A Warrior's Lady. Margaret Moore

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      Hiding her relief, she kept her expression bland. “I assume from your casual manner that you did not kill Sir Reece, or surely you would be busily plotting your defense at the king’s court.”

      Damon smiled his evil little smile. “Of course he did not die. I struck to wound, not to kill.”

      Damon no more had the finesse or skill to strike in such a calculated way than she did, but she hid her skepticism from him, along with her other emotions.

      “Of course you are hungry,” he answered for her as he tucked the key into the wide leather belt around his waist. “But you will have no food tonight, either. That will teach you to talk to an unworthy young man and interfere in his just punishment.”

      Even though righteous indignation at his vicious attack on Sir Reece, as well as her subsequent imprisonment, burned inside her, Anne regarded her half brother with a bland expression and stoic silence. He was an arrogant, ambitious fool who had no idea of the magnitude of the possible repercussions from his actions last night, results that had also haunted her thoughts and kept her from sleeping. He couldn’t have, or he wouldn’t be so smug.

      She watched him steadily, and fought to keep the full force of her ire from her voice. “For a man who has been calculating my worth for so long, you seem blind to the implications of your attack upon Sir Reece. For one knight to attack another in such a way, and in the king’s own castle, bespeaks extreme provocation. So what will the courtiers believe actually transpired between Sir Reece and me? What could constitute such provocation? Not simply talk. They will think he was doing considerably more—and what, then, will happen to my value as a maiden bride?”

      Damon didn’t look at all upset. “We were completely justified based on the shocking sight of Fitzroy insolently accosting you in the corridor. But have no fear, Anne. I made you quite the martyr. Indeed, you should be pleased and grateful for all that I have said in your defense.”

      She could well imagine the lies he would spread, falsehoods that would justify what they had done, and no doubt portray her as a helpless victim. “I am to be grateful that you have portrayed me as the meek little lamb in the clutches of the ravening wolf?”

      “Clever girl.”

      Yet he was not so clever. “Then what explanation have you given for punishing me?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could keep her temper in check that way. “I should know it, should I not? Or do you intend to keep me imprisoned until it is time to go back to Montbleu?”

      Damon’s smile grew and his eyes gleamed with evil mischief. “I have told everyone that you are so upset by Sir Reece’s unwelcome attentions, you have taken to your bed.”

      He was, regrettably, a very good liar and she didn’t doubt that most people would believe that explanation.

      Nevertheless, she dared to raise a skeptical brow. “With no servants to tend to me?”

      “No, for you see, you are a woman of such delicate sensibilities, you cannot bear to be seen by anyone after what happened last night, although you have done nothing wrong. You will speak only to me, and I am doing my best to persuade you to come out. Why, you are even too distraught to eat. I assure you, the women of the court, and all the men save Fitzroy’s brothers and those Welsh friends of his, are most sympathetic.”

      Damon was cruel, he was greedy, he was a bully, but she could not deny this explanation would probably sound plausible to those who did not know them. “We did nothing wrong, Damon,” she repeated.

      “Fasting is good for the soul.”

      And you never fast because you have no soul.

      Damon put both feet on the ground and his hands on his knees. He leaned forward, watching her intently. “What did that bastard’s son say to you?”

      “He only wanted to know my name. He knows it well enough now.”

      Damon snorted, his good humor apparently restored, as he slumped back in the chair. “I daresay he does, and I daresay he won’t forget it.” He gave her a sly, knowing look. “Piers is most upset.”

      At the mention of her beloved brother’s name, she stiffened.

      Damon and Benedict were the children of their father’s first wife. Anne and Piers were born of his second, who had died giving Piers life when Anne was seven years old. Since then, Anne had stood in a mother’s place for him, and her love for Piers was as intense as any mother’s could be.

      “I would have preferred to tell him what happened myself,” she said, trying not to let Damon see how upset she was.

      “I could not allow that,” Damon said, his smile thin and smugly satisfied.

      No, he would want to paint his own picture and put his despicable actions in an honorable light.

      It was bad enough to imagine the rumors and gossip flying about the court; she could not bear to think of Piers being fed lies. “What exactly did you tell him?”

      “The truth—that our family honor was sullied and we punished the man responsible.”

      “And me? What did you say of my part in it?”

      “I said the same to him as I have said to everyone, that Sir Reece insolently accosted you. I told him, as I did all the other nobles, that you were quite innocently set upon.”

      Damon’s expression darkened. “Do not even think of contradicting a word of what I have said to anybody when I let you out tomorrow—not even Piers—or you know what I shall do.”

      Yes, she did know. He had made the same threat for years, ever since she had been old enough to marry off, or sent to a convent. If she did not do as he said, he would see to it that she never saw Piers again.

      “Very well, Damon,” she replied, her loathing increasing as it did every time he threatened her.

      Steepling his fingers, Damon smiled. “You have not asked how we fared in the tournament.”

      “I do not have to.” She could tell by the look of blatant triumph on his face. “You are obviously uninjured, so I assume you were victorious.”

      “I won a fine ransom that amounts to nearly what we spent on you.”

      Damon acted as if she had personally bankrupted the family, but considering how little they had spent on her before deciding it was time to display her at court, she did not think the sum could be so very great.

      Damon slapped his hands upon the arms of the chair and heaved himself to his feet. “Tomorrow you may rejoin the court. I would not be so cruel as to prevent you from seeing your beloved Piers on the day of his first melee.”

      Her heart lifted. Although she had done her best to hide her fears from the rest of her family, she was worried about Piers’s first tournament, when he would be competing with other knights’ squires. Damon and Benedict had taught him what they knew, but they were not good teachers and their lessons were faulty. They depended upon brute strength to win, not wisdom or skill. She dreaded that Piers, thinner and less muscular than they, would discover the hard way that rushing in and striking as often as possible was not necessarily a winning method.

      Damon СКАЧАТЬ