Lord Of Danger Read online

  Chapter One

  There were monsters who walked the land. Alys had never seen one in the flesh, but she had no doubt they existed. The nuns who’d raised her and her half-sister Claire were full of warnings, and whether the death-delivering creature was named Beelzebub, Grendel, or Satan, they were all equally terrifying to a young and believing soul like Alys of Summersedge.

  Unlike Claire, Alys was obedient. Fierce when it came to protecting those she loved, but a devout coward when it came to her own welfare. She hated ghost stories and nightmares, thunderstorms, and restive horses. She hated birch rods and slaps and angry words, but she would endure them all to protect her sister. She would endure anything.

  Even marriage to a bone-cracking, blood-sucking monster.

  “Are you certain you’re willing to marry this creature?” Claire had asked with her usual ingenuousness. “What do we know of him?”

  “Most women don’t know much of their husbands before marriage,” Alys replied with deceptive calm, folding one of the plain linen shifts in preparation for their journey.

  “But at least they’re not being wed to a…” Fortunately words failed her.

  “A wizard,” Alys supplied in a subdued voice. “A demon who works wicked spells.” Her strong hands crushed the shift. “Oh, Claire, I don’t want to go! I don’t want to leave this place, I don’t want to live at Summersedge Keep. I don’t want to be anywhere near Richard, and most of all, I don’t want to be married to anyone, particularly a practitioner of the black arts!”

  “Richard’s our brother,” Claire pointed out with uncharacteristic practicality. “We should welcome the chance to return to the bosom of our family.”

  “If he had any feeling for us he would have brought us home sooner,” Alys said bitterly. “We both know it. I don’t trust any plans he might have for us. We’d be far better off here. It means nothing that we share the same father. Our father married Richard’s mother. The two of us are bastards.”

  “Royal bastards,” Claire said cheerfully. “Roger de Lancie was cousin to the king.”

  “I’d rather be an unroyal nun,” Alys muttered.

  Claire looked around the cold stone walls of the convent and shuddered. “Not me. I want bright clothes and sunlight. I want to run barefoot through a meadow, I want to ride fast horses and deck myself in jewels. I want a thousand men to adore me, and all I shall do is snap my fingers at them.”

  “Grand notions for one who’s not much more than a child,” Alys said, knowing her attempt at repression would have no effect on her headstrong younger sister.

  “Childhood is the time for grand notions,” Claire shot back. “Maidenhood as well. A few grand notions wouldn’t come amiss with you either, dear Alys.”

  “I am well past the age for notions. It’s a wonder the wizard consents to marry a crone such as I.”

  “Maybe he’ll devise a magic potion to turn you young again,” Claire said brightly. “Change you from a hag of twenty years to a youthful sprig of nineteen.”

  “I hope Richard weds you to a man who will beat you severely,” Alys said.

  “Richard won’t wed me to anyone for the time being. I’m too young, and he’ll be too busy offering you up as a human sacrifice for his pet demon.”

  That forced a laugh from Alys. “You’re a wretch, Claire. I’ll see if my lord husband will make a spell to turn you ugly.”

  “It would take a prodigious spell,” Claire said cheerfully.

  “That it would,” Alys said, completely without rancor. Claire’s beauty was a powerful gift, and yet there was no one characteristic that shone above others. Her hair was a glorious ripple of golden blonde that swung to her waist, her eyes a clear, shimmering green, her skin pale and delicate, her form gently rounded. She was an astonishing beauty, a fact both sisters had accepted and the nuns had deplored.

  Claire gave her a critical look. “You could do with some improvement, dearest. You don’t have to look quite so pale and mouse-like. We could do something interesting with your hair. The color is unremarkable, but I’m certain the arrangement could be bettered.”

  “Braids and a wimple suit me very well,” Alys said evenly. “I doubt the wizard will be marrying me for my beauty.”

  “You’re far prettier than you realize,” Claire said stubbornly.

  “Don’t you understand, I don’t want to be pretty? I wanted to spend my life behind the safe walls of this convent, away from prying eyes and pawing hands.”

