by Julia Latham
Frowning, she waved her hand as she faced him again. “Of course not. But I understand who was gifted with beauty in our family.”
Tom stepped close to her again, knowing she was too proud to back away. If she took too deep a breath, her breasts would brush his chest, yet still she faced him down. He could inhale her elusive scent—no obvious perfumes for Diana—and he only grew harder.
“How do you know what I consider beautiful?” he asked softly. “And what makes you think beauty is all I am looking for?”
“I care not what you value in a wife, Bannaster. We both know I would never marry you, and although my sister is desperate for any man to take her away from here, I will make sure you do not win her.”
“A slur and a challenge all in one sentence,” he said, caressing her soft cheek with the back of his fingers before she jerked away.
“Take it as you will,” she said coldly.
“Then understand that you will not drive me away, whatever you say or do. I need a wife, and I will take my leisurely time deciding if one of the Winslow sisters is what I’m looking for. And I will also decide how much you deserve to be punished for what you did to me.”
He was looking forward to her retort when a soft knock sounded at the door.
“It will be the servants with your bath,” she said between gritted teeth.
“As the eldest daughter, is it not your responsibility to personally make certain it is done correctly?”
She rolled her eyes. “That is an ancient custom long abandoned.”
He imagined the two of them wet and naked, writhing in a bath. She met his gaze with a hint of uncertainty. Was she imagining it, too?
He dropped his voice. “I could insist.”
But she was not cowed, only lifted her chin. “You will not. Shaming me before my people is not the punishment you want for me.”
He gave her a slow smile. “Aye, you have the right of it. But it is so tempting to have you touch me.”
“And is that how it is to be between us? You will force me?”
His smile died. She already knew too much about his secret fears. He could not let her think she had such mastery over him. “I will not have to force you into my bed. You have already shown me that.”
There was no mistaking her blush this time. She went to the door and opened it, beginning a parade of servants. Two carried in a deep bathing tub, and more followed with buckets of steaming water. Tom sighed with eager satisfaction. It had been too long since he’d properly bathed. Without another word, Diana left his bedchamber.
When he at last sat soaking blissfully in the tub, having sent away the last maidservant who’d volunteered her assistance, he could not help but remember the scene that had greeted him in the Kirkby great hall. Though Cicely Winslow was truly a beauty, he still saw glimpses of the selfish woman inside her.
But it was Diana he had concentrated on, Diana whose face had gone pale and still upon seeing him freely enter her hall. He’d done his best not to look at her, drawing out her worries, making her wonder what he had planned, but when their eyes had met, something new had come alive inside him. He had spent the rest of the evening waiting to get her alone.
Though he desired her, he knew he had to stay focused on what was important, discovering if the League had decided to pursue him.
But he was also still looking for a wife, and he would not rule out the Winslow sisters. Cicely could mature with the right tutelage, and would be a bride who would be grateful for his name, his riches, and his protection. She would bring a beauty to his home that all would envy.
But Diana…Diana with her secrets, her daring, her physical skills beyond that of a woman, she was the one who drew him the most. For now. Once he understood everything about her, surely the mystery of her would no longer sway him. He would be himself again, ready to make the correct decision for his future.
Diana was sitting in the great hall waiting for the morning meal. Bannaster had not joined them for mass, disappointing Cicely, who’d looked stunning in a green gown with matching ribbons threaded through her loose blond hair.
“Where do you think he is?” Cicely demanded anxiously, staring at the staircase as if willing him to descend.
Diana forced herself to smile at the maidservant who brought her bread and butter. “I know not. But he is obviously not a humble man, for he does not care to thank God for his health and recovery.”
Her sister frowned. “But…could he be excommunicated for the sin of avoiding mass?”
“An excommunicated husband. I would imagine his entire household would suffer.” Diana watched Cicely closely, hoping to plant any doubts she could.
Cicely broke off a piece of bread. “Nay, it shall not be so. When I marry him, I will convince him that he must appease the church for the sake of our children.”
Diana sighed and ate methodically, knowing it would take much more than religion to dissuade Cicely from a handsome viscount.
Last night’s argument with Bannaster kept playing over and over in Diana’s mind.
As did that overwhelming kiss.
She shook her head to rid herself of the weak feelings that even now threatened to overtake her at just the thought of her body pressed to his. What was wrong with her?
He threatened her in more ways than with just his body. She could not forget that, with one word, he could send her world crashing down around her. Her brother, Archie, would be so livid over her actions reflecting on him at court that he might disown her.
Or would she have rather gotten Bannaster’s revelation of her misdeeds over with right away, avoiding this never-ending ache of uncertainty and dread? After all, it was only a matter of time.
And in this brief time, she had to perform her duties to the League flawlessly, because if her brother banished her—and he would do so, given any solid excuse—she would need the League’s help.
Yet how could she even think, when her mind was assaulted by images of Bannaster in his bath? And her touching his glistening skin? What was she supposed to say to the League, that she was overcome with lust?
With a groan, she lowered her head to her arm.
