The Christmas Knight (38 page)

The thin woman nodded and left to fetch the gown, reappearing minutes later with a vision of dark red. Placing it on one of the settees, she curtsied and left to complete the rest of the queen’s request.

“As you can see, it is quite plain, but very pretty. My sister Petronilla will not miss it and it would be perfect for you. It will also endear yourself to the king. My husband is many things…most of them good, but he can be aggravatingly frugal. He will appreciate the simplicity of your dress. And I think tonight, anything that can endear you to Henry will be a good thing, will it not?”

Bronwyn stepped toward the lounge to finger the rich garment. “Your Grace, I cannot think why I have deserved such attention or such kindness, but—”

“But nothing. Consider it a gift for the one you are about to give me.”

“But I have no—”

The queen waved her hand, cutting Bronwyn off. “Your gift will be the one of amusement, something that is often lacking from these celebrations. Oh, they are grand in size and the feasts notable, but beyond that, the entertainment is somewhat unexciting. I expect tonight you are going to change all that.”

The thin servant woman returned holding several items and deposited them on a small table next to the settee before retreating back into the shadows. Queen Eleanor plucked one of the glittering items off the table and placed the gold mask lined with jewels and feathers against her face. “I had these made last year for myself and my ladies-in-waiting. Unfortunately, Henry was stuck here in London for Twelfthtide with that awful Stephen after signing the treaty. So he never got to enjoy the fun we had hiding our identities and letting those around us try to guess who we were. Should we not attempt the levity once again, just for him?”

Bronwyn stepped forward and took the mask outstretched in the queen’s palm. Her Grace was not just astute, but brilliant. “I think your invitation to be a lady-in-waiting for a single night to be divine.”

“I am glad we are of accord. Do you think your sister will feel slighted if I change my mind and she does not get to join in our fun?”

Bronwyn shook her head and searched for the right words. “Lily…what she desires most is to turn heads.”

“Enjoys attention, does she? Maybe I should offer a gown and a grand entrance.”

Bronwyn could not help but beam the queen a large smile. Queen Eleanor was much more than an ally. She was a friend. Bronwyn wasn’t sure whether Her Grace was helping for her sake or Ranulf’s, but at the moment, Bronwyn didn’t care. She just hoped Ranulf figured out what was happening and adjusted his plan accordingly. “I am sure Lily will appreciate your generosity. I know I do.”

Smiling, the queen sank into an overly large padded chair and leaned back, finding enormous fun in having conversations within conversations. “And you? Is there any part of tonight’s festivities you are most interested in?”

Bronwyn moved the burgundy gown aside and sat down on the settee. “Just one. The Bean King.”

“The Bean King? Hmmm. Henry was considering bypassing the tradition this year. He wasn’t sure how wise it was to hand over power so early in his reign, no matter how long.”

“It would be a shame,” Bronwyn began, searching for words that convinced but did not reveal, “for it is always entertaining. This year, I suspect it will be the high point of the night.”

“Then I can promise you it shall happen. I just hope, for your sake, Henry also finds it diverting.”

Bronwyn bit her bottom lip. “Me, too. I pray he does, too,” she mumbled under her breath.

Ranulf never paced. The effort wasted energy and it accomplished nothing, but that was exactly what he was doing. Bronwyn and Lillabet were at the palace and they were not going to return before the festivities. He should have realized the day would not get any easier after the events of the afternoon.

The king’s favorite baker had indeed come to London, but getting inside the castle to where the food was being prepared had proved to be far more difficult than Ranulf had anticipated. Henry had increased security and that included those in the kitchens. It had taken time, but eventually Ranulf was able to meet with the pastry connoisseur and ensure a certain slice of cake would be delivered to only one person. By the time Ranulf returned to the inn, the night had started to blanket the sky and the merriment in the street had already begun. Then he was told Bronwyn and Lily were gone—and had been for some time.

Realizing the farce had been discovered, he was about to leave and try to explain his actions when word came directly from the queen. Bronwyn and Lily were guests of the court and would see him soon after the Bean King was announced. The message was cryptic, but enough to let Ranulf know that the plan had not changed.

