Heart of a Knight (13 page)

She shoved at him suddenly—and he let her go, a knowing in his eyes. Swallowing, she regained her dignity, and brushed at her skirts, and said, "My deepest gratitude for your hunting skills, sir."

His eyes dancing, he bowed low. "A grand feast we'll have on the morrow."

"That we will—and I have me much work to do to prepare." She turned, clapping her hands to call for a girl to take Lord Thomas to the bathhouse.

The stag, rubbed thickly with salt and garlic, was set to roasting in a pit over a low fire. Tall Mary's father had gone to town and brought back with him musicians, and raisins and white sugar for cake. From her chamber, Lyssa heard the faint barks of the cook, and the sound of the piper practicing. The air was redolent with roasting meat and baking cake. It would be a fine celebration.

But Lyssa felt strangely tense. One by one she'd tossed through her tunics and surcoats and a casket of jewels, and could not decide what she wanted to put on. With a sigh, she sank to a stool, yanking ribbons from her hair in frustration. "'Twill not matter. Why do I care?" She scowled at Alice. "And do not say what a fool I am. E'ry woman in the village is like as not tossing through her things as I am, hoping to catch his eye."

Alice chuckled, and took up a brush, made with boar bristles. Gently, she took the ribbons from Lyssa's hair and worked free the small braids Lyssa had woven in this morning. "'Tis only fitting for women to hope for the eye of a man so gentle and strong, is it not? Brutal we all know, and stupid, and ugly—but rare do they come as Lord Thomas, fair and good and wise all at once."

"It matters not what he is," Lyssa said quietly. "My king will name my husband."

"Aye—but there'd be no harm in taking pleasure in his company, now would there?"

"Pleasure?" Lyssa returned sharply. "If you speak of bedding him, I have no interest in such things."

Alice laughed. "Not that, child. Only the simple pleasure of laughing and being admired. 'Tis not so huge a thing, but a woman likes flattery and the twinkle in an eye." She swayed to look into Lyssa's face. "I saw the pair of you when he returned from the hunt—'twas good to hear you laugh aloud, milady. Laughter keeps a heart light and young."

"I had not thought of it that way." She closed her eyes as Alice began to brush her hair, firmly. A glorious sensation, the bristles on her scalp, the ease it gave her tight neck and shoulders. "He is a lively companion. There is much laughter in the hall when he appears. Was it ever thus with him?"

"Nay, he was a brooder as a youth." Her voice lilted with that strange accent. "Too proud, too sensitive, too full of himself. Here, the sun is warm. The land is kind, and it made his heart kinder and wiser."

Lyssa could see him that way, a sullen boy, too tall and gangly and awkward, those bright blue eyes flashing anger instead of laughter. It made her smile to think of it.

Alice finished her brushing. "Will ye listen to me, milady, and let me dress you proper for the feast?"

"Since I have not been able to choose," Lyssa said with a wave at the tangle of cloth, jewels, belts, and slippers on her bed, "I would welcome your help."

Alice clapped her on the shoulder vigorously. "All right, then." She plucked a simple green linen tunic from the pile and tossed it over her shoulder, then fished out a gossamer surcoat, made of the finest white silk in a weave so loose that the garment was near transparent. Around the edges, Lyssa had woven gold-and-green silk threads. "These," Alice said definitely, turning. "Then we'll choose the rest."

Lyssa stood and waited for Alice to help her remove the gown she was wearing. "Ah, my lady, you've a fine form. Not so skinny as you look in your gowns."

With a rueful smile, Lyssa touched her far-too-generous hips. "Twas an aspect my husband found displeasing." She shrugged, and her hair fluttered around her thighs. "'Tis something I've spent no time bemoaning, though Isobel will certainly tell you I'd have been better to have more breast and less buttock."

"That girl!" Alice shook her head, lifting the tunic for Lyssa to bend into. "She's as vain as a peacock, and twice as foolish. She does not know what ease those hips will give you with your babes when they come."

Lyssa captured the weight of her hair, lifting it free of the fabric so Alice could pull the close-fitting tunic around her. "So my mother always said." A shadow of remembered pain passed over her heart. "She died in childbed. Nine times she went, and only twice gave her husband a live child."

"Twice?" Alice stepped back, inclining her head as she looked at Lyssa, then held up the surcoat.

"I have a sister, six years older than me."

"Older? Did she marry so well she needed no inheritance?"

Lyssa shook her head. "She has not married. She tends the queen. And it is as well—she tried to murder me when I was six, and they sent her away."

"Murder you?"

"Aye. She brought me to the river, and was going to throw me in it, but Nurse found me gone in time."

The smooth dark eyes grew troubled. "Why?"

