The Christmas Knight (37 page)

Bronwyn had intended to leave a message for Ranulf, but when they descended the staircase, the queen’s soldiers were in the hall ready to escort them. The innkeeper was not in sight and his overly beset wife was not mentally able to digest anything that would have been said to her even if Bronwyn had found the opportunity. Resolved that Ranulf would undoubtedly learn just who’d sent for them, Bronwyn joined her overawed sister and journeyed the short distance to the palace.

Since Bronwyn was uncomfortable with mysteries, her reaction to being welcomed into the Queen’s Presence Room was far different than her sister. Lily, noticeably engrossed with all that made up Westminster, stood riveted just inside the doors, her head following her eyes, taking in all the grandeur that was around her. Bronwyn’s focus, however, was on the person who brought them there.

“Ladies Edythe and Lillabet of the late Sir Laon le Breton of Syndlear, Your Grace,” called out one of the men who had escorted them through the palace.

The queen was standing at the far end of the room and gestured for them to come closer. Bronwyn clasped Lily’s hand in her own, forcing her younger sister to do as bid, and moved forward, never glancing away in hopes to discern just why they were there.

Unfortunately, with the exception of a brief, fleeting look of surprise, Queen Eleanor’s face revealed nothing nor did she say a word. Instead, she had just stared, assessing them. Bronwyn wondered if the queen was trying to make her feel uncomfortable, show deference, or something else entirely. Unknowing which, Bronwyn followed her instincts and openly returned the assessment.

The queen was just as all the rumors Lily had gleaned from visitors over the past year had claimed—very beautiful. Ranulf had mentioned Her Grace’s disdain for wimples, and whether it was true or not, she wasn’t wearing one nor did the intricately braided and coiled hairstyle around her face indicate she was going to don one in the near future. Her pearl-lined gown shimmered of deep blue fitted her, despite her motherly state. The jeweled pendant around her neck spoke of wealth and accentuated her long neck. Everything about Queen Eleanor was feminine and pretty—but it was her eyes that gave Bronwyn pause. Shrewd, they had the ability to peel back layers of a person’s shell to reveal the truth inside.

“I was told Sir Laon had three daughters and the youngest was married to the new Lord Anscombe.” The queen’s comment hinted at dangerous familiarity.

Lily’s fingers tightened around Bronwyn’s, and for a fleeting moment, she considered ending the ruse. Instead, Bronwyn replied without hesitation, “I apologize, Your Grace, that you did not receive word earlier. Syndlear, our family home, recently caught fire. My elder sister Lady Bronwyn was believed to be inside.” And then she held her breath. It wasn’t a lie, but it was deceit.

Waiting to be introduced, Bronwyn had prepared herself for the possibilities driving this impromptu meeting, but what happened next, only foresight could have prepared her.

For several uncomfortable minutes, the queen continued to engage in a staring contest, and then abruptly shifted her attention to Lily. “I understand that it would be hard to marry someone after such a tragic loss. But maybe I can do something to give you a respite from your grief.” Then with a snap of her fingers, one of her ladies-in-waiting jumped from the shadows to her side. “I believe Lady Lillabet would be very interested in seeing more of the palace.” Seeing Lily’s enthusiastic nod, Queen Eleanor’s face softened. “There are a great many fascinating rooms, much more impressive than this one. I’m sure your sister will not mind if you leave us to explore.”

Bronwyn did not really blame Lily for abandoning her so quickly and without pause to consider if she should. Her sister had always been impulsive and allowed to indulge in her whims. However, after the queen’s last insightful comment, it was a little unsettling. Even more so was the queen’s strategy to divide and conquer. She wanted to speak to her alone. The question was why?

Seconds later, Lily vanished, and with another gesture, Queen Eleanor dismissed the rest of her staff hovering about. The queen then issued Bronwyn a direct smile that hinted of admiration. “You are smart to be wary, but let us not talk here. These open rooms do not promote conversation and I find a walk around the gardens to be refreshing in the afternoon. Would you join me?”

Bronwyn had no choice but to agree and followed Her Grace out of the chambers and into the corridor.

Waving a jeweled hand at the architecture and décor surrounding them, the queen commented, “Your sister seems to admire Westminster, but I find it lacking. Do you know why?”

