Outrageous Read Online Free PDF Page B

Griffith’s character. He’d never chosen to bless any woman with more affection than he gave his falcons.
    And he never would. He never would.
    “I said”—Art rubbed his eye in exaggerated pain—“I said , this old wound’s a-painin’ me.”
    “I heard you,” Griffith said, irritated. “You don’t have to shout.”
    Crossing his arms across his chest, Art repeated, “This old wound’s a-painin’ me, and ye’re daydreaming.”
    “I’m not, and your eye doesn’t hurt. You know it. You always say that when you want your way.”
    “’Tis a shame not to check out Wenthaven’s plans,” Art coaxed.
    Griffith hesitated. As the king’s representative, he should try to discover what Wenthaven plotted, if anything. But Wenthaven was deep in the royal confidence and surely knew his future lay with Henry. “I’ll send a message,” Griffith said. “If Henry wants me to come back, he’ll command me.”
    Sanguine, Art flung wide the doors of the carved wood cabinet. “Guess I’ll put the bags in this fancy cupboard.”
    “Wenthaven can afford a fancy cupboard and a choice castle. He’s one of the dowager queen’s upstart relatives.” Griffith stretched out on the bed with a sigh. “He married well and held some prime positions during Edward’s reign.”
    Art nodded. “Got his money the hard way, then. By scheming.” Holding up one of Griffith’s shirts, he flapped the sleeves. “Look at this. This proves what I was saying. Yer arms are so long ye can scratch yer knees without bending down. Not that that doesn’t give ye a good reach with a blade, and not that I haven’t had reason to be thankful for yer reach. Yer big old chest makes ye look like a barrel, and yer legs are so long I have trouble keeping ye in hose.”
    “Are you trying to make me feel better?” Griffith asked irritably.
    “Of course. How else can I prove this lass hasn’t ruined yer looks? I say, if ye want her, better take her quick, else some other man will steal her from under yer”—Art snatched away the now-warm rag and replaced it with a cold one—“nose.”
    “I don’t want her.”
    “Then why is the bone in yer drawers as puffy as that bone on yer face?”
    Griffith came up with a roar. “Damn it, Art, shut your muzzle before I knock the rest of your teeth down your throat.”
    “Ooh, frightened, I am.”
    Removing the rag and throwing it aside, Griffithinsisted, “I’m not interested in a woman who has no control over her impulses.”
    As little awed by Griffith’s severity as by his threats, Art cocked his head, his eyes as inquisitive as a sparrow’s. “And why is she lacking in control?”
    “She was the favorite lady-in-waiting of Elizabeth of York. Marian could have made a great marriage, been a great influence. Instead she destroyed her chance for one moment in a great lord’s bed.”
    “’Tis not an uncommon sin.”
    “She bore a bastard.” Griffith heard the condemnation in his own voice and knew Art would make him repent for it.
    “Ah.” Head bobbing, Art pranced around the bed in a sprightly step. “So her sin is not fornication, but gestation. Not the sin itself, but being caught.”
    The trouble with old and trusted servants, Griffith reflected grimly, was not their insights, but the fact they felt compelled to share them. Intent on discouraging any more of Art’s ungainly strutting and critical comments, Griffith said, “Anyone who cannot control himself is not worthy of having mastery or authority over others.”
    “’Tis a country proverb, and a good one.” Art stopped dancing and eyed Griffith’s dour expression. “Too bad ye’ve not always followed it.”
    On this subject, Griffith could not shout—at least not at Art, who had lost his eye to Griffith’s youthful folly. “I learned my lesson early.”
    “Perhaps Marian lass learned the same lesson, but the proof of her mistake is not so easily hidden.”
    Deep in Griffith’s heart the knife of memory twisted, and he