Hidden Honor

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“No! She’s half a foot shorter and a great deal rounder than I am. And she hates me—she’d probably drown me as I tried to wash myself. Any servant girl with reasonable height will do. She could probably get the blood out of my dress and use it for her own, and while worn, the cloth is quite fine. I oversaw the weaving of it.”

“You have all sorts of hidden talents, my lady,” he said. “But I think I won’t travel with a lass dressed like a serving wench. It would be bad for my reputation. And no, you needn’t point out that my reputation is beyond saving. Dame Joanna is of a fair height, though not so lanky as you, and while her hips are more generous than yours, you both seem equally well-equipped in the chest. Her clothes should do, and be more suitable.”

She was beyond objecting at this casual appraisal of her physical attributes. After a moment all she could manage was a faint protest. “Lord Owen ordered her to wait for him.”

“I had the impression that Dame Joanna would be just as happy to be excused from whatever Owen of Wakebryght has in mind.” He rose, looming over her, and a belated sense of propriety forced her to try to scramble to her feet.

It was a waste of time. He put one big, strong hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down on the bench. In the two days she had known him he had touched her more than any other man. His hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment, and she must have imagined the slight squeeze that was almost a surreptitious caress.

“Behave yourself, Lady Elizabeth. Prince William is not known for his patience. Watch your tongue when others are around, or you’ll force me to do something I’d rather not do.”

And what would that be? she thought, but she managed to keep silent. “Good girl,” he murmured in an approving voice. And to her utter astonishment he leaned down and gave her a soft kiss on her lips. He was gone before she had time to react.

She touched her mouth. No one had kissed her mouth since Thomas had experimented, and she hadn’t found his passionate attempts to be particularly stirring. Whereas Prince William’s chaste salute…

No, his kiss was anything but chaste, despite its brevity and softness. For such a brief, offhand kiss it carried with it a wealth of suggestion, and Elizabeth could feel an odd tightness in her stomach. Lack of food, she told herself firmly. And if Prince William had no interest in the women of Wakebryght Castle, then he’d hardly deign to waste his energies on a sharp-tongued woman on her way to becoming a nun.

Still, it would have been reassuring if there’d been at least one other woman traveling to Saint Anne’s with them. Someone to bear her company and keep her out of the prince’s clutches. His interest in her made no sense—it was simply lack of anything else to occupy his mind, when in truth he should be thinking about the error of his ways. Perhaps Thomas’s mother would be so overjoyed that she both had a grandson and that Elizabeth was leaving forever that she might spare a serving woman to accompany them.

She leaned back again and closed her eyes. She could still feel his hand on her shoulder. Still feel his mouth brushing against hers. Sweet Jesus, the sooner she was locked away in the chaste safety of the convent the happier she’d be.

She must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew it was full daylight, her entire body was cold and stiff, and Dame Joanna had returned, freshly washed and coiffed herself, carrying an armload of rich clothing. “I’ve had them fill a bath for you, my lady,” she said. “Your prince requested I bring you something to wear, but most of my garments are unsuitable for an innocent such as yourself. Neither are they particularly useful for long journeys on horseback, but I’ve done what I can.” She tossed the armload of clothes onto the table, then turned to face Elizabeth.

Once more Elizabeth was stunned by her beauty. Dame Joanna was possibly a full ten years older than she was, with a mature, elegant body and a sad, wise smile that didn’t quite reach her beautiful blue eyes. Her hair was a golden blond, rippling down her back beneath her simple headdress, and her cheeks and lips were touched with a color at odds with her pale, unblemished skin. She smiled, and even her teeth were perfect. “You look half asleep,” she observed. “The prince wishes to leave by midday, and the monks are already grumbling about the delay. That gives you an hour. If it’s not enough, I can tell them you’re unwell.”

“And then they’d leave without me. Abandon me here with Lady Isobel.” Elizabeth couldn’t control her shudder. “She hates me.”

“She’s never been overly fond of me, either. Lucky for her I’m to accompany you to Saint Anne’s.”

Elizabeth jerked her head so abruptly that she slammed it against the hard stone wall. She rose, rubbing her scalp. “You are?”