Surprised by the question, Bronwyn tripped. The subject was one that had crossed her mind since their arrival. Something
was
missing, but she could not conclude what it might be. The building was massive and in many ways impressive, but what it needed, Bronwyn could not explain. Whatever it was, it prevented the palace from being the majestic structure she always imagined it to be.

Resigning, Bronwyn admitted defeat. “No, I cannot say.”

Eleanor stopped abruptly and eyed Bronwyn. “But I can see that you do agree with my assessment. Interesting, considering how little you have traveled.” She then issued Bronwyn another smile, this one more genuine, and then waved her hand around her. “It’s art. Tapestries are beautiful, if well done, and most of these are, but woven pictures cannot be the sole spirit of a home. I suppose I should have realized that if Paris required refining, so would London. When able,” she said, pausing to tap on her protruding stomach, “I shall bring culture here like they have at Palermo.”

The queen turned to leave, but stopped once again. “Some believe me to be pompous, but I am not. I assure you.”

Bronwyn held the queen’s steady gaze, this time less afraid. Her Grace was employing a baiting tactic her mother had perfected. She had given Bronwyn two choices. Either she could state her opinion and insult the queen by agreeing she was pompous or be like all the other minions, and placate the queen’s esteem. Bronwyn chose a third route.

“I think, Your Grace, some take offense to women with strong personalities, but I do not. Assertiveness is sometimes a requirement of survival, especially if one is in a position of authority. I was taught the one who wills is the one who can.”

Once again the queen’s gaze turned shrewd. “And have you been a woman in such a position?”

Bronwyn cocked a single brow. “Yes.”

Explanation was not needed. That it had been on a much smaller scale than that of the queen was obvious, but Bronwyn had been responsible for the welfare of many people, and they had survived—in some ways even thrived—under her direction.

“I must admit that I like you, Lady…Edythe.” The queen paused again and her eyes started to sparkle. She shifted her jaw and then resumed their walk to the outside. “I was not sure that I would. Women must own their opinion and not shrink from it, and I respect those of our sex who do not cower when faced with awkward moments. I am fortunate my second husband understands such strength and appreciates it.”

They approached an overly large wooden entry-way, and with a single look from their queen, the soldiers standing guard opened the massive doors but did not follow them outside.

Bronwyn glanced at the bench the queen instructed her to occupy, feeling odd that she should sit while Her Grace remained standing. A large flock of birds flew overhead, gathering both their attentions.

“Do you hunt, Lady Edythe?” the queen mused.

“I enjoy attending a hunt, but am only skilled with a blade.”

“Do you carry one now?”

Bronwyn gulped and nodded, suddenly realizing that the palace guards might not appreciate her having such an object and being alone in the company of the queen. “I carry one with me always,” Bronwyn answered as she dove her hand into the small hidden pocket of her gown and unsheathed the blade.

Eleanor studied the polished metal and carved handle, unperturbed that Bronwyn had not disclosed its presence. “You surprise me and so few do,” the queen said, returning the lethal item. “I assume you are good.”

“I’m excellent,” Bronwyn said immodestly, slipping the dagger back into her pocket.

“I do like your honesty,” Eleanor laughed aloud. “But I wonder that you are not also an archer. I find the sport exceedingly diverting as well as physically and mentally challenging.”

“And are you skilled, Your Grace?” Bronwyn asked, returning the queen’s earlier blunt question.

“I am or at least I was a few months ago,” Eleanor sighed. “Indeed, if there had been time after my husband’s coronation—and maybe if I wasn’t so encumbered—I could have persuaded Henry to sponsor great tournaments just for my pleasure. It’s a beneficial skill to understand one’s husband enough to sway his decisions, do you not think?”

The queen’s demeanor had become demonstrably more relaxed, reminding Bronwyn of her earlier advice to be wary. “If I were married, I would undoubtedly agree,” Bronwyn craftily replied.

“I would have thought you to be married. But then again, the one who pledges himself to you would need to be strong in both spirit as well as body. I have only met a few such men. My husband, your father…and Lord Anscombe, of course.” Then with a simple twist of her hand, the queen pointed to another area of the gardens. “Come, let us walk some more.”

