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Автор Stuart Anne
“You’re to become a holy sister, Lady Elizabeth?” Prince William asked in a slow, drawling voice. “Are you certain that’s your destiny?”
She looked up at that, startled. Merciful Saint Anne, he had the most wicked eyes she’d ever seen. All the bloody saints of Christendom! She didn’t want those dark, unsettling eyes on her. You could almost drown in them. If you were a susceptible female, which she certainly was not.
“Accompany me to my room, Lady Elizabeth,” he said suddenly, not waiting for her reply.
“I’d be happy to find you a comely serving wench—” she began.
“Come, my lady,” he said, his voice brooking no opposition.
The torches cast a flickering light over the darkened hallway outside his rooms. There was no one to rescue her, nothing but her own wit to set her free from the murderous prince. Maybe she’d become another of the dark prince’s victims, making her way straight to sainthood, skipping the convent altogether.
His grin was slow, wicked, dangerous. He put his hands on her bare shoulders and started to draw her closer. “If I weren’t atoning for my sins I’d be sorely tempted to drag you into my chamber and commit a great many more. ” She couldn’t move, so she simply closed her eyes as he brought her closer, and his lips settled on her…forehead. Then he let her go, turned and disappeared into his room.
Not even good enough for a desperate lecher, she thought, the feel of his mouth on her forehead, taunting her.
Anne Stuart
Hidden Honor
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
1
Elizabeth of Bredon strode through the great hall of her father’s castle, keeping her pace determined and her chin high. Her heavy skirts flapped around her long legs, her unfortunate red hair was already escaping from the thin gold circlet that kept it in place, and her mood was far from hospitable. Prince William’s men were even more disgusting than the usual members of his benighted sex, and she’d already had to rescue two serving wenches and a scullery boy from their determined lechery. And she hadn’t yet come face-to-face with the notorious princeling himself. Probably off despoiling her father’s dairymaids. Or perhaps the cows themselves.
One more night, Elizabeth reminded herself, and then the safety of the household would no longer be her responsibility. The journey to the Shrine of Saint Anne was a mercifully brief one—no more than two nights on the road—and then she’d be free of men and their ignominious appetites for the rest of her life.
Well, perhaps not, she reminded herself, glancing at the huddled group of monks in the corner. The holy brothers didn’t appear to be much better than Prince William’s roistering knights, though so far they’d stayed away from the serving women and the livestock. There were six of them, ranging in age from a youth too young to shave to an ancient who moved with such slowness and pain that Elizabeth itched to try one of her herbal remedies on him. It had helped the complaints of Gertrude, the elderly laundress, and she had little doubt that it would ease the old monk. Little doubt he’d refuse to take anything from her hands, as well. In her experience men were unlikely to listen to her.
