Lord of Midnight (13 page)

Claire wrapped her arms around herself and shivered despite the lovely day. He
was
an ogre. She now had the evidence of her own eyes and ears. He had a terrible temper and his men feared him. The trouble was, if de Lisle really was a brute, she’d have to marry him. She couldn’t foist him off on Felice.

And if he
wasn’t
?

Then she would work to give him to her aunt.

She shook her head. He was right. It was a riddle worthy of her father’s inventive mind.

Claire was relieved to hear no more shouting., no sound of blows,, no screams. Perhaps his rages were brief and soon over. That wouldn’t be too bad. A wife would only have to learn how to keep out of his way at the worst moments.

Could Felice do that, however?

Of course she could. She wasn’t stupid.

He came striding back just as Josce trotted out of Summerbourne with his sword and shield. Other men led up four lively horses.

De Lisle looked her over. “Do you want to go pillion?”

She wouldn’t normally sit astride in her finest clothes, but she didn’t want to be up behind him. “I can ride.”

He called for the smallest horse and she mounted without help. She caught what looked like approval in his eyes and it soothed a part of her. She wasn’t used to being seen as helpless and silly.

Also, she noted, he didn’t look the same man as the angry one. He was a veritable Janus, with two faces to show the world. How would a person ever know which was the truth?

He chose two other men to accompany them, and in moments they were riding toward St. Frideswide’s. In fact, the convent bells sounded terce, as if to summon them.

Claire analyzed the situation. “There are two ways.”

He reined in., signaling for his men to halt. “Two ways?”

“To the convent. This road and a path through the woods. I don’t know which they’d take. The road is easier, but if they wanted to hide, they’d go through the woods.”

“Michael, Gerard, follow the road. Lady Claire,” he said, turning to her, “lead me through the woods. But this had best not be a trick.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to her and she looked him in the eye to prove it. “I merely want to find my aunt, Lord Renald, so you can have the most suitable bride.”

“Then we have the same goal. Lead on.”

Claire obeyed, praying that they would overtake her aunts, but fearing they must already be inside the convent. What if they wouldn’t come out?

On the narrow path, they had to go in single file, so when he spoke, he was behind her. “When I marry your aunt, Lady Claire, what will you do?”

“I might marry. Or take the veil.”

“Will you enter this nunnery?”

“No, my lord. Summerbourne is too painful for me now. I intend to go far away. Perhaps to France.”

He said no more and Claire was glad of it, for his questions upset her. She’d never thought of going so far, and putting it into words was frightening. But what else could she do?

As they rode, she found herself studying each tree, each boll, each glade, and storing it in her memory. She didn’t want to leave her home. She certainly didn’t want to cross the sea to a foreign land.

She could stay. She thought of the man riding behind…

No, no she could not. She could not marry a cold wolf like de Lisle.

In the green shade of the summer woods, Claire felt a prickling, as if enemies were all around.

But this was her land, where she’d never suffered any attack, and she had an armed man at her back. Then she realized the prickling was caused by that armed man. Renald de Lisle made her nervous, and not just because he was big and a blooded sword.

She shivered with relief to see a break in the trees framing the convent. Set comfortably by the river, and bathed in warm sunshine, it looked like a safe haven. In moments, she too was in the blessed sun.

Tall wooden walls surrounded the thatched-roof buildings of St. Frideswide’s, making it very like Summerbourne itself except that it lacked the watchtower. As usual, the gates were closed, but the place clearly wasn’t in any state of alarm.

As they approached the convent, the two men cantered up without prisoners. Felice and Amice must be inside with Mother Winifred, who was notoriously jealous of her domain.

De Lisle leaned from his saddle to ring the bell. Claire dismounted and went to the peep-door in the gate to be ready.

It slid back. “Yes? Oh, Lady Claire!”

“I’m looking for my aunts, Sister. Ladies Felice and Amice.”

“They’re here right enough, but I’m not sure they’ll want to see you.” The nun’s eyes were wide. “Especially with armed men at your back.”

“These men mean my aunts no harm. I would like to come in and speak to them.”

“I’ll ask Reverend Mother.” The door slid back with a loud
smack
.

