The room was enveloped in silence, the only sound the soft echo of his fading footsteps beyond her chamber door. She stood alone, unable to move, with his last words echoing in her head.
Dear Lord, he was unbearable! How dare he forbid her from the celebration!
Restless, she began to pace in front of the hearth.
How could he stand there and have the gall to suggest she curry his favor? Was he mad? He must be, or too intoxicated with his newfound power to have any sense.
She turned on her heel and stomped back toward the door.
He was a cold, selfish, unfeeling brute. He was so full of himself, so impossibly arrogant that it was amazing he had not exploded with self-importance already.
Picking up a carved ivory brush, she flung it at a wall as she circled back to the window.
God’s mercy but she hated him. He was almost pitiful, so obvious in his attempt to goad her into bending to his will. She was not deluded by his ploy. Of course, he was counting on her anger to prod her into going down to his damnable feast. Well, he was mistaken if he thought she would be so easily duped.
She flounced down onto the window seat, looking with unseeing eyes out onto the bailey. It was a familiar perch, for she had favored this spot during the long, dark days at Gastonbury before de Montregnier’s arrival.
Seated here again, she was struck with the vivid recollection of the despair of those times. Could it truly have been only days ago? It seemed a lifetime. Dear Lord, at least she was no longer with Edgar.
It was an incongruent thought, but it was nonetheless true.
She loathed de Montregnier with his high-handed arrogance and his quick-witted barbs. Yet she was without a doubt much better off for his having defeated Edgar and taken over Gastonbury. Brutal and insensitive he was, but she could not honestly hate his prowess on the battlefield, for it had saved her from the unthinkable fate of living as du Berg’s wife.
De Montregnier wished to use her for his ends, but he had never really caused her any damage. All he had done was detain her. True, he was a dishonorable liar and a ruthless schemer, but at least he was not a lecher, or worse. He had not harmed her. And she had to admit she was not completely blameless. She had done much to antagonize him.
It almost certainly would have gone worse for her with another.
Perhaps she was acting a bit peevish. Not without cause, to be sure, yet still more thin-skinned than her normal habit. There was something about de Montregnier that riled her to her worst displays of temper. She suddenly realized she was not very proud of that. Most assuredly, she was ashamed to be hiding in her room to avoid a confrontation. What would her mother say of such cowardice?
Alayna came to her feet. She did not stop to examine her motives. With a sense of determination, she flung open the lid of the chest that held her finest gowns. She would have no help dressing, so she chose a simple, long tunic of deep rose brocade. Pulling it on quickly, she rummaged through another trunk to find an unadorned girdle of gold and a delicate filigreed circlet for her hair. She fetched the ill-used brush and roughly applied it until the mass of curls gleamed in a shimmering cascade down her back. She placed the circlet on her unbound tresses and slipped her feet into the soft slippers that matched her gown. Thus garbed, she smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, took a deep breath and hurried to the hall.
When she entered the room, she was aware of the hushing of conversations as she moved to the high table. The last time she had sat there, Edgar had been the host. Now, clad in his customary black, Lucien de Montregnier had the master’s chair. He watched her with smug assurance as she came to take her place beside him.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, for the delay. I have come to attend you at your celebration, as you requested.”
The words cost her only a little, but it was worth it to see the smirk melt from his face. It was obvious he had been expecting her to be blustering or sullen. This gracious apology had stunned him. Ha!
She was disappointed in how soon he recovered. Lucien merely waved his hand at the chair next to him. “Be seated and let the feasting commence.”
With effortless grace, she sank into the chair at his left. A small scuffle drew her attention, and she turned to see Will and Pelly struggling over who would be the one to sit on her other side. Eventually Will gave his young friend a hearty shove and took the advantage. When he was safely ensconced in the coveted position, he turned to give Alayna a winning grin, choosing to ignore the dark scowl Lucien bestowed on him. Pelly sank into the next seat, looking quite perturbed.