  “I suspect the only hands that will paw you will be your husband’s. And that is your wifely duty, you know.”

  “I know,” Alys said bitterly. “Let us merely hope they are hands, and not paws. I do not wish to marry a creature of darkness, Claire.”

  Claire threw her arms around her, clutching her tightly. “If things become desperate we will run back here and take shelter with the good nuns.”

  “I doubt the good nuns will accept us, Claire,” Alys replied. “Not without a hefty dowry and Richard’s approval.”

  “Then we’ll become mummers and travel the roads.”

  “And we’ll end up with our throats cut. Or worse.”

  “What could be worse than having your throat cut?”

  Alys sighed. “Any number of things, my pet. Never mind. I’m certain I’m imagining horrors where none exist. Richard may be a wretched, dangerous human being, but he’d hardly marry his sister off to a witch. Would he?” She couldn’t keep the slightly plaintive note out of her voice.

  “Never,” Claire said stoutly. And Alys only wished she had such blind faith.

  The wicked wizard of Summersedge Keep always played best to an audience, and at the moment he had an avid one. Richard de Lancie, better known as Richard the Fair, was seated at the end of a dais, his ruddy complexion flushed from too much wine. Simon of Navarre, mysterious magician and all-powerful advisor to his lordship, preferred him that way. While Richard’s intellect was no match for Simon’s, he had a certain sly cunning that enabled him to see through ordinary tricks, and Simon of Navarre’s skill relied on others’ gullibility. He took a pinch of sulphur and tossed it on the fire, and the resulting explosion and stench was gratifying indeed. He could see the various knights cross themselves devoutly, and he intoned a few words in Arabic to add to the effect. No one in the household of Richard the Fair understood Arabic, and they thought it was an unearthly language for communing with devils. If they knew its true origins they’d be convinced they were right.

  The magician stepped back from the fire, deliberately pushing his long hair away from his face with his bad hand. The young woman draped against Richard shivered and averted her eyes, which amused Simon. There were any number of missing limbs, hideous scars, and marks of battle on the inhabitants of Summersedge Keep, and most people took them in stride. But the sight of the wizard’s twisted, claw-like hand made even the strongest knight shudder. It was a sign of the devil, they said. He’d traded the use of his good right hand for the powers of the night.

  “The omens are good,” Simon intoned in his deep, golden voice. It was well-trained, and could carry over any number of angry conversations, but he seldom had to bother nowadays. When Simon of Navarre spoke, the world hushed in curiosity and fear. Grendel they called him, after Beowulf’s bone-cracking, blood-drinking monster. It amused him.

  Richard pushed the clinging young woman away from him and stood up, swaying slightly. “Never thought you’d be married, did you, Grendel? To one as high born as my sister?”

  Simon of Navarre turned slowly. “Did I mistake the matter? I thought your sisters were bastards.”

  The silence in the great hall was deafening. Those watching would be hard-pressed to decide who was the more dangerous: the wizard with his untold powers, or Richard
the Fair, with his bloody rages that went unchecked.

  Simon of Navarre knew which of them was the more dangerous. Richard knew as well. After a moment he managed a boisterous laugh. “Base born of de Lancie blood is better than properly wedded and bedded blood of any other family in all of England. You’re a lucky man, Simon of Navarre. Alys may not be as great a beauty as Claire, but her lineage is better, and she’s the elder. She’s pretty enough, I hear, and all cats are gray in the dark.”

  “You don’t know?” Simon of Navarre murmured.

  “Haven’t set eyes on the brat since she was a puling child and I had her taken away from her mother. I keep an eye on ‘em, though, and they’re both pretty-behaved young ladies. Alys will suit you very well indeed. Much more so than Claire. She’d lead you a merry dance, if what the nuns say is true.” Richard chuckled.

  “And what if I prefer the pretty one?” Simon of Navarre asked.

  Richard frowned. “Already sent word to Alys that she was to be married. She’s expecting it.”

  “And you wouldn’t want to face your sister’s wrath,” he said gently.

