Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion (44 page)

This hall was much more inviting than her uncle’s castle, she decided. It was warmer, brighter somehow, the tapestries cheerier, the rushes fresh and fragrant. It seemed like a place of harmony, where wealth wasn’t displayed for wealth’s sake.

She fidgeted with her skirt. Damnation! The hem was muddy. She hoped Lady Alyce wouldn’t notice. The beggar, at least, seemed confident that everything would work out. Where
was
he? He’d had enough time to stable the nag by now. She’d feel much more sure of herself with him at her side.

The beggar, she mused. He still hadn’t told her his real name. Everyone in her household seemed content to call him Duncan. She supposed he’d tell her in his own time.

Her thoughts scattered as a small commotion ensued at the far archway of the hall. A tall, gray-bearded nobleman entered, his surcoat a luxurious sweep of black velvet. Instinctively, she curtseyed.

At first, Lord James thought the diminutive girl in the middle of the hall was wearing a caul of spun gold. Then he realized he was seeing her hair. She lifted her head again. Her face was as beautiful as her hair—her cheeks rosy, her eyes brilliant. Alyce had been right. Duncan’s betrothed looked like an angel.

But suddenly the girl’s face contorted with horror. He wondered uneasily for a moment if he’d forgotten to don his braies.

“Are you mad?” she hissed across the empty hall.

Lord James glanced about him. Perhaps the damsel was addressing someone else. But there were just the two of them. He regarded her curiously.

“Aye, I’m speaking to you,” she said, continuing to gape at him. “Lady Alyce will be here any moment! What do you think you’re doing?”

“I?” he asked indignantly.

“Are you looking for a flogging?”

He raised himself up to his full height. How dared the girl speak to her future father-in-law in this way?

“Please go, Duncan,” she begged. “You’ll only make matters worse.”

Ah, here was the coil, Lord James thought. The damsel wasn’t the first to remark on the resemblance his son bore to him. And with Duncan’s penchant for disguises…

“I’m not Duncan,” he announced.

“Of course you’re not,” she whispered sarcastically. “You’re not Venganza or Gaston de Valois either.”

“My name is—”

“Nay, I don’t want to know now. I want you to leave immediately, get out of that ridiculous costume, and wait for me outside.”

Lord James lifted a brow. No doubt Duncan had been up to his well-known pranks with her in the recent past—“ridiculous costume” indeed. He stroked his beard and looked hard at her. She didn’t budge. This was obviously one spirited woman, just the sort of partner his eldest son needed, one who wouldn’t be overawed by Duncan’s wealth and position, but would speak her mind freely. Damn, but Alyce had chosen well.

“I shall send my wife out presently,” he told her.

“Your wife? Really!” she fumed, her hands on her hips. “Did you steal those garments?”

Lord James glanced down at his clothing. “You mean my…’ridiculous costume’? Nay, my wife—“

“Duncan! I’m not a fool, and furthermore—“

“I’m not Duncan.”

“I won’t put up with this nonsense when we’re wed.”

“Ah,” Lord James replied, quite satisfied with her decree. It seemed this woman would suit his son very well indeed. He saluted her. “Perfect.”

Lady Alyce stifled a smile.

Her oldest son Duncan stood before her, challenging her with a gaze of unyielding iron. Already the poor lad had made the mistake of coming to the solar,
her
domain, to confront her. Now he was compensating for that tactical error by puffing out his chest and staring at her with a grim expression that said he’d brook no argument from her.

How out of place he looked here, she thought. His size and that fierce, dark countenance of his were at odds with the blithe tapestries, soft furnishings, and warm candlelight flooding the room. And he was obviously uncomfortable. He wouldn’t know what to do with his arms if he unfolded them from across his chest. He’d likely stand for hours before attempting to sit on one of the delicate cushioned benches he was certain would break beneath his weight. It was all too amusing.

Before he misunderstood the smile that threatened to crinkle her eyes, she turned her back on him and gazed out the window.

“I know you’re upset,” he warned, “but—”

“I’m
extremely
upset,” she told him, but somehow she couldn’t make her voice reflect that.

“Be that as it may, I won’t change my—”

“Do you smell smoke?” she asked suddenly, turning to him and sniffing.

