An Abridged Except from HERS TO COMMAND Coming in February, 2006 ISBN # 0-373-77095-2 "HERS TO COMMAND is the sometimes touching, always entertaining tale of...love’s healing power and will touch readers. At the same time, it is an exciting story thick with danger and intrigue..... I highly recommend the very pleasing HERS TO COMMAND..." -- Sondra Brill for Romance Reviews Today Read Entire Review

Kent, 1243

Lady Giselle appeared at the bottom of stairs. Now she wore a gown of soft blue velvet that matched the color of her eyes. Her white, virginal veil was shot through with matching blue threads and held in place by a thin coronet made of intricately twisted gold. The long cuffs of her gown were embroidered with gold and emerald green threads, the green matching the silken lining of the garment. A slender gilded girdle sat on her hips.

She was the epitome of beauty, and as she paused on the bottom step, as uncertain as a fawn, he thought that he would surely be a fool not to woo and hope to wed her.

"Would you care to change your clothes?" Lady Mathilde asked, startling him out of his reverie.

He looked down to find her at his elbow, and with a disturbingly astute expression on her face. "There is a chamber ready for you now."

He was aware of Lady Giselle gliding toward the hearth and decided he wasn't that wet anymore. "No, thank you, my lady. I'm quite comfortable."

Her pursed lips revealed her reaction to that little lie – and then her eyes lit up like a bonfire on Midsummer's Eve.

"Father Thomas!" she cried, brushing past him and rushing away toward a middle-aged priest who'd just entered the hall.

Maybe Lady Mathilde hoped to be a nun.

If that was so, he doubted any convent, or any Mother Superior who expected docile novices, was quite ready for her.

Instead of continuing toward the hearth, and to Henry's chagrin, Lady Giselle seated herself on one of the chairs on the dais. He contemplated leaving the fire to join her, but Lady Mathilde was coming toward him, leading the priest like a proud mother hen with a single chick. The priest followed serenely in her wake, a gentle smile on his pleasant face topped with a graying fringe of hair and a bald pate.

"Sir Henry, this is Father Thomas, the chaplain of Ecclesford, although he refuses to live here," she said, relaxed and happy, her eyes dancing with delight.

He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd started to giggle, and she looked so different, it was hard to believe this was the same woman who'd confronted him not so long ago.

It suddenly seemed rather a pity she wasn't a serving wench, and one who would welcome the chance to spend a night in his bed.

God save him, he must be more exhausted than he knew.

Father Thomas smiled at Henry with beatific apology. "I fear Lady Mathilde will never forgive me for preferring to live among the villagers," he said, his accent marking him as a well-educated man who'd probably been the younger son of a noble household in the south of France. He shrugged his shoulders with elegant grace. "They need me more."

"More than soldiers?" Henry asked genially. He instinctively admired men of cloth -- at least, most of them. "I would think they are more prone to sin."

The priest's patient eyes seemed to reveal a knowledge of the world few worldly men possessed. "All men are tempted, my son. At least a soldier knows he will be housed and fed. The poor in the village have no such security, although the ladies of Ecclesford are more generous than most." He sighed. "But it is as our Lord tells us, the poor will always be with us, and their lives are difficult."

Although Henry wasn't ignorant of the lives of the poor, rarely did the fate of such people intrude upon his life. Standing before the kindly, soft-spoken priest, he suddenly felt ashamed that it should be so.

"Father Thomas says there has been no word or sign from Roald," Lady Mathilde said. "The more days that pass and we do not see him, the more I hope he has accepted my father's desire."

Her words and her smile made Henry think of a very different kind of desire, one that had nothing to do with her late parent. His mind instantly conjured the image of the bold, lively Lady Mathilde in his bed beneath him, smiling that smile, laughing, then sighing with pleasure as he loved her.

"Now it is time to eat," Lady Mathilde announced, forcibly returning him to the here and now where he was hungry and still slightly damp. "Sir Henry, you may take my father's chair. Giselle, you will sit to his right, Father Thomas to his left."

