Captured by the Warrior (11 page)

At her elbow, the serving girl filled her silver goblet to the brim once more. Bastien’s easy, affable manner had easily won over the young Queen, easing her suspicious mind, and now the pair of them chatted amicably, like old friends. The urge to yell out, to scream to all that he was a Yorkist, an enemy in their midst, surged strongly in her veins, only to be curbed by the image of her father as she said goodbye to him in Ludlow.

‘So, what do you think?’ Margaret turned her smiling face towards Alice. Her creamy skin glowed in the candlelight, sheened, like pale-coloured velvet.

‘I beg your pardon, my lady.’ Alice blushed. ‘I didn’t hear what you said.’

‘Head in the clouds again?’ Margaret teased. The strain slipped from her face as she smiled, making her
appear much younger, her true age. This royal marriage was taking its toll on the young Queen’s nerves. ‘I was just saying that Lord Dunstan here should stay for the wedding celebrations of Lord Halston. The marriage is the day after tomorrow, with jousting in the afternoon.’

Alice’s world began to unravel; the stone wall at the side of the high dais seemed to dip and lurch. ‘Stay?’ she managed to croak out. ‘Here?’ Her stomach flipped, then looped violently.

‘Of course,
here!
’ Margaret laughed. ‘Where else would you have him stay?’

As far away as possible, thought Alice. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

Margaret wrinkled her petite nose, puzzled. ‘Why ever not? Surely Lord Dunstan must be rewarded for bringing you back to us, for rescuing you?’

Alice’s eyes moved past Margaret’s questioning features, trapping Bastien’s bright eyes. He frowned, almost imperceptibly: a warning. ‘Don’t you need to be somewhere else?’ she asked him directly, her fingers pulling nervously at a bread roll. The muscles tightened in her face, making her speech inflexible, forced.

‘Not particularly.’ His wide smile caused small, crinkled lines to fan out from the sides of his eyes. ‘I can spare a few days.’

‘Excellent,’ Margaret chimed in, clapping her hands. Maybe when she told the King about this new ally, the impressive Lord Dunstan, it might rouse him out of his stupor. She could only hope, and pray.

Alice placed her hands flat on the table, then levered herself into a standing position. What was the matter with her? Everything seemed to moving around, dancing before her eyes. Bastien was changing the original
plan; she had agreed to show him the location of King Henry’s chambers, later that evening when the castle slept, when the King’s valet would be asleep. After he had seen the King, he would then return to Ludlow, without delay, to release her father. Now, he was proposing to stay!

Bastien, half-listening to Margaret chatter on about some court matter, watched Alice sway upright. Her fingertips touched the table, enabling her to balance, and he smiled to himself. The stupid girl had drunk too much, or too much for her slight frame anyhow. Alice edged backwards, carefully avoiding bumping into the back of her chair, or Margaret’s. She resolved to go and speak to Edmund, for, despite the unwanted betrothal, he was still her friend, she must not forget that. Talking through matters with him always helped.

‘Oh, would you like to dance?’ Bastien asked innocently, twisting around in his seat as she came level with the back of it. He tipped his head towards the main part of the hall, where some of the tables had been pushed back to create an area for dancing. Already a few couples had paired up while the musicians in the corner practised a few tentative notes on their instruments.

‘Not with you!’ Alice hissed nastily, low enough so that neither Margaret nor her mother heard it. As she walked unsteadily to the steps, she caught his light chuckle. Damn him! The cool, well-worn wood of the rail alongside the steps slid under her fingers, and she gripped it hard to stop herself falling.

All at once, the great hall seemed too hot, claustrophobic. With its high rafters and cavernous roof space, it was usually too cold for comfort. People bumped and
jostled companionably against her as she made her way carefully through the throng, away from that man. Just wait until she told Edmund about him!

‘Alice!’ Edmund had managed to lever himself through the bouncing press of people towards her. His hair was pushed back from his wide, pale forehead; small pinpricks of sweat stood out on his clammy skin, and he wiped them away, smoothing his hair at the same time. ‘We were so worried about you! What happened to you?’

It’s still happening, she wanted to blurt out. But instead she shook her head dully, trying to ignore the ever-increasing swirling sensations in her head. ‘I can’t tell you here.’ She raised her voice above the clamour of the music. ‘Let’s go somewhere quieter.’ Alice clasped at his forearm, surprised at his resistance when he didn’t move.

‘We should dance together first.’ Edmund looked down at her with warm brown eyes. ‘Especially now that we’re betrothed.’

You don’t need to do this, Alice wanted to scream at him. You don’t need to be loving, or overly attentive, or romantic in any way. Our marriage is to be a business contract, nothing more. Surely he knew that? For some inexplicable reason, nausea began to rise in her gullet.

‘Edmund, I want to talk to you!’ she whispered urgently. ‘It’s important!’

‘One dance,’ he cajoled. ‘For appearances’ sake, and then we’ll go.’

Alice closed her eyes, then opened them quickly, finding the sensations in her head worse. ‘One dance,’ she agreed, finally, reluctantly.

He smiled lopsidedly, pulling at her affectionately to
join the throng of dancers holding hands in a long line, before they twisted in and out of each other. Then they split back into couples again, Edmund raising his arm to spin her around.

‘Oh!’ Alice staggered sideways, clutching desperately at her fiancé’s sleeve.

Face set with concentration, Edmund twisted her the other way. The room wobbled crazily, spun in a whirling myriad of bright colours, of flickering candlelight; she began to fall, her head light and loose…

A pair of thick, brawny arms hooked around her waist, stopped her falling, wedged her firmly against a long, muscled body.

‘Alice—are you all right, Alice?’ Edmund’s voice sounded from a long distance away, muffled, concerned.

‘She’s had too much wine,’ another, familiar male voice growled. Oh God, not him! Not now!

Alice lifted her heavy head. ‘I have not!’ she protested loudly. A wave of sickness swept through her, and she touched her hand to her clammy forehead.

‘She looks ill to me,’ Edmund ventured. ‘I thank you, my lord…for preventing her fall. I’ll take her back to sit down.’

‘I think I need to go to my chamber,’ Alice mumbled. ‘Edmund, can you take me?’ Bastien’s arm was firmly wrapped around her waist; if he removed it, she knew she would fall.

‘Aye, of course,’ Edmund agreed readily. Maybe this would give him the chance to talk to Alice about the wedding, persuade her to marry him sooner. In her present state, she might well agree to any of his suggestions. He nodded significantly at Lord Dunstan, trying
to dismiss the high-ranking noble by expression alone, indicating that he should release Alice into his care.

‘I’ll take her,’ Bastien announced firmly, locking his grip more tightly around Alice, now sagging alarmingly in his arms.

Edmund’s mouth curled downwards. ‘But I’m her fiancé,’ he mumbled back, his face assuming the expression of a spoiled youth. ‘I should take her.’ Why did Alice not protest, instead of hanging in the man’s arms like a limp and useless doll?

‘I was thinking of retiring myself,’ Bastien replied, trampling over his ineffectual protest. ‘It’s no trouble; she’ll be safe with me.’

Puny wrists clamped to his side, Edmund glanced round with irritation as someone jogged into his shoulder. He was no match against the palpable strength of this man, and both of them knew it. Aware they were drawing curious glances, he coloured faintly, in adequacy washing through him. He knew when to back down. ‘Then I thank you, my lord, for taking the trouble,’ he agreed after a small hesitation.

‘It’s no trouble.’ Bastien was already half-dragging, half-carrying Alice across the great hall, through the merry crowds, their laughing faces shining with sweat from the exertion of the dance. His muscled chest was warm against her back as he leaned around her to pull open the thick oak door that led out into the darkened passageway, pushing her through. She tottered unsteadily, before reeling against the cool stone wall, resting her head back, closing her eyes.

‘I’ll be all right now, thank you.’ Her voice echoed faintly in the empty corridor. Away from the press of people, she found it easier to breathe.

‘Did you tell him anything?’

‘Nay, of course not!’ she croaked, her mouth dry, a husk. ‘Is that why you insisted on taking me to my chamber? Why would I do such a thing when my father’s life is at stake?’

In the half-light of the corridor, her skin gleamed like polished marble; at her neck, her pulse throbbed, fast. Sweet Jesu, she was beautiful. Bastien rounded her shoulders with his hands, the quicksilver green of his eyes washing over her. ‘I could see it in your face as you left the top table. Don’t lie to me, Alice.’

‘Then stop changing the plan,’ she hissed back at him without admitting the truth. ‘You agreed you would see the King tonight, and be gone on the morrow to release my father. I can’t bear to think of him suffering at the Duke’s castle…’

‘He will be treated well.’ His voice was low, liquid honey in the shadows. How could he tell her of the conversation he had overheard, of her mother and Edmund plotting together? She would never believe him. Alice was alone in this castle, with nobody, he suspected, on her side. He needed more time here, time to fathom what devilment young Edmund was about.

Another wave of nausea hit Alice; she lurched forwards, doubled over. The muscles in her legs turned to wet rope. ‘I must go to my chamber,’ she mumbled. At the precise moment she didn’t care what Bastien did. ‘I don’t feel very well.’

‘You’ve had too much wine,’ Bastien replied, his tone matter of fact, studying her white, pallid face.

‘I don’t even like wine!’ Walking forwards, Alice stretched her fingers out to hold the wall as she turned back to look at him, miserably. His shadowy bulk
loomed behind her. ‘Oh dear,’ she giggled, as her toes became entangled in the hem of her gown, ‘this really is difficult.’

‘God’s teeth,’ Bastien muttered. He swept one arm around the back of her shoulders, and the other under the crook in her knees, hoisting her high against his chest in a swirl of skirts.

‘Nay! I can walk.’ Alice wiggled her slippered feet. Her cheek grazed the soft velvet of his tunic; the distinctive, heady scent of his skin rose to her nostrils, sumptuous, tantatalising. Her heart floundered.

‘Aye, you can…’ his voice was low, husky ‘…but it would take all night!’ He strode off, bearing her light weight effortlessly. Her head lolled near his shoulder; and from her hair, confined in a pearl-studded gold mesh, sprung the glorious scent of lavender, reminding him of long, hot summers in France. Ducking beneath the oak lintel, he hoisted her more securely into his arms, in order to negotiate the narrow spiral staircase to the upper floors. He tried to ignore the tantalising firmness of her hip beneath his palm, the way the tips of his fingers brushed close to the rounded curve of her breast, as his arm supported her back.

Kicking open her chamber door with the toe of his leather boot, he manoeuvred her inside. Alice had gone to sleep; her breathing had deepened, her body lying softly against him. Her room was lit by a single torch, hanging in an iron bracket by the door, its flickering light casting huge, undulating shadows against the gleaming wood panelling of the walls. In one corner, a charcoal brazier smouldered, a delicious heat spreading around the chamber from its glowing coals.

Bastien lay Alice gently down on the bed furs, the
silk fabric of her skirts rustling delicately as the fabric settled around her limbs. Her eyelids fluttered open, lucid, searching, a hand reaching up to his cheek, a butterfly touch.

‘What was she like?’ Her voice, a muted whisper, lured him with its softness.

He knew of whom she spoke, but strangely, it mattered not. His mind sought the details, details long since buried but recalled with ease: Katherine, tall, willowy, her dark hair pinned to her head in elaborate braids, her composed, serious features.

‘She was…nothing like you.’

A wide smile curved Alice’s lips. ‘That tells me nothing.’

His hand covered hers upon his cheek, her pulse beat, rapid, vital beneath his fingers. A lightness frothed around his heart, fetters loosening.

‘You’re still hurting.’ Her eyelids fluttered with the effort of trying to hold them open.

He stared at her for a long while, watching her eyelids drift down, her hand falling from his face to rest by her side. Her breathing slackened.

‘Not any more,’ he whispered.

She smiled in her sleep, her dark lashes fanning down over her flushed cheeks as she nestled her head more securely into the linen pillow. Desire stabbed through him; hastily, he pulled off her embroidered slippers and dropped them to the floor, before stepping back, folding his arms tightly across his chest, to prevent himself from touching her again.

At what point had their relationship changed? A few days ago, she had been nothing but a minor irritation, a troublesome maid who he couldn’t wait to be rid of. A
wayward creature who flouted custom and convention at every turn, with an unerring ability to land herself in trouble. He should walk away, right now, yet oddly, every bone in his body yearned to taste those rosebud lips once more, yearned to protect her from danger. And after that conversation he had overheard from her so-called fiancé, he was in no doubt that danger was what she faced.

A
lice cracked open one eye, then closed it again, hastily. A heavy dryness clawed at her mouth, as if someone had stuffed a clump of straw against her tongue. Iron clamps bound her head, pressing tighter and tighter against her scalp. And that was before she moved. She opened her eyes again at the insistent thumping on her chamber door. ‘Tell whoever that is to go away and come back later,’ she croaked out to the maidservant. The girl placed the folded clothes on the oak coffer and went to the door. Alice lay back on the pillows, squinting against the bright sunlight shafting through the windows; she knew it was late, but, oh, how her head pounded! She must be ill!

‘It’s that man, my lady,’ the maidservant whispered hurriedly to Alice, her eyes wide, ‘and he says if you’re not up in five minutes, he’ll come in and drag you out himself!’ Her face pinkened, bright with interest.

‘Oh, he did, did he!’ She threw back the coverlet
in a fit of annoyance, swung her feet to the floor. The lurching movement made her feel sick.

‘Oh, my lady!’ gasped the maid. ‘Look at you!’

But in her fit of pique, Alice didn’t hear her. She stomped to the door in her stockinged feet, and wrenched it wide, irritation rising in her chest.

The tall, formidable figure of Bastien, in radiant good health, filled the doorway. His green eyes sparkled, and the taut skin on his face held a ruddy glow, as if he had already been outside for hours. In contrast to his vibrant form, Alice felt pale, wan, and sick.

‘Oh, good,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘You’re dressed.’

‘Wh-what?!’ Stunned, Alice stared down at herself. She was, indeed, fully dressed. The delicately embroidered green silk panels of the gown she had worn the evening before shimmered back at her. How had that happened?

Bastien grinned down at her, the smile lifting the tanned contours of his face. Her heart flipped.

‘Do you know why I’m still dressed?’ Alice glared at him, suspiciously.

‘I do,’ he replied infuriatingly, withholding any explanation. He caught her limp hand, pulling her. ‘It’s time to fulfil your obligation.’

Alice resisted, holding fast to the door jamb, scrunching her eyes up at him. ‘Can’t you see I’m not well? I need to go back to bed, and you need to go away.’

He lowered his head near to hers, keeping his voice low. It reverberated in her ear, sparking a strange looping sensation in her stomach. ‘I will go away, as soon as you take me to the King. Remember? The Queen’s gone hunting, and taken half the castle with her. She
thinks I’m with them, but I doubled back. We need to do this now! There may not be another chance.’

‘The Queen…hunting?’ Alice stared up at him, thinking of Margaret’s condition. Should she be riding at this stage of her pregnancy?

Bastien caught her expression. ‘She’s gone in a litter,’ he explained impatiently. ‘She wouldn’t do anything that would risk losing that baby; the child is too important. Now, come on!’

Vague, gut-wrenchingly awful details of the previous evening began to pop into her memory as she dipped back in the chamber to fetch her shoes. ‘It was the wine, wasn’t it?’ she confirmed with Bastien, when she reappeared in the doorway.

He nodded. ‘And I carried you up to bed.’ His explanation seemed curt, abrupt.

‘And…?’ she hedged, almost holding her breath with the unpleasantness of it all.

His gaze was knife-sharp, glittering. ‘And…nothing. You’re still wearing all your clothes. Why, did you wish for something else?’

Her stomach plummeted. ‘Nay, nay, of course not!’ But a tiny kernel of desire twisted inside her; a forlorn hope, barely engendered, melted away.

‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘It’s not far.’

She led him along a wood-panelled passage that ran the full length of the north wall of the castle, then through a curtained doorway, and up one flight of stairs. ‘It’s along here…’ she hesitated ‘…the door at the end. Walter, the King’s valet, is an old friend of my father’s; he’ll be anxious for news of him. If I lead him towards the window, and keep him distracted, you’ll be able to
slip into the King’s bedchamber, through the door on the left-hand side.’

Bastien laughed. ‘And to think my plan was to overpower the valet, gag him and tie him up while I spoke to the King.’

‘But then the valet would report your misdemeanour to the Queen,’ she said, pushing a loose lock of hair back behind her ear and yanking her veil down to cover it, ‘and you would have to leave.’

‘I have to leave anyway,’ he reminded her, ‘in order to report to the Duke, and to release your father.’ His fingers touched the pale skin of her cheek; for a moment there, she had looked so lost, so vulnerable.

‘But…I thought you would stay for the wedding,’ she blurted out. ‘The Queen invited you.’ Last night she had been so angry that he was planning to stay, but now, when he said he was leaving, her heart churned with the unexpected loss, the desertion.

‘I didn’t think we’d have this opportunity to see the King so soon,’ he explained gently, ‘and once I’ve met him I need to carry the information to the Duke.’ His moss-green eyes shimmered, limpid with kindness.

‘Aye—yes—of course,’ Alice stumbled a little over the words, before turning and walking towards the door. ‘Well, let’s get this over with.’

Walter, the king’s manservant, peered out through the crack of the open door, his wizened face brightening as soon as he recognised her. ‘Alice, my God, you’re safe!’ He reached for her hands, tugging her gently through the doorway. A wave of betrayal rolled over her; she hunched her shoulders, feeling stained, soiled by her treachery. Her head thumped, punishing her.
Walter was one of her father’s oldest friends; she had known him for ever, and now she abused that trust by allowing an enemy to walk into the King’s room, right under his nose. What if Bastien broke his promise, and killed the King? Then the Duke of York would claim the throne for his own. Her fingertips curled tightly into her palms: she had to trust him, for her father’s sake.

‘Your father? What news?’ Walter’s bright hazel eyes regarded her anxiously. Deep grooves filtered out from the corners of his eyes, evidence of a past life toiling in the fields. ‘Has that Yorkist thug released him yet?’ Alice tucked her arm companionably under his elbow, leading him over to the window. She hoped Walter’s curiosity about her father would distract him from bolting the door once more. Keeping her back firmly to the doorway, and Walter by her side facing the window, she began to recount the events of the previous days, lengthening her explanation with every little detail, in the hope of giving Bastien the maximum amount of time with the King. She hesitated, when Walter touched her arm, smiling.

‘I would love to hear the rest, my sweet; it sounds like you’ve been through an ordeal, but its time I helped the King. Listen, can you hear the morning bell?’

Alice nodded. The small bell in the chapel had a delicate ring, but would carry far around the estate, summoning people to meal times, and to prayer, servant and noble alike.

‘I must prepare the King for the Queen’s daily visit; and she’ll most certainly come when she’s finished hunting.’

‘How is he?’ Alice bent her head in the direction of the King’s chamber.

Walter shook his head, his expression immediately guarded. ‘You shouldn’t really be here, Alice. The Queen has given express orders that no one should see her husband.’

‘But I didn’t come to see the King.’ Alice smiled, ‘I came to see you!’

‘And I thank you for it…’ Walter placed his hand on her shoulder ‘…but now I think you should go.’

Reluctantly, Alice pivoted away from the window, praying that Bastien had had enough time to slip in and out, and that she wouldn’t have to go through this whole charade again.

Emerging into the corridor, Alice looked left, then right. Where would Bastien have gone? She assumed he would be waiting for her somewhere, ready to tell her what he had found out, to say goodbye. Her steps quickened—but…would he say goodbye? Or would he slip away like a thief in the night, without a word? An unbidden sense of loss clutched at her heart—would he really leave without saying anything? She sprinted towards the west tower, to the chamber assigned to Bastien, knocking tentatively. No answer. She pushed open the door, eyes scanning the room. The bed had been stripped, ready to take fresh linens for the next guest. A pile of cold ashes lay in the grate.

She felt unsettled, cheated. Why did she expect anything more from the man? It had simply been a business arrangement: you do this for me, and I’ll do this for you. Her mind told her to let him go, but her heart kept driving her on. The stables! That’s where he would be! The hardness of the stone steps reverberated up her shins as she pounded down the spiral staircase, one hand running lightly over the central column of smooth stone in order
to keep her balance, her skirts lifted high, bunched into her other hand. Rain misted her face as she dashed across the cobbled inner bailey of the castle, grey cloud lowering overhead. Checking her stride slightly, she plunged into the gloom of the stables.

He was there.

Breathless, Alice teetered on the threshold, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. ‘You were going to leave without saying goodbye!’ she gabbled, her voice shrill and accusing.

Bastien settled the heavy leather saddle on to his horse’s back, the animal sidling a little at the unwelcome restriction. He thrust impatient fingers through the golden strands of his hair.

‘Come here.’ His voice was deep, velvety. Her heart strained, then squeezed, tight, at the husky danger in his words.

‘I…er…’ she hedged, unsure. Dear Lord, she had screeched at him like a petulant child. What in Heaven’s name had made her say that? She pushed a palm against her forehead, feeling queasy. ‘So, you’re going then?’ she continued, lightly. ‘I only thought…’ Her speech trailed off, dismally. What had she thought? That there was something more between them? Don’t be ridiculous, she admonished herself strongly, it’s perfectly obvious that he can’t wait to return home.

‘Come here…’ Bastien repeated, a string of steel underlying his voice. ‘I need to speak to you.’ The thick layer of straw used for the animal’s bedding rustled beneath his big leather boots as he drew back further into the stables, to an empty stall.

There was nothing he could do to her here, she sur
mised. And besides, she was anxious to know what he had found out, up there in the King’s chamber.

‘I was planning to find you before I left,’ he explained as she approached, his voice curling over her, dark, rich and velvety. He leaned one bulky shoulder against the wooden planks forming the side of the stall, folding his arms across his chest.

Alice shrugged. ‘I wanted to make sure that you were going.’ The words sounded lame, a limp excuse for her earlier outburst. She smoothed one hand down the gathered folds of her gown self-consciously.

His expression was stern, serious. ‘Alice, while I’m gone, I want you to take care.’

‘What do you mean?’ His words filtered through her, a shock. ‘I’m in no danger.’

‘I think you are. You need to watch out for Edmund.’

‘Edmund?’ she spluttered, astounded by his words. ‘Are you mad? What would make you say such a thing?’

Bastien sighed. He was saying this all wrong; and now, it would only annoy her, set her against him. And even then he wasn’t certain what Edmund and her mother were plotting. But if he said nothing at all… ‘I overheard a conversation between Edmund and your mother… They were discussing you, Alice.’

She tilted her head up at him, hands planted firmly on her hips. ‘There’s nothing unusual in that, Bastien. My mother was no doubt discussing the details of our marriage.’ Her speech wavered a little, cloudy with reservation.

‘They
were
discussing marriage,’ he agreed, ‘but not between you and Edmund. Between you and someone else.’ His hands rounded on her shoulders, secure, comforting.

Alice jerked her head back, confused. ‘Why, why are you doing this? You’re asking me to doubt one of my oldest and dearest friends. Someone whom I trust. Which is more than I can say for you…I don’t even trust you to bring my own father back.’ As if to emphasise her point she took a step back from Bastien, manoeuvring out deftly from his gentle hold on her shoulders. A loose thread from her gown snagged on a splinter of wood on the stall. She set her lips together in irritation, pulling roughly at her skirts, finally dislodging the stubborn material with a fraught, ripping sound. And all the time she felt his eyes upon her, burning into her.

‘You trusted me with the King.’ Further up the stables, his horse whinnied, jangling the bit between his teeth.

Alice glared at him, turquoise eyes wide and luminous. ‘You were blackmailing me with my father’s life!’ she flared back. ‘What was I supposed to do?’

‘Fair point,’ he agreed, equably. ‘You had no choice. Alice, I’m just telling you to be careful.’

Alice tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. ‘And I don’t understand. You have the information you came for, so why tell me this? From this day on, you’ll never see me again.’ Even to her own ears, her voice sounded ravaged, forlorn.

‘Is that why you came tearing into the stables like one possessed…’ he chuckled gently ‘…because you’re never going to see me again?’ As he spoke the words, he knew it wouldn’t be true. He would see her again. Even now, he had the strongest urge to bundle her up on to his horse, to take her with him, to protect her. He didn’t want to leave her here, alone, vulnerable.

She stared up at him, realising it was the last time
she would see the beautiful, sculptured lines of his face, his easy smile, his devastating eyes. She had to accept that he was leaving, that her future was marriage to Edmund. ‘I think you’d better go now, Bastien,’ Alice said quietly, twisting away from him before he saw the sadness in her face, the threat of shining tears gathering in her eyes. ‘And make sure my father comes back in one piece.’ She turned on her heel in a flick of skirts and stalked out of the stables.

The Duke glared at his tall commander, followed his movements back and forth across the great hall. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, man, stop pacing around and sit down!’ Bastien pitched his long body into a high-backed oak chair opposite the Duke, his sprawling attitude belying the fact that his every muscle quivered with a bristling energy.