Lord Of Danger Read online

  “I’m not,” she said boldly.

  Richard turned his piercing gaze away from Alys to take in the golden beauty of his younger half-sister. “I can see you’re not afraid of anything,” he said with a shout of laughter. “That’s no horse for a lady.”

  Claire’s eyes narrowed. “She’s mine. I raised her from a weanling, trained her…”

  “Everything you have is due to my generosity and good will, and I can withdraw both at any time.” He glanced with covetous eyes at the magnificent mare, and Alys knew with a sinking feeling that Claire would lose Arabia. And it would break her heart.

  For once Claire summoned tact, wise enough to recognize the danger she was in. “And we’re most grateful for your generosity,” she murmured between her teeth.

  Richard put out a leather gloved hand and tilted Claire’s face to the sunlight. “By God, you’re a beauty, aren’t you? They didn’t lie. A much lovelier sight than your plain older sister. We’ll make a pretty pair, Richard the Fair and his beautiful sister.”

  Before Claire could summon a response he turned, back to Alys. “Recovered your wits, sweeting?”

  “I never lost them, my lord,” Alys replied without complete truthfulness.

  “And are you looking forward to meeting your husband? He’s a prodigious fellow, dark enough to frighten dairy maids, but you have my blood in your veins. You’ll bear up well.” There was a crafty look in his red-rimmed eyes, one that didn’t bode well for the future.

  “I look forward to it,” she said.

  Richard wheeled his horse around, kicking up a cloud of dust. “You may be spared yet, sister,” he said over his shoulder.

  “What?”

  “He said he might prefer beauty to obedience. He’ll take his pick of the two of you, and Simon of Navarre’s a clever man. He’ll most likely go for the beauty.”

  “No!” Claire cried, Arabia rearing as she sensed her mistress’s dismay.

  “You’ll do as I say. Simon of Navarre is of value to me—a greater value than two pretty bastards. He’ll take whichever sister he desires. You needn’t worry, Alys,” he added. “I’m certain I can find someone who’ll warm your plump bones.”

  He pounded back toward the entrance to Summersedge Keep. The drawbridge was down, the portcullis raised, but the spikes looked like sharp teeth. It was the mouth of a demon they would be entering, and, once inside, the drawbridge would be drawn up, the portcullis dropped, and they would be devoured.

  It made no difference that the monster would choose Claire. Alys would rather die than see her sister sacrificed to a demonic creature.

  Claire was weeping. She wept easily, but this time there was little Alys could do, short of clambering out of the traveling carriage and hugging Arabia, and she had no intention of attempting any such thing, not even for Claire.

  “Don’t worry, love,” she said briskly. “It isn’t going to happen.”

  ” ‘Don’t worry!’ ” Claire echoed with a wail. “It was bad enough to think of you wedded to that monster. I can’t bear it!”

  “Maybe he’ll choose me instead.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Claire scoffed, entirely without malice. “Of course he’ll choose me. Men are notoriously shallow.”

  “Even a demon wizard?”

  Claire shuddered in horror. “I’ll kill myself before I let him touch me. The servants tell me he’s an old man, with gray hair and a twisted hand like a demon bird. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “You won’t have to,” Alys said, very calm. “Haven’t I always taken care of you? I wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “Oh, Alys, how can you stop it?” she cried.

  “I don’t know,” Alys muttered. “But I will. He’ll choose me. I’ll force him.”

  And Claire, looking down at her small, fierce sister, managed a watery laugh that was half relief, half derision.

  Chapter Two

  Simon of Navarre was already seated at Richard’s right hand when the sisters entered the Great Hall. He found he felt a surprising amount of anticipation, waiting for a first glimpse of his future bride. Not that he had the slightest intention of staying married to her. Permanence was not a way of life for him, and he doubted Richard’s grandiose plans would succeed. When they collapsed, and Richard with them, Simon of Navarre would be off in search of new opportunities, and he had no intention of burdening himself with a wife, no matter how lovely she was.

