by Julia Latham
As if he hadn’t seen much more, just that morning.
His uneasiness intensified. She had spoken little to him since then, and he understood why. But he didn’t know how to broach the subject of their encounter, how to show her that he had not meant to use force with her.
That he wasn’t his brother.
“This is a fine horse,” he said nonchalantly, squinting up at the sun through the bare branches of the trees overhead.
“Aye.”
He glanced at her, but she didn’t look his way.
“I had a horse when I journeyed here,” he said, aware of the two men riding not far in front of them. “I know not what happened to it after my fever set in.”
At last she met his eyes, and the intelligence there still struck him far too pleasurably.
She said, “Perhaps a kind farmer found it and stabled it with his own until the owner could be found.”
He gave her a half-smile, understanding that she’d had his horse taken care of. She could hardly stable it with her own grooms, who would ask awkward questions. “That is a thought. Perhaps I can look for it after the holiday.”
She only nodded and faced forward again.
The sun was warm enough that Diana was not wearing her hood. She wore her hair pulled back with a ribbon, and the blond curls blew gently in the breeze. She constantly drew his attention, and the more he resisted, the harder it became to do anything else but look at her, at her pure profile, at the way her eyes concentrated on the Pennines so far ahead.
The terrain sloped ever upward, with tumbles of rocks breaking up the path. The horses had to pick their way slowly, and Tom maneuvered it so that the two of them fell behind, out of earshot.
“Mistress Diana,” he said, speaking more formally than he’d intended.
Her glance was sharp. “We should ride faster.”
“Give me a moment.” He regarded her soberly. “This morn I overstepped the bounds of a gentleman. I want you to know that I will not force my attentions on you like that again, regardless of our adversarial positions.”
She was studying him far too closely now. “You will not force your attentions on me ‘like that’?” she echoed. “What does that mean?”
“Whatever you have done to me, you did not deserve to be forced into a romantic encounter.”
“Romantic?” she said with sarcasm. “I found no romance in having my arms twisted behind my back.”
He felt a flare of anger. “It is difficult to treat you as other ladies, when you have not behaved as one toward me.”
She opened her mouth, but he didn’t let her speak.
“But I will not use the fact that you held me prisoner as an excuse for my behavior. Mistake me not—I still plan to seduce you.”
Her mouth briefly fell open before she mastered herself.
“But when I’m done,” he continued, “you will want me as I want you—freely, and without force. And you’ll find pleasure in my bed the likes of which you’ve never known.”
He saw her inhale, but that was the only sign that she might be struggling to master her temper.
“You are a strange man, Bannaster,” she finally said in a low voice. “You take what you want, and then you apologize. Does your conscience bother you from past transgressions?”
He ground his teeth together. “I have learned from them, aye, just as all of us learn from our mistakes.”
“Or is it not just your conscience, but your bloodline that worries you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Say what you mean.”
“Even here in the north, we have heard tales of your brother. It is one of the reasons I do not wish Cicely to marry you, and you continue to prove my point. Why should I trust that you can withhold your temper, your desires, when your brother couldn’t? After all, you’re telling me that part of my punishment will be you attempting to seduce me.”
Diana knew she dared much, broaching the subject of the late viscount so soon after Bannaster had seen Mary. But here was something the League would want to know about him, and she had to risk her questions.
Although she had been stunned at his apology. It showed that he had a conscience, at least. She hadn’t been expecting it, had tried to keep abreast with her men, in case Bannaster tried to separate her from her guard. She’d been almost frightened to be away from Kirkby Keep with him. If only she knew his plans for her—besides seduction. How much longer could she keep waiting for him to denounce her?
“My brother never even attempted to control his basest impulses,” Bannaster finally said, obviously having to grind the words out. “It took me a long time to recognize the kind of man he was, to try to make right the things he’d done wrong. When I was a novice, I always hoped that if I prayed hard enough, God might change him. But like in so many other things, my prayers went unanswered. And after his death, there was yet so much damage to the women of Castle Bannaster.”
“Someone answered your prayers as far as your brother was concerned,” she said dryly.
“Not God.” He glanced at her. “So you don’t think it was I who killed him?”
She shrugged, conscious of being on dangerous ground. Sometimes she thought she felt guilty for not feeling guilty enough for her part in the viscount’s death. She’d killed a man, after all, though it had been to defend herself. But it was this Lord Bannaster who’d borne everyone’s suspicions for what she’d done.
For several minutes, she concentrated on ducking beneath the branches of low-growing trees. She gathered her cloak closer to her neck, for within the woods there was little of the sun’s penetration. She didn’t want to talk about the viscount’s death, but recognized that she must, to allay his suspicions.
“You do not seem like a murderer,” she said. “How did you make right what he’d done to his serving women?”
He did not meet her eyes, looking forward to avoid the hazards of the narrow trail. His cloak, lined with fur, streamed back over his broad shoulders, and his cap was pulled low across his brow.
“There were several women with bastard children,” he said at last. “I made sure that they would never want, that…the children would be protected for life.”
