Just as she had let Alys be wed to a creature of darkness. She had let Alys sacrifice herself for her, and at that moment she felt completely unworthy of the trouble.
She heard the rumble of thunder, and Arabia sidestepped nervously. That was one weakness shared by her sister and her horse—a strong dislike, even a fear, of thunderstorms. Claire could never understand why. She reveled in the wildness of nature, hungered for the strong wind to toss her hair, the rain to soak her skin.
Though to be entirely honest, she wasn’t in the mood for it at that particular moment. Right then she would have been more than happy to be safe inside the east tower of Summersedge Keep, with Alys to keep her company and Sir Thomas to keep the monsters at bay.
But Thomas had deserted her, when he swore he would keep her safe. He’d left her for his faithless wife, and Claire knew she was impossibly selfish and evil to begrudge a dead woman that small dignity.
But she did. She wanted Thomas to watch over her, she wanted him to keep her safe, she wanted him to… she wanted him to… She wanted him.
It was that shockingly simple. She wanted a man she could never have, a man who despised her and thought she was his personal path to eternal damnation. She wanted a poor knight, who didn’t want her and couldn’t have her even if he changed his mind. Her brother would see to that.
Her brother would see to a great many other things, Claire reminded herself, and that was why she had run. She couldn’t save Alys, she could only save herself.
The Convent of Saint Anne the Demure was somewhere on the other side of this vast forest. Alys had said they would not welcome her, but Alys didn’t know the force of Claire’s charm when she chose to exert it. Even the stern Mother Dominica had been helpless before Claire’s practiced, wistful smile and huge, tear-filled eyes.
They’d take her in all right, particularly when she told them what her brother had attempted. They would keep her safe, as they always had, and eventually the wizard would tire of Alys and she would join her. And everything would be as it was, but safer.
Claire had lost her taste for adventuring. She no longer wanted to run through fields, to have men fall at her feet. She was content to live a chaste life, as long as it meant Richard couldn’t get anywhere near her. If she couldn’t have Thomas, she didn’t want anyone else.
It was growing colder. It was too early for snow, but there was a bite in the air that cut through her thin wool gown. She hadn’t been able to bring anything when she’d left—Madlen was simple and accepting but even she might have grown suspicious if Claire had gone for a simple walk loaded down with cloaks and extra food.
They said this forest was haunted. She didn’t want to believe it, but each rustle of leaves, each tiny scuffling made her chilled skin shiver in fear. She was tired, and it was starting to rain, icy little pellets that stung her skin. She needed to find shelter, someplace warm and dry until the storm passed.
She finally settled for. a small clearing in the woods. Two of the ancient trees had toppled to make a rude shelter, and she nudged Arabia forward to investigate, the reins held lightly in her hand.
The crackle of lightning was shockingly close, the heavy rumble of the thunder shaking the ground beneath her. Arabia let out a panicked whinny, rearing into the air.
Claire hadn’t been thrown from a horse in over three years, despite her recklessness, but the day had been long, her emotions were raw, and her concentration shattered. She could see the ground hurtling up at her, the crossed branches of the fallen tree, and she reached out her hands to shield herself, to break her fall, but it was too late, she was falling, trapped amid the branches, and Arabia was gone, deserting her in a mindless panic.
Claire lay amid the branches, struggling for the breath that had been knocked from her body. It took endless moments for it to return, and with it came a sudden, blinding pain in her arm. She bit her lip, forcing herself to stay conscious, but the rain grew heavier, colder, and all she could do was crawl through the maze of branches and huddle beneath the uprooted trunks of the huge old trees.
Another crash of lightning, and Claire let out a muffled shriek, pulling herself into a tight little ball of pain and cold and misery. She was protected from the rain, but just barely, and with her luck some ferocious wild animal would stumble upon her and have her for dinner.
She didn’t care. She had never been more miserable in her life, and worst of all was that she couldn’t even feel sorry for herself. She had brought it on herself, she had done nothing to help her sister, and she deserved all the misery that had come her way.
She would have given anything to see the proud, disapproving Sir Thomas again. She would throw herself at his feet, beg his forgiveness, beg him to rescue her, and promise to spend the rest of her life chaste, docile, and holy. She would have her head shorn, dress in sackcloth and ashes instead of her fine clothes, and walk barefoot to the convent if only she could get out of this mess.
But there was no one to save her this time. No strong, handsome knight, no willing sister. Even her horse had deserted her. She cradled her hand in her lap, pulled her knees up to her chest, and silently began to cry.
Richard was waiting for him. He sat alone in his solar, a mug of strong ale in his hand. He looked up when
