Bedding the Enemy by Mary Wine Page B

not tell a person anything about another. It was just the imprisonment that had her wanting to smile as though her gallant knight had just rescued her.
    She did smile. There was no stopping her lips from curving. Keir was gallant. No matter what, she would never stop believing in that. If that made her whimsical, so be it.
    But her eyes swept the room, and all around her were Edmund’s things. His armor and bow. Dress swords that sat gleaming in the firelight. There were ruffs set carefully on stands, the lace starched and pressed in preparation for the master to wear them to court. The entire chamber was used just to display his wardrobe so that he might walk among his things and easily select what he wanted without waiting for things to be brought out of closets.
    It was the reason she slept in the attic. Edmund used all the chambers on the second floor for his personal things. He refused to have them placed in trunks. Instead, every suit of clothing was hung from the walls, every pair of shoes displayed so that he might walk in and see every option for dressing each morning. Even his personal saddles were kept on the bed that she should have been sleeping in. Their ornate decoration declared how much her brother valued himself. Everything he owned had to be decorated and of the highest quality. There was not a single pair of sturdy boots in sight. Nothing there was merely made for purpose instead of presentation. Each shirt had lace and embroidery. Every doublet was sewn with gold or silver bangles.
    The selfishness sickened her.
    â€œI’ll bathe in the kitchen, Margery.”
    The housekeeper couldn’t suppress her smile. It was pure relief because she would be saved the chore of hauling water up a flight of stairs.
    â€œI do not belong here and I’ve no desire to be the mistress of this place.”
    But that left her with little. Despair had been stalking her for days and she was becoming familiar with its icy touch. Yet she was still not sorry. No hint of repentance lived in her heart. Edmund might think he was punishing her but the truth was her brother was intent on breaking her spirit. And that was the one thing she would not allow him to touch.

Chapter Five
    K eir found the fop gambling at an inn on the south side of London. It reminded Keir of the lodging he was renting. The place smelled like stale ale and unwashed bodies. Prostitutes mingled with the customers, many of them displaying their nude breasts, to the delight of their audience. But they were quick to slap any hand that tried to touch without paying.
    â€œAre you in or not, Ronchford?”
    Edmund Knyvett was soaked in wine, as were his companions. They occupied a large table that had silver and gold coins sitting on it. More money than some of the onlookers might see in an entire year was wagered on the turn of a card. But they didn’t even notice the hungry eyes of those watching. Keir felt his disgust rise another notch. Edmund Knyvett was so arrogant, so expectant of being given his noble due that the man never entertained the idea of having to fend for himself.
    It sickened Keir. His own men surrounded him, but he did not plan to lead them without having the same skills that they all did. The day he was their weakest link was the day that he was dead and buried.
    â€œIf you want to lose some more. Fine with me, Edmund.”
    Ronchford’s hair was greasy and his once-fine doublet was a tattered rag. His men looked like dockside thugs and they were eyeing the growing pile of coins with bright eyes. Edmund was too drunk to recognize the signs of an impending ambush, and his men were busy fondling the prostitutes. A slight motion caught Keir’s attention and he watched as one of Ronchford’s men pressed a silver penny into a girl’s hand. She hid it quickly and then unlaced her bodice, to the delight of the Knyvett retainers.
    â€œThat’s a sorry excuse for a man.” Farrell shook his