One of the serving women at the keep had burned herself quite badly, and Alys had seen that the skin was scorched and reddened. Sister Agnes had always sworn on the efficacy of spiders’ webs applied to the wound, and certainly Summersedge Keep was more than adequately supplied with the like. With lady Hedwiga on religious retreat, there was no one to oversee the running of the place, and only the servants’ justified fear of Lord Richard kept the meals halfway decent.
She suspected Richard had no interest in having her take over the day-to-day task of running the castle in the absence of his wife. He would probably just as soon hand her over to his pet monster and have done with it.
She sat back in the chair, letting her needlework drop in her lap. She had a stay of execution—she should be grateful for that much. The wizard would court her, of all the absurd ideas, and the wedding would take place in due time. She couldn’t imagine any space of time that would allay her fears. If anything, time would only allow her dread to grow.
She also couldn’t begin to imagine that tall, intimidating creature approaching her with sonnets and posies, with declarations and requests for a token of her colors. She couldn’t imagine him with a sword—a wizard’s staff seemed far more likely. She couldn’t imagine him in bed with her…
She rose quickly, shutting off that line of thought before it could lead to murkier places. She knew what went on between men and women, and she accepted the fact that the same thing would happen to her, whether she wished it or not. She simply hasn’t expected it to happen with a man possessed of supernatural powers.
She wouldn’t think about it, or him. Instead she would gather her soft leather pouch of healing herbs and go in search of the serving woman. Or someone who needed her to do something. Her own company was not the most cheering in the world—she desperately needed distraction.
She passed Claire on the broad stone staircase that led down into the kitchens, and her mood didn’t lighten. Her sister looked as furious as only Claire could get, with bright red flags of anger in her cheeks, her golden hair awry, her green eyes blazing. She looked more beautiful than ever, of course, a fact Alys accepted wryly.
“Where were you, dear one?” she asked.
“Being assaulted!” Claire snapped. “I can’t bear it here, Alys! He’s taken Arabia away from me, and he’s put this hideous brute in charge of me. You too, for that matter. I shall fling myself from the battlements, I swear I shall, and then he’ll regret his wickedness.”
“Calm, my pet. Be calm,” Alys said, catching her sister’s arm and forcing her to halt her furious dash. “Take a deep breath and explain yourself. What hideous brute? Who’s taken Arabia away? And no, you are not going to throw yourself from the battlements, and you know it. It would damn your soul for eternity, and no day’s annoyance would be worth the price.”
“It goes beyond annoyance!” Claire cried. “It’s Richard! He has taken my horse from me, and says she was never mine to begin with.”
“In fact, love, he’s right. We own nothing that isn’t due to his generosity.”
“I can’t lose Arabia, Alys.” Claire’s face crumpled, her furious bravado vanishing. “I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”
“Be patient. Richard is one of those men who like a fight. The more you argue with him, the more determined he’ll be to spite you. Be docile and he’ll lose interest.”
“I thought you hadn’t seen him since you were a child?”
“It didn’t take me long to realize the kind of man he is. Besides, we’ve heard rumors all our lives. Richard the Fair is the lord of the castle and all the surrounding demesnes, not to mention his holdings throughout England, and he makes certain all know his power. To defy his will is to court disaster. Now who is the hideous brute? I trust you aren’t referring to my future husband?”
Claire looked momentarily abashed. “Certainly not. I’m certain Lord Simon will be an excellent… er…”
“Lying is a sin,” said Alys. Claire shut her mouth, unwilling to summon another word, and Alys gave her a brisk hug. “Go upstairs and change your clothes. Your gown is sadly soiled. What did you run into?” She reached up and brushed at the rust-colored stains on Claire’s tight sleeve.
“A barbarian,” Claire replied. “Someone who makes Grendel appear warm and kindly.”
“With our kind of luck, he’ll be the one Richard chooses to marry you.”
Alys watched with fascination as Claire’s face paled. “Not likely,” she said briskly. “He’s already wed to some poor woman. At least I’m safe from that. He’s to guard us, both of us, Alys. And a meaner, more brutish creature I’ve yet to meet. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t murder us in our beds.”
“You cannot be serious!”
“Can’t I?” Claire said tartly. “Wait till he accosts you with his threats and ugly visage. Sir Thomas du Rhaymer is a nightmare come true.”
Alys shook her head. “Go lie down, Claire, and stop babbling. If you want I’ll brew you an herb posset to…”
“No!” Claire said with a violent shudder. “I need to be left alone. Just a few minutes’ peace, please, love.”
Alys nodded. “You’ll feel better afterwards. And if I run into your hated Sir Thomas I’ll give him a swift kick.”
“You can try,” Claire said