Like soldiers under her command, they all dutifully took their places, Lady Giselle keeping her eyes demurely lowered and never once looking his way.

As the meal progressed, Henry tried to ignore the lively Lady Mathilde on the other side of Father Thomas and instead amuse, entertain and impress the beautiful Lady Giselle. During the first course of fresh bread, butter and a dish composed of turbot cooked in sauce of leeks and saffron, he told his best, most amusing stories of some of the people he'd met at court.

She never smiled. Not once.

This did not bode well.

As the last of the baked fruit was cleared away, Lady Giselle pushed back her chair and got to her feet. "If you will excuse me," she said quietly, her gaze on her sister and Father Thomas, and without so much as a glance in his direction, "I shall retire early tonight."

"It's been a tiring day," Lady Mathilde agreed.

"Thank you for this fine meal, my lady," the priest said as he, too, rose. "If you will excuse me, I will take the leavings to distribute to those who wait at the gate."

"Certainly, Father," Lady Mathilde said. "It has been a pleasure, as always, and if there is more I can do, you have but to ask."

"Thank you, my lady, and God's blessing upon you and all who dwell herein."

Father Thomas turned to Henry, who had likewise gotten to his feet. "Thank you, my son, for coming to the aid of these ladies in their hour of need," he said, his warm expression like a benediction. "God will surely bless you for your generosity."

Considering that his reasons were not entirely selfless, Henry couldn't quite meet the priest's friendly gaze. "It is my honor, Father."

After the priest left the dais, Henry decided he might as well retire, too. "I should sleep, too, my lady. It's been a long and rather unusual day."

A rush light in her hand, that pretty maidservant appeared at once, as if she'd been waiting for just this moment. "I'll light his way, my lady."

Lady Mathilde reached for the rush light. "You should help in the kitchen. I shall show Sir Henry to his chamber. If you will follow me, Sir Henry."

She briskly set off for the curved staircase, leaving Henry to follow, which he did.

As they went up the steps, Henry found himself hard pressed not to stare at Lady Mathilde's rather attractive backside, her slim hips and rounded buttocks swaying with every step.

"I see no reason for you to call me Sir Henry," he said, even as he told himself he must and would control his growing, and ridiculous, desire.

"I would prefer it, Sir Henry."

So much for friendliness.

Outside, rain lashed against the stone walls and the wind moaned about the battlements. He didn't envy the men on watch tonight, provided there were men on watch. Given what he'd already observed, he wouldn't be surprised to discover that they deserted their posts in bad weather.

When they reached the second floor, Lady Mathilde stopped at the first door. "This is your chamber while you are here. It was my father's, so it is the largest. I hope it's to your liking."

Her tone made it clear she was sure he would.

"Considering some of the places I've had to lay my head," he politely and honestly replied, "I'm sure it will be."

She made no answer as she opened the door and preceded him inside. The flickering light of the rush illuminated the large chamber, although the corners were still in shadow. A bed dominated the room, its curtains dark and thick, probably made of heavy velvet. A table with silver ewer and basin and clean linen stood beside the door, and a chair and trestle table were near the window, where the sunlight would fall upon the surface during the day.

She lit the thick yellow beeswax candle in the holder there. For a moment, he thought her hands trembled, but she tucked them in the cuffs of her simple gown before he could be sure.

Why should her hands shake? Surely she wasn't afraid of him.

"Your baggage," she said, nodding at a familiar bundle in the corner near the bed.

"Thank you," he replied with a reassuring smile. "This room is most comfortable."

He thought she might go then, but she didn't move.

Why not? What was she waiting for, especially if she was uncomfortable in his presence? And surely it was rather unseemly for her to linger her, alone with him.

Unless what she was feeling was not fear, but something else that could make a woman quiver. Perhaps he wasn't the only one having lustful thoughts. "Is there something more you wish of me, my lady?" he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral in case he was wrong.

Her gaze met his, steady and determined. "I should warn you, Sir Henry, that if you think to seduce my sister, you should think again."

