He had a grudging, distrusting fondness for women. For their soft bodies and sweet sighs, for their gentleness and appalling resilience. If women had fought the Fourth Crusade, they would have taken Jerusalem again, by wit rather than by force. They wouldn’t have been distracted by the rich booty of Constantinople into forgetting their holy mission.
Not that he considered women particularly holy. They were practical, of the earth rather than the spirit, and he’d enjoyed them as such. Gypsies and countesses, whores and Saracens, peasants and even queens, they were all sisters in their delightful flesh.
Lady Alys was far more complicated. If she was earthy, it was disguised by shyness. And it wasn’t merely his body that was distracted by the thought of her. She seemed to be distracting his mind and spirit as well, a dangerous state of affairs for a man who lived by his wits.
If he were any other man he would go to his priest for confession and absolution. He would ask for strength to avoid temptation.
But he was a man who liked temptation, who enjoyed resisting it almost as much as he enjoyed giving in to it. Lady Alys was temptation personified, and letting her leave his workshop, the healing salve safe in her little leather pouch, was disturbingly difficult.
He had potions he could have plied her with. Herbs to loosen her tongue and her morals and her gown, spices to make her need him. As he had suddenly, unexpectedly begun to need her.
It was ridiculous, of course. A stray fancy, borne of indolence. Richard the Fair had yet to apprise him of the full scope of his ambitions, though it didn’t take an unholy wizard to guess where Richard’s sights were set. He was a greedy man, unlikely to settle for anything less than the crown itself. And he would want his pet monster, his Grendel, to help get it for him.
He would want to tie Simon to him first, by the marriage vows. Since he seemed in no hurry to see Simon wed to his studious half-sister, then he must also be in no hurry to make his move.
Simon could be patient as well. Up to a point. He doubted he was going to wait for Richard’s sanction to bed his shy bride. And he wasn’t necessarily going to wait for the church’s solemn rites.
He and Brother Jerome kept their distance from each other. The good monk knew when he was outmatched, and if it came to a battle of power, Brother Jerome would be banished from the comfortable household of Richard the Fair and the wicked wizard would triumph.
Both of them were careful to ensure that it didn’t come to that point. No mention was made of the fact that Simon did not attend confession, whereas even Richard received absolution for the occasional minor sin he happened to recall. And Simon made very certain he didn’t interfere with Brother Jerome’s duties.
But Brother Jerome would expect to officiate at the wedding of Richard the Fair’s sister and his chief advisor. Confession and penance and absolution would be a necessity. If Brother Jerome were given the chance, he would probably insist that a good scourging would cleanse Simon’s soul.
Simon much preferred his soul dark and unrepentant. But he would wed Lady Alys of Summersedge Keep, with all the pomp, dignity, and rite that Richard and the Holy Church would demand. The power that an alliance with the House of de Lancie would bring was indisputable, and he could mouth the hypocritical words if need be.
He’d claim his reward first, however. A taste, perhaps, or the full course if he desired it. He would feast on Alys’s small, soft, plump body, a feast of the senses, and when she took her vows she would be so besotted she would be no danger to him whatsoever.
She was afraid of horses. She was afraid of him, even though she was determined not to show it. Brought up in the strict confines of a convent, she was most likely terrified of men’s bodies, and of what men expected of a woman.
He would calm her fears. Of horses, not of him. Her barely controlled nervousness gave him an edge that he wouldn’t readily relinquish.
When he finally got around to taking her body she would be well beyond fear. She would be his, body and soul. And his claiming would be his triumph.
And hers.
Chapter Seven
The evening meals, Alys decided, were the worst. As in most great houses, dinner was served in the midst of the day, when work was still in progress. Richard would keep his magician by his side in close conversation, and Alys was left to her own devices, a pleasant enough occurrence. Claire was seated on the far side of her brother and his advisor, so there was no way the two of them could converse, and one of Lord Richard’s elderly knights usually kept Alys company, if such it could be called. Sir Hector was more interested in his ale and his trencher than polite conversation, and Alys had to move fast if she were to get her share of food. Despite the deficiencies in the housekeeping during Lady Hedwiga’s absence, the table was a good one, and Alys had no strong desire to share her meal with a gluttonous, drunken old soldier.
Unfortunately my lord Simon did not seem to eat at these lavish banquets. No shared trencher of bread was placed before him, though his goblet was filled with wine, and he seemed more interested in observing others and conferring with his lord than in sustaining his body.
But the evening meal was far worse. Richard was less interested in his duties as lord of the castle and much more concerned with wine and whatever young woman seemed to have attracted his fancy. As far as Alys could tell there were any number of them, well-bred, well-dressed and very beautiful, who earned his favor. It was a wonder to Alys, with the strict notions
