The Virgin Proxy(24)

Deorwynn now understood that the Bear of Brittany was not the only one who’d been tricked. When this woman came to her and begged for help with fat tears hanging in her lashes, talking of the humble groom she loved and could not marry, it had struck her hardened heart and softened it.

“In fact you were useful the last time I saw him,” Sybilia added. “Brother Saul became suspicious and began to stand vigil by our meeting place. That was why I dared you to go up to the bell-tower and cause a distraction. Never could resist a dare could you?”

All this time she’d called Sybilia the idiot! Yet her nemesis had known exactly how to play her. By turning her humble lover into a Saxon, she’d given her story the crowning touch—the last little push to win Deorwynn over.





* * * *





The horse thundered across the ground, hooves flinging clods of mud and dead grass. Guy crouched low in the saddle, his seat lifted, enjoying the speed and the rush of biting wind in his face. He’d cast aside his helmet, dirt and sweat making him itch after several hours training in the field, and now the cold air froze in his damp hair, made his head ache.

It was good, refreshing. Helped cool his temper.

Turning his horse in the churned field, he glanced back at his fortress and wondered if she watched. Probably not. Ungrateful wench.

He’d bestowed great favor on her last night, when he could have had her thrown into his dungeon for lying to him. She did not appreciate it, or understand her place in his castellany. Instead she cast curses at his manhood and refused to admit her desire for him. Considering her bold mouth and that stubborn, fearless attitude, he truly wouldn’t be surprised if she’d gone to his bed last night planning to kill him. Remembering again the old soothsayer’s warning, he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

Fate will bring a rare kind of warrior to breach your fortress.

He’d make certain she was watched at all hours from now on. But if he wanted her again he’d damn well have her, whatever she had to say about it. Problem was, he wanted her to smile at him with those full lips, the way she smiled at Thierry, not look at him with hate in her eyes, while that same mouth spouted curses at his cock.

Surly, sharp-tongued ingrate.

Thierry cantered over to where he sat, staring at the fortress. “You worked us hard today. I thought you were supposed to be tired.” Then he remembered a belated, “My lord.”

Old habits die hard, thought Guy, sparing his panting friend a half smile.

“The Saxon wench, Deorwynn is a pretty thing,” Thierry said quite casually, one hand on his thigh as his gaze also returned to the fortress. “Interesting too.”

“Is she?”



“Do you not think so?”



He rubbed his jaw. “Mayhap.”



“Of course you have a woman to keep you busy now,” Thierry exclaimed wryly. “I hear you have your hands full.”



“Hmm.”



“You don’t mean to share any details?”



Guy managed a tight smile. “Let’s just say, it was…enlightening.”



“So why did you delay the real wedding? And how long do you plan to get away with the masquerade?”



He thought for a minute. His horse skipped sideways, restless. “The Lady Sybilia has a secret and I mean to uncover it.” It was half true, he reasoned. He certainly knew now that she had a secret of some kind, although it was not the reason for his decision to replace the monk with one of the traveling players at the last minute. In truth he still wasn’t entirely sure why he did that. He’d panicked, he supposed, the dread of married life closing in around him.

“But her dowry– ”

“We’ve had our ceremony, such as it was, and her father can be content with that. If I decide to keep her, all well and good. No one need ever know it wasn’t a real wedding. If I change my mind, however, her father and I will have much to discuss, including why he tried to pass his daughter off to me as something she is not.”

“And you will not be bound by lawful vows.”



“Precisely.”



“It was naught to do with the Saxon girl then.”



He kept his gaze on the fortress. “Why should it be?”



“Oh.” He knew Thierry was smiling—heard it in his tone. “I saw the way you looked at her outside chapel yesterday and at the wedding feast. Your gaze almost burned the clothes off her. I thought perhaps….”

“So what if I desire her? It makes no difference to my marriage.”

“Of course, what was I thinking? Marriage to one woman would hardly prevent you from having her servant too, would it? You don’t generally let a few morals and scruples get in your way when there’s something you want.”