“I helped to put out a fire last night. Linet’s warehouse burned to the ground,” he mumbled, obviously eager to get back to the other topic. “I want you to know it was entirely my idea.

“A fire?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Our marriage.”

“Ah,” she sighed, pressing a hand to her breast in relief.

“Linet is blameless,” he insisted.

“Well,” she laughed shortly, “that much is a comfort. I’m glad to know the
girl
at least has more sense than to try to marry without the king’s permission.”

How like his father he was, she thought, this firstborn son she’d raised as her own, stubborn and principled and utterly charming. He never doubted for a moment that he’d get his way. Most of the time, he was right.

“However,” she continued, crossing her arms and turning her back on him again, “that isn’t why I’m upset.”

His sigh was loud.

“Linet de Montfort is lovely,” she said, “Brilliant, hard-working, courteous. I couldn’t ask for a more suitable daughter-in-law. In fact, I told the king so when I sent for his approval. All it needs now is your father’s final blessing. He should be with her now.”

There was an instant of delay while he digested this information. “What?” he finally exploded.

“I told you I think she’s lovely.”

“How did—” Duncan stumbled.

“I purchased quite a bit of cloth from her, you know—superior quality stuff.”

“Mother,” he threatened, sounding very like his father now, “what have you done?” He stepped behind her and turned her around by the shoulders.

“Only assisted fate, my dear,” she said with a shrug.

Duncan was at his wit’s end. He wondered how his father had endured this woman’s capricious logic. “Mother, how could you possibly know what fate has in store for me?”

“Duncan, Duncan,” she chided, patting him lightly on the cheek. “I
always
know.”

He shook his head. It was useless trying to interpret her reasoning. Part of him was furious that his stepmother had made wedding arrangements with the king without consulting him. But truthfully, Duncan was pleased with the outcome. And looking down at Lady Alyce’s radiant expression, he knew he couldn’t stay angry with her for long.

“If you had my future planned all along,” he said, arching a brow, “then why are you upset with me?”

“I’m upset, you big lout, because I’m sure you’ve bedded her, and that means we must make haste in case she is with child. There’s scarcely time to prepare for the kind of ceremony your father will insist upon for his firstborn.”

He grinned, and she pushed him aside to pace.

“We must have a hunt,” she decided. “We’ll need quail and heronshewes, at least, and a dressed swan as the processional centerpiece at the wedding feast. We have stores of pickled salmon from Scotland, and river eels will be simple enough to come by, but…oh, how I do wish we’d gotten more figs and dates from that Turkish merchant after Lent…”

Duncan heard little else of Lady Alyce’s chatter. He bussed her soundly on the mouth, startling her from her discourse, then gladly fled the room that seemed to mock his masculinity.

Linet made a formal curtsey when Lady Alyce swept into the great hall with two of her maids-in-waiting.

“There you are, my dear,” the lady beamed, gliding closer. “Why, what lovely hair you have. It’s as golden as the sun.”

Linet touched her curls self-consciously, keenly aware of the fact she’d forgotten to wear a proper coif and veil. “My lady…” she began nervously.

“And your gown—what a beautiful shade of green,” the lady continued, circling her with her maids until Linet felt like an object of art. “Did your Italian dyers do it?”

“Aye, my lady, thank you.”

One of the maids began sniffing suspiciously. Linet would have sworn Lady Alyce kicked surreptitiously at the girl, though she remained smiling all the while.

“I smell smoke,” the other maid declared.

Linet colored.

Lady Alyce took Linet’s arm and walked with her to the dais at the end of the hall. “Prepare a bath, ladies,” she called over her shoulder. “One of you smells of smoke.”

Linet bit her lip. “I fear it’s me,” she whispered.

“Now,” Lady Alyce said, ignoring the comment, “I wish to have new attire for a special occasion. How long would it take you, from the raw wool to the dyeing and the weaving, to complete enough cloth for garments for my immediate family—that is, my husband and myself, two of my sons, and…let me see, the men will wear their own colors…five of my ladies?”

Linet was overwhelmed by Lady Alyce’s babbling. How could she tell the woman that the raw wool was gone and all her looms destroyed?

God must have been smiling on her.

