Page 33 of Peregrine's Call
Robin nodded cautiously. “I will join you for supper, along with Sir Octavian.”
“Naturally. I wish to speak to you both at greater length.” He took a few steps toward Robin, blocking Tav’s view of her. “I trust you’ll forgive the initial reception. A lady should be treated with every consideration.”
But then Pierce looked back at Tav and said in a low voice, “Though if the lady misbehaves in any way, someone will have to pay for it.” The threat was clear. If she tried to escape on her own, Octavian would be killed for it.
“We’ll follow your guard to our rooms. What was the name again? Govannon?” Tav said casually, hoping to learn where the man he’d come to talk to actually was.
“No, that’s Estmar, the head guard of Willesden,” Pierce said. “Govannon, however, is right here. Trust my faithful Govannon to find the warmest place to sit.”
And he pointed to the white cat.
Chapter 13
“Thecat’sname is Govannon?”Robin asked, too surprised to stop herself.
“Yes, dear lady, and if you desire to make his acquaintance later, I’ll be pleased to chaperone. But now you must be made comfortable. Estmar, after you show our guests to their rooms, tell one of the maids that we have a lady as a guest who will require an attendant.”
Robin didn’t like the way Pierce looked her over as he spoke, but she just nodded in the most ladylike way she could.How would Cecily act?she asked herself. If only she had embraced more of those lessons on proper behavior. She would apologize endlessly to Cecily…if she ever saw her again.
Octavian edged closer to her as they made their way through the dark halls of the manor. Just before they reached a winding staircase, he murmured, “Tombe.”
Fall.Robin deliberately misplaced her foot on the second stair, and let her body tumble down, splaying her hands out to avoid hurting herself.
But Octavian was right beside her and swiftly stepped in, reaching for her waist.
His lips at her ear, he whispered, “No one can know who you are or where you live. No matter what, let me tell the story.”
She nodded, even as she straightened up again.
“You’re certain you’re all right, Lady Robin?” Octavian asked in a louder tone.
“Yes, just tired,” she replied, a bit haughtily since she was acting like a lady now.
Octavian moved away before the guards could order him to do so.
Robin was shown her room first, so she didn’t know where Octavian would be sleeping. She hoped it wouldn’t be far away. Everything about this place set her teeth on edge. The air in the halls was cold and clammy, the shadows flickered in the torchlight, and absolutely everyone was watching her.
The room she was led to was quite large for a bedchamber, and she learned that three women—and now Robin as well—shared it. A massive bed dominated one end, with heavy brocade curtains hanging from the posts to retain the heat of the sleepers.
Moments later, a woman about her own age arrived. She curtseyed. “Lady Robin, my lord bids me to welcome you to Willesden. I am Irene, and I’m to attend you during your visit. I was told you lost your clothing on the road?”
Robin resisted the urge to tell Irene she wasn’t a lady. As if it weren’t obvious, considering Robin’s scruffy appearance, strange outfit, and arrival in the company of just one man.
But Irene acted as if all was normal, and soon produced a gown suited not just for a lady, but a princess. Robin ran her hands over it, awed by the sheer extravagance. The patterned fabric was alternately smooth and velvety to the touch. The deep burgundy color was sensuous, though too bold for Robin’s taste. And then there was the trimming.
The neck and sleeves were trimmed in light brown rabbit fur, the softness of it caressing Robin’s skin.
“This gown is too fine for me,” she said.
“Lord Pierce would not tolerate you being given a lesser quality item, my lady. And we must not make him angry.”
There it was. Though Irene sounded calm, Robin noticed the knitted brow and nervous, jumpy fingers when Irene spoke. She was frightened of Pierce.
She didn’t want to get Irene in trouble, so Robin just nodded. “I’ll wear this one, of course.” Supper would be a trial for her. She’d likely spill gravy on her lap or do something similarly horrible.
Irene helped her into the gown and laced it up tightly on both sides, so that the fabric hugged her body and made her small chest far more prominent than Robin liked. Worse, the rabbit fur trim kept tickling the tops of her breasts exposed by the neckline. She touched the small gold cross she wore around her neck and swallowed nervously.
“I must tend to your hair,” Irene went on. “It’s dry enough now.”