“Prince William decided you needed another female along to keep you company. I’m to spend two months at the convent, repenting of my sins, and then return to start sinning once more.” She shrugged, seemingly untouched by it all. “I’m just as happy to get away from Owen for a bit. He’s fast and rough and far too demanding. A brief respite from the needs of men would be a blessing.”

For a moment Elizabeth was unsure what she should say. The company of another woman was a gift she hadn’t dared hope for, and from the moment she met Dame Joanna she’d felt an odd kinship with her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t subject anyone to the dangers of the notorious Dark Prince. At least Owen of Wakebryght had never killed a woman. “Are you certain there would be no…new demands from our escort?” she asked.

Joanna moved behind her and began helping her pull off the bloodstained gown. “I confess it was my first thought, and warming Prince William’s bed would be less of a chore than most, despite the danger. He’s a very handsome man.”

“He’s killed two women. At least.”

Joanna shrugged. “There are worse ways to die,” she said philosophically. “But in truth, Prince William has no interest in me as a lover, nor is he bringing me for the other men, if I am to believe what he said. And oddly enough, I do. I’m there for your sake and nothing else.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Elizabeth muttered as she pulled off the plain worsted dress that was little better than a servant’s garb. “I’ve yet to meet anyone who cared about my well-being. Besides, I’ve been doing my best to keep out of his way. He’s the one who keeps appearing wherever I am.”

Dame Joanna laughed softly. “I think it makes perfect sense. You’re very young, aren’t you? You’ll understand when you’re older. Though if you’re immured in a convent perhaps you might never need to learn.”

She helped slip the gown off Elizabeth’s shoulders, so that she stood there only in her plain linen chemise. “Your father did dress you like a serving maid, didn’t he?” she said. “I think you’ll find my chemise a little more to your liking. The fabrics are very fine.”

“I shouldn’t be taking your clothes,” she protested as Joanna herded her toward an adjoining room and the tub filled with steaming, scented water.

“I have more than I need, and I can easily acquire anything I want. Besides, in truth I have little need of clothing in my chosen profession. Don’t blush, little one,” she added in amusement, stripping the shift over her head so that she stood naked by the tub. “It’s the way of the world.”

Growing up in a household of brothers, Elizabeth was unused to having people see her nude body. She practically leapt into the tub, splashing water onto the floor and the hem of Joanna’s dress as she quickly sank up to her shoulders in the blessed warmth. “You can’t call me little one,” she said after a minute. “I’m taller than you are.”

“You’re taller than everyone.” The words were matter-of-fact, devoid of insult. “But in many ways you’re still a child.”

Elizabeth resisted the impulse to argue. The warmth of the water was too soothing to her aching muscles, and she liked Joanna. “Older and wiser than you think,” she said, ducking her head under water and letting her long, thick hair swirl around her.

“So very old and wise,” Joanna said softly when she emerged. “Fortunately you’ll be out of harm’s way soon enough, so I won’t have to enlighten you as to the true nature of most men. And in the meantime Prince William has made certain that you’ll have the best possible protection.”

“Prince William has no interest in protecting me. No interest in me at all,” she protested. There were dried rose petals floating in the water, perfuming the air.

“And we’ll keep you believing that as long as possible,” Joanna said. “Would you like a serving girl to help you with your hair?”

Elizabeth remembered the contemptuous maids of Wakebryght Castle far too well. They’d clearly deemed her unworthy of their lord, and in the end he’d agreed. No, she didn’t want any of them coming around her, mocking her.

“I’m used to dealing with it myself,” she said. “I prefer privacy.”

“In that case I’ll await you in the other room. The maids are busy enough packing clothes for my journey. I suspect when I return some of my favorite pieces will be missing. It will give Owen the perfect chance to buy me more.”

“He likes spending money on you?” Elizabeth asked. Her father had always bemoaned even a farthing spent on his wives or lemans.

“When he spends money on me he knows he can expect something in return. It gives him a way to win my gratitude, and he always takes full advantage of it.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you obliged to do what he tells you to do, anyway?” she asked, unable to hide her curiosity. It was one of her besetting sins—one she would no longer be able to indulge in a convent.

