Free Outrageous by Christina Dodd Page B

his cape around his shoulders. He stormed from the room, then stormed back in again. A fine glass mirror hung on the wall, and on the table beneath it were a lady’s accoutrements. Rummaging among the dusty things, he found a comb and drew it through his hair.
    Art shrieked with laughter again, but as Griffith ran down the stairs he heard Art call, “Happy hunting.”
     
    Marian walked her horse into the trees and dismounted. As she tied the animal securely to a branch, she wondered morosely why she’d come on the hunt.
    She’d forgotten how the men stared when she rode astride in a man’s clothes. She’d forgotten how the ladies tittered as she strode about in her pointed black boots.
    She’d done it often when first she came from court. Then her still twitching reputation lay in shreds around her feet. Her friends had deserted her,and all that mattered, it seemed, was the wailing babe she tended every night. Her own father had encouraged her to ride like a man, to swear like a trooper, to practice swordsmanship like a squire. Angry, defiant, she’d reveled in thumbing her nose at the gossips, lived to feed the flame of her own destruction.
    The memory of those days made her squirm, and she tossed her felt hat to the ground and rumpled her braided hair. Forget it, she told herself, knowing she would not.
    Wandering along the low ridge, she watched the ground carefully. If she remembered correctly, along here somewhere…With a crow of triumph, she dropped to her knees and pushed aside the brambles. Wild vines crawled along the ground, and on them tiny strawberries begged to be picked. Creeping along, she filled her hand while memories filled her mind.
    ’Twas a small thing that brought her to her senses. Nothing more than the letter from the lady Elizabeth, telling of her marriage to King Henry. Henry had spared no expense, but the elaborate ceremony had been marred by one thing and one thing only: Elizabeth’s dearest friend, Marian, had not taken her place as Elizabeth’s chief maid-in-waiting.
    Marian had laughed. Then she’d cried. Then she’d rocked Lionel until dawn, clothed herself in a modest dress, and set out to be a respectable lady. It had proved difficult, for even in court she’d been the wild one, willing to run for miles, to dance all night, to walk the fence on a dare. But she flattered herself that she’d done well.
    Of course, Sir Griffith didn’t think so.
    Marian frowned. Thanks to him and those kisses, she’d been awake all night. Her lips felt irritated, not because he’d been brutal, but because she’d bitten them repeatedly as she tried to understand why he’d been so passionate.
    She’d finally decided he hadn’t been passionate. He’d kissed her because he was angry and wanted to teach her a lesson. He couldn’t possibly desire her.
    Unfortunately, last night had proved she didn’t despise Sir Griffith. If those kisses were anything to go by, she positively admired him.
    Those kisses. She wouldn’t think of them—or him.
    Popping a strawberry into her mouth, she closed her eyes and savored the first sweet taste of summer.
    How she always hated winter! How she then missed the days at court! The games, the laughter, the fires that chased away the chill.
    At Castle Wenthaven, they played the same games, but the laughter sounded shrill and desperate. Wenthaven’s fires were built not for warmth, but for show. The people huddled around them weren’t friends, but watchful adversaries.
    Yet every winter Marian had been forced to accept the feigned hospitality of the manor house. When the storms raged outside, the cottage shook in the blasts, the fire sputtered, and like any healthy, growing child, Lionel rampaged in ever-decreasing circles. Cecily whined, and to Marian’s chagrin, Marian herself developed a cough. A cough easily cured in the dry environment of the manor.
    The first winter had been the best. She’d moved into her mother’s room, and she liked it there, away