Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,29

trembling once again while she tried to will her body to stop, to be cold and aloof. She concentrated so hard, she did not hear St. Ryne cross the room and was only snapped into awareness by the click of a closing door. Startled, she straightened and looked around the room. St. Ryne was gone.

Swiftly she crossed to the connecting door then the main door to lock them, only to find there were no keys. She eyed the furniture, but unfortunately they were all solid, heavy pieces—too big for her to move in front of a door.

A little uncertainly, she removed the mauve dress then swiftly donned her new, white, lawn nightgown. She looked about the room again, half expecting St. Ryne to appear. Bewildered, Elizabeth picked up her brush from the vanity and sat before the fire, waiting and listening as she brushed her hair with long even strokes. Eventually she heard St. Ryne moving about in his dressing room. She froze, expecting him to enter. She closed her eyes and lifted a trembling hand to the neckline of her nightgown, drawing it more closely about her. She winced as first one boot then the other was heard to hit the floor followed by a muffled rustling. She opened her eyes and rose slowly to face the door. She strained her hearing to catch the first signs of the door opening. Instead she heard the narrow bed she had seen in St. Ryne’s dressing room creak as it received his weight, then the house was silent. Confused, Elizabeth tentatively crossed to the big empty bed on the dais. Crawling in, she pulled the blankets snugly about her as she huddled on one side. She was exhausted and her stomach churned in hunger. Sleep, however, was a long way away.

Where is the life that late I led?

—Act III, Scene 3

It was a feather faintly brushing her nose, a grain of pepper floating in the air; sleepily Elizabeth twitched her nose then turned her head to bury her face deep into the pillow. The irritating tickle remained. After squirming uselessly under the covers for a moment, she raised her head. There appeared to be no stopping it. Her eyes clenched shut, almost tearing from the plaguing irritant.

Ah-Ahchoo!

Elizabeth’s eyes flew open in horrified dismay. Quickly she looked about, her befuddled mind wondering if anyone had been witness to her very unladylike sneeze. Dazedly she surveyed her surroundings. This was not her room. This was not Rasthough Ah-Ah-Ahchoo! House. Then she remembered with sickening clarity St. Ryne, the wedding, the house. She bolted upright in bed, flinging off the bed covers, sending a cloud of silver motes into the air.

Ahchoo! Ahchoo! Sneezes racked her body, her eyes watering. Elizabeth fumbled for the reticule she had discarded so casually the day before, searching frantically for the square of linen it contained. How could she ever have forgotten all the dust? Ahch— She jammed the handkerchief tightly to her face and closed her eyes thankfully when the threatening sneeze stopped. As quietly as possible, she blew her nose until the tickle subsided then slumped down in relief on the edge of the bed.

Dust. Even in the morning dimness of a room shut off from the outside, dust was evident everywhere. Only her fatigued state, shattered nerves, and the flickering shadows cast in the candlelit room the evening before had prevented her from noting how thick the bedchamber was with dust. Reluctantly she rose and crossed to the terrace windows, dragging the heavy curtains back to let strands of pale autumn sun into the room. For a moment she just stood, her face turned up to the sun, feeling the warmth seep into her body. She looked out the windows onto the grounds of the park below.

Silver dew clung to bushes and branches, glinting off the tangled growth. There was a strange beauty to the park, a sense of unreality. Was this all a dream, some nightmarish incantation to lure and confuse? Childishly, Elizabeth pressed her face up to the glass. The cold touch sent her shivering back a step though her eyes never left the peace she perceived in the tangled growth below.

Rounding the corner of a wild overgrown hedge came St. Ryne, sending a shimmer of water droplets flying as he brushed past. Instinctively Elizabeth drew away from the window, not wanting to be seen yet by her husband. She didn’t understand the events of the previous day. Her dreams had been fraught with