Alayna could not help but to be amused by their antics. She rewarded both men with a genuine smile that immediately alleviated Pelly’s sulk. Alayna’s mood was lightened, as well, and she was delighted they had obviously annoyed de Montregnier. She decided that she may enjoy the evening after all. In this spirit, she applied herself to pointedly shunning any conversation with him, focusing her attention on the charming Sir Will.
The handsome knight was very attentive. He amused all with his lighthearted manner and frivolous tales of his own courage and bravery. However, he told these stories with such obvious exaggeration that they were transformed into delightful parodies.
Lucien was keenly aware of her presence at his side. After recovering from the shock of her humble apology, he saw it for what it was—a carefully calculated ploy to take him off guard. This woman was not as predictable as most, he would give her that much.
He was immeasurably annoyed when the serving wench set down the trencher and chalice between himself and Alayna. It was customary for these things to be shared between two people, and as the new lord, it was logical that he be matched with Edgar’s widow. However, it was decidedly awkward. He scowled, flickering a glance to Alayna, who appeared horrified at the prospect of sharing the meal with him. She looked at him accusingly, and he realized she thought he had planned it. He felt a surge of perverse pleasure at her vexation.
“Does anything please you, my lady?” he inquired as a servant held a tray for them to make their selections. The sarcastic solicitousness in his voice made her bristle.
“Nay, my lord. Nothing here pleases me,” she countered, her meaning clear. Lucien rewarded her with a grim smile.
“Take this tray away, it does not please your lady,” he commanded.
Her eyes widened, locking with his amused ones. She had not expected that. The next servant presented her with a generous assortment of meats. Lucien could see that she was hungry from the look she gave the heavily laden platter, but he knew she would never admit it.
“And what of these? Is there naught here that pleases you?”
She did not answer, hesitating with the wariness of an animal who senses the trap but is unsure in which direction it lies. At her momentary lack of response, he waved the food away. Another tray passed untouched. When the next was proffered, she reached up quickly.
“I will have the pies,” she said.
“Ah,” Lucien said to the servant. “My lady wishes a pie. But wait, these pies look paltry! Why, they are too thin, with hardly any substance to them.” She looked puzzled. He knew quite well there was nothing wrong with them, and so did she. “Take these away. My lady wishes fat pies, stuffed with meat and spices, not these skinny things.”
The servant was shocked, and his moment’s uncertainty gave Alayna the time to snatch several pies and deposit them in front of her. “These will do fine,” she said, and smiled to the servant, turning an angry look on de Montregnier.
He chuckled softly, inclining his head slowly to concede her the victory.
Her manners were dainty enough, but her appetite was substantial. She ate every last morsel. When he offered her the chalice, she made a point of turning the cup so that her lips would not touch where his had been. Lucien smiled ruefully at that bit of drama. In their short acquaintance she had distinguished herself as the most difficult, exasperating woman he had ever met. She was not a bit intimidated by him. No one had eve
r been unmoved by his temper, his damning scowls, yet this slip of a girl had the audacity to check him at every turn. It should infuriate him, and most times it did. But why, by God’s teeth, did it amuse him so?
Noticing his dark look upon her, Alayna met his stare bravely. “Now ’tis my turn to ask you, my lord, for you look unhappy. Though you usually appear as if you have swallowed a lemon, you seem particularly dour right now. Are you, then, displeased?”
Lucien stiffened at the gibe. “I have important matters on my mind, demoiselle. Do not forget there is much I must accomplish before the justiciar arrives.”
“Ah,” she said, “and your worry over your spurious claim weighs on your mind.”
Spurious claim? She was at it again.
“I am a man of action, experienced in the ways of war, not government. But I suppose I shall acclimate myself soon enough. I have no such anxiety that all will not be exactly as I intend.” He leaned forward. “And that everyone here will do exactly as I intend.”
She sniffed delicately. “Well, ’tis a daunting job. If a man were not up to the challenge, it surely would appear to be an intimidating task.”