The airy garment settled over the tunic, and Lyssa touched it. "I wished to make it like spider webs," she said, her fingers remembering the pleasure of the weaving. "Twas a good experiment."

"You have great talent, milady. I've ne'er seen so fine a cloth."

"'Tis a joy."

"What made your sister want to murder you?"

Lyssa raised her eyes. "She is an unfortunate woman. Not ugly, but very plain. Crossed eyes and bad teeth and unhealthy skin. My parents doted on her, for she lived when so many died. But when I was born, my father was so relieved to have a daughter he could dower and marry to a high lord that he turned all his attention to me." She shrugged, feeling the same strange stab of guilt she'd carried all her days. "It was unintentional cruelty, but cruel nonetheless."

"An all-too-familiar tale." Alice turned to rustle through the girdles and jewels. Her choices surprised Lyssa. Mary would have insisted on heavily encrusted collars and jewels all through her hair and a wide girdle woven with jewels. Alice took up a thinly woven belt of cloth of gold, and a headpiece set with a single emerald, and a necklace with a priceless, simple emerald set in gold.

And they were the right choices. "You have much skill, Alice, in seeing well."

Alice raised a brow. "You must leave your hair, milady. Not a braid or a tie or a weave. Only this circlet, and all that midnight beauty around you like a cloak."

Lyssa touched her hair. "Nothing?"

Alice shook her head, stepping back with a smile. "Oh, you are as beautiful as a princess, milady. If only you saw with my eyes."

Suddenly, Lyssa remembered feeling beautiful, before her marriage, before she had learned she did not know the things men wanted, as Isobel and Tall Mary knew. She felt her hair like a cloud of darkness tumbling down her back to her knees; she was aware of her slim shoulders beneath the linen. She touched her body, running her hands over her breasts and waist and down her thighs, feeling the silk and linen below her hands. "Thank you, Alice," she said. "I had forgotten how to feel like a beautiful woman."

Alice bowed. "'Tis an honor, my sweet. Now go and be young tonight!"

Just then, the sound of a horn arose. Lyssa heard it and ran to look down upon the bailey to see a party of men and horses, with a raised standard fluttering on the breeze. A man with golden hair rode a black horse. "'Tis Isobel's husband!" she cried out. She grabbed Alice's hand. "Let's go get a look at him before darkness and candlelight hide all his flaws."

  8

Thomas heard the sound
of horses long before they arrived at the gate, their low thundering hooves a disturbance in the ground beneath his feet. From stables he emerged to stand and wait, a faint kindling of unease rustling over his nerves. Horses meant nobles. There might be some who would remember him.

"Were there guests coming?" he asked Robert, who had a smear of grease over his nose from oiling the bridles and leather.

"I know not." He brightened, forgetting to be sullen in his excitement at the possibility of visitors to stir up the monotony. "1 heard my sister whining all last night over a betrothal. D'you suppose it could be him?"

"Could be, lad." His unease grew, but he put a benign expression on his face as he turned to watch the gate. By now, others had heard the stir, and hurried out from the kitchen, mews, and hall to see what excitement had come to Woodell.

A horn cut the day, and in rode a great party of men and fine horses, a standard carried high in front. Thomas saw at once it was a rich group; the guards wore matched tunics over their mail, and the helmets, carried now at their waists as they rode in peace into the bailey, were steel.

At the front rode a young man with the coloring of some celestial being—hair falling in palest gold curls to his mailed shoulders, eyes a blue of summer flowers, cheeks rosy red. Thomas hid a grin. He'd reckon the youth cursed that coloring every morning he lived.

But Thomas could see beyond it, to a chin of some character, a strong jaw, and a steely light of intelligence in his eyes. He rode tall, and though youth made him slim, there was breadth to his shoulders.

The finest England offered, this youth. "Isobel should be well-pleased if this is her betrothed."

"Oh, indeed," Robert breathed.

Thomas did not halt his chuckle then. To be twelve and dazzled was a rare thing. Fondly, he took Robert's shoulder, and wiped the grease from his nose. "One day, young lord, that will be you."

Robert lifted his chin arrogantly. "Aye."

Thomas gave him a little push. "Run and take his horse, lad."

When the boy dashed away, Thomas stepped back into the shadows, where he might gather clues without being observed. Carefully, he examined the faces of the large party of men-at-arms, and the shields among the lesser knights. He saw none he recognized, and his memory for such things was good. He saw also that even the lowest among them was far, far above him in birth, and they were used to a comfortable life, with servants a-scurry, and a wealth of food, and ladies in great number. He saw them eye the best of the village maids, adorned in their best for the feast, and they measured with knowing eyes the bailey yard, with its orchards and gardens and wealth of green grass, the mews and the broad stables and the castle itself, well-kept and richly appointed.