  And she was lovely indeed. The noisy court lapsed into sudden silence as the group of women entered, and all eyes focused on the willowy blonde, with her beautiful face, her rippling hair restrained only by a thin circlet of ribbon, her plain clothes caressing her body as most men’s hands were itching to do.

  He looked down at his own hand. The scarred, twisted one. He felt no urge to touch such beauty, admire it as he might. He glanced up at her again. She hadn’t noticed him yet. None of the women were looking at him; they were far too busy taking in the wonders of the court, which suited him well. Her face was astonishingly beautiful, though, as with most young girls, without strong character. He could see she was willful by the slightly stubborn set to her full mouth. He could see she was uneasy by the faint shadow in her perfect green eyes. He could see she was spoiled by the faint swagger in her graceful stride. She was a peacock, surrounded by gray doves, and she knew it, and she reveled in it, even though it made her nervous.

  He realized then that he’d been mistaken. There were six women in the group, and five of them were staring about with wonder and curiosity. The sixth was looking straight at him.

  Next to the ravishing Claire she was plain indeed. Her face was pale, composed, her hair pulled back into a thick braid of brownish-blonde and mostly covered with a wimple. Her eyes were large, but of an indeterminate color, halfway between brown and green. She was short, sweetly plump, dressed in a gown of some muddy shade that cast her into obscurity. And he had no doubt whatsoever that she was the beauty’s older sister. The one he’d originally been chosen to marry.

  There was fear in her eyes as she looked at him. Courage as well. He wondered how she’d react when she saw his twisted hand. Would she flinch? What if he touched her with it? Would she gag? He suspected her younger sister would.

  “Welcome!” Richard boomed out, all heartiness now that he was getting his way. “Make my sisters welcome! They’ve been too long from this household. My lady wife is sadly absent, on pilgrimage to Canterbury, but she should return soon enough, and in the meantime we’ll do our best to make you welcome. Come sit by me, sweet Alys, and tell me the wonders you’ve seen.”

  “In a convent?” Alys said, a faint trace of humor in her soft voice.

  Richard’s face darkened. He was not a man to make jest of, as Alys would soon discover, Simon thought. She should curb that tongue of hers. That surprisingly warm voice, that dangerous trace of wit. Richard would likely beat her.

  Beautiful Claire had said nothing. She’d finally noticed him, but she kept those lovely green eyes carefully averted. Wary of him. She must have heard she would take her sister’s place. For some reason her uneasiness failed to excite him. He was more interested in the plain one.

  “Tell us your visions then,” Simon said, and there was a sudden hush in the noisy room. “Did you see God?”

  It was borderline blasphemy, and only the magician could get away with it. The plain sister turned to face him, her fear carefully kept at bay. “No,” she said, her warm voice a dangerous delight. There was faint huskiness in it, making him think of scented secrets and long, languorous nights, and he found himself oddly aroused. “But I’ve seen demons.” She looked directly into his eyes, and he wanted to laugh with pure pleasure.

  He didn’t. She was a danger, with that clever tongue, those wise eyes, that oddly sensual voice. Claire would be prettier, safer, easier. But he found he’d made his choice. Safe and easy had never appealed to him.

  He wasn’t about to inform any of them. Life was full of opportunities, and he didn’
t squander any of them. He raised his twisted hand and pushed his hair away from his face. She didn’t even flinch.

  He could feel Richard’s eyes upon him, curiosity rampant. For once, however, he kept his counsel. “Simon of Navarre,” Richard called out. “Make my sisters welcome. One of them will be your bride if you so desire. I make little doubt which one you’d choose. Alys, sit by me, and entertain me with tales of life in a convent. My wizard will see to your comfort, Claire.”

  There was no way either lady could dispute Richard’s high-handed disposition of them. And indeed, Simon of Navarre had no desire to interfere. He rose as the Lady Claire approached him, looming over her, and she flounced into her seat with all the appearance of pleasure. Keeping her eyes averted from his face, from his hand.

  He was half-tempted to use his right hand to pour her wine for her, but he resisted. He merely sat again, leaning back against the carved wooden back of the chair, and watched her, his eyes taking pleasure in the undeniably lovely sight of her. His body unmoved.

