A Dishonorable Knight (2 page)

"Don't you even think of chasing
a skirt while you're here, Cynan, or I'll be telling Enid and you'll have no
peace!" he said, forcing a teasing tone to his voice.

"It's not peace I'm worried
about losing should my wife think I was straying," said Cynan with a comic
glance at his lap.

Laughing hard, Bryant gasped out,
"The folk would definitely have a hard time believing you're as stalwart
as you boast if they saw you running from your wife with your tail between your
legs!"

Gareth chuckled at the thought as he
raised his mug to his lips, but his hand froze in mid-air as his eyes swept
over the crowd to the top of the broad stone staircase. Cynan followed his line
of sight and let out a low whistle. "Now there's a woman who might even
change the mind of such a determined bachelor as you, Gareth."

Bryant craned his neck to see at who
they were looking. "I could definitely change my mind about red hair on a
woman."

"It's not red, you oaf,” Cynan
argued. It's more to copper, or--"

"Chestnut," Gareth broke
in.

"Exactly," Cynan said
expansively as he filled his mug from a large pitcher on the table.
"Chestnut. The exact color of the horse I wanted when I was ten years old.
Do you remember that?"

Bryant made a joking remark but
Gareth did not hear it. Never before had he been struck by a woman as he was by
this one who looked around the room from her high vantage point. Perhaps the
troubadours knew something after all when they sang of love at a glance. As the
woman slowly made her way down the steps, Gareth took in her creamy complexion
and slender figure, both of which were complemented by the dark green gown she
wore. Velvet, he thought. She's a lady of great standing to wear velvet. With a
sigh, he watched her make her graceful descent. No lady of great standing would
give a second glance at a mere knight from Wales. Still, he would give much for
the chance to at least talk to her. Perhaps she was interested in more than a
title and a position in court.

***

From the top of the flight of stairs leading into
the great hall, Elena de Vignon surveyed the noisy gathering, her
cinnamon-brown eyes searching for Lord Edgeford, sparkling with determination
when they alighted on his tall figure. Pinching her cheeks to make sure they
were enchantingly pink (had not Lord Edgeford used those very words himself?),
Elena slowly descended the staircase, grateful, as the pungent smell of the
hall reached her
nose, that
she had elected to eat in
the privacy of her room.

Carefully lifting the embroidered hem
of her forest-green cotehardie from the soiled rushes that covered the floor,
she joined the group of young women who sat at the table to the right of the
king’s seat. Not once did she allow her gaze to stray again to the table where
she knew Edgeford sat.

Selecting a seat where she was sure
he would have a clear view of her, she carefully arranged her heavy velvet
skirts before turning her attention to the conversation at the table.

"...
the
fact remains that marrying Anne brought him a great deal of wealth, Catherine,
and the sooner you realize that is all your husband will care about--"

Catherine, short, slender, and
incurably romantic turned and wailed, "Elena, please tell Margaret to stop
her tiresome lectures. I came to court to escape such lectures from my mother
and nurse!"

"Liar," Elena laughed.
"You came to court to find a wealthy husband!"

"Is that not all you are here
for?" asked Margaret scathingly.

Elena turned to face the dark-haired
girl who, even seated, was tall. "I shall not settle for a husband who is
merely wealthy."

"What other requisites must he
possess," Margaret asked, her blue eyes narrowing with cynicism.

Elena stared across the table.
"What matter is it to you? I thought you do not even wish to wed. Are you
not planning on devoting you life to God?"

"'Tis the only occupation where
a woman has any say in her future."

"As long as that future obeys
the dictates of the pope and every bishop and priest from here to Rome,” Elena
retorted.

"And I suppose Lord Edgeford
will give you free reign to do whatever you desire."

Elena smiled. "Within reason, I
am sure."

"And he probably will not even
mind that your father is a Lancastrian earl or that your discretion where men
are concerned is less than immaculate."

"I believe King Richard favors
me well enough," Elena said tightly, abruptly turning her back on
Margaret. Elena had always believed that sheer determination could make any
dream a reality. Her father, upon realizing she was to be his only
child,
had lavished upon her the knowledge and schooling
usually reserved for sons. She was determined to use both her intelligence and
her wits to make Edgeford her husband. She had overcome her father’s ties to
the Lancasters, now she had only to overcome the gossip that had plagued her
for the past year.

Casually glancing in her lord's
direction, she discovered him still seated in the middle of the great hall, but
now his hair was tousled, his cheeks were flushed, and he seemed engrossed in a
very private discussion with a shapely brunette, their heads nearly touching as
they spoke. Something the woman said must have amused him because he threw back
his head with laughter before grabbing the woman's hand and pressing a fervent
kiss to her knuckles.

Elena scowled in anger. Men were so
simple, she thought. Out of sight, out of mind, wasn't that what her cousin
Sarah always said? Just this morning when Elena had walked with him in the
orchard, he told her that hers was the most beautiful laugh he had ever heard
and all other women's laughter would forever fall discordantly on his ears.
Fortunately, she was not naive enough to believe everything men told her.

Upon first coming to court, she had
quickly fallen in love with one of the king’s advisors, Lord Marchon. He was
polished and worldly, handsome and dashing. They spent hours in the king’s
private gardens, talking about books and kingdom politics, music and poetry. He
sent her crystal bottles of perfume, posies of flowers, handkerchiefs of silk.
Elena had believed his devotions of love and his promise for a beautiful life
together. So fervently had she believed that she did not cry out when he woke
her in her
bed.
The court was in York and Elena’s bed
was but a hard pallet in a curtained alcove off the main hall. It scarcely
offered privacy, but Marchon’s kisses were persuasive and if they could be
married immediately, there would be no real harm in consummating their love,
could there?

