Never Kiss A Stranger

THE WARRIOR

THE CHAMPION

THE HIGHLANDER

TAMING THE BEAST

NEVER KISS A STRANGER

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

December 1276
Fallstowe Castle, England

The monkey ruined the feast.

Outside of the king’s own court, Fallstowe’s winter feast was the most lavish affair in all of England, and had been since before Alys Foxe was born. Every nobleman in the land coveted the yearly invitation, and most spent the summer and autumn months leading up to the celebration wracked with worry that they would be passed over. Alys had to admit that her eldest sister had outdone herself this year.

Yards and yards of shimmering, ivory fabric billowed down from the domed ceiling of the great hall, gathered to the side walls by evergreen ropes festooned with bunches of bold holly and deer antlers, giving the cavernous room the appearance of some rich, fantastical tent. The north balcony was peopled with no fewer than twenty musicians, the swelling sounds from their strings and percussion overflowing the granite railing into the stone receptacle below, drowning attendees who clutched at each other,
bobbing and spinning within its seductive, melodic tide—beautiful ladies in exquisite striped brocades and long veils, powerful noblemen sporting their finest velvets and woolen hose. Balladeers meandered through the guests, strumming lutes along with the symphony above, and adding their voices in perfect, ringing tenor harmonies.

The rich perfume of melting beeswax and smoke from the hundreds of lit candles warmed and scented the air like the prelude to a storm. Endless trays of food boasted openly of the decadence of both the occasion and its hostess. It came from every corner of England—fish, quail, venison dressed with sage and onion; and far beyond—pork with oranges and lemons, goose with saffron and pomegranates. There were thick custards bejeweled with coarse, sparkling sugar, apples studded with cloves. Wine of every shade and fortitude from the most costly casks Bordeaux produced, ales and meads, and the most noxious spirits ran like streams, like bawdy rivers.

So although there were no doubt countless men gnashing their teeth in jealousy in their own plain halls this night, Alys wished most sincerely that her eldest sister would have forgotten to include
her
in the winter feast. She was bored to tears, not at all interested in dancing or drinking herself into a simpering, giggling fool like most of the other young ladies in attendance.

Her rich blue gown, made of the finest perse directly from Provence and commissioned specifically for the event upon Sybilla’s direct command was quite lovely and made Alys the envy of many of the women, but she took no pride or enjoyment from it. Even when Sybilla herself had said that the shade of blue against Alys’s pale skin and blond hair would cause many to mistake her for an angel, and Sybilla was never, ever coy. Alys would have
been more comfortable in her plain woolen overdress and leather slippers.

She cared not a fig for the prancing young men who trailed her, obnoxiously proclaiming—and inflating—their family’s importance to King Edward in hopes of winning Sybilla’s approval as a match for one of the wealthy and notorious Foxe sisters. Since Mother’s death more than a year ago, it seemed Sybilla’s most fervent wish was to see Alys married as soon as possible, likely so that she could be quit of the devilment that was the youngest lady of Fallstowe. She’d even gone so far this night as to pointedly introduce Alys to Lord John Hart, a paunchy, somber widower who was three score if he was a day.

But marriage—especially to a wealthy, spotted adolescent, or wealthy, senile old lecher—held not the appeal that perhaps it should have since she had turned eighteen. Alys sensed she would never find a husband to suit her within the circle of Sybilla’s rich and boring contemporaries.

Thus, Alys would have happily forgone the entire feast in favor of following grumpy old Graves though Fallstowe, rousting would-be lovers from the darkened stairwells, or playing with the foals in the stables, or spending the evening in the corridor outside of the garrison, listening to the soldiers curse and tell lurid tales of sex and murder.

Until the arrival of the monkey, of course. And then the evening had become immensely more interesting.

It caused a delighted commotion among the guests as it accompanied Etheldred Cobb, Lady of Blodshire, into the hall, riding on the old widow’s fat, rounded shoulder. A small, grayish-brown animal with a pink face, it wore a ridiculous skirt about its waist, which seemed to be
fashioned from several sheer, colored scarves, and was yoked to the old woman by a long, fine lead of hammered gold attached to a leather collar. Lady Blodshire’s entourage followed meekly: her son, Clement, and her personal maid, who Alys had always fancied looked more like a man than did young Lord Clement himself. It was common knowledge, although never spoken aloud, that Lady Blodshire had carried on a raging love affair with the masculine maid Mary since Lord Blodshire had fallen ill and died a handful of years ago.

Alys had no love for her mother’s acquaintance, Etheldred Cobb, especially since her son, the pale and winsome Clement, had taken more than a passing interest in Alys. But the monkey was drawing her—along with everyone else in the hall—to the mustachioed old woman like beggars to a fallen purse. Because Fallstowe was her home, the crowd reluctantly gave Alys passage at her impatient “Pardon me, excuse me.”

“Yes, she’s quite keen,” the old woman was saying in her gravelly voice, and pivoting her rotund body so that all gathered around her could admire her pet. “A gift from one of our valiant knights upon his return from Crusade.” She craned her neck awkwardly to look up at the monkey and waggled a finger toward it with a cracking coo. “You’re keen, aren’t you? Make your bow, now. Go on.”

As Alys neared, she saw the monkey flinch and move its pink face away from Etheldred’s finger warily, small teeth flashing for an instant.

“She has yet to be properly trained, of course,” Etheldred sniffed, her lips settling into a habitual knot. “Still quite wild, I’m afraid, even with my firm hand.” She forced her face around to look at the animal once more. “Bow, Monkey.
Bow!
” She jerked sharply on the golden leash and the animal tumbled to the stones. It scrambled
to its feet and gave a halting bow, cowering and casting its eyes up Lady Blodshire’s skirt warily.

The crowd broke out in applause and admiring “ooh’s.”

Alys’s footsteps hesitated for in instant at the harsh treatment, and ‘twas then that she noticed the slender, golden switch in the old woman’s other hand. Alys stepped before Etheldred Cobb.

“Lady Blodshire,” Alys said and lay a bright smile over her grimace. “Welcome to Fallstowe. I daresay we have been too long without your company. Sybilla will be so pleased.”

Etheldred’s eyelids lowered in a mass of folds as she attempted to look down her nose at Alys, and Alys felt a pinch of gratitude toward her sister for the blue perse gown she now wore, as she caught Lady Blodshire’s quick appraisal of it.

“Lady Alys. You seem a bit more grown since last we met, true. At least you are dressed appropriately, although I cannot say that particular hue suits you at all. And I’m quite certain Sybilla
should
be pleased with a visit from her poor, dead mother’s oldest friend.”

“Yes, you were Mother’s
oldest
friend, by far,” Alys quipped the emphasis and then looked quickly to the floor, dismissing the dumpy beast’s sly insults. “It seems we have a unique guest at Fallstowe’s winter feast—is it a female?”

“It is. And what horrid manners you possess, child—Amicia weeps,” Etheldred sneered and then jerked the monkey’s leash once more. “Monkey, up!” She raised a nonexistent eyebrow at Alys. “Did you not notice Clement?”

“Of course I did, my lady. Forgive me.” Alys wanted to kick at the old woman’s shin, but instead turned to the pale young man hovering at his mother’s shoulder, a
dreamy expression on his thin face. “Good eventide, Lord Blodshire. It is certainly a pleasure to host your delightful family once more.”