скачать книгу бесплатно
With admirable discretion, Belle opened the solar door and cleared her throat.
Huntley looked back and forth between the women, obviously wondering how far he should push his luck. “Very well then, Countess. I will leave you, for now.” He smiled graciously, though his eyes remained lust filled and greedy. “My offer still stands, however. I would have you think on it.”
With a curt nod, he vacated the solar, leaving Elysia irritated but enlivened. If nothing else, Huntley’s visit helped dissipate her sadness.
Soon she would go home. If her moon cycle proved as well timed as usual, she would have less than a fortnight to remain in Brittany, and then she would leave all remnants of her ill-fated marriage behind.
“You say Huntley departed her chamber well after nightfall?” Leon de Grace asked Conon for the second time, as if oblivious to Conon’s desire to speak no more of it.
“Aye.” Conon swung his sword in a wide arc, narrowly missing de Grace’s head as they practiced in the vast courtyard outside Vannes Keep the following morn.
“Did he look well pleased?” De Grace darted a blow and backhanded Conon’s blade, relieving him of his sword.
A string of unholy curses erupted from Conon’s throat as he stood at his friend’s mercy. “What do you mean by your question?”
Grinning, Leon stood back, his once vicious sword becoming a harmless staff in his hand. “You are obviously annoyed to think Huntley had some sort of tryst with your uncle’s widow. Are you not?”
Conon stalked to retrieve his blade, angry with himself for allowing de Grace to best him. Conon was ten years younger. And faster. And stronger. But he would never find wealth on the battlefield with that kind of performance. He had to focus on something besides Lady Elysia, damn it. “Not annoyed. Just insulted for my uncle’s memory.”
“Well you need not be if the man did not look well pleased, you see? A man who leaves a beautiful young woman’s room past nightfall is only having a tryst if he has a very self-satisfied look upon his face.”
Dusting the dirt from his blade, Conon tested it in a series of quick swings. “He did not look pleased, but neither did he look like a man rebuffed. Perhaps he is making headway with the countess.”
Conon waited for his friend to respond. When he received no answer, he turned to look upon him, and witnessed a troubled countenance. “What is it?”
De Grace stared down at the wildflowers and grass at his feet. “It is nothing, only—”
“What?” Conon felt a chill in his soul, anticipating an unwelcome answer.
“It merely occurred to me how much Lady Elysia has to gain by having a child to show for her marriage. I hope she has not taken it into her head to conceive one at all costs, even if it means taking Huntley as…”
Leon’s words died as a feminine voice swirled through the air on a musical note, light and sweet. Both men turned to see Countess Elysia Rougemont St. Simeon stroll out the keep gates and onto the wide path that led to the garden. She had a flat basket slung over one arm, the cutting knife inside it bouncing carelessly in time to her step. Her dark hair was caught midway down her back with a limp green ribbon. She wore a matching linen surcoat, richly embroidered with all manner of flowers and bees.
“Morning, Countess,” Leon called, halting her in her tracks along with her song.
With a polite curtsy, she waved away a raven tendril that escaped the rest of her hair and blushed a soft shade of pink. Her quiet song, her light step, softened her usual cool reserve.
Something contracted painfully inside Conon’s chest just to look at her. Could one so lovely be ruthlessly plotting against him?
“Good morning.” Her voice sounded breathless and warm, as alluring as her sweet song.
Not bothering to consider his actions, he approached her, watching her eyes grow wider with each step he took. “How long have you been receiving late-night guests in the privacy of your chambers, Countess? Only since your husband died, or has this been an ongoing indulgence?”
All signs of pleasant charm evaporated at his words. Spine straightening, she transformed into a worthy adversary before his eyes.
“I’ll thank you to give me a key to my room, my lord, so I can prevent fortune-hunting knights from forcing their attentions upon me at will.” The voice that had sounded so melodic and sweet stung him with its sharp bite. “As long as I am under your roof, it is your duty to protect me.”
As if she needed protection. Conon had never met a more capable woman. He found it difficult to believe she could not fend off one boorish knight while in the safety of her own home. “Of course, my lady. It must be difficult to stave off so many poor men.”
His barb found its mark. He could see the wound flash briefly in her eyes before she recovered herself, but not before he felt a moment’s regret for his temper.
“I hold you responsible if he gets in again.” In a swirl of skirts and swinging basket, she marched down the path to the garden.
Leon emitted a low whistle through closed teeth. “Tougher than she looks, is she not?”
“Almost makes you wonder if she is not tough enough to poison a lecherous old man to spare herself a life beside him.”
“It is a challenge to read the quiet ones,” Leon observed as they stared after her.
“You are an expert all of the sudden?”
“Aye. I know plenty about women. Why do you think I’m not a married man?”
