Richard the Fair’s ruddy skin darkened even further. “Either of them will do as I say, and be glad of the chance. Still, when I sent word to Alys of her impending good fortune, she had the temerity to ask whether she might remain in the convent and become a nun.” He snorted in disgust. “As if I’d waste a sister of mine in some bloody convent. She’ll marry where I tell her, and if it’s not you, then it’ll be someone with the money and power to back me when I need him.”
“Back you in what, my lord?”
Richard de Lancie just blinked. Even in his cups he was discreet, an annoying strength. “A man must keep his own counsel,” he muttered. “Does your damned stinking smoke tell you when m’sisters are due to arrive?”
The damned stinking smoke told Simon of Navarre absolutely nothing, but Merren’s information had been impeccable. “Within the next two days, my lord,” he said.
“Two days?” Richard lurched forward, catching Simon of Navarre’s robe in his meaty hands. “We must prepare. No sister of mine is going to be shabbily wed. Even to a low-born charlatan like you,” he added, cuffing Simon of Navarre in the shoulder.
The wizard gave him a narrow smile. “Words cannot express my honor.”
“Your words express far too little, damn it,” Richard said, pushing away from him. “A wedding! Damned if it don’t make me feel sentimental. My little sister wed. You’ll have to wait till Lady Hedwiga returns from her latest retreat.” He snorted his contempt. “She’ll see to the details. A wife should be good for something besides praying and plaguing a man to death.” He staggered off, dragging the willing young woman with him, clearly in no hurry for the return of his dragon of a wife.
All too quickly the members of the household followed, scattering in various directions, until Simon of Navarre was alone in the empty hall. Even the dogs had slunk away, terrified of him. The fire in front of him had died out, and the room was cool and dark, echoing with emptiness.
He had attended weddings in his thirty-four years. He had seen peasants wed, and lords. He’d watched Arab rites and gypsy weddings, holy feasts and orgies. Oddly enough, he’d never once considered he would attend his own.
It made sense though. The tie of blood would be strong, ensuring Richard of his loyalty. Richard de Lancie was not a trusting man, but he doubtless thought his brother-in-law would be a more faithful tool than a hired magician.
Richard was not a wise man.
Simon walked from the hall, slowly, comfortably certain the brazier would be removed, his tricks carefully disguised. He had servants he could count on, particularly Godfrey, wise and faithful. Another gift in life that he’d never expected. He had wealth, influence, and the support of one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. He had a high-born bride traveling to mate with him. He had everything a man could possibly want.
Except for his immortal soul.
He’d lost that, in the streets of Constantinople. Shed it, along with his blood, on the doomed Fourth Crusade. And it was only on rare nights like these, when the warm wind stirred, that he ever even missed it.
Grendel, they called him. A monster.
The name fit.
“I’m still not certain you should marry him,” Claire announced moments after she bounded up on her huge, high-strung mare. They were a motley group, Alys in her cart, Claire setting the pace, the small group of serving women following behind. After five days of travel they were in sight of Summersedge Keep, and their imminent arrival had already been announced.
Alys pushed aside the curtains of the cart that transported her, trying to avoid the horse’s heavy breathing. She hated the tight, airless feeling of the curtained carriage, but she feared horses even more. Still, she would have kissed the horse on the mouth rather than finish this dreaded journey. “I don’t think Richard will give me a choice in the matter,” she replied. “The wishes of his half-sisters have never been of prime importance to him.”
“I intend to change that,” Claire announced. “I’ve spent seventeen years immured in a convent, and the only member of the male sex I’ve seen was old Brother Emory, and I’m not sure he qualifies. I’m ready to live life to the fullest, and I’m not about to let anyone stand in my way.”
“I think you underestimate Richard’s power.”
“Have faith in me, sister dear,” Claire said. “I have no doubt I’ll be able to charm him. If you decide you don’t want to marry the wicked wizard once you’ve set eyes on him, then we’ll simply tell Richard you refuse. After all, he can’t force you.”
“Can’t he?” Alys murmured, unable to keep the gloom from her voice. “You’re about to have a chance to try your wiles. If that isn’t Richard approaching us then my memory has failed me.”
Claire peered at the small group of men. “Either that, or your eyesight. That couldn’t be Richard the Fair! He doesn’t look like either of us, and he’s a gross, ugly old man.”
“It’s Richard,” Alys said flatly. “Older, fatter, coarser, but Richard all the same. I couldn’t forget him. The last time I saw him I was four years old and screaming for my mother. He told me I would never see her again. He was right.” There was no bitterness in her voice. She’d learned to hide it well.
“At least you remember your mother,” Claire said, controlling her skittish horse with remarkable dexterity.
A soft touch, a sweet voice, and the smell of lavender. It wasn’t enough, but Alys didn’t say so. “Smile at our brother, dearest,” she advised in an undertone as the horses thundered toward them. “He holds our lives in his hands.”
It took all her strength of will not to cower into the corner of her carriage as half a dozen huge, sweating horses bounded toward them. Richard
