Hidden Honor. Anne Stuart

than not, a bloody death. All for the sake of a man’s pleasure.

      There were ways to avoid conception, of course. She’d learned that from the midwives as well, secrets passed among women. If the church knew of such things it would be to court eternal damnation.

      But the church was run by men. And if the good sisters at Saint Anne’s were ignorant of such precautions then it made no difference.

      Perhaps she’d still find ways to put her healing talents to work once she joined the holy sisters. Most orders divided their time in meditation and good works, and Saint Anne’s was bound to include healers. With luck Elizabeth could continue on as before, bringing children into the world, without having to answer to her father or any overbearing man. And no man would ever have the right to force himself upon her in the name of marriage or any other excuse.

      Bedding Thomas of Wakebryght wouldn’t have been so horrible. He was handsome, kind and gentle, and so lacking in imagination that the act would be over quickly. And in the end there’d be children.

      But that was no longer her lot in life, and if she had any sense she’d rejoice in the release from such carnal duty, rather than bemoan the loss of home and children.

      Though if Thomas saw her in this green dress he might start to regret his rash decision. Lady Margery was none too pretty at the moment, with her swollen eyes and pale face. And Thomas had always had a weakness for pretty women.

      She turned away from her troubling reflection. There was no question that she looked the best she ever had, despite lack of sleep. Perhaps if her father had seen fit to clothe her decently she might have found a husband. Be married to some coarse baron who spent his passion on her body and then left her in peace.

      No, that wasn’t what she wanted. She was happy with her future, and even the rest of the journey seemed less daunting with Dame Joanna for company. No one would look twice at her with the sublime Joanna at her side. Not even the dark prince with his deep, brooding eyes.

      She glanced around the room for her cloak, but she’d left it in Lady Margery’s bower. She would go fetch it herself, rather than send a servant. It would set her mind at ease to check on Lady Margery one last time, and to ensure the babe was thriving. And if she ran into Thomas at the same time, and he looked at her in her inappropriate, beautiful dress and found himself regretting his rash decision three years ago, then so much the better.

      She glanced out the window before she left the room. The men gathered in the courtyard were her recent companions—she could see the angelic Brother Matthew among them, sitting on his fine horse a few paces away from everyone else. His head was down, and she couldn’t see his expression, but she could well imagine it. The sweetness of his smile, at odds with Prince William’s faint mockery. The gentleness in his soft hands as he held the reins.

      Elizabeth gave herself a little shake as she turned away. Leaving her father’s house had surely addled her wits. She was a woman who knew what she wanted in life to make her happy, and to be distracted by memories of Thomas and new thoughts of saintly Brother Matthew was not part of her plan.

      Though both were preferable to the memory of Prince William’s mouth brushing against hers.

      He’d kissed her twice in as many days. The first on her brow, the second on her lips. If things continued as they had been, she’d be horrified to see where his next kiss landed. Or whether it would be nearly as chaste as the first two.

      And she was making a fuss over nothing. Prince William was a devil—he’d only kissed her to disturb her, and he’d succeeded full well in doing so. In the future, though, he’d doubtless find distraction with Dame Joanna far more appealing, even if he truly planned to spend the journey in celibate penitence. After this morning, he would barely notice Elizabeth of Bredon, and she could breathe a sigh of relief. Surely she could.

      She had to ask for directions back to Lady Margery—when Joanna had first brought her away she’d been too tired to pay attention to her path. The door was closed to keep in the heat, and she pushed it open without knocking, secure in the knowledge that Lady Margery had no secrets from her erstwhile midwife.

      She stopped just inside the room, in shock. Thomas of Wakebryght lay curled up beside Lady Margery, holding her hand, looking at her pale, bloated face with such unquestioning adoration that it was painful to see. The wet nurse sat in the corner with the young heir, coaxing him into feeding, but Thomas had no eyes for anyone but his decidedly unpretty wife, and all Elizabeth could do was stare in astonishment.

      He must have felt her eyes on them, for he looked up, and a beatific smile swept across his handsome face, a face she’d once thought she’d die for. Now she realized that his chin was a bit weak, his nose too pretty, and his brow without resolution. She would have led him a merry dance if he hadn’t abandoned her for his wife.

      He jumped off the bed and rushed over to her, and she braced herself, not sure what she was expecting. Certainly not his powerful embrace.