“No luck, perhaps?” Conon watched Elysia bend toward a crop of flowers and apply her cutting knife to the stems with forceful swipes.
Leon ignored his words and pointed in Elysia’s direction instead. “You see what I mean? She is imagining that poor bloom is your head at this very moment. Women are dangerous creatures.”
Conon scraped a protective hand over his throat. Perhaps the countess warranted a bit more of his attention. What did he really know about her other than that she had strolled into his uncle’s life and convinced him to wed, and now she would benefit tidily for her efforts? Despite what Leon said, Conon also knew she didn’t have much trouble speaking her mind. And she had a talent for making money wherever she went.
But he needed to know more. The future of Vannes might rest in her hands. In her womb.
Yes, he’d do well to keep a better eye on this woman. And damn the consequences, the idea pleased him.
Chapter Five
T he moon had risen in nearly all its phases since her wedding, and still Elysia remained at Vannes. She had passed the days by working in the garden and the herb-drying room. Her most recent project had been to refresh the latter, and now Elysia allowed herself a moment to enjoy the restored order.
All forms of plants and flowers hung in neat rows from overhead beams that ran the length of the room. The mortar and pestles were spotless, carefully positioned at regular intervals along the plank table. Swept clean of leaves and debris, the floor was covered with sweet-smelling rush mats woven with dried herbs.
As the satisfaction of a job well done faded, however, she realized there were no more tasks left that required her tending. She had gone through the keep systematically over the past two weeks, lending eager assistance wherever she could.
Elysia hated idle hands.
Now her only choices for activity were reading or sewing, both of which were too passive for the nervous energy that danced through her these last few days.
Her flux had arrived.
She had possessed the proof that she would not bear the future Count of Vannes for three days, but found she could not delicately broach the matter to Conon. Though she longed to return to Nevering and her linen trade, she decided she would have to wait another fortnight or so until he brought up the topic once again. Her monthly courses were too private a subject for polite conversation.
And, oddly enough, she had mixed feelings about leaving Vannes and its new lord. As much as Conon could make her angry, Elysia had also seen hints of his quick wit and clever mind. After their disagreement about Sir Huntley, Conon had wordlessly provided her with a key to her bedchamber, allowing her to lock herself inside each night. In doing so, Conon had become more of a protector than her assigned guardian.
Opting for a quick walk around the courtyard to enjoy the warm spring day, Elysia hurried out of the drying chamber. The courtyard buzzed with other people spending the day out of doors. Too late, she spied the one person she had been avoiding.
“The gods must smile upon me today, lady,” John Huntley greeted her a moment after she stepped into the bright sunshine.
Fighting the urge to hide in the cool darkness of the drying room, Elysia hugged her arms around herself and calculated the distance to her rooms at the keep.
Too far.
“There is but one God, sir,” she murmured distractedly. “And He smiles not upon those who say otherwise.”
Undeterred, he plucked up her hand to plant an impudent kiss upon the palm. “He sends me you to guide my erring foot onto the true path, lady, so I am grateful.”
Elysia yanked her hand away, not bothering to hide her disgust. “I have not been sent to you, Sir Huntley, I assure you. Now if you will excuse me, I must—”
She made a move to sidestep him, but he blocked her path with the breadth of his body.
“Perhaps you should give a thought to your future, Lady Elysia, and anger me no further.”
He backed her into the trunk of a lofty oak and narrowed his gaze, daring her to gainsay him. Yet this was no idle challenge. Elysia read the threat in his eyes.
“Have I angered you?” Rethinking her approach, Elysia struggled to adopt a more pleasant demeanor, idly plucking a nearby daisy as if his answer were of no consequence. “I only mean to return to my duties. I must say I find you a rather intimidating companion, Sir Huntley.” Forcing a smile, she tried to peer around Huntley to search the courtyard for Conon. A small quake of fear tripped through her when she saw no sign of him.
Huntley grinned in appreciation. “Intimidation is what being a knight is all about, Countess. Now if only you’d grant me one last favor, I’d be on my way.”
Elysia waited, her dislike for the man growing with every breath she took.
Without warning, he seized her arms and pulled her against him, planting wet lips upon hers. The scent of toil, horse and man burned her nostrils. His tongue probed her lips for entry.
Elysia fought back the wave of nausea that roiled, and pushed at him with all her might.
Oblivious, her attacker bent her backward more forcefully, increasing the pressure of his thumbs into the softness of her upper arms. Though her determination to keep her mouth shut prevented her from screaming, she pounded on his shoulders with as much force as her paralyzed arms would allow.
“Huntley.” A sharp male voice gave her captor pause.
Leon de Grace called across the courtyard, where several other onlookers gawked, greedy for morsels of gossip. Where had they been moments ago when she needed assistance?
