Free Secrets at Court by Blythe Gifford Page A

Lovayne.
    His horse inched ahead of her time after time and he kept looking over his shoulder as if to make sure she still kept her seat.
    Abruptly, he rode closer, as if he had recognised her thought. They had not spoken since she had mounted, a process made easy with his help. He had a way of lifting her so gracefully that it was no longer a struggle to get on the horse.
    ‘Is it comfortable for you?’ he said. ‘To ride? Should we stop to rest?’
    Kind of him to ask. He had not seemed so generous this morning. And even if she had to tie herself to the horse, she would not succumb. ‘You said it yourself. We have no time. Besides, isn’t a pilgrim supposed to suffer?’ She smiled, as if to assure him she did not.
    She hoped he did not see her grit her teeth.
    ‘Come. Let us rest and eat.’
    He gave quick orders to those with them and his squire Eustace scurried to set up a blanket while Agatha, the serving girl Lady Joan had lent her, unpacked a cold meal by the stream. They travelled lightly, escorted by only two knights and their squires.
    But Nicholas arranged everything, a task much simpler, she was certain, than managing food and drink for hundreds of men, as he had in France. Still, with him, she was not a lady-in-waiting with an obligation to fetch or carry.
    He came to the near side of her horse, ready to lift her down and she braced herself against desire.
    His arms were strong and tight. Then her body pressed to his, close, close as lovers might be. But there was nothing beyond duty in his care of her. She knew that. He was the Prince’s man, she attached to Lady Joan. But somehow, away from the court, no longer surrounded, she felt as if they had escaped for a tryst.
    Her feet touched the uneven ground and she stumbled, leaning into him so she would not fall.
    ‘I have you.’ His voice was a rumble in his chest. ‘Don’t worry.’
    She closed her eyes, only to see a fantasy she had long forbidden herself.
    The picture of herself as an ordinary woman. One who might have a husband, even a lover. If she were that woman, would she choose this man? Surely she was attracted only because he was the one man who had come near enough to touch her.
    She raised her eyes, murmuring thanks, and was struck by him all over again.
    Tall and straight, yes. That she had known from the first. He was of a similar height to the King or the Prince. Unusual. Few men could look either Edward in the eye. Nicholas stood on equal ground.
    With her hands on his arms she could feel the strength that could swing a sword, yet his muscles, like so much about him, seemed hidden, used as a last resort instead of a first. Finely carved lips were a sharp contrast to a nose that looked as if it had lived through more than one battle. Taken together, he was an uneasy mix of diplomat and warrior.
    She raised her eyes to meet his, so deep set it was hard to see their colour or read his expression. Too late, she realised he was gazing back at her.
    ‘What are you looking at?’ he said.
    ‘Your eyes.’ Too late to lie.
    He leaned back, near dropping her, but he did not look away. ‘And your conclusion?’
    Heat bloomed on her cheek and crept lower. Could he see her thoughts?
    No. Certainly not. And if he were strong enough to hold her gaze, she would not look away. ‘I thought your eyes were brown, but I was wrong. They are...’
    She narrowed her gaze. She had never been able to name the colour of his eyes. Green or brown in this light, then grey and gold when she looked again. Certainty elusive as a feather, lifted by the wind just out of reach, as hard to describe as the man himself.
    ‘Anne? What?’
    How long had she gazed into his eyes, as if she were attempting a seduction? ‘I do not know. Just when I am ready to say green or blue, I look again and all has changed.’
    Now, a smile in truth. ‘That has been helpful to me when I must bargain.’
    Ah, yes. Eyes that seemed to show a glimpse of his soul, but instead, only hid