  The meal was endless, and for once Alys’s appetite had fled. She was used to plainer food at the abbey, boiled fowl and brown bread. The nuns had been sparing with the wine as well, and the stuff she’d grown used to was strong and vinegary, not at all like the delicate, fruity wine in her jewel-encrusted goblet.

  She could no longer see the Demon, which was only a slight comfort, knowing that Claire was caught in his company. Ah, but Claire had always been braver than Alys; she would doubtless survive very well indeed.

  He wasn’t what she had expected. And yet, he was far worse. Given the name they called him, given the whisperings of the peasants, the rumors that had swept over the convent, she had expected someone old, ugly, evil-looking.

  My lord Simon of Navarre was none of those things. Indeed, she wondered that anyone even noticed her crude brother with a creature like that by his side.

  He was past his first youth—probably in his thirties, though by no means old, despite the streak of gray that coursed through one side of his thick, dark brown hair. He was clean-shaven, when most men wore beards, his face narrow, distant, lit by curiously golden eyes. His skin was tawny, and his clothes were richly colored, long robes in jewel-like hues that accentuated his height and the leanness of his body.

  He was a strong man, she sensed it, though compared to her brother’s muscular knights he might seem too slight. He wasn’t a fighter—she had seen the twisted, scarred shape of his hand, and she hadn’t flinched from that either. All she could think of was the pain he must have felt.

  And then his eyes had met hers. Those golden eyes, and she’d had the certain knowledge that this was no mortal man. He would be the death of her, perhaps. He would have power over her that no other man could even come close to. And considering how powerless she truly was in this world run by rampaging, war-like men, that was a monumental realization.

  She didn’t look away from his glance, and she didn’t let her own fear show. Wasn’t that what Claire had always tried to tell her? You can’t let anyone know you’re afraid—not horses, not the nuns, not the demons that haunted the night and sent thunderstorms to plague her.

  She wasn’t about to let this man know she was afraid. Even though she suspected he was well aware of it. Well aware of everything that surrounded him.

  She couldn’t let her sister be sacrificed to him. He would choose Claire, any man would, and Alys had no idea how she would stop him. But stop him she would. When it came to her sister, to those she loved, she could be fearless.

  And it appeared that time had come.

  She wouldn’t seem much of an opponent. A small, quiet, plain little woman. But she could be absolutely fierce if need be. And the need had obviously arisen.

  It was late when they were finally allowed to leave the table. Richard had decreed an endless feast to welcome his long-lost sisters back to the bosom of their family, blithely ignoring the fact that he was the one who’d decreed they be lost. Course had followed course of rich, savory food that tasted like dust in Alys’s mouth. The wine was sweet, and she drank too much of it, and when Richard finally let them escape Claire was almost fainting with panic. By the time they reached the tower room they were to share, she was in tears.

  Claire flung herself on the bed and howled. “I can’t bear it!” she cried. “If he touches me I know I shall die, I just know it.”

  “Hush, now, love,” Alys murmured, sitting beside her and stroking her tear-streaked face. “You won’t have to, I promise.”

  “I saw the way he looked at me,” she continued, unmindful of Alys’s attempts at comfort. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off me. God curse this beauty of mine, if it brings me the attentions of a monster like him.”

  Alys bit her lip, unexpectedly amused. They both took Claire’s loveliness in stride, but there were times when her sister’s matter-of-fact attention to her beauty grew a bit tedious. “Go to sleep, love,” she said gently, brushing Claire’s golden hair away from her face and removing the ribboned circlet.

  Claire must have imbibed more than her share of the sweet wine as well. She was asleep almost immediately, breathing deeply, and it was all Alys could do to pull herself away.

  But there were certain things that couldn’t wait. It might already be too late; the demon wizard might have already informed Richard of his choice. If he had, Alys would simply have to make certain she changed his mind. She hadn’t the faintest idea how she would do such a thing, she only knew she had to try.