Fear, grown sharp and unreasonable, propelled Elysia’s hand forward to connect with stinging clarity upon Huntley’s cheek before she ran across the courtyard, stumbling over a jutting tree root on her way to the stable.
Heart pummeling the walls of her chest in a jerky rhythm, she threw a saddle on the small beast designated for her use. Impervious to the heavy leather or the dirty stain it made across her gown, she struggled to tighten the strap around the horse’s lean girth.
From the courtyard, she could hear de Grace calling her name. She ignored him. Nothing would make her face John Huntley or his odious advances now.
Tearing from the stable with the mare partially bridled and as nervous as her rider, Elysia traveled west from Vannes with all the speed the horse could muster. She rode until the erratic drumming of her heart settled into a more even rhythm, eventually keeping time with the horse’s hoofbeats.
Huntley wanted to wed her for her money. As the late Count of Vannes had. As other men most certainly would. She was a rich woman with a fat dowry, and would no doubt be a target for greedy males across England and throughout Europe. Once again, she would have no say in her husband, but would be pawned off like any other valuable battle prize.
The horse cantered through unfamiliar countryside, carrying Elysia from a place of fear to an exhilarating view of the sea. Blue waves sparkled in the late-spring sunlight, beckoning Elysia closer to the rocky beach.
Slowing her horse’s pace, she allowed the little mare to pick her footing over the final crest before the shore. Calmed by the time and distance between her and Huntley, Elysia realized the foolishness of her actions.
She should not have run. Confronting him would only be more difficult now. It would have been better to contend with him boldly and accuse him to his face. Leon de Grace would have spoken to the knight about his aggression.
Now, Huntley would probably weave a false tale about her in her absence, perhaps saying she ran off because she was embarrassed at being discovered.
The swine.
It occurred to her that she wasted no time slapping Huntley after his advances today, but she never thought to raise her hand against Conon the day he kissed her in the garden.
Why was it the man was never far from her thoughts? He lurked in the corners of her mind like a shadow in the twilight. It seemed he followed close behind her at all times.
Perhaps it was merely a matter of his good looks. Despite his penchant for thinking the worst of her, there was no denying the fact that the man was physically beautiful. Elysia had played hostess to vast numbers of knights in two countries, and Conon outshone them all.
But surely she was not so shallow of thought that Conon’s uncommon handsomeness caused her to permit his kiss when she viciously repelled John Huntley’s? Conon possessed some sense of honor, at least, though she did not know that the first day in the garden. And Conon did not maul her with his hands, as Huntley did. Conon was—
Right there. Not even a league distant from her.
Out of nowhere, Conon St. Simeon now stood beside his horse ahead of her, strolling companionably along the shoreline with the dappled gray mare.
“Elysia?” he shouted from his spot on the shore.
Waving her hand, she tamped down a sudden eagerness to join him. She told herself it was merely because she knew she would be safe in Conon’s company. Carefully, she picked her way down the last rise to the sea, all the while assuring herself this man was no different than any other man. He craved wealth and power above anything else.
She would do well to remember that.
“Good day, Countess.” His grin disarmed her.
“You needn’t make a pretense of respect to me, sir, and there is no one else around to impress with your noble attempt at courtesy. You may call me by my given name.”
“I couldn’t.”
She laughed at his feigned expression of shock. “You did when you saw me on the hill just now.”
“A slip of the tongue.” He reached to help her from the mare. “Although perhaps you could be equally disrespectful and call me Conon.”
She slid from the horse and into his arms. “Perhaps I will, Conon.” She only meant to rankle him with the bold familiarity, but instead the name hung heavy and warm in the air between them before he released her.
Taking in her rumpled gown and disheveled hair, he frowned. “What is this?”
He brushed from her sleeve a dirty mark the heavy saddle left when she’d hoisted it over her horse’s back. The warmth of his fingers pierced the light layers of linen. “Nothing, I—”
“You ride too far by yourself, lady. I thought you were cleaning the herb room today. What brings you here?”
The cold grip of anger tightened her throat as she recalled the embrace that sent her running from home like a scolded child. Huntley’s actions humiliated her. “Nothing I wish to speak of.”
She could feel Conon’s assessing gaze upon her as he secured her horse to a nearby tree.
“Very well, Countess. You are here, and so am I.” He bowed low before her and Elysia saw him transform from shrewd observer to carefree courtier before her eyes.
“Let us make the most of this glorious day, shall we?” He offered her his arm and gestured to the path before them. The beach.
Ignoring the proffered arm, she hesitated. “You and I?”
“You would rather return to Vannes?”
The thought made her stomach pitch. “Nay.”
“Then I will share with you the magnificent view.” He pulled her forward despite her indecision.