“What is wrong with you?” Cicely asked angrily. “You have gotten everything you could want. You’re stealing his attention from me—”
“I did not ask for it—” Diana didn’t lift her head.
“Don’t think I shall make it easy for you. With no effort at all, I will have him fascinated with me.”
“No doubt,” Diana grumbled.
“You are to keep your distance whenever I am with him.”
Diana sighed.
“And wear your oldest gowns—or some of your male breeches! That would be perfect.”
Diana lifted her head to gawk at her sister. “I will not dress to alter my appearance!”
“Then you admit you want him!” Cicely said with triumph.
“I do not. You shouldn’t want him either. He does not have a good reputation, Cicely.”
“I cannot believe you are already trying to dissuade me!” she said, aghast.
Diana rolled her eyes. “I want you to think this through. Do not accept just any man.”
“He has a title, wealth, handsome looks, and youth. What more could I want? And I deserve him,” she added heatedly, as if daring Diana to disagree with her.
“There are other things that make a successful marriage. You have to be able to respect your husband, and I’m not sure you can do that with Bannaster. Did you know he tried to force a woman to marry him?”
Cicely shrugged and smiled. “Foolish woman. He won’t have to force me.”
Before Diana could retort, her sister gasped and hissed, “There he is. Go away, Diana!”
Diana couldn’t help but look at Bannaster as he descended to the great hall. She recognized the garments he wore from his saddlebag, but during the night a servant had obviously prepared the garments for Bannaster’s morning debut. He looked every inch the London nobleman, wearing a wi
ne-colored tunic thrown open to reveal a deep blue doublet over his white shirt. He wore a matching codpiece and hose, the finest leather boots, and a hat with a feather sleekly jutting back. He had shaved for what must be the first time in a week, and rather than make him look younger, the revelation of his smooth, square jaw only emphasized his sensual lips.
Sensual? Diana thought, aghast. He was a court peacock, come to impress the simple northern folk.
But he was impressive, she thought reluctantly. Glancing at Cicely, she saw that her sister’s eyes shone with awe and gladness. Diana felt a pang, almost wishing she could allow Cicely to have what she’d always wanted.
But it could not be Viscount Bannaster, for so many reasons—not the least of which was how he had kissed Diana just last night. Was his intimate attention to be part of her punishment? She shuddered.
“A pleasant morn to you, my lord,” Cicely called with girlish enthusiasm.
Didn’t she know that she sounded too eager?
Bannaster gave a broad grin, his white teeth shining, dark eyes merry. Diana had to stop letting his merriment affect her.
As he approached the table, she saw his eyes take in that Cicely sat beside Diana’s place at the end of table. Short of asking Cicely to move, he could not sit between them. When he did not hesitate to take his place beside her sister, Diana breathed a sigh of relief. She could not allow Cicely to become suspicious that there was more to her relationship with Bannaster.
Diana listened to Cicely monopolize his attention with questions.
“You were so brave to travel north just before Christmas, my lord,” Cicely said. “Were the roads too terrible?”
“Only at the end, Mistress Cicely,” he said after swallowing a spoonful of thick, steaming pottage. “But I could not let that deter me, not when I knew that two beautiful women waited to meet me.”
Diana refrained from rolling her eyes as she chewed her bread.
“The holidays will be so much better with a guest to entertain,” Cicely said. “Do say you will remain with us for the next several weeks.”
When he thanked her enthusiastically for the offer, Diana wasn’t surprised.
“Do you have family at home waiting for you?” Cicely asked. “Will they not miss you?”
His face sobered. “Nay, mistress, my parents and brother died several years ago. ’Tis the only reason I am the viscount now instead of a priest.”
Cicely gasped. “Your brother was the viscount before you? He must have died terribly young.”
Bannaster glanced at her swiftly, and Diana realized that he thought Cicely knew some of his past.
“An unnatural death,” he said soberly. “Someone murdered him, and the culprit was never caught.”
Was that what he told everyone? That long ago night flashed before her eyes, her helplessness in the face of the late viscount’s cruel strength, her desperate defense, and in the end, his death. She had freed women from their fear of him, freed Bannaster from the impending priesthood, but she wondered if he thought his freedom a fair trade for people thinking him guilty. Surely he regretted helping her—and he’d really regret it if he knew that she was the one who’d benefited.
“What a terrible tragedy!” Cicely turned to glance at Diana as if she was uncertain what to say after such a sad tale.
Diana was watching Bannaster carefully, and he did not further explain that he was considered a suspect. She could not blame him. Yet if she had to use that against him, to persuade Cicely not to marry him, she would.
What kind of person was Diana turning into?
“I do not wish to dwell on your painful memories,” Cicely said. “You could tell me of your home, how it is different from mine.”
“You were raised here?” Bannaster asked.
Cicely blushed and didn’t look at Diana. “Nay, we were not. But our brother is newly married, and you know how irritating we women are when forced to live together. But for now, this is my home, small though it be.”