Does he think of them as his nephews and nieces? she wondered. Noblemen had bastard children all the time, only some of which were recognized.
“I also made it known that the women he’d hurt would have a place at Castle Bannaster for life,” he continued. “But several wanted to leave the ugly memories behind, and I found employment for them at other properties of mine, or at neighboring manors.”
“Are you looking for applause or approval?” she asked.
He seemed surprised. “Nay, ’tis no one’s business but my own. I merely answer your questions.”
“Are you using your kind treatment of those women to prove yourself a fit husband for Cicely, while at the same time admitting you intend to pursue me for illicit reasons?”
His smile was grim. “You give no quarter, Diana, do you?”
“I have none to give. I told you I would protect my sister, and though you may not be a murderer, and you may have done well by the women your brother harmed, I cannot approve of what you’re doing here.”
“I am not married or betrothed to your sister. What I do before then matters not.”
“You have much to learn about women, Bannaster. But then you have only had a few years’ experience with the female sex. Sometimes it shows.” She tapped her horse’s flanks with her heels and rode ahead, leaving him to the tail of their small procession.
The hillside leveled off, and the woods became darker, the oak trees larger and older. The huntsman began to point out trees for her inspection, and although she would have preferred concentrating on her worries about Bannaster, she knew her duty.
And it was almost Christmas, after all.
At last they all settled on an oak tree growing on relatively flat ground, with ample room about it for the huntsman and his apprentice to stand while they cut. The
huntsman brought forth a long saw, with wooden handles on each end, that had been well wrapped when it hung from his saddle.
“You will cut it now, though you have few men?” Bannaster asked in obvious surprise.
The young apprentice, Peter, only a boy on the cusp of manhood, sniggered.
The huntsman arched a brow, and the boy looked suitably cowed.
Diana smiled. “Peter, why do you laugh?”
He must have little fear of his master, for the boy grinned. “He likes to prove his might in fellin’ a big tree, mistress.”
The huntsman only shook his head as he removed his cloak. “Someone has to cut it, mistress, so the boy might as well learn a lesson. I will send men and oxen to drag it back to Kirkby Keep.”
Diana glanced at Bannaster, who watched with interest as the huntsman and his apprentice took the saw between them, stationed themselves on either side of the massive trunk, and began to saw, each pulling the blade toward them with a powerful burst of motion. Though the boy was not his master’s equal, Diana was impressed at his determination.
At last Peter’s energy seemed to fade, and the huntsman called a rest.
Bannaster approached them. “May I take the boy’s place? Unless of course you, too, need to rest.”
The huntsman eyed him quite boldly, then at last gave a nod. “If you’re up to it, milord.”
It was clear he did not believe a nobleman could match a simple workman’s stamina. While Peter brushed snow off a flat rock and sank on it to drink from his horn, Bannaster removed his cloak. He and the huntsman took up the rhythm of the saw. The rough sound echoed in the stillness of the forest, along with the heavy breathing of the men. Diana kept waiting for one of them to signal a rest, but neither did.
She smiled at Peter, asked him about his reading lessons with a widow in the village, but never took her eyes off the men. Well, she could not lie to herself—she was watching Bannaster. The rhythm of his body was hypnotic, his legs spread in a wide stance, his shoulders moving back and forth as he drew the saw toward him, and then pushed it away. Sweat ran down his face, but he paid it no heed, just watched the saw’s motion. At last she sat down beside Peter, who only grinned at her.
Eventually she saw the huntsman’s legs begin to tremble, and it wasn’t long before he called, “Hold.”
Both men straightened slowly, stiffly, then exchanged weary grins.
“Shall I replace his lordship, master?” Peter called.
At that, the men chuckled.
“Nay, Peter,” said the huntsman, “give me a moment to rest.”
Diana tried to feign indifference as Bannaster removed his tunic, revealing his shirt plastered to his damp skin. It hung low over his hips, where his breeches gave his lower body warmth against the cold. But to her unease, he took Peter’s place on the rock at her side and leaned back on his elbows. His chest heaved with his breathing, and she thought heat rose in waves from his body.
Silently, they both watched the huntsman, who stood looking at the deep gash they’d put in the tree. It was halfway through the trunk, but they still had far to go before the tree would fall.
“Peter,” Bannaster called, “would you fetch my drinking horn?”
The boy detached it from his saddle, and brought it with a shy grin.
Diana glanced at Bannaster, who accepted it even as he ruffled the boy’s hair. She didn’t want to notice how he pulled out the stopper and guzzled with great thirst. She watched the movement of his throat; even saw the trail of a drop of ale where it slid down the muscles of his neck to be lost in his neckline. When he looked at her, she turned away.
“Come, Peter,” called the huntsman, who lifted the saw with his apprentice.
When they were out of hearing, Bannaster said with faint sarcasm, “You do not wish to take a turn? To prove yourself?”
She frowned disdainfully. “I have no need to prove myself, unlike some people.”
He chuckled and then drank some more. “I could not watch those two do all the work.”
He eyed her, and she didn’t like his grin.
“Regardless of your work on the tiltyard,” he said casually, “you can be quite feminine when you want to be.”
