But she’d slept soundly, as her sister had when Piers set Alys down on the high bed beside her. Claire’s silken hair lay spread around her, and her pale, lovely flesh was exposed above the thin chemise, but neither Piers nor Simon of Navarre noticed, for their own, disparate reasons.
He’d dismissed Piers, giving in to the temptation to stand watching Alys as she slept. Alys, with the pale face and the plump body, all fierceness drained from her soul by the drugged sleep he’d offered her.
Christ, but he wanted her! It was an odd feeling, after having kept his hungers in check for so many years. He was used to controlling his needs, but this small, unspectacular woman was having a strange effect on him. If he didn’t know better he’d suspect witchcraft.
Ah, but he was the expert at witchcraft around here. He knew, better than anyone, what was possible and what was not. And there was no possibility on this green earth that he would fall under the spell of a woman, particularly an ordinary little creature like Lady Alys of Summersedge.
She should have been a nun. But then, he’d been a monk for a brief period of time, and he knew far too well that holy orders couldn’t quell unholy desires. He had looked down at her as she lay in her bed, and wanted her.
Then her sister had stirred, and silently Simon of Navarre had slipped back into the darkness. Claire had sat up, alert, but in the shifting shadows she could see nothing. She simply sank down on the bed again, falling back into a deep sleep.
And Simon of Navarre had wished her at perdition. He wanted to be the one to lie beside Alys’s body, feel her warmth, listen to her breathe. He wanted to strip the ugly clothes from her body and discover just what fascinated him so.
He was still distracted by that curiosity the next day, as he sat in the chair beside Richard, watching her. He hadn’t slept, though that was not unusual, and now he accepted the fact that it wasn’t time for him to satisfy either his curiosity or his inexplicable lust. He was a man used to waiting, to making sure the opportunity offered the most. He would wait for Alys. For a while.
“My lord,” Simon of Navarre said gently, but Richard had had enough ale to ignore him, something he was usually too wise to do.
“You may sit on my left hand, Alys,” he brayed magnanimously. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you a husband. Though it might help if you could find something better to wear. That gown looks like it came from the charity box at the abbey. Your looks are nothing to brag of, but you could improve matters with a bit of color. Don’t you think so, Grendel?” he demanded.
“I would hesitate to contradict you, my lord,” he murmured. Claire had stopped, unwilling to move closer, and Alys practically barreled into her.
“Well, they can’t all be beauties,” Richard said with a wet belch. “What shall we do with Alys, wizard? Shall we send her back to the convent after all and make her a happy woman?”
“No, my lord. You should give her to me in marriage,” Simon of Navarre said calmly. He could see a flash of something in Alys’s eyes, but whether it was relief or despair, he couldn’t tell.
Richard turned to stare at him. “Good God, man, you can’t really have ‘em both!” he shouted. “The church frowns on bigamy, just ask Brother Jerome.”
“I’m certain you have far greater plans for Lady Claire,” Simon of Navarre said calmly.
For a moment the hall was silent with shock. And then Richard laughed, a hearty bellow that made Lady Alys flinch and put a hand to her pounding head. “By God, you’re right, Simon of Navarre! Take the plain one—she’ll do for you, and once you’re between her legs I doubt you’ll know the difference.”
“My lord Richard,” Brother Jerome spoke up with stern reproof, but Richard just waved an airy hand at him.
“They’ve been in a convent too long, Brother Jerome. It’s about time they knew what women were made for. That’s why God fashioned ‘em, isn’t it? To procreate? I can’t think what other use they could be.”
Simon of Navarre watched with amusement as Brother Jerome struggled to control his dismay. As far as clerics went, Brother Jerome was not a bad man. A little too serious, a bit too eager to heap on the penances on his unruly flock, but not devoid of true Christian charity. Something Simon of Navarre wasn’t always certain even existed.
“Come here, lass,” Richard bellowed at Alys. “You’re a sly one, cutting out your sister, but Grendel’s got the right of it. She’ll do far better, and while any baron of England would be lucky to get a bride of my blood, a pretty one will be that much more welcome.”
“How fortuitous,” Lady Alys said faintly, mounting the dais and taking a seat beside her brother.
“And no more whining about taking the veil, eh? You’ll learn to like Simon of Navarre here well enough. He’s got a sharp tongue, but he isn’t known to beat his horses or his servants. Behave yourself and you’ll do very well.”
She didn’t dare look at him, Simon of Navarre noticed. She kept her eyes downcast like a docile creature. He suspected that she was, in truth, no more docile than her high-strung younger sister. She was just more adept at hiding it.
A clever woman. A danger. But far less dangerous in his bed, where he could keep an eye on her.
Richard swung away from his sister, his quicksilver attention dismissing her as he focused on Simon of Navarre. “There’s but one thing that occupies my mind. Why, my Grendel?” he demanded. “Why take the lesser when I’ve offered you the greater prize?”
He could feel Claire’s curious eyes on him as well, and