Claire swung around and glared at her escort. “You could try to look less frightening!”

“But it’s what we do best, my lady.” His men smirked, and perhaps humor glinted in his eyes. It could be disarming except that he was right. It was their trade to be frightening, and it wasn’t just for show.

She heard the convent gate unlatch and turned back to face Mother Winifred.

The gate swung open—the smaller portal within the larger—and the reverend mother filled the opening with black robe, white headdress, and square pale face. Round as a barrel, there was nothing soft about her or her stern eyes.

“Lady Claire. Why are you bringing war-wolves down upon us?”

Claire dropped a curtsy. “This is Lord Renald, the new lord of Summerbourne, Reverend Mother. My aunts have disappeared and we hope they are here.”

“Disappeared is not quite the word, is it, young lady? Escaped, more likely. Escaped a murdering brute.” She glared up. “Which of you is Renald de Lisle?”

Claire turned a little so as to be able to see both sides of this confrontation. She expected it to be a fiery one, but was shocked by the look of cold menace that suddenly settled on de Lisle’s face.

“And whom have I murdered, Reverend Mother?”

Dear Savior,
had
he murdered someone? “Doubtless hundreds,” snapped the nun. “You’re a mercenary and a tourney fighter, a man who lives by blood. Can you deny it?”

“No.” He smiled coolly, totally unrepentant. Claire shivered. Mercenaries could be excommunicated. Tourney fighting was considered a sin.

Mother Winifred just glared. “We are not used to your type in these parts, my lord. Lord Clarence was not a man of violence.”

“Which only shows that avoiding violence offers no security.”

“Prayer and good living does.”

“Only in the next life,, Reverend Mother. In this one, it needs to be surrounded by efficient blades.”

Claire remembered their purpose. “Reverend Mother”—she interjected—“Lord Renald has behaved like a good and just lord since arriving at Summerbourne.”

Mother Winifred’s sharp eyes turned to her. “Indeed. Then you’ll be happy to marry him, won’t you?”

“Reverend Mother—”

“You made an arrangement with your aunts, did you not, Lady Claire? If this man is so meek and mild, why are you trying to change your mind?”

“I didn’t say… I just felt…” Claire pulled herself together. “Felice and Amice were nervous, Reverend Mother. We all were. Before it is too late, they should know that Lord Renald is not the ogre we thought.”

“Sweet words,” murmured a voice behind her.

Claire plowed on, knowing her face was turning red. “I know Felice would like to marry—

“And you don’t think she can find a husband any other way?”

Claire felt her cheeks flare even more. “I never said that.”

“Why else are you here?”

Claire silently cursed herself. She should have thought more about Reverend Mother Winifred’s role in this. The woman had always wanted one or more daughters of Summerbourne in her community. Now, she must think she had two birds in the hand.

The nun smiled, a tight, triumphant little smile. “Or perhaps,” she suggested, “you are convinced this man will be a monstrous husband and wish to put another victim in your place.”

“No!” Claire insisted, though she wasn’t sure she was innocent. “Reverend Mother, I must insist on speaking to my aunts about this.” Suspecting that Felice would have found a way to listen to this exchange, she added, “Amice and Felice are both older and have a prior claim. I must be sure that they haven’t changed their minds before I agree to marry Lord Renald.”

She deliberately made it sound as if she wanted to marry the wolf, and Mother Winifred’s eyes might have glinted with appreciation of the move. She simply turned and went back through the door. “Come.”

Claire hurried after, but as one foot went over the threshold a hand seized her girdle, stopping her in her tracks. De Lisle must have almost thrown himself off his horse to have reached her so fast.

“What’s the matter? I just want to—” His strong left arm cinched her to him, drawing her back. “I’m not letting my only bride-in-the-hand disappear through those gates.” He looked to where the Reverend Mother glared at them. “Bring Lady Felice to the door to speak to her niece.”

Mother Winifred turned away and the door slammed shut, leaving Claire crushed to his body. “I would have returned.”

“Forgive me, but I couldn’t be sure of it.” She wasn’t sure either. Mother Winifred would have delighted to have all three maids of Summerbourne within her walls. And once safe inside, Claire wasn’t sure she would have had the honor and courage to come out again.