Pacing, Ranulf mentally reviewed every possibility the queen would have for meeting with Bronwyn and her sister and then requesting their continued company. He was sure Bronwyn did not reveal their plan, for Queen Eleanor could not have knowingly supported the temporary deception. But his instinct screamed that Henry’s high-spirited wife was somehow involved. He just hoped it was to his advantage.

An hour later, Ranulf slowly maneuvered his way into the semicrowded Great Hall, trying to avoid attention. Most paid no heed to him, but as usual, several openly gaped as he moved by. Ignoring them, Ranulf looked for Bronwyn, his search made exceedingly difficult with his limited vision.

His frustration was mounting when a buzz overcame part of the crowd. A few seconds later, Lillabet came into view with several escorts, capturing the eye of every nearby male. As Bronwyn had foretold, she was an expert at handling the attention. Soon, Baron Craven emerged from hiding and hovered close by. Ranulf had to give his sister-in-law credit. She neither shied away nor gave any indication of her true feelings for the man. She engaged him just enough, and by his untroubled expression, Lily had done her job. Now it was time for him to do his. Ranulf moved near to the main entrance and waited.

Soon afterward, King Henry II entered, followed by Queen Eleanor and her ladies-in-waiting, all wearing masks. Even with their faces hidden, they appeared beautiful and forbidden, just as he remembered them being in Normandy. He also recalled how they treated him. How fortunate he was not to have been snared by one of them for not a lady in the room could compare to Bronwyn. But where was she?

Edging his way closer to the queen, he finally caught her eye and she waved for him to come near. “Your Grace, may I ask—”

“Ranulf, I would like to introduce you to one of my newest ladies,” Queen Eleanor said, interrupting.

Ranulf gave the woman a quick glance. Like the others, she was beautiful. Her hair was tangled with gems and gold threads, and her attire was simple and elegant. Tall, graceful, slender, she reminded him of his Bronwyn. Her eyes were downcast and the rest of the face was hidden behind a mask, but there was something about her overall composure to indicate that her beauty went much further than skin deep.

“Your Grace, I—”

Ignoring his obvious attempt to ask about Bronwyn, Queen Eleanor continued. “One of tonight’s entertainments will be to guess the identity of each lady. I think it will be extremely diverting for everyone. Would you like to be the first to try?”

Ranulf gave a deferential shake of his head, his disinterest in playing unmistakable. “I must decline, Your Grace—”

Just as he was going to step back into the crowd, soft fingers curled around his forearm. The simple touch caused him to freeze. None of the ladies from court had ever been willing to touch him, sit near him, or dance with him in the past. They acted as if his scars were contagious and any simple kindness was enough to catch them. He reexamined the woman, and this time slate blue eyes gazed back. Queen Eleanor’s newest lady-in-waiting was Bronwyn.

“I’m sorry we could not dance. Perhaps later will be a better time.”

Before Ranulf could reply with an emphatic yes, she had moved into the crowd without a single glance back or any other action that would have indicated he meant anything to her or was even worth remembering.

Renewed resentment flooded Ranulf’s veins as men began to descend, eager to meet and charm the seemingly unattached companion of the queen. His wife was the most beautiful of the women there and she should have been at his side, for all to see, not only that she was married, and to keep their lustful looks at bay, but that she had chosen him—
him
—the man no woman had ever wanted.

Fighting to remain calm, Ranulf swung hastily around and collided into the one man for whom he had been waiting. Baron Craven.

“Eyeing a replacement wife so soon?” Luc drawled. “Then again, she is very beautiful. Though I doubt she’ll be interested in anyone less than a whole man.”

“Be careful, baron. I’m not above killing you here and now,” Ranulf growled.

Craven swallowed but held his ground. “I see Lady Lillabet found her levity despite her sorrow. Tell me, is her sister Lady Edythe also faring as well?”

It was a deliberant attempt to provoke Ranulf’s temper and prove to everyone he was unstable. The ploy was obvious, which meant the man was unwise or overconfident—it mattered little either way.

Ranulf shrugged. “I neither know nor care. Lady Lillabet will be herself, and I saw her sister only once, and quite briefly.”