  Richard was just too damned easy to play, particularly after a night of heavy drinking. “The wench will do as I say or I’ll have her beaten. You want the pretty one, take her. One sister’s as good as another, to my way of thinking. Take ‘em both.”

  Simon of Navarre bowed low, keeping his expression well-hidden. In truth he didn’t care which of Richard’s sisters ended up in his bed. The fact that one of them would be there was enough to ensure his position and power in the household of a man who was only a few lives away from the throne of England. Granted, the lives that stood in his way were strong and powerful ones, well supported by the Barons of England, but Richard didn’t let that daunt his ambitions. And neither did Simon of Navarre.

  The magician’s own power was mysterious and enormous. One of his secrets was the use of well-placed spies. The woman who last shared his bed had newly come from a visit to the Convent of Saint Anne the Demure, and her knowledge of Richard the Fair’s bastard sisters was gratifyingly complete.

  Claire, the younger one, was headstrong, flighty, enormously beautiful and strong-willed. Her elder sister, Alys, was fair, calm, and peaceful, and while not the beauty her sister was, in all she was well-enough.

  He was pleased to accept the older, plainer, more peaceful one, until Merren added one more disturbing bit of information.

  Alys was clever.

  While Claire did everything she could to avoid studying, Alys had excelled in Latin and Greek. While Claire had run wild, Alys had studied medicine and philosophy. Even the nuns were in awe of her excellent understanding, and that was one risk Simon of Navarre couldn’t afford to take. A clever wife would be the very devil.

  No, he preferred something flighty and beautiful to a creature who might possibly begin to see past the mysterious and frightening surface he presented to the denizens of Summersedge Keep. And the wild young Claire would soon enough find someone young and whole and handsome to distract her, so he could concentrate on the work at hand and not be bothered by an importunate wife.

  Richard had barely flinched at the idea of substituting one sister for another, another sign of how powerful Simon of Navarre had become. Handled properly, Richard would end up doing anything the wizard wanted him to do, and never realize it hadn’t been his idea in the first place.

  “I rejoice to think of my future happiness,” Simon murmured, keeping the light note of cynicism out of his voice. “I’ll make my decision when I see them.”

  “Well, as to whether you’ll be happy or not, I doubt any woman has the power to make it so,” Richard said with a smirk. “God knows Hedwiga has been a curse from hell. But that’s neither here nor there. They should be coming soon enough, and I imagine Alys will count herself lucky if she manages to escape the marriage bed.”

  “Entirely?” Simon of Navarre questioned softly. “Or just with me?”

  Richard the Fair’s ruddy skin darkened even further. “Either of them will do as I say, and be glad of the chance. Still, when I sent word to Alys of her impending good fortune, she had the temerity to ask whether she might remain in the convent and become a nun.” He snorted in disgust. “As if I’d waste a sister of mine in some bloody convent. She’ll marry where I tell her, and if it’s not you, then it’ll be someone with the money and power to back me when I need him.”

  “Back you in what, my lord?”

  Richard de Lancie just blinked. Even in his cups he was discreet, an annoying strength. “A man must keep his own counsel,” he muttered. “Does your damned stinking smoke tell you when m’sisters are due to arrive?”

  The damned stinking smoke told Simon of Navarre absolutely nothing, but Merren’s information had been impeccable. “Within the next two days, my lord,” he said.

  “Two days?” Richard lurched forward, catching Simon of Navarre’s robe in his meaty hands. “We must prepare. No sister of mine is going to be shabbily wed. Even to a low-born charlatan like you,” he added, cuffing Simon of Navarre in the shoulder.

  The wizard gave him a narrow smile. “Words cannot express my honor.”

  “Your words express far too little, damn it,” Richard said, pushing away from him. “A wedding! Damned if it don’t make me feel sentimental. My little sister wed. You’ll have to wait till Lady Hedwiga returns from her latest retreat.” He snorted his contempt. “She’ll see to the details. A wife should be good for something besides praying and plaguing a man to death.” He staggered off, dragging the willing young woman with him, clearly in no hurry for the return of his dragon of a wife.