“Mine is larger, yes, but there is a charm here that I find endearing.” He took her hand and squeezed it.
He did not elaborate on his home, and Diana reluctantly realized that he thought he was sparing their feelings. Did he not know that Cicely would love to hear of his home’s grandeur?
“Perhaps you ladies could show me Kirkby Keep.”
“I would be glad to, but Diana cannot.”
Diana arched a brow and waited with interest for the explanation.
“She does not know the household as I do, because she spends considerable time with the men.”
That could be taken several ways…
The smile Bannaster gave Diana held only a hint of deviltry. “I understand that you are the eldest, Mistress Diana, so you must oversee the castle.”
“Oh, ’tis not that,” Cicely said before Diana could speak. “She developed the unusual habit of preferring the training rituals of men to the more feminine pursuits.”
Bannaster looked interested rather than shocked, and Diana recognized Cicely’s consternation that her plan was not working. But she knew her sister well, and Cicely would not give up the fight.
“Mistress Diana, you train on the tiltyard?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Did you need to learn to defend yourself? Surely your brother has been more than capable.”
He was watching her too closely, as if looking for something. He had already had one demonstration of her talents when he’d grabbed her in the dungeon.
“Our brother is quite capable,” Cicely quickly said, “which is why our mother was concerned about Diana’s…preferences.”
“Yet my father gave me permission,” Diana added.
“And it made our brother furious,” Cicely said.
Diana wanted to wince. Bannaster was intelligent enough to deduce that there was tension between father and son, which was the reason she’d been given permission. They had little protection from their brother, and Bannaster could use that against her.
“So shall we begin our tour of Kirkby Keep?” Cicely said, rising to her feet.
Diana didn’t think Bannaster was quite finished eating, but he politely followed Cicely’s lead. When Cicely had turned away, he gave Diana an assessing look, ending with a slow smile. Diana understood that he would not be leaving her alone this day to train in peace.
Then let him come to watch her, she thought. If the fact that Cicely had eccentric relatives would help him abandon his courtship of her, so much the better.
His reaction to Diana’s abilities would say much about him as a person. Would he feel threatened by a capable woman? After all, she’d been training longer than he had. Her own men accepted her abilities and treated her as a comrade, but more than once, a visitor had left the tiltyard in protest at her inclusion.
But to her, Bannaster seemed too intrigued. She felt…tense and worried and too eager to see his reaction.
Chapter 9
As Tom followed Cicely about the castle, he could see the deteriorating condition, and found himself growing angrier and angrier with Lord Winslow, who had put his sisters here, instead of with him at the family seat, or in London. He hated to see a man neglect his duties.
Yet for all of the castle’s weaknesses, it was obvious that the residents and villagers of Kirkby Keep were mostly cheerful, going about their tasks with efficiency. Was that Diana’s doing? He did not want to admire her beyond the attraction of her body, not after what she’d done to him, and what he planned for her. But it was more and more obvious that her people appreciated her, simply by how often her name was mentioned. He could not miss the way Cicely flinched at her sister’s name—or the wariness in everyone’s eyes when they saw Cicely.
Again, Tom had to wonder about the relationship between the sisters, and why Diana would so want to protect Cicely from marriage to him.
The tour was also a good method for discovering if anyone had recently moved to Kirkby Keep—perhaps a representative of the League.
As Cicely took him through the outbuildings buttressed against the curtain wall, from stables to blacksmith to the dairy, he was able to subtly ask how long the workers had lived there. She did not mention anyone who had been a resident for less than three years. If the League of the Blade had maneuvered to have him sent here, where were they? He had no way of knowing, of proving that the League was involved. But how else would Diana have heard of the mistakes he’d made at Castle Alderley? There had to be some way to find out.
He was as patient as possible when Cicely wanted to show him the women’s weaving and sewing chamber, but at last he was able to say, “And where is your tiltyard?”
It was as if she’d been waiting for him to ask, for she granted him a lovely smile and led the way down through the castle. Perhaps among the knights and soldiers, a Bladesman lay hidden, watching for whatever Tom would reveal about his brother’s death. Though he was innocent, he knew to remain on guard against anything that might implicate him.
Outside the air was milder than it had been for several days, with the sun occasionally shining through patches of clouds. Snow plopped from roofs and dripped into puddles.
The tiltyard itself, in a far corner of the inner ward, was a muddy mess. But that didn’t matter to Tom, a man who’d been deprived most of his life of what men considered their just right: the ability to defend themselves and their families. He had spent his childhood hiding as close to the tiltyard as possible, gazing longingly at his brother’s exploits, back in the days when he’d thought his brother to be a man who deserved admiration.
But even his sadness at his brother’s sins had not dimmed Tom’s reverence for the art of military training. Several dozen men trained at various disciplines, from sword fighting to wrestling to daggers. Men galloped their horses to joust at the quintain, which spun in a circle and knocked them to the ground if they missed the target.
He spotted his own three men easily, regardless of the mud that coated many of them. They were in a group feinting with daggers, trying to knock their foes to the ground.