“Married?” he asked, a confused frown
marring his handsome brow. “But I thought you understood, my sweet.” And in
cold hard terms, he spelled out his idea for their “future together.” She would
become his mistress and live in a rented house in London, available to him at
his every whim, forbidden, unfortunately, from being seen with him in public,
much less at court.

Elena was so angry, she shrieked and
struck at him, raking his face with her nails. When she reared back to throw
her fists at him again, she succeeded only in throwing herself out of the bed,
out into the main hall where men were drinking, serving wenches on their laps.
The uproar her arrival started only intensified when Lord Marchon stepped out
of the alcove, adjusted his clothing, and left. For the rumors that flew
through the court over the next fortnight, she may as well have given her
virtue over. And just when she thought her shame could grow no heavier,
Margaret told her about his wife.

“His wife?” Elena asked, her hopes
crumbling about her hem. Margaret nodded sympathetically.

“She’s related to the Duke of York’s
wife. She will be arriving in the next day or two.” Not only was she related to
the Duke of York, she was beautiful and wealthy, and Elena was assigned to wait
on her while she was at court. Humiliation had burned through Elena’s veins,
pulsing her hurt and her anger through every fiber of her being.

Since that time, Elena had vowed she
would not be fooled again. She perfected the art of flirtation, never taking
seriously a word uttered by a courtier, making sure she would not appear the
fool for any man. But the damage to her reputations was done. She was never
sure if there was a knowing leer behind the flattering smiles of her fellow
courtiers. Lord Edgeford was the first man who seemed to believe the best about
her. Whether or not he’d heard the gossip, Elena felt sure he did not believe
it. When they were married, she would finally be free of the malicious
rumors--free to be the gracious, powerful noble lady she was born to be.

Lord Edgeford was different and her
flirtations were no game: she meant to marry him. But she would not permit
herself to care too deeply for him.

Elena realized that she was still
staring at Edgeford and the dark-haired woman. Quickly turning her head, her
gaze collided with the gray eyes of a man several tables over. Brushing a lock
of thick brown hair out of his eyes, the man smiled and bowed his head at her.
Elena was just about to glare her disapproval over such familiar behavior when
the king's booming voice called to her.

"Lady Elena, my dear child. Come
bid your sovereign good even!"

Smoothing her skirts, Elena
approached the raised dais that held the king's table, and curtsied.

"No, no. Come around here and
let me introduce you to someone."

Elena ascended the steps and
approached the king, nodding to those lords who glanced at her and curtsying
deeply to Richard.

"Your Grace," she murmured,
hoping Lord Edgeford would see her up here and on such close terms with the
king. Despite her assurances to Margaret, Elena was still not sure that the
king of the York household would totally dismiss her father's distant
relationship with the Lancastrians. Her grandfather had, after all, been
granted his land in northern England from that formidable Lancaster, Henry V.

"Here is our fair child."
Richard addressed an older man on his right. Elena pulled her attention to the
man Richard was addressing and cringed inwardly as the heavy set man eyed her
speculatively from beneath bushy black brows.

"Indeed, Your Grace," the
man said in a gravelly voice.

Taking Elena's hand, Richard squeezed
it reassuringly as he introduced her. "Edmund, this is Elena de Vignon,
daughter of Jean Paul de Vignon who owns quite a sizable estate up near
Doncaster. Elena, this is the Earl of Brackley, a true and loyal friend."

The earl pushed himself to his feet
and Elena took a small step backwards; not only was the man of heavy build, he
was well over six feet tall. The earl issued a curt bow and Elena could not
help but wonder why the king was introducing her to Brackley. The earl
immediately sat back down and took his knife to the meat on his trencher. As
Richard turned to address his page, Elena curtsied to their backs and quickly
descended the stairs. Still bewildered as to why the king had called her up in
the first place, she looked about for Edgeford and saw him watching the group
of dancers at the end of the great hall. As she approached the edge of the
circle of onlookers, the dance ended and several young men began calling for
the Gavotte—a scandalous dance involving kissing between partners. Elena
sought out Edgeford, only to find him being dragged onto the dance floor by the
brunette he had been laughing with earlier. In a fury, she stamped her foot on
the hard stone floor and was silently cursing the woman when she felt someone
touch her arm. Elena whirled around.

In front of her, a man straightened
his jerkin and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Would you care to
dance?" he asked.

She surveyed her would-be partner.
While a distant part of her brain registered the man's clear-cut features, warm
gray eyes and well-developed shoulders, the
practical part of
her mind was offended by the man's worn woolen hose, his scuffed brown boots,
and his plainly cut jerkin
. She was about to refuse when she remembered
that midway through the Gavotte, the dancers changed partners. Quickly counting
off couples from Edgeford to determine where she should position herself to
become his partner, she turned back to the man. "Very well. Shall we start
over here?" she asked.

Her partner gingerly took her hand
and led her to the line of dancers. As the steps progressed, Elena scarce paid
him any attention, intent as she was on watching Edgeford. During a complicated
step, she glanced briefly at her plainly dressed partner and knew he was
irritated by her preoccupation. When it came time for him to kiss her, she
artfully turned her head at the last moment so his lips merely grazed her
cheek. By the time he had to relinquish her as his partner, he seemed very put
out, but then the dark-haired woman was his partner and Elena wished them
both good riddance
.

Turning her attention to her new
partner, Elena felt quite pleased her scheme had worked. As she and Lord
Edgeford danced, she concentrated on smiling her prettiest and laughing her
softest. Edgeford obligingly responded.

"Ah, at last I am given the
honor of a dance with the fair maid Elena."