At the mention of Ranulf, Bronwyn gritted her teeth and kept silent, refusing to rise to the bait. Standing, she wished the conversation would just come to an abrupt end. She and the queen were engaged in a game of wits in which Bronwyn felt as if she were constantly playing the part of the mouse being toyed with by a very beautiful and very powerful cat. Why the queen didn’t just pounce and get the deed over with, Bronwyn could not fathom.

“You are quite good at schooling your expression, Lady Edythe, better than anyone I have met in some time, but you should know that I have been a longtime student of the practice.”

Bronwyn held her breath, but remained mum.

“Your father, Sir Laon, and I had a great number of conversations. He was quite a learned man and a surprising strategist in human behavior. I am still amazed at how he was always able to get what he wanted from someone, not by force, but by making the other want it, too, including myself. I was very sorry to hear about his death and…” The queen stopped in midstride to reach out and clasp Bronwyn’s forearm, locking gazes. “I know he would have been quite devastated to learn about the death of your sister. He spoke often of his daughters and I know he loved each of you very much.”

Bronwyn turned away and squeezed her eyes shut. She had been a fool. The queen knew exactly who she was the same way Ranulf had known. Her father must have described her and her sisters and never could she be mistaken for Edythe.

Bronwyn turned to apologize and explain, but before she could say a word, Queen Eleanor continued, “Your restraint is wise, and strangely, I am glad you have refrained from opening yourself in any way. Married to the king, I have an obligation to tell him certain things.”

Bronwyn’s mouth dropped a little wider for a fraction of a second and then closed. The queen just announced that until she knew for sure Bronwyn was lying about her identity, she felt no compulsion to disclose such deceit to the king. Her secret was safe. The question was—why?

“I apologize, Your Grace. I believe my expression is misleading as I grieve for many right now. My father, the late Lord Anscombe…and of course, my sister.” Bronwyn took a deep breath and decided to take a chance. Besides, she and Ranulf needed an ally. “Tonight, however, I feel my spirits may improve during the festivities. I quite look forward to them.”

The queen’s brows shot up as renewed excitement brewed in her eyes. “Do you now? Hmm, then I think I do, too.”

They turned back toward the castle without any more conversation, and for the first time, Bronwyn felt truly relaxed since her arrival. She continued to school her countenance, but physically, the tension began to drain from her limbs.

“I was wondering if you and your sister would like to enter with me this evening as two of my ladies-in-waiting—just for tonight, of course,” Queen Eleanor half asked, half commanded as they reentered her Presence chambers.

Bronwyn hesitated. She needed to get back to Ranulf, for their plan required exact timing, but how did one decline an invitation from the queen? “I appreciate the offer, Your Grace, and I am sure that my sister Lillabet would be happy to oblige, but I was hoping to join the festivities…later. And Lord Anscombe, he is no doubt waiting for us at the inn. I should get back and explain all that has happened.”

“Nonsense. I have decided you and your sister shall come with us. And don’t worry about Ranulf. I’ll send word to him that you will be attending with Henry and me tonight.” Bronwyn’s heart plummeted as Eleanor continued, pretending not to see Bronwyn’s distress. “Come in here.”

Bronwyn’s eyes once again grew wide as she followed the queen into what could only be her bedchambers. “First, your gown.”

The doors closed behind them and Bronwyn fought the instinct to gasp. The room was unlike any other she had seen in the castle. There were different styles of art and sculpture, and the shimmering materials on the bed and chairs begged to be touched. Next to a large chest against the wall, hanging on two pegs, was a gown that took her breath away. Ermine-lined, the tight-fitting robe of iridescent gold cloth was embroidered with leopards and fleurs-de-lys, a blending of England and France.

Eleanor followed Bronwyn’s fixated gaze and smiled. “As you can see, I am more like your sister and enjoy standing out in a crowd. The gown is beautiful, is it not? I wore it to my coronation and will again tonight. And while I admit to my penchants for beautiful Byzantine clothing, this babe grows hourly and that dress is surprisingly comfortable. You, on the other hand, favor the simple.”

Inclining her head, Eleanor turned to the servant who was sitting so quietly in the room, Bronwyn had not even realized she was there. “Could you bring the dark burgundy gown of Petronilla’s and then tell the others to get ready. Oh, and bring me the items from last year’s Twelfth Night.”