Rexanne Becnel by My Gallant Enemy Read Free Book Online Page A

dreams.
    Lilliane was in a dither by the time she reached the iron-hinged door to the master’s chamber. With hands that trembled, she eased the door open. The room had already been swept and aired. Thomas had been most efficient, for new linens lay over the high bed and a small fire now burned in the stone fireplace.
    Lilliane had always loved this room, and although she’d not been in it in years, its effect on her was profound. For a moment she was caught in time, remembering a long-ago life that suddenly seemed as real as yesterday. Her mother had used the room as a retreat, a place for solitude or quiet conversations with her fast-growing daughters. It had been warm and inviting, and very special.
    As quickly as that, Lilliane’s anger fled, leaving in its stead a sad longing for a time that could never be again. She let her eyes sweep the room, noting the familiar furnishings and rugs. There were differences, though, she saw. The tapestry stand had been put away. Now only a chair stood before the tall, narrow windows.
    Then she spied the heavy leather pouch leaning against the large trunk in the corner, and she felt a returning surge of anger. He had ridden into Orrick in the most arrogant manner. He had dismissed her as a mere servant, a maid of no importance whatsoever. And now he was using this room as if it was his due!
    Swiftly she crossed to the pouch and shoved it away from her mother’s long-emptied trunk. It fell with a dull thud, spilling a few garments and a sheaf of papers from beneath its loose flap.
    Lilliane did not care one whit about his belongings. However, the papers did catch her interest. For a moment she hesitated. Then, with a wary glance over her shoulder, she knelt down and lifted the packet of tied papers into her lap.
    Her slender hands were quick as she sifted through the documents. They were all written in the flowing hand of a scribe, she determined, with flourishes and wax seals in profusion. But it was in a language she could not fathom. Not French, nor Latin, nor even English, the words were completely foreign to her, and her brow creased in bemusement.
    She was sitting on her knees, puzzling just what it could mean, when she felt the fine hairs on the nape of her neck raise. With a gasp she looked over at the door only to be met with the dark scowling vision of Sir Corbett.
    He did not speak a word, but his fierce stare pinned her to her spot. Helpless and horribly embarrassed to be found thus, she nervously made to rise. But with three quick strides he was across the room and had planted one leather-booted foot on the skirt of her faded work gown.
    At such an insulting gesture Lilliane’s embarrassment fled. But when she tugged unsuccessfully to free herself, her anger began to rise.
    “Is this the welcome all Orrick’s guests receive? Their belongings rifled through?” At the quiet menace in his voice she paused, suddenly less sure of herself.
    Mutely she stared up the long muscular length of him. He was a big man, but as he towered above her, his arms folded sternly across his massive chest, he appeared enormous, and she shrank back from him in fear. With a sudden movement he bent down and snatched the packet from her lap, then handed it to a brawny knight who had followed him in.
    “What’s this?” the other man exclaimed. “Has Orrick already loosened his pilfering horde upon us?”
    “She may just be a pilferer. Or else a spy. But I’ll soon have the truth of it, Dunn.” So saying, Sir Corbett grabbed the back of Lilliane’s gown and lifted her rudely to her feet.
    Faced with his sinister glower and the equally clear animosity of his companion, Lilliane fell back a step, her mind empty of any retort. Her heart was pounding painfully and a small bead of icy sweat trickled down between her breasts. All she could think was that this terrifying man was the one she would be forced to marry. That threatening realization shook her to her very core.
    “Speak up, girl,”