Page 78 of Fortress of Snow

Lady Bristow started walking toward the bed, letting her fingertips lightly tap his arm.

“Come and sit here beside me.” She sat in a cushioned chair, and Berenger sat in the one next to it. Lady Bristow poured wine into two cups.

She smiled that beguiling smile—the one he had thought so warm and inviting just a few days ago—as she handed him the cup.

They each took a sip, then he set down his cup on a small table.

“Do you not care for this wine?” Her voice took on a deeper tone. “I’m sure it would take much more than this to make a man like you drunk.”

“I rarely drink wine.”

“The French have their wine and the English their ale.” Lady Bristow laughed, a guttural sound. “Honest to a fault, are you not, Sir Berenger?”

“I try to be honest, Lady Bristow.”

“Call me Catherine. I should dearly love to hear you say my Christian name.” She leaned quite close, her eyes heavy-lidded. She was staring at his lips.

The image of her kissing the stranger on the beach flashed like lightning through his mind.

“Catherine, tell me about your father and mother. I don’t think you’ve ever told me about them.”

Her expression changed, going hard. She straightened.

“Whyever would you want to talk of something so dull as that?”

“Is that dull?”

“My father was a baron, my mother the daughter of a baron. What else is there to tell?”

He’d hoped she might reveal a connection to France. To ask outright about any French relations might cast him in too suspicious a light.

“My mother was the daughter of Lord Fairchild,” Berenger said. “He was a landowner in Bedfordshire. Tell me something about your mother.”

“My mother? She had my two brothers and me. My older brother inherited my father’s barony when my father died a few years ago. My mother died when I was fifteen. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

“I am very sorry you lost your mother at such a young age. I lost my mother when I was almost nine years old.”

“That must have broken your heart.” She made a sympathetic moue with her lips.

“Yes, but my brothers and sister and I are very close. We have always taken care of each other.”

“My brothers were not very good to me, I’m afraid. I grew to especially hate my older brother.”

“Was he cruel to you?”

“Are you always so inquisitive? Drink some more wine.” She tapped the cup with her fingernail, a playful smile on her lips, but her eyes seemed cold, staring back at him.

He took another sip but watched her carefully.

“There. Isn’t that a pleasant taste? I must say, I can’t imagine how you men can drink so much ale. Wine is much better, do you not think?”

“Indeed. I have heard the best wine is grown in France. Where is this wine from?”

“France, I would wager.” She gave him a narrowed look from over the rim of the cup as she took a healthy gulp.

He stared at her, wondering how he might ask her more about her connection to France, and also wondering if the ship was still just off the shore.

Perhaps it was not so wise to come into her room. He was playing a rather dangerous game.