She sniffed. “I imagine you are not terribly choosy when it comes to such things.”
His brows rose. “Are you equating yourself with just any woman, even a doxy on a London wharf? And I’m supposed to be attracted to anything in skirts? Not very flattering.”
“I did not say all that.” She spoke between gritted teeth. “And you were the one who not an hour ago said it was difficult to treat me as a lady.”
“I wonder why,” he murmured sarcastically, before rising to his feet. “I can take another turn,” he called to the huntsman.
Diana was left to fume. Why did she keep baiting him, or responding in kind to his remarks? He held her fate in his hands.
It wasn’t long before the trunk of the tree gave a mighty crack, and Bannaster pulled Peter back as it began to fall away from them, tearing down limbs from other trees as it passed. The boy grinned up at him, and they shook hands in satisfaction.
Diana knew that this tree would easily burn throughout the twelve days of Christmas. And hopefully, during that time, she would understand Bannaster, complete her mission, and send him on his way without a wife—or a mistress.
And convince him to bury her secrets. But to do that, she had to know where she stood with him. She could no longer act the coward and wait for his revenge.
After supper that night, instead of sedate board games and conversation, Diana had engaged the services of minstrels come to play while the great hall was decorated for Christmas. Villagers and farmers crowded the hall to share their evening meal, glancing with interest between Lord Bannaster in his London finery and Cicely wearing her own lovely wardrobe. Diana wore her usual somber colors, having no one she wanted to impress.
And wishing to dissuade one man’s interest.
How dare he claim he would seduce her and that she would succumb quite willingly! And then in the next breath, proclaim his intention to keep company with Cicely as well! At least he had said he would not attempt to seduce her, which would surely lead to a marriage, if her sister had any say in it.
She glanced over at Bannaster where he stood beside her sister, leaning down to listen to something Cicely was saying over the sound of the minstrels who launched their first merry song, with pipe and harp and tambourine.
Knowing Cicely, she might very well be the aggressor in a seduction. As far as Diana knew, Cicely was yet a virgin, but her sister was already thinking of Bannaster as her last chance for the right marriage. What would she do out of desperation?
Nay, Diana was no longer going to wait. She would discover his plans. She only had this last evening to get through.
Servants and villagers began to put up ladders, decorating the mantel and tapestries and staircase balustrades with holly and ivy. Diana looked at the happy faces and tried to remember what it was like to enjoy the innocence and peace of the season, but her worries and concerns were too much a part of her this year. She was drawn from her reverie by the sight of her maidservant, Mary, standing in the arched entrance to the kitchen corridor, her face full of worry.
Diana approached and smiled, asking a question whose answer she already anticipated. “This is everyone’s favorite time of the year. Why do you not participate?”
“Mistress, his lordship recognized me from his kidnapping,” Mary said softly, as if Bannaster could overhear her over the noise of cheerful voices and Christmas music. “I wish not to prod his memory further.”
“And Joan? What is her excuse?”
“She will remain in the kitchens when his lordship is here, mistress. If he sees us both…if he remembers us together at Castle Bannaster…”
When she trailed off, Diana nodded, her own unease a cloud over the holiday. “I understand. I wish it were not necessary. This is a season for joy, after all.”
&n
bsp; “Mistress, I will feel joyful when he is gone,” she said meaningfully.
“And I, too.”
“How was your afternoon of…courtship?”
Diana gave her a narrow-eyed glance, but Mary was not teasing her. “He apologized and said that our encounter this morn would not happen again.”
“Did he really?” Mary said with hope.
Diana had not meant to say more, but Mary was the one person she’d always told the truth to—as well as her fears. “But he said…he said that he would still try to…persuade me.”
“Into marriage?” Mary said, aghast.
Diana only shook her head.
“Oh.” The maidservant frowned. “That is the way of it then. He desires you.”
“And I know not why, after what I’ve done to him,” Diana said softly. “But…I fear he means it as a punishment.”
Mary glanced at her in surprise. “Ye know not why, mistress? Ye’re a lovely woman, for one.”
Diana rolled her eyes.
“Ye have not your sister’s classic beauty, but there is great attraction in creamy skin, handsome features, and intelligent eyes. Ye’ve got all that and more. A man will often forget his anger if he can have the one who’s wronged him quite willingly returnin’ his attentions.”
To Diana’s surprise, her cheeks felt heated, as if she were actually blushing. “And I’ll have to let him try,” she whispered. “He…can control me, Mary. And you know what my…masters have asked.”
“Ye do not yet have enough to answer them?”
Diana shook her head, looking around her again just to be certain they were still alone. In front of the hearth, Cicely and Bannaster had begun to dance, their hands linked as they whirled between other couples.
Her sister’s happy face made Diana’s heart constrict. “I cannot prove that he’s changed, that he can be trusted.”
“Ye will, mistress, in time.”
“And until then, I will have to suffer his presence and fear my fate.”
“Is it sufferin’ ye feel?” Mary asked softly. “Or is it anguish, for perhaps he draws ye like no man afore.”