He looked at her lazily, allowing a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. He picked up the chalice and took a long drink.
“Actually, I find myself looking forward to it. I thrive on challenge, be it of arms or wits. I have no lack of confidence in my ability to prevail in any situation.”
“Aye, your confidence, as evidenced by your frequent boasts, seems indeed endless.”
He shrugged. “’Tis only fact. I have never been bested.”
“Yet.”
“Are you telling me you think you will gain some advantage over me? Do you believe for a single moment that I will not get, from you and everyone else in this castle, exactly what I require? If you do, I must warn you how wrong you are.”
“Thank you for your immense generosity, my lord baron,” Alayna replied, “but I need no assurances from you.”
“The future will tell, will it not?”
“Aye.” Alayna nodded primly. “Let us wait for our debate to be determined by the test of time.”
He lifted the chalice in mock salute. The heat of his look made Alayna uncomfortable. Annoyed, she turned away.
As the meal progressed, the crowd grew rowdy, drinking their fill on the fine ale that flowed freely. Alayna did not like the shifting mood. She had no wish to be present if the occasion was going to degenerate into a raucous melee.
From beside her, Will said, “Do not let them concern you, lady.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“I am afraid you are not very good at hiding your thoughts.”
“A fault of mine,” she said.
His eye flickered gently over her face. “I do not think so.”
She glanced back to the vociferous group of hired soldiers. “They seem rather reckless.”
Will leaned back in his chair, a self-assured smile on his face. “It will become apparent that recklessness in de Montregnier’s household is a very dangerous choice.”
She frowned. “Your master seems not the least bit interested.”
He looked past Alayna to Lucien, who was occupied with Agravar. His smile did not waver, indeed it seemed to deepen at his lord’s lack of attention. “Aye, my lady, it does appear that way, does it not?” He squinted into the crowd. “There is someone waving at you. Over there.”
Alayna saw Mellyssand seated at a trestle table trying to get her attention. She rose, saying, “Will you excuse me?”
Will came to his feet beside her, bowing low over her hand and saying with emphatic earnestness, “Pray do not tarry, or I shall grow too lonely.”
She laughed lightly, then glanced apprehensively at de Montregnier. He was not paying any attention, she noted with relief. As she stepped off the platform, she was acutely aware of the many eyes that followed her. It seemed she was becoming something of a curiosity. They must all be wondering about her after her numerous clashes with the new baron. No doubt they thought her a lunatic to irritate the formidable man. Perhaps they were right.
“Alayna!” Mellyssand exclaimed, giving her a quick hug. “We have not seen you today.”
“I have been occupied with much to do,” Alayna said evasively. She could not very well divulge her recent activity of cutting and sewing stolen garments.
“How goes it with you, child?” Lord Hubert asked. He looked good, with a healthy amount of color. The hands that held hers briefly were warm and strong. “I am surprised to see you here. I had heard you were not well.”
Alayna blushed, “I am fine. And you, you look much improved.”
He nodded. “Thanks go to the ministrations of my devoted wife.”
“That is not what you say when I insist on rest!” Mellyssand exclaimed with a laugh.
They exchanged a fond look before Hubert turned back to Alayna. “How do you find our new lord?” he asked. Before Alayna could respond, he added, “He is a good man, as many are finding.”
Alayna shrugged. “I cannot say I particularly care for him.”
Hubert seemed surprised. Apparently he had not heard the gossip. “What he has accomplished here is astonishing. The people are hungry for a fair leader, and they have forgiven him much in a short time.”
Alayna held her tongue. She would get nowhere trying to dissuade Hubert of his admiration for de Montregnier. “I suppose he will be good for Gastonbury, but I am anxious to return to London. I await word from my mother, for I have had no message from her since I arrived. She must be dreadfully worried about me.”
“Why do you not send her word?” Mellyssand asked.
“I have not troubled Lord Lucien with the request.”