  The halls of the castle were deserted. She crept down the long flight of stairs leading toward the Great Hall, passing no one as she went, silent as a ghost. She half-expected to see her brother and his sorcerer still carousing at the table, but they were long gone, the scarred wooden surface swept clean.

  Bodies lay strewn among the rushes, servants and men-at-arms curled up in drunken sleep amidst the dogs and the fleas. She stepped over them, but no one moved. In the corner she could see two people clamped together, moving back and forth in an agitated manner, emitting low, guttural noises, and she quickly averted her eyes. She wasn’t about to ask them where she would find Simon of Navarre.

  She hadn’t been in Summersedge Keep since she was four years old. It was an older castle, built along Norman lines, consisting of a central stone keep with four towers, one on each side, surrounded by a stone curtain of defense. The chapel lay along the inside of one of the stone walls. She wondered if the resident demon also lived outside the main keep.

  She leaned against the cold stone wall, suddenly dizzy. It was late, she’d been travelling for days, cooped up in that miserable little carriage, and she’d had far too much wine. But there was no way she could sleep knowing the fate that awaited her sister. She had to find the wizard and make him change his mind.

  Failing that, she could, of course, kill him.

  She found she could laugh at herself, even through her dizzy, faintly drunken confusion. She couldn’t bring herself to kill a spider—she would hardly be a match for a man such as Simon of Navarre. Besides, if he had even half the powers he was vaunted to have, he would already know her plans.

  Pushing away from the wall, she wandered farther, ending up at the base of one of the towers. Richard and the absent Lady Hedwiga resided in one of them, but she doubted this was it. Richard insisted on pomp and majesty, on rich tapestries and precious gems. This dark, almost bleak curve of staircase wouldn’t lead to his sumptuous quarters.

  She knew where these stairs would lead, knew without asking. The pale, nervous-looking serving woman who scuttled down them stopped and stared at her, clutching an armload of linens against her thin chest. “You don’t want to go up there, my lady,” she said hoarsely.

  “Why not?”

  “Grendel’s up there. Them’s his quarters. You don’t want to go anywhere near that demon unless you have to. Go back to your room, lady. As fast you can. Before he can smell you coming.”

  “Smell me… ?” Alys began, suitably annoyed. She
bathed far more frequently than most people considered necessary.

  “He’s a monster. Eats people. Can sniff ‘em out like a hunting dog.”

  “Then why hasn’t he eaten you?” she responded, somewhat mollified.

  The woman looked confused. “Maybe I’m too lean for him.”

  Alys’s temporary goodwill vanished. “Well, I’ll provide him a tasty morsel if he’s in need of a snack,” she snapped. “Away with you, woman. Or I’ll tell Simon of Navarre you’re spreading foul rumors.”

  The woman blanched, but stood firm. “They are no rumors,” she muttered. “You’ll see.”

  Alys had already turned her back on the foolish creature. She wasn’t in the mood to climb the narrow, winding stairs of the north tower, particularly since she was already dizzy, but she didn’t see that she had much choice in the matter, particularly since the demon who resided there had probably already sniffed her out. Though considering that she’d just bathed in scented lavender water he’d probably have a hard time identifying her as ripe human flesh.

  The torches were placed haphazardly along the walls, as if the inhabitant had little need for outside light. She moved slowly upward, keeping one hand on the inside wall for balance. There’s nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. Grendel is a legend, a tale to terrify children.

  But why did she feel like such a child?

  She climbed to the third floor, breathless, telling herself that the upward climb was the cause of her constricted heart, her damp palms, the fluttering in her chest. She halted there, beneath the battlements. The heavy wooden door was closed tight, and there was no sign of life in the dimly lit hallway. Yet she knew what lay beyond.

  Was he a shapeshifter? A demon who changed bodies when no one was looking? Surely there was a reason they called him Grendel, after the despised monster of ancient myth. Did he turn into the bone-cracking beast and stalk the hallways of Summersedge Keep, looking for sustenance?

  Or did he wait in his chamber, for those fool enough to come to him, to offer themselves up as his dinner?