“I have a store of raw wool,” Lady Alyce said, “quite fine, I’m told, though I’d like your judgment on that, and I would prefer the work to be done on my looms here, except for the dyeing, of course. It’s a smelly business, isn’t it, best left to the far end of the village?”

As Linet nodded her agreement, a flicker of hope began in her breast. “Do you have a quill, my lady?” she asked. “I must tally it all.”

“Come,” Lady Alyce beckoned.

She ushered Linet upstairs to a vacant chamber. Linet liked the room immediately. It seemed warm despite the rich, dark colors, and the furnishings looked well-used and cared for. The chamber was comfortably cluttered with coins tossed across a table, a deep brown velvet robe hanging over a chair, wax drippings on a half-finished parchment on the desk.

“My son’s,” Lady Alyce disclosed. She pushed the inked parchment aside and gave Linet a fresh one, along with a quill.

Linet perched upon the large leather-seated chair and scrawled out figures, asking the lady to refresh her memory about the number of garments. Then she rose from the desk. “The cloth can be ready in a week’s time, two at the most, depending on how many weavers we employ,” Linet told her. “Of course, after that, the garments must be cut and sewn.”

“Of course,” the lady agreed. “Very well. That timing should suffice.”

“Do you wish to know the cost?” Linet ventured.

Lady Alyce fluttered her hands. “It’s immaterial.”

Then the woman chattered on for nearly half an hour while Linet took notes concerning the colors and textures she desired. Lady Alyce certainly had impeccable taste. It was fortunate the cost was of no importance.

When their negotiations were finished, Linet stood humbly before Lady Alyce, biting her bottom lip. She had to tell the woman about the rest of her order.

“My lady, first let me say that, I assure you, upon the…” She meant to say, the name of de Montfort, but somehow that seemed inappropriate now. “Upon my honor as a wool merchant of the Guild, I will not fail you in this. There is another matter, however, of most dire consequence, which I must confess.”

“The fire?”

Linet looked aghast. “Can you smell it on me?”

She could have cut out her tongue for blurting out the words, but Lady Alyce only smiled gently.

“I believe, my dear, your bath should be ready by now.”

“You see,” Linet tried to explain, “there was a fire. All my cloth, all
your
cloth… My bath?”

“Aye,” Lady Alyce said warmly. “I know all about the fire. Don’t fret over it.”

“You know?”

“Aye. Duncan told me all about it.”

“Duncan?”

“Mm,” Lady Alyce nodded. “Come now, let’s find that tub.”

Linet followed her in wonder. When had Duncan spoken to Lady Alyce? Whatever the truth, the beggar had told her everything would be all right, and so it seemed. She was going to have a nice hot bath. There was the promise of much coin in her pocket. And in two weeks’ time, she would journey with her new husband back to Avedon and her warm, comfortable, cozy home.

Linet’s hair was only half dry from the bath, blessedly clean and scented with jasmine, when she decided she’d better seek out her betrothed. She hadn’t had time to explain to Lady Alyce about the loss of her title. Thus, the lady had invited her to sup with them at the high table. While that idea pleased Linet, she wished to seek the beggar’s permission first. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass him by enjoying the rights of her now empty title while he sat alone at the lower tables.

Slipping into the blue brocade surcoat Lady Alyce so generously provided, Linet crept down the stairs into the great hall. Servants rushed about setting up trestle tables for supper, but there was no sign of her beggar.

She ventured up to the chapel next, but he wasn’t there. She hoped she could find him before he caused any trouble.

On the way downstairs, she crossed paths with one of the guards who had come to her rescue in Lady Alyce’s solar. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

“You,” she said, stopping him on the stair.

“My lady?” He bowed. “All is well, I trust?”

“I’m looking for Dun-…the beggar who accosted me in Lady Alyce’s solar. Do you remember me? The wool merchant?”

“Of course. Do you mean Duncan?”

Lord, did everyone know the beggar? “Aye.”

“The last I saw him, he was below stairs in the armory. You might look there.”

She thanked him, wondering at the amused expression on his face.

He wasn’t in the armory, although a half dozen other men were, in various stages of armament and wearing diverse expressions of pleasure or hostility at finding a woman in their midst. She made a hasty retreat.