Free How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel by Stella Marie Alden Page B

heart beating wildly against her ear. “I wish he were not dead, so I could gut him chin to navel and feed him his guts.”
    At the sound of horse hooves, they both looked up and pulled apart. Beyond, Sean thundered down the road, sand flying up into the air. Eyes, angry as the winter sea, glared accusingly as he dismounted. “Again. I find you alone with him. This ends here.”
    Glad for the distraction, she wiped her eyes, sniffed, and put her hands on her hips. “Since when do I answer to you?”
    “Since you’ve begun to act so unchaste. Alexander expects you pure for your husband, when he sends him here.” Murder was in his body language when he glared at Nicodemus.
    “He’s a monk, Sean. God’s Blood, not a suitor.”
    He snorted through his nose and scoffed. “He’s a mon, and you spend way too much time alone with him.”
    “And you presume—”
    Her monk stepped between them and used that condescending holy tone she’d come to loathe. “Shush, children. Don’t quarrel. Sir Ferguson is correct. We should not be left alone. ’Tis unseemly.”
    He patted her head as if she were five and bowed low. “Please forgive me, Sir Ferguson. I get so involved in my quest to convince her of God’s holy existence, I forget myself. But today we’ve made much progress. She agrees there are those things that exist that are unknown to us. We have discussed Cain and Able and the nature of good and evil.”
    Her mouth dropped open at his blatant lies, and she put her face into prayer hands to hide her smirk.
    Sean raised his eyebrows and stared. “Is that true? Ye’ve found a bit of faith?”
    She smiled at her secret as she told the truth. “Aye, I did.”
    He continued to glare but seemed somewhat appeased . “I will accompany both of you into the village and every hour from now on. Is that understood?”
    Her monk opened his mouth, as if to say more, then nodded his consent.

Chapter 13
    What the devil was going on? Outside the door to the great hall, benches, trestle tables, and every manner of portable item were stacked high on the plaza stones. As Nicholas closed the distance, acrid bile rested at the back of his throat and his eyes smarted. He blinked twice and entered. With strong stomach and greater will, he passed the now clean center hearth to where Eaton and the rest of his men scraped ancient rush mats from the floor with pitchforks and hoes.
    Two of Fay’s eldest orphans wheeled a barrel of rotting straw across the hall, out the door, and toward the outer stairs.
    “Don’t clog the moat, lads. We’ll need bury this.” Eaton handed a shovel to Nicholas with brows furrowed. “Where’ve you been?”
    “Trying to reason a way out from my grandsire’s web. Unfortunately, I cannot get within a foot of Fay without Sir Guardian-of-Virtue stepping in. Ferguson follows her about, like . . . like a hound in heat.” He shoveled a pile of ancient rush into a barrel.
    His friend sliced another square of floor mat with a hoe. It broke loose and exuded the pungent essence of animal urine and mold.
    Pinching his nose, Eaton said, “He must suspect by now that we’re not what we profess to be. Gird up your loins, man, and fuck her. We need off this damned island. One more day of this, and I may go daft.”
    Would that he could. Truth was, he had feelings so deep that he dared not share them. Especially not with Eaton. Twice now, she’d offered her body. And twice he had stopped.
    Sixteen men in brown robes, covered in decaying straw and filth, stopped their shoveling and looked to him for salvation. He had no good answer for them. His conscience, which never bothered him before, had taken up residence.
    He growled to the gathering, “Would you rather us slaughter her protectors, bind her, and take her to my grandfather?”
    Eaton whacked at the rush. “Aye. If that’s what needs doing. But make haste. Alexander’s suitor is bound to arrive soon.”
    As if melded to the stone floor, a large piece of mat