  All too quickly the members of the household followed, scattering in various directions, until Simon of Navarre was alone in the empty hall. Even the dogs had slunk away, terrified of him. The fire in front of him had died out, and the room was cool and dark, echoing with emptiness.

  He had attended weddings in his thirty-four years. He had seen peasants wed, and lords. He’d watched Arab rites and gypsy weddings, holy feasts and orgies. Oddly enough, he’d never once considered he would attend his own.

  It made sense though. The tie of blood would be strong, ensuring Richard of his loyalty. Richard de Lancie was not a trusting man, but he doubtless thought his brother-in-law would be a more faithful tool than a hired magician.

  Richard was not a wise man.

  Simon walked from the hall, slowly, comfortably certain the brazier would be removed, his tricks carefully disguised. He had servants he could count on, particularly Godfrey, wise and faithful. Another gift in life that he’d never expected. He had wealth, influence, and the support of one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. He had a high-born bride traveling to mate with him. He had everything a man could possibly want.

  Except for his immortal soul.

  He’d lost that, in the streets of Constantinople. Shed it, along with his blood, on the doomed Fourth Crusade. And it was only on rare nights like these, when the warm wind stirred, that he ever even missed it.

  Grendel, they called him. A monster.

  The name fit.

  “I’m still not certain you should marry him,” Claire announced moments after she bounded up on her huge, high-strung mare. They were a motley group, Alys in her cart, Claire setting the pace, the small group of serving women following behind. After five days of travel they were in sight of Summersedge Keep, and their imminent arrival had already been announced.

  Alys pushed aside the curtains of the cart that transported her, trying to avoid the horse’s heavy breathing. She hated the tight, airless feeling of the curtained carriage, but she feared horses even more. Still, she would have kissed the horse on the mouth rather than finish this dreaded journey. “I don’t think Richard will give me a choice in the matter,” she replied. “The wishes of his half-sisters have never been of prime importance to him.”

  “I intend to change that,” Claire announced. “I’ve spent seventeen years immured in a convent, and t
he only member of the male sex I’ve seen was old Brother Emory, and I’m not sure he qualifies. I’m ready to live life to the fullest, and I’m not about to let anyone stand in my way.”

  “I think you underestimate Richard’s power.”

  “Have faith in me, sister dear,” Claire said. “I have no doubt I’ll be able to charm him. If you decide you don’t want to marry the wicked wizard once you’ve set eyes on him, then we’ll simply tell Richard you refuse. After all, he can’t force you.”

  “Can’t he?” Alys murmured, unable to keep the gloom from her voice. “You’re about to have a chance to try your wiles. If that isn’t Richard approaching us then my memory has failed me.”

  Claire peered at the small group of men. “Either that, or your eyesight. That couldn’t be Richard the Fair! He doesn’t look like either of us, and he’s a gross, ugly old man.”

  “It’s Richard,” Alys said flatly. “Older, fatter, coarser, but Richard all the same. I couldn’t forget him. The last time I saw him I was four years old and screaming for my mother. He told me I would never see her again. He was right.” There was no bitterness in her voice. She’d learned to hide it well.

  “At least you remember your mother,” Claire said, controlling her skittish horse with remarkable dexterity.

  A soft touch, a sweet voice, and the smell of lavender. It wasn’t enough, but Alys didn’t say so. “Smile at our brother, dearest,” she advised in an undertone as the horses thundered toward them. “He holds our lives in his hands.”

  It took all her strength of will not to cower into the corner of her carriage as half a dozen huge, sweating horses bounded toward them. Richard wheeled his giant black stallion to a halt, inches from overturning the cart, and the welcoming smile on his reddened face was touched with malice.

  “Still afraid of horses, little sister?”

  Alys was unable to speak as the panic built inside her chest. She wasn’t sure whether it was the horses or her brother that frightened her, and she didn’t care. She struggled for calm, not certain if she’d find it, when Claire spoke up.