“Up to a point. But there are certain things a man like Owen of Wakebryght enjoys that I can refuse. I’m a courtesan, not a whore. If he wants to do something painful or degrading he has to pay for it.”

“But wouldn’t that make you a whore?” Elizabeth said, confused. And then realized the severity of what she’d said. “I beg your pardon, I shouldn’t have…”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Joanna murmured. “You’re right. In the end that’s what I am. I simply have more say in whom I bed and what acts I perform. And I do it on linen sheets, not in a stableyard.”

Elizabeth cursed her unruly tongue. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ll be spared such an existence. And it’s not without its benefits. I dress well, eat well, sleep well when I’m left alone. It’s better than being locked in a convent.”

“I think I’d prefer being locked in a dungeon to spending time in Owen of Wakebryght’s bed,” she said with a shudder.

“Then be glad you’re spared. You only have a few short days before you’re locked behind those safe walls, and if we can keep you away from the prince all should be well.”

“The prince has no designs on me!” Elizabeth protested for what seemed the hundredth time. “He just wants to finish his pilgrimage, get rid of me and the monks, and go back to his life of debauchery.”

“If you say so, my lady,” Joanna said softly. And she closed the door behind her.

6

It took Elizabeth longer to dress in the unfamiliar clothes than she had ever taken in her entire life, something she attributed to lack of sleep and physical exhaustion. She’d spent the previous day bouncing around on a horse, the previous night wrestling for Lady Margery’s life, and she was facing another day of grueling travel. It was no wonder she stood and stared at herself in the wavering reflection of the looking glass, too dazed to decide what to do about Dame Joanna’s dress.

It was made of rich green cloth, and brought the green out in her eyes. Her flame-red hair looked blessedly dark when wet, and she’d plaited it in two tight braids, then had to loosen them as the pain in her head increased. The second time she simply twined the damp hair into one thick braid and tossed it over her shoulder. It hung past her waist—in the convent they would cut it off, wouldn’t they? She’d always hated it—it would be a blessing to be shorn.

But even with the demon hair darkened by water and tamed behind her back, there was still the problem of Dame Joanna’s dress. It was a bit too snug in the chest, a fact that Elizabeth found deeply disturbing, since Dame Joanna’s bountiful breasts were far too noticeable. If Elizabeth were even more generously endowed, it could garner the wrong sort of attention.

The fine cloth swirled around her long legs. The soft linen undergarments caressed her skin, and for a brief moment she stared at her reflection and imagined what it would be like to be a beauty. To spend her nights in the bed of a man who worshipped her.

She shook her head, her long plait whipping around, and common sense returned. All the fine clothes in the world wouldn’t make her anything but what she was. A plain young woman unsuited for the world. Too smart, too outspoken, too impatient, too tall for the likes of men.

The dress exposed far too much of her chest, but her lack of hips made it hang down enough to cover her long legs. That was another failing, of course, as her father had often told her. Women needed broad hips for childbearing. But Elizabeth would be bearing no children, and after a night spent listening to Margery’s full-throated screams she could only bless that fact. No matter that the arrival of Thomas’s red-faced, squalling heir had brought her to unexpected tears. The arrival of a child always affected her that way—a bittersweet joy that was more powerful than anything else she’d ever experienced.

That was one reason she’d become proficient in serving at childbed, learning from the midwives at Bredon Castle. If she couldn’t have children herself, and she was illogically fond of them no matter how annoying they could be, then she could at least assist in their delivery. Besides, she had little interest in easing the suffering of mankind—most of their ills were well deserved. But women needed all the help they could get.

After all, the child had come from an act that only men enjoyed. And while the mother would find joy and pleasure in the love of her children, in the meantime she had to put up with some huge, sweaty man invading her body, then months of discomfort as she grew larger and larger, followed by excruciating pain and more often than not, a bloody death. All for the sake of a man’s pleasure.

There were ways to avoid conception, of course. She’d learned that from the midwives as well, secrets passed among women. If the church knew of such things it would be to court eternal damnation.