“Fear you he is too busy to hear of your need? Indeed, more pressing matters do prey upon him,” Hubert considered. “Perhaps it is best not to bother him now. I will see to it for you if you wish.”
Alayna paused, thinking of the opportunity. Of course, if Hubert knew of de Montregnier’s attitude of wanting to “keep” her, he would not be so willing to lend aid. But she could not pass up this chance.
Pushing away niggling remorse, Alayna accepted his offer. Mellyssand began to talk of other matters, but Alayna’s mind soared with excitement, calculating how soon she could expect her mother to arrive. Three days for the messenger’s journey to London, then a few more before her mother could make ready, then three days travel—no, more for she must take into account that the number of people in her mother’s retinue would slow them down. A sennight. Or a fortnight at the most!
She cautioned herself not to show too much excitement, lest she cue Lucien. Presently she excused herself and made to return to her seat on the dais, still much preoccupied with her plans. Oh, how she relished the thought of de Montregnier’s rage when her mother rode through the gates and demanded her release. What he would do, she couldn’t even guess. But it was one confrontation she would meet head-on.
She didn’t notice that a man had stepped into her path until she almost collided with him. Her head snapped up to find herself before a hefty fellow with blackened teeth and grizzled beard. “Oh!” she gasped. “Excuse me, please.”
She made to step around him, but he slid aside to check her. Alayna recognized him. He was one of Lucien’s mercenaries. “Laidy Alayna o’ Gassonbry,” the man slurred.
“Please move aside,” she said coolly. Her chin went up in her trademark gesture of defiance. That made the man chuckle, and he lifted his hand to touch her face. Alayna slapped it away. She turned her back on him, thinking to retreat, but he grasped her arm and yanked hard, bringing her around to face him again.
“Are you insane? Let go of me this instant!”
He and his fellows roared at her imperious manner. Another man, tall and rangy with a drooping mustache, casually moved behind her, pressing himself against her back.
“If you do not let me pass, I shall call for aid,” Alayna demanded. Darting a look to the
head table, she found Will gone and Lucien standing with his back to her, deep in conversation. The din of the hall was so loud she doubted if he would hear her even if she called to him. Damn, he watched her like a hawk any other time. Now when she needed him, he was ignoring her.
“Aye, I’ll wager Lor’ Eggar gave ye a good tumble, for sure,” the disgusting man said. The stench from his breath made her gag. A round of laughs from his comrades emboldened him. “Made ye hot to ‘ave it, did it? Care to gi’ a poor knight a try? It ain’t fair, ye see. We all fought hard, an’ now we jes’ want some reward. How about it, me laidy?”
Alayna recoiled from the heavy hand that reached out once again to grab her. She was about to shriek when suddenly, and without any apparent explanation, the smile of her tormentor drooped. His eyes rolled downward. Alayna’s gaze dropped to the dagger that had suddenly appeared in his side. A dark stain was greedily consuming his tunic. She recognized the weapon from the worn hilt. It was the same one Lucien had used to slice his hand!
Whirling around, she saw him standing on the dais, glaring with the most thunderous look she had ever seen. “Get out,” Lucien said. It was a low growl that carried across the crowd, drawing attention and creating an unnatural hush.
“I am injured!” came the mercenary’s cry. He spread his hands before him with his blood smeared on them in dark exhibition.
Lucien did not react. “Get out,” he repeated.
The man’s comrades rushed forward to help him, urging him to obey, but he pushed them away. “We was only ‘avin’ a bit of sport. Are we supposed to act like saints?”
“You knew the terms when I hired you. These are my people now, and I am sworn to protect them. This is the last time I will say it—get out.”
“You owe me money. You hired me to fight for you, an’ I did.”
Lucien regarded the man impassively. “Pay him. Pelly, call the seneschal and have a purse given to him. Then escort him to the castle gates and see that he leaves posthaste.” His dark gaze never left the man. “I do not want to see you again at this castle, or on any of the lands which tithe to me.”
The Maiden and the Warrior Page 6
