Lord Of Danger, Stuart, Anne [my miracle luna book free read txt] 📗

“Do you have that potion made up?”

“No, my lord. Such concoctions are complicated, delicate matters, not done easily. There is very little call for it. It would take time to prepare it.”

Richard moved closer still. “Be very careful, my Grendel. There are dangerous people in the world, those who wish ill of ones such as my dear cousin, the king. We are all sworn to protect him with our lives.”

Odd, Simon thought, staring up into his face with no expression whatsoever. His bad hand was clenched in a painful fist beneath the enveloping robe. He wouldn’t have suspected Richard’s machinations would disturb him. But then, he’d always been foolishly sentimental about the lives of children. One of his few weaknesses.

“I am yours to command, my lord,” he murmured. “I’ll prepare that potion and keep it safe.”

“How long will it take you?” Richard didn’t bother to disguise his eagerness.

“It could be a matter of days, or a matter of weeks, my lord. It has to do with making certain I have the correct ingredients. Some may be difficult to come by.”

“You are my best and dearest lord,” Richard said fondly. “Do it quickly, my Grendel. And you’ll have anything you want as a reward.”

“Your sister is reward enough.”

Richard grimaced. “And you’re a very odd man. Not a bit like me.”

Simon looked up into the conscienceless eyes of his sworn lord. “Yes, my lord,” he said in a slow, deep voice. And if he’d still believed in God he would have thanked him that it was so.

Chapter Nine

Sir Thomas du Rhaymer was an interesting man, Claire decided as she scrubbed her mouth with fresh water and mint leaves. Every now and then she suspected there might be a human being behind those flinty eyes, that stern expression on his handsome face.

She’d asked the servants about him, of course, and come up with a variety of answers. He had a wife, all right. Gwyneth du Rhaymer had run off with a wealthy baron whose land bordered the distant reaches of Summersedge, and she was great with child.

It was rumored that she’d been pregnant before, by her handsome husband, and that she killed the babe, rather than bear it. It was rumored that her husband had beat her often and severely, causing her to lose the unborn child. It was rumored that she’d been pregnant by Richard himself, and he’d made his sorcerer give her drugs to rid herself of the child.

Claire didn’t know what to believe, and in the end she believed none of it. In truth, the man had an unfaithful wife. And he was dour, disapproving, and far too handsome for a man who wanted to give his life to a monastery.

Madlen was full of useful information, most of it reasonably reliable. “Such a shame,” she’d muttered, rolling her eyes. “Such a handsome man, and what a waste! He could do so much more good out in the world. Think of what pretty babies he’d have!”

Very pretty babies, Claire had thought, remembering his icy blue eyes and silken hair.

“But he’s out to make a hermit of himself, and even if Lord Richard won’t let him, he’ll be a hermit knight if he has his way. He’s a stubborn young man, far too interested in his soul and not enough concerned with the life he’s living.”

“He needs a new wife.”

“And where’s he going to find one? He’s still married to that heartless jade.”

“Couldn’t he have her put aside? Have the marriage annulled? With Richard’s help he would be certain to…”

“What makes you think Richard would help?” Madlen demanded with a coarse laugh. “He was the one who made the match in the first place, knowing he was marrying a whore to a saint. He’d only interfere if he thought it would aid him, and having Sir Thomas miserable and cold and angry suits him very well indeed. It makes him a better fighter, and that’s all Lord Richard cares for.”

“It seems so sad for him.”

“Don’t you be breaking your heart over his pretty blue eyes, mistress,” Madlen had warned in her motherly way. “He wouldn’t accept an annulment if one were granted. He’s not one to set aside the vows he made to God, even if the pope himself gives him leave.” She sighed heartily. “Don’t you just hate noble men?”

Claire rinsed her mouth and spat the water in the bowl, still thinking of Madlen’s words. In truth, noble men were the very devil. They didn’t laugh, didn’t dance, didn’t compliment a girl on her hair or her eyes. They just looked at you and glowered.

She wondered if she could make Thomas du Rhaymer smile. He wasn’t a monk, not yet at least. Not in his heart. She didn’t know why she was so certain of that fact, but she was. For all his stern disapproval, there was something in the way he looked at her. Something that kindled a strange, longing fire deep within her, something she’d never felt before.

Just her luck, she thought sourly, kicking her long skirts out of her way as she crossed the solar she shared with her sister. God had granted her a glorious gift of beauty, and the only man she longed for was the one who didn’t want her. Couldn’t have her. Didn’t need her.

Except that Sir Thomas du Rhaymer did need her, quite badly. He needed her to teach him how to smile. And she needed him to teach her how to…

“Claire!” Alys rushed into the room as if the hounds of hell were pursuing her. Her veil was half torn off her neat plaits of hair, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes suspiciously bright. She didn’t look the slightest bit like her usually staid self, and Claire gave up the disturbing tenor of her thoughts to concentrate on the unlikely tumult of Alys.

“What’s happened to you?” Claire demanded. Alys had tears in her eyes, another first, and her mouth looked slightly swollen. “Did