By Grace Possessed by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

unoccupied bench and flung himself down upon it, using the wall behind it as a backrest. He watched the king with Lady Catherine in brooding displeasure. He did not care for the way Henry leaned toward her, speaking in measured phrases while tapping the arm of his chair for emphasis. He looked displeased, or else more interested in her welfare than was seemly in a king not yet thirty years old, one with a wife of only a year, and a two-month-old son.
    The king’s intentions toward the lady were no concern of his, of course, Ross assured himself with a scowl. It was only that talk about her would be vicious enough without Henry adding to it.
    Ross would give much to know what was being said between them. At King James’s court, he might have walked up to them to discover it. Such lack of ceremonydid not apply here. As with most newly minted kings, Henry was a stickler for the ceremony that reinforced his position.
    “Milord Dunbar?”
    So intent had Ross been on the pair he watched that he failed to notice the approach of a manservant until he stood bowing at his elbow. It was a startling bit of inattention compared to his normal vigilance.
    “Aye?”
    “The king requests your presence. Come with me, sir, and it please you.”
    It was a command for all its politeness. He must go, Ross knew, regardless of whether it pleased him. Though mayhap it did, at that. Shoving himself to his feet, he threaded his way through the murmuring crowd, following so close on the menial’s heels that he almost stepped on them.
    Henry VII acknowledged his kneeling presence with a grave and regal nod, but did not suggest that he rise or be seated, not even on a stool at a lower level. Ross barely noticed that studied sign of royal disfavor. Resting his arm on his bent knee, he fingered the soft bonnet of green wool he’d doffed, waiting to hear the purpose of his summons. Though he suspected what it might be, it was as well to be certain.
    “Lady Catherine has told us of your timely appearance in her hour of need,” Henry said with easy use of the royal plural, “also of your daring attack against these forest brigands. We are grateful that you were close by.”
    “’Twas naught, only what any man would have done.” Ross glanced at the lady. Her eyes were shadowed withwarning. She seemed intent on communicating something to him, though he knew not what.
    She was a vision of rich color in that drab hall with its banners and ensigns so smoke begrimed that it was impossible to make out their crests, its stag horns strung with spiderwebs and moth-riddled boar’s heads. Her arms and breast were molded in vivid burgundy velvet that was edged at neckline and wrist in gold lace, and her hair confined in gold netting attached to a headpiece like an upturned goblet, from which hung a many-layered veil of couleur rose. Her gold cross on its chain graced her throat, her gold-and-ruby ring was on her finger and she had such brightness about her that no other female in the room warranted a second look.
    Her curves outlined in soft and luminous cloth were so enticing that Ross felt his mouth twitch with the need to trace them with tongue and lips. It was the first time he’d had leisure to observe them at close range; he’d seen her only from a distance before last evening, and she had been wrapped from neck to ankle in her cloak from beginning to end of their time in the king’s forest. Still, he knew them with an intimacy that burned like a knot in his lower abdomen, had felt them pressed against his back every miserable league of the ride homeward this morning. He hardly needed sight to confirm what was engraved on his soul.
    “The fact remains that you accomplished it,” Henry said, dragging Ross’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Touching on what occurred afterward…”
    “I have explained that nothing occurred,” the lady said quickly. “That you made a fire and also a small shelterfrom the snow. I remained inside it while