By Grace Possessed by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online

hindrance, something she might never be permitted again. She had enjoyed the company of a man who did not simper, posture or attempt to take advantage of her.
    She did not turn away until that small clearing, with its ring of mud where the heat of a great bonfire had melted the snow, vanished behind the track’s wide bend.
     
    Ross devoured two servings of beef, a loaf of bread soaked in the meat’s juices and a currant cake, all washed down with a hot posset and most of a butt of ale. With these as well as a hot, herb-scented bath and change of clothing, he began to feel less like a chunk of ice. He was returned to normal, except for the undoubted fact that he could not go more than a pair of breaths without thinking about Lady Catherine.
    Had she ordered a hot bath to warm her chilled flesh? What he would not give to have seen her in it. Had a serving woman bathed her? He’d have been more than pleased to perform that service, could think of many ways to make it pleasurable for her. To dry her with slow care seemed a magnificent way to while away an hour, and one not without promise of reward. To apply a brush to the pale golden glory of her hair, holding its warm, silken weight in his hands, was a fine fantasy. Sharing a meal with her in the privacy of some chamber seemed more than enticing. They could feed each other bits of this and that while whetting other appetites.
    God’s blood, but what ailed him? He was no mooncalf reduced to standing and staring at his beloved’s windowin hope of glimpsing her shadow. He was a grown man with duties and obligations that left no room for lusting after an English lady, be she ever so beauteous and daring. The incident in the forest had been a few hours out of his life, a mere snippet taken from a pattern woven before he was born. No place existed in it for a female of English blood.
    He needed to put the episode behind him. Other matters were far more important, such as judging the strength of any force Henry might be able to put into the field, plus the loyalty of those around the king and how they might react if it were to be tested. He would attend to that without further ado. Aye, he would indeed, as soon as he assured himself that Lady Catherine had suffered no ill effects from her night spent in his company.
    She was not in her chamber, one of the cramped rooms allotted even to the nobility in this ancient castle built for defense rather than comfort, its only luxury being a small, glowing brazier that made it barely less frigid than the corridor it opened upon. Her serving maid stood barring the door, a woman of early middle age who had, from all appearances, been clearing away after her mistress’s bath. She eyed him with disfavor, he thought, looking him up and down with all the doubtful care of a housewife appraising a pig at market. He did not flinch under it, even as the tops of his ears burned. Nor did he show her the least reaction when he learned Lady Catherine had been summoned by the king.
    It was not an official audience, as it turned out. On gaining the castle’s great hall, Ross saw her, a bright beacon in the smoke-hazed gloom, where she perchedon a low stool at the foot of Henry’s great armchair. The king’s canopied throne sat on a dais along with the castle’s famous round table, which some said had once been used by King Arthur of distant legend. No one encroached upon this private colloquy; none appeared to notice it taking place in their midst.
    Men talked in groups, played at knucklebones or chess, or watched the antics of the fool who juggled and told jokes for their amusement. The place smelled of wood ash, sweaty men who had been to horse, dogs, shattered green rushes and the ghosts of bread, beef and ale from the recent morning’s repast. The fitful sunlight falling on the snow outside penetrated the high, narrow windows with faint gray light, leaving the space in gloom except for the bright islands of standing oil lamps.
    Ross found an