Emerald Prince (40 page)

“Yes, Lilith. It’s all the excitement, I suppose.”

“Perhaps your plaits are too tight, milady.” Lilith had already removed her veil and wimple, and Alianor rested in a simple smock, her wedding garb carefully laid aside.

Alianor agreed the weight of her hair might have produced her headache. Lilith unpinned the heavy plaits and unraveled them to brush out the long tresses.

Gradually, Alianor’s tears dried and her headