Her Every Pleasure Read Free Page A

quickly changed clothes, taking off her regal velvet finery in favor of simple garb befitting some rural dairymaid.
    One day,
she thought as she buttoned up her drab gray skirts,
I will probably laugh about this…
    No matter. At least she was alive.
    The next step was the efficient removal from her person all signs of her royal origins—clothes, papers, and jewelry, her signet ring, even her solid gold hair ornament with the family crest emblazoned on it. She unfastened it and shook her long black tresses free from their neat chignon.
    Wrapping up all her telltale items in the discarded lining of her cloak, she looked around for a suitable place to stow them and hid the lot under a pile of musty old hay.
    This left her with her knife, her knapsack of supplies, and the woolen outer layer of her cloak. The latter item she spread out over the hay, making a little place where she could rest.
    Then she took the canteen out of her knapsack and helped herself to a swallow of water, but not too much. She would have to ration it in case her guards took longer than a day or so to find her. The knapsack also held several items of food and a folding telescope.
    Putting her water away, she reached for the spyglass and carried it over to have a look out the little window on the east wall of the loft.
    She twisted the telescope open and lifted it to her eye. She was pleased to see she had a good view from here of a portion of the moonlit road by which she had come.
    Beyond that, there was little to hold her interest. Trees. Sheep. No sign of a village. Just a dark, peaceful countryside slumbering under an onyx sky spangled with bright autumn stars.
    After a moment, she crossed the loft to check the view out the opposite window.
Ah.
At least there was something here to see.
    Her gaze homed in at once on the lonely ruins of a little Norman church just a stone’s throw across the fields. She had lost her faith a long time ago, but, all things considered, it was comforting to see it there.
    Carved stone angels, eerie in the moonlight, stood sentry by its crumbling entrance.
    Suddenly, Sophia noticed the feeble glow of light dancing through the ancient stained glass window where a portion of the stone wall was still intact. She furrowed her brow.
Someone was moving around in those ruins—at this hour?
    Lifting her spyglass once more to her eye, she peered into the sanctuary’s broken shell.
    Staring for all she was worth, she suddenly caught sight of a man dressed all in black.
    He was lighting candles at the altar.
    She froze, studying him through her spyglass.
    With a brooding stare, seemingly lost in his thoughts, the formidable stranger lit each creamy candle on the iron rack, one by one, until their flickering glow illuminated his steely profile—stern nose, a hard, unsmiling mouth. A short scruff of a beard roughened his strong jaw, while his jet-black hair was overgrown, a rebellious tangle that curled over the back of his coat collar. Her heart pounded. Who, what, was this man?
    Was he a threat?
    The light was too dim and the distance too great to judge for certain. Perhaps, since he was wearing all black, he was a priest—but, no. On second thought, he looked more sinner than saint. Or rather, like a lost soul.
    Watching him, Sophia did not know
what
to make of the man. He was very handsome, with the look of a gentleman, yet something in his countenance was hard and cold and fierce.
    Clearly, this lonely place was not quite as deserted as she had thought.
    His task completed, the stranger stood there with a downward gaze for another long moment, seemingly a million miles away, and then abruptly, she lost him from view as he moved away from the iron rack of candles.
    When she found him again with her spyglass, he was stalking out of the church.
    She felt a small easing of relief inside her tense body to see him heading off in the opposite direction.
    There must be a house around here somewhere.
    When he had disappeared past the