The slight shift in the baron’s jaw was the only hint at his growing aggravation. “I do wonder why both women are here. An annulment, perhaps? A way to avoid a life’s sentence of marriage you forced upon them? I wonder if Lady Bronwyn were still alive, would she also be here and for such a reason. Or would she still feel compelled to disregard a king’s decree.”

Just then the baker entered and Ranulf released an inward sigh of relief. The conversation was dangerous for it was designed to incite physical violence and, if left to continue, might have succeeded. But the pain Ranulf first wanted to inflict was humiliation, and that could not be achieved with fists.

It required intellect. And maybe a slight emotional push.

“I believe King Stephen is dead,” Ranulf said softly. “You would be wise to remember my long relationship with our new ruler. Some even consider me one of his favorites. So, it’s my turn to ask you a question. Who do you think King Henry will agree to see first tomorrow? A small, insignificant baron or a loyal commander who once saved his life?”

The baron’s jaw went rigid. “And when you do meet the king, just what will you say? The truth? That you ignored his predecessor’s wishes on whom to marry, lied to your new wife and failed to keep her safe, and then attacked and slaughtered my men unprovoked? I have witnesses. Who do you have to stand for you? Bronwyn’s sisters? Lillabet has ignored you completely and Edythe still remains unseen, avoiding your company. Neither seem willing to support the man who forced them into marriage and then lost them their beloved sister.”

Ranulf produced a knowing smile, intentionally irritating the baron further. “Just know that whenever you do get your audience with the king, I will have the upper hand. You started this war, baron, but you will not end it.” As he spoke the last words, Ranulf ignored Luc’s sputtered response and started toward the baker, who was thankfully standing just next to a tankard of ale.

Ranulf poured himself a drink and then, using the mug, pointed out the baron to the baker. “When?”

“Word was sent late that the queen desires to determine the hour and the king has decided to oblige her. But are you sure? That one…well, he is not the most welcomed noble of the court these past few days.”

“That’s good to hear, and yes, he definitely is the one,” Ranulf answered and then swallowed a significant amount of the mug’s contents. Now all he could do was wait…and watch Bronwyn be entertained by every man who could make his way to her side.

Once again, a deep sense of possession consumed him. Until now, he had not had to compete for her attention and no one had been foolish enough to try. But as one and then another hour passed, the intensity of his jealousy grew and it mattered little that in his heart he knew that she was his. Each time a hand touched Bronwyn’s waist or someone bent to whisper in her ear or her laughter tinkled throughout the Hall, Ranulf had to repress the mounting urge to go and pummel the man. He almost lost the battle he was waging with himself when some overly ambitious young knight refused to leave her side. Only the queen and her long-awaited announcement saved the young man from a fate that would have required the attention of a healer and several weeks in bed.

Ranulf joined the throng and at long last retrieved his slice of cake. From the corner of his eye, he watched Craven do the same…directly from the man who made it. As people bit into the moist sweet bread, sighs of disappointment could be heard throughout the Hall as each discovered they did not have the bean. Minutes passed and Ranulf started to wonder if the baker had made a mistake. But then a shout was heard over the crowd.

Craven had found the prize.

By the look on his face, Luc was completely surprised but also quite eager to enjoy his chance. Everyone watched as he proudly made his way to the king. Ranulf kept to the back of the crowd, secretly enjoying the veiled look of disgust on King Henry’s face as he watched the baron advance.

The Bean King tradition was not one of Henry’s favorites. For he was not one to follow customs; he preferred to set them. Most men wore their hair long, but Henry had always kept his red hair short, something Ranulf quickly adopted after first meeting him. He and Tyr also embraced the idea of shaving, something else inspired by Henry, though the king maintained a mustache, which in Ranulf’s mind negated the benefits of a naked face. And then there was the king’s state of dress. As always, his cloak was of fine cloth, but significantly shorter and less ornate. Baron Craven was the king’s opposite in every way.

Ranulf held his breath as Craven swaggered up to King Henry with his extravagant long gold-and-red tunic swishing around his legs, looking altogether too eager to receive his honorary title. Henry grimaced and for a second Ranulf wondered if he was going to change his mind. Then, the queen leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Resigned, Henry stood up and proclaimed Craven to be the Bean King, until midnight, giving him license to enjoy whatever pleasures he desired—within reason.