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The boy took the coin and backed out of the stall as if Greer had growled at him. Greer moved about the stall, making sure the horse had clean water and plenty of hay and oats. Perhaps he could use the jousting tilt yards or park to train, somewhere he could swing a sword. He grabbed the saddle, settling it on Darach’s back. He buckled and secured the tack without a word. The bridle came next.
Light, rapid footsteps neared the stall, but he kept fitting the straps to Darach’s large head. “Greer?” Lucy’s voice didn’t stop him. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere that concerns ye.”
She came into the stall, which suddenly felt cramped as he tried to avoid her and her petticoats. She’d been able to get them back on quickly enough.
“Greer Buchanan.” Her sharp voice made him glance her way. “You’re jealous?” Her eyes were wide like they’d been when he’d caught her undressed.
“I’m not jealous.”
“Then what is all this?” she asked. She stomped her feet with a ridiculous frown and threw her hand up and down as if pointing out all of him. “I thought you might knock William down when you stormed out of his room.”
“The bastard deserves worse if he seduced ye.”
“He didn’t seduce me.”
He looked at her, her beautiful innocent face. “Lass, a man can seduce an innocent without her even knowing it.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Have you done that? Seduce a lass without her knowing it?” Her attempt at a Scottish accent was laughable, but he was in no laughing mood.
“Nay,” he said, turning back to Darach. “I’m more honorable than your William Darby.”
“He’s notmyWilliam Darby,” she said. “We weren’t… I mean, he didn’t… We didn’t do anything inappropriate.”
“Ye may not know much about me, milady, but I will not stand for lies. They put ye in the same company as traitors.”
He heard her exit the stall and then…Thump. Something hit his back, breaking apart. He turned to see a demolished snowball on the paddock floor. Lucy frowned at him, her chest rising and falling. Her wet hand was still in the air. She shook the water from it, and he noticed red markings along the skin of her hand, wrist, and arm.
“William and his father are helping me with my…disfigurements.” She swallowed hard and dropped her hand, but not before he saw that most of her right forearm bore scalding scars. “I was in his room for a treatment.” She wiped her hand on her petticoat and shook out the long glove she always wore. “There are some scars on my back as well, which require me to disrobe. William’s father had stepped out to get something from the storeroom next door. We were only alone for a few minutes. Just long enough for you to barrel in and conclude the worst of me.”
A sickening wave of foolishness washed over Greer. “’Tis none of my concern,” he said, his voice low. But he walked over to her, taking her arm in his hand before she could pull the glove up over the puckered skin. “Do they pain ye?”
“No, but they’re ugly, and I would have them gone. If possible.”
He had seen burn scars before, and these looked fierce. “From when you were a child?”
“This one, yes. An accident.” She continued to pull the glove up over them.
“But not the ones on your back?” he asked.
She exhaled, moving away. “Were you going to leave? Ride away from Whitehall without a farewell?”
“Who scarred your back, Lucy?”
She turned to him, her face full of obstinance. “So you thought to abandon me… abandon the queen over an unsubstantiated, slanderous thought about one of her ladies.”
Lucy obviously didn’t want to talk about her scars. “I don’t abandon my missions so easily,” he said.
Her shoulders relaxed, lowering, but her voice still held ire. “Then where are you going?”
He led the horse toward the open stall gate. “To the jousting field to exercise Darach. Warriors and their horses must maintain their strength and agility.”
She followed, quickening her step to come astride. They walked together out of the stables into the muted sunlight. They stayed silent across the frosty bailey, Lucy keeping up with his rapid stride.
“Have you any thoughts about Richard Whitby’s murder?” she asked.
She was dressed in the blue gown he’d seen over the screen, but she had grabbed a cloak to run outdoors. She pulled the hood up over her blond hair, her warm breath coming in small white puffs in the cold. She wore boots as if she’d been ready to venture out into the snow. To chase him?
