They’d reached the first landing by that time, illuminated by an arrow slit, and acting purely on instinct, she kicked out at him, her leather-slippered foot connecting with hard, solid shin.
It hurt her far more than it must have hurt him, but he uttered a strangled cry and slammed her hard against the stone wall, practically leaning against her in his fury. “Do that again, mistress, and you won’t sit down for a week.”
She searched her memory for a suitable curse. The Convent of Saint Anne the Demure hadn’t been fertile ground for attaining curses, but one emerged when most needed. “Camel-swiving son of a goatherd,” she snarled.
He paused, and she thought he was going to hit her then. Instead he choked back a sound that was infuriatingly close to a laugh. But Sir Thomas du Rhaymer didn’t appear to be a man intimately acquainted with laughter.
He released her, suddenly. “Get back upstairs, my lady,” he said. “And do not make the mistake of kicking me again.”
Her sleeve was wet where he’d held it. She glanced down, and saw the dark red stain of blood on her upper arm. “You’ve hurt me,” she gasped.
He sighed, already weary of her. “Nay, my lady. I was bitten by a she-wolf a while back, and I bled on the sorry bitch.”
She was speechless. No one had ever dared to speak to her in such a manner. She wanted to slap his cool, disapproving face, but she didn’t dare. She wanted to kick him in the vitals, but she doubted she’d survive such an attempt.
“Pig,” she said succinctly, turning her back on him and attempting to climb the stairs. Unfortunately her foot had born the brunt of his shin, and she found herself limping quite badly.
Doubtless he knew what had lamed her, and doubtless he didn’t care. “Vixen,” he replied evenly.
She found her brother in his solar, stretched out in one of the ornately carved chairs, a leg of fowl in his hand, his lips besmeared with grease. He looked none too pleased to see her, but Claire could not have cared less. At least his pet wizard was nowhere to be seen.
“I’ve been attacked, brother!” she announced.
Richard appeared unimpressed. He took another bite. “Anyone interesting?”
“That… that creature you set to guard me!” she cried. “He’s insulted me most grievously.”
“Thomas? I doubt it. He’s hardly a man at all, he’s simply a weapon. I doubt he even realizes what you’ve got beneath your skirts.” He tossed the bone down onto the floor and two huge dogs immediately leapt for it.
Claire flushed at his deliberate crudity. “He put his hands on me. He hurt me.”
“Beat you, did he? I told him he had my leave.”
She was speechless with shock. “I simply wanted to see my horse…”
“You have no horse.”
A chill fear settled over Claire’s heart. “I mistook your words, brother. I mean Arabia, the mare I…”
“She’s not yours, wench. Everything you own belongs to me, including that huge horse. She’s too much for a lady to ride; she’s far better suited to one of my weight. We’ll find you a lady’s mount, something gentle and well-bred. When I’ve decided you’ve settled down enough.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “She’s mine,” she said helplessly.
“You grow tiresome, Claire.” Richard pushed away from the table. “Listen to your elder sister. She’ll explain things to you, since you seem curiously lack-witted this morning. The horse is mine, and you are mine, to do with as I please. Body and soul.” He was standing too close to her, this brother of hers, and he no longer looked bored. His eyes were suddenly hot and possessive. “Do you understand me?”
Claire couldn’t move. She had to be imagining the threat in her brother’s eyes. Sheltered she’d been, but she knew which laws were God’s laws, and the abomination he was hinting at was horrifying. She backed away, slowly. “I understand, my lord.”
“And you won’t give poor Thomas any more trouble, now will you?” he continued in a more jovial voice, as if the sudden, twisted threat had been imaginary. “He has enough to distress him, what with his wanton wife.”
“Wife?” There was no reason why those words should sound so deadly. She hated the brute.
“Quite a beauty, our Gwyneth. Almost as pretty as you, I dare say. Thomas considered himself quite lucky when he married her. I doubt he still thinks so.” He caught Claire’s chin with his rough hand, and his thick fingers stroked her jaw, a slow, lascivious stroke. “He’s the perfect watchdog for you, Claire. He hates women, particularly pretty ones. So don’t push him too far, eh? Have pity on us poor men.”
She looked at her brother with undisguised hatred. Alys had never been able to teach her how to hide her emotions, and they lay in her face for all to see.
“Ah, you hate me, don’t you? Don’t worry, my pet. If you please me, I may grant you that splendid horse as a wedding gift to your husband. Then you may battle with him over which of you will do the riding.” He laughed coarsely, releasing her. He looked behind her. “Take this tiresome wench away, will you, Grendel? I’ve had enough aggravation for the day. You made a wise choice, you know. This one is pretty enough, but tedious in the extreme.”
She hadn’t realized that Lord Simon of Navarre had arrived. She wondered how long he’d been watching. “It would be my honor to escort Lady Claire back to her sister,” he said in his rich, deep voice.
“I can find my way myself,” she said furiously, running from the room in a flurry of skirts before they could stop her.
But as she ran, she thought she heard the devil’s laughter following her.
Chapter Five
Alys was not made for idleness. She spent the morning in the room she shared with Claire and their serving women, stitching at a piece of fancy work,