But the church was run by men. And if the good sisters at Saint Anne’s were ignorant of such precautions then it made no difference.

Perhaps she’d still find ways to put her healing talents to work once she joined the holy sisters. Most orders divided their time in meditation and good works, and Saint Anne’s was bound to include healers. With luck Elizabeth could continue on as before, bringing children into the world, without having to answer to her father or any overbearing man. And no man would ever have the right to force himself upon her in the name of marriage or any other excuse.

Bedding Thomas of Wakebryght wouldn’t have been so horrible. He was handsome, kind and gentle, and so lacking in imagination that the act would be over quickly. And in the end there’d be children.

But that was no longer her lot in life, and if she had any sense she’d rejoice in the release from such carnal duty, rather than bemoan the loss of home and children.

Though if Thomas saw her in this green dress he might start to regret his rash decision. Lady Margery was none too pretty at the moment, with her swollen eyes and pale face. And Thomas had always had a weakness for pretty women.

She turned away from her troubling reflection. There was no question that she looked the best she ever had, despite lack of sleep. Perhaps if her father had seen fit to clothe her decently she might have found a husband. Be married to some coarse baron who spent his passion on her body and then left her in peace.

No, that wasn’t what she wanted. She was happy with her future, and even the rest of the journey seemed less daunting with Dame Joanna for company. No one would look twice at her with the sublime Joanna at her side. Not even the dark prince with his deep, brooding eyes.

She glanced around the room for her cloak, but she’d left it in Lady Margery’s bower. She would go fetch it herself, rather than send a servant. It would set her mind at ease to check on Lady Margery one last time, and to ensure the babe was thriving. And if she ran into Thomas at the same time, and he looked at her in her inappropriate, beautiful dress and found himself regretting his rash decision three years ago, then so much the better.

She glanced out the window before she left the room. The men gathered in the courtyard were her recent companions—she could see the angelic Brother Matthew among them, sitting on his fine horse a few paces away from everyone else. His head was down, and she couldn’t see his expression, but she could well imagine it. The sweetness of his smile, at odds with Prince William’s faint mockery. The gentleness in his soft hands as he held the reins.

Elizabeth gave herself a little shake as she turned away. Leaving her father’s house had surely addled her wits. She was a woman who knew what she wanted in life to make her happy, and to be distracted by memories of Thomas and new thoughts of saintly Brother Matthew was not part of her plan.

Though both were preferable to the memory of Prince William’s mouth brushing against hers.

He’d kissed her twice in as many days. The first on her brow, the second on her lips. If things continued as they had been, she’d be horrified to see where his next kiss landed. Or whether it would be nearly as chaste as the first two.

And she was making a fuss over nothing. Prince William was a devil—he’d only kissed her to disturb her, and he’d succeeded full well in doing so. In the future, though, he’d doubtless find distraction with Dame Joanna far more appealing, even if he truly planned to spend the journey in celibate penitence. After this morning, he would barely notice Elizabeth of Bredon, and she could breathe a sigh of relief. Surely she could.

She had to ask for directions back to Lady Margery—when Joanna had first brought her away she’d been too tired to pay attention to her path. The door was closed to keep in the heat, and she pushed it open without knocking, secure in the knowledge that Lady Margery had no secrets from her erstwhile midwife.

She stopped just inside the room, in shock. Thomas of Wakebryght lay curled up beside Lady Margery, holding her hand, looking at her pale, bloated face with such unquestioning adoration that it was painful to see. The wet nurse sat in the corner with the young heir, coaxing him into feeding, but Thomas had no eyes for anyone but his decidedly unpretty wife, and all Elizabeth could do was stare in astonishment.

He must have felt her eyes on them, for he looked up, and a beatific smile swept across his handsome face, a face she’d once thought she’d die for. Now she realized that his chin was a bit weak, his nose too pretty, and his brow without resolution. She would have led him a merry dance if he hadn’t abandoned her for his wife.

He jumped off the bed and rushed over to her, and she braced herself, not sure what she was expecting. Certainly not his powerful embrace.