“I expect you will,” he agreed solemnly. “And why would you be marrying me? For my strong right arm?”
“Of course not,” she said briskly, picking twigs out of her gown. “I’ve had a long time to think about it. I love you because you can’t resist me, no matter how much you disapprove of me. I love you because you’re not afraid of my brother, you’re not afraid of the wizard, and you’re not afraid of my frowns. I have a thousand reasons as well for deciding that only you will suit me, but I think that most of all I’m marrying you for your pretty face.”
He threw back his head and laughed, the sound ringing through the forest, and she looked at him in shock. “I’ve never heard you laugh before,” she said ingenuously. “You should do it more often.”
“You’ll have to ride pillion with me. Paladin is strong enough for the extra weight, and I’m in no mind to see if that devil mare of yours decides to return.”
“We’re in a hurry?”
“We need a priest, my lady. You may have no care for your immortal soul, but I’m not so lax about such matters. I’ll have you with the church’s blessing and not before.”
She looked at him, and there was a look in her eyes that in any other but an innocent he would have called pure desire. “Let’s find a priest,” she said, starting for his horse.
They dragged her from her sleep in the midst of the darkness, rough hands pulling at her, yanking her out of the cage. She could hear Madlen’s useless protests as they hurried her away, and she wondered if they were going to kill her now, without further delay? If she weren’t so weary she would probably care.
They took her to the magnificent tent that had been erected, one knight that she didn’t recognize pushing her through the opening, his gloved hand painful on her upper arm. She tripped, sprawling on the thick carpet, and for a moment she kept her head down, keeping her hatred a secret.
“There’s my little sister now!” Richard boomed in a cheerful voice.
She raised her head. Richard reclined against a vast pile of pillows. His beard was stained with grease, his face red from wine or heat, and he watched her from chill, evil eyes devoid of feeling. She didn’t bother to look at the man beside him, knowing it was useless. Simon of Navarre would give nothing away. He would simply stare at her as if she were an insignificant insect.
Changing her mind, she allowed herself the luxury of glancing his way, just to solidify her rage, when the man who’d brought her to the tent gave her a rough shove with his foot, halfway to a kick.
Simon surged to his feet, and the man fell back with a muttered oath. “Touch her again,” Simon said in a soft, silken voice, “and I’ll feed your entrails to the crows.”
Richard bellowed with laughter as the knight stumbled from the tent, away from Simon’s golden eyes. “You’re possessive of the wench, Grendel,” he said, belching. “I wonder why?”
Simon sat again, and the furious glow in his eyes faded to watchfulness. “I have a dislike of seeing helpless creatures abused,” he said mildly.
“Since when?” Richard didn’t bother waiting for an answer, leaning forward and fixing his piggy little eyes on his half sister. “Are you ready to confess, Alys?”
“Confess to what?”
“The murder of my lady wife, of course. Unless you have other crimes to confess as well.”
“I had no reason to harm Lady Hedwiga,” she said helplessly.
“So you say. I care not for your motive. I have three servants who saw you with her. That will more than suffice for His Majesty.” There was a faint note of ridicule in his voice as he mentioned the king.
“I didn’t…”
“You know what they do to women convicted of murder, don’t you? They bury them alive. It takes a while, and they do tend to scream, at least until the dirt fills their mouths and weighs down their bodies.”
She stared at her brother in horror. “No,” she whispered.
“The executioner usually covers the head last. So the criminal has time to think on her crime and the justice being meted out.” He took another gulp of wine.
“I didn’t kill Lady Hedwiga.”
“I say you did. And no one will dispute me, isn’t that the truth of it, Grendel?”
“Leave her be.” Simon’s voice was sharp and cool, and Richard turned to stare at him in mock dismay.
” ‘Leave her be?’ ” he echoed. “I swear you have a fondness for the girl.”
“You aren’t going to have her killed, and tormenting her is needlessly cruel.”
Richard’s thick lips curled in a smile. “Cruelty isn’t needless,” he said. “I enjoy it.”
Alys rose with deceptive grace, thankful that her long skirts hid the trembling in her cramped legs. “If you have no further questions of me, brother,” she used the term with deliberation, “then I would prefer to return to my cage.”
“Just one, my pet. I must confess you’re hostage for Simon’s good behavior. He insists that you’re an annoyance that he has no use for, but I find I cannot quite believe him.”
Alys darted a shocked glance at him, but as usual Simon’s expression gave away nothing at all.
“What I wish to know, dear Alys, is did he deflower you?”
She didn’t blush. She could keep her own face equally emotionless. “Why would you wish to know?”
“Well, there’s no telling how this little drama will end. You may die at the hands of an executioner, or Simon might very well end up with his head parting company with his body. Anything is possible. You’re a commodity, Alys, a useful one, but no man wants another man’s brat to inherit his lands. I want to make sure there’s no bun in the oven if I choose to wed you elsewhere.”
“I’m already married in the eyes of God.”
“If he was incapable of fathering