He was so shocked, he actually took a step back. Seduction was not his aim, but marriage, if he and the lady suited, yet Lady Mathilde made him sound like some kind of disgusting scoundrel. "My lady, I play the game of seduction only with those willing to be seduced," he said indignantly. "If a woman isn't interested, I don't pursue her, no matter how beautiful she may be."

"I am not blind, Sir Henry," Lady Mathilde replied, crossing her arms over her breasts. "I watched you trying to charm her. And I do not say mere seduction is your plan. After all, Giselle is an heiress, and the man who marries her will be rich."

His pride urged him to refute that mercenary motive, but since he honestly couldn't, he didn't. "Do you forbid me to speak to her?"

Lady Mathilde gave him a pitying look, as if she thought him stupid but was too polite to say so. "Not at all. You have offered to help us against Roald, and you are our guest."

"Yet you accuse me of plotting to seduce your younger sister."

"Not plotting, precisely. Hoping to marry her for her dowry, perhaps, and so I seek to save you a useless effort. Giselle may be beautiful, but she is not a fool. I assure you, she will not succumb to any honeyed words or meaningless promises. And Giselle is not the younger sister. I am."

Another surprise. Given her command of the household, he had assumed she must be the eldest.

Recovering, he said, "If I were to make an offer for your sister, it wouldn't be just because I crave her inheritance. I will love when I wed."

Lady Mathilde's _expression betrayed her skepticism.

"Believe it or not as you will, but I would have a marriage such as that of my brother and my sister, who care deeply for their spouses. They are very happy together. Why should I settle for less?"

Lady Mathilde tilted her head as she studied him. "You would seem to be a most unusual nobleman."

"As you seem to be a most unusual lady."

Even he could not have said whether he meant that for a compliment or not, but it was the truth. "I'm impressed with your concern for your sister," he added, and that was the truth, too.

As he came nearer, she backed away, as if she were afraid. Of him? That was ridiculous – he had given her every reason to believe he would be the opposite of dangerous to her.

Then she planted her feet and put the lie to his speculation that what she felt was fear. "Giselle's husband will be the lord of Ecclesford. I must protect her from handsome, charming men who seek only to enrich themselves."

"If she is the elder, can she not look after herself?"

Lady Mathilde flushed and she raised her limpid brown eyes to meet his steadfast gaze. Her mouth was half parted, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. She swayed forward just a bit, but it was enough to encourage him to think she was tempted, too.

He put his hands on her shoulders and started to draw her closer.

"No!" she cried, her eyes suddenly alive with what could only be fear as she twisted from his light grasp. "Don't touch me!"

He spread his arms wide. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You were going to kiss me!"

"I thought you wanted me to kiss you."

She stared at him in horror, as if he'd accused her of trying to kill him. "I did not!"

She was like a horse that had been beaten and shied away from any person who came near it. No doubt some stupid lout had been too forward and too rough with her -- a selfish youth or over-eager suitor. The fool had surely gotten no further than a kiss, for a woman like Lady Mathilde wouldn't hesitate to fight off any unwelcome advances. Unfortunately, the damage had been done nonetheless. "It was only a kiss," he gently replied.

"Well, I did not want it."

Then, keeping as much distance as possible between them as if the very thought of touching him was repugnant to her, she sidled toward the door.

Not every woman he met was attracted to him, and he was not so vain as to expect that they would be; on the other hand, never before had he been to feel as if he were somehow unsavory, and his pride was pricked. She had been tempted to kiss him, and he would prove it.

"Are you not going to bid me good night, my lady?" he asked, his voice low and sultry, his tone one that had encouraged more than one woman to express her passionate desires.

The look she gave him! It was a wonder it didn't strike him dead, and the heat of a blush – something he hadn't felt in years – flooded his face.

"Good night, Sir Henry," she snapped.

She went out and closed the door behind her, leaving him wondering if he had been a fool to come here. Nicholas would probably say so, despite the presence of the lovely Lady Giselle.

Ah well, this wouldn't be the first time his brother would think him less than wise, and Lady Giselle wasn't completely out of his grasp.

Yet.