notion that she wasn't as unappealing as her father had always insisted. And while Elizabeth could easily dismiss Joanna's words as kindness, the behavior of Prince William and Brother Matthew almost made her begin to doubt what she'd always known was true.

  The monks were silent now, stretched out around their meager fire. It was a warm night—they hardly needed the heat, but it provided a comforting beacon in the night. She glanced over at the prince's company. They were still awake, the rough male voices muted, and she wondered idly which of the silhouetted figures was the prince himself. He was the tallest of the men on this journey, and easily distinguishable…

  Maybe that was it. Elizabeth let out a small gasp, as realization hit her. It was that simple, that obvious. Her troubling reaction to the dangerous prince, what might almost, in another girl, be called attraction, was a simple matter of mathematics. He was the tallest man she had ever seen, apart from elderly Father Bennett. She was simply reacting to the unusual sensation of looking up at a man.

  And knowing that, she should find it easy to ignore her unlikely feelings. Because it made no sense, none at all, to be drawn to a man both dangerous and cruel, one who would have no place in her future. No man would have a place in her future, and she was glad of it, she told herself.

  She could see him now, apart from the knights just as Brother Matthew seemed apart from the monks. No one had bothered to erect any kind of shelter for the king's first bastard, and she could only suppose that was part of his pilgrimage. She could tell by the angle of his head that he was looking up at the sky, and she followed his gaze. The moon was half full, leading a silvery light to the scene, and a few errant clouds were scudding past on the night wind. Tomorrow would be a fine spring day for travel, though she a
lmost wished she might ride, rather than be cooped up behind the curtains once more.

  She should stay where she was. She could sleep sitting up—she'd done it often enough during mass, and had her knuckles soundly thwapped for it. All she had to do was close her eyes and relax, shut out the night and the questions that plagued her mind, and think of nothing but a peaceful future among the holy sisters…

  And unbidden came the vision of the prince, clothes clinging to his damp body, looking down at her in the forest as Brother Matthew rushed to follow her.

  She opened her eyes swiftly, to banish the picture, and instead focused on the prince himself, watching her in the moonlight.

  She knew he was, even though the shadows made it impossible to prove. She could feel the very heat from his gaze, warming her better than a fire. It prickled beneath her skin, in the pit of her stomach, between her bound breasts, that still, steady gaze that seemed to touch every part of her.

  She was mad. It was dark—he couldn't even see her. He was probably lost in thought, thinking about what new atrocity to commit, what new innocent to despoil…

  Except that she was the only innocent around, and she certainly didn't want him thinking about her.

  He hadn't moved, and there was no way she could be certain if he was watching her. No way she could sleep if she thought he was.

  She pushed against the tree, rising to her full height. Dame Joanna slept on, and the prince didn't move. Were his eyes on her? Or had the long days managed to rattle her brain? Had Joanna's suggestions brought her to a state of complete chaos?

  But it hadn't been Joanna's suggestions that had caused him to kiss her mouth. Or to argue with Brother Matthew down by the stream.