Being pressed against his body like this, however, only reminded her of all the reasons she must escape. It was like being squashed against a wall—a tall, wide, hard wall. She, on the other hand, felt very squashable— soft, weak, unformed almost. But not entirely from fear.

“It’s a good thing I’m not of a sensitive disposition,” he said, voice low and rumbling through her back as well as into her ears. “This battle to escape could be hurting my feelings.”

“If you had any.”

“Everyone has feelings, Lady Claire. It would be foolish to forget that.” He’d moved his head slightly, and she felt his breath riffle against her cheek. She twitched, turning breathless and even dizzy.

The portal swung open and Felice stood in it, arms crossed, face set. “I’m not coming out, Claire. You made your choice.”

Claire forced a smile and hoped her frantic nerves looked like desire. “Felice, I’m only trying to be fair. As I said in my note, Lord Renald will make a fine husband.”

“Indeed?” he whispered into her ear.

Feeling her smile waver, Claire tried to look lascivious by raising a hand and curling it around the strong forearm that confined her.

Immediately she knew it wasn’t wise. He wore a short-sleeved tunic, so she touched his hot, hard flesh. Knowing she’d turned bright red, she made herself stroke it. “I will be completely happy to marry him, Felice.”

At least the effect was right. Felice was looking between Claire’s hand and face, frowning slightly, clearly wavering.

Claire made herself keep stroking the arm despite an awareness, like pepper on the tongue, of power there, burning power such as she’d never known, leashed beneath her fingertips. She licked her lips. “My conscience couldn’t rest, Felice, for thinking that I had stolen such a husband from you.”

Felice looked up at him, and licked her lips, too. Claire wished she could see his face.
Smile
, she silently begged him.
Don’t scowl She’s beautiful. You want her
.

Then she turned her wishes on her aunt.
Come on, Felice. He’s no monster. He’s handsome and powerful, and he’s making my knees shake. You want him. You know you do
.

Knowing that everything hung by a thread of doubt, she leaned back, moving her body sensuously against his.

“Lady Claire,” he whispered, “be careful what fires you start on a dry day.” And he pressed against her moving body, pressed with a distinctly hard piece of his anatomy.

Claire instinctively stiffened and pushed away from him.

Perhaps it was that, or perhaps her act hadn’t been good enough, but Felice’s indecision fled. She scowled even more firmly than before. “You’re welcome to him. Just you wait until you discover what he’s really like, Claire. You won’t be so pleased with yourself then!”

“Felice!”

But the door slammed shut.

Claire stared at the solid oak that marked her fate.

She was going to have to marry Renald de Lisle, and the sizzling sensation around them just made her all the more terrified. Here in the open,, fully clothed, he made her feel naked.

Dazed, she let him turn her in his arms. “Completely happy,” he murmured, taking possession of her with his dark eyes. “Lady Claire, you give me hope of heaven.”

He meant bed. She pulled back. Uselessly. “I said that to try to persuade her!”

“Lies?”

“Lies!” she threw at him. “Beat me for it if you want. I couldn’t hate you more.” And yet she still shivered with the effects of being held so tightly in his arms.

He smiled. “I think first I’ll try to save your soul by making your words true.”

“What?”

He let her go. “By making you completely happy.”

Claire gave a laugh that sounded wild, and brushed off her clothes, wishing she could brush his effect away like creases and dust.

“We will be happy, my lady, when you accept your fate.”

“
Accept
you? You’re a mercenary and a tourney fighter. You just admitted it without a hint of conscience!”

“Perhaps I have done my penance.”

She frowned at him, balked. True. Penance wiped out sins. “Have you?”

“That, my lady, is between me, my confessor, and God. Come,” he said, directing her toward the horses, “let us return to our home.”

Our
home.

With her aunts secure in the convent, there was no one else left to marry the invading wolf. Claire went as if in a dream, not yet ready to accept that there was no escape.

That she was shortly going to be entirely in this man’s power.

In fact, when Summerbourne came into sight, for the briefest moment, Claire saw it as a refuge. It was her familiar home in all its pleasantness, wooden walls and thatched roofs blending in with the summer countryside all around, all humming with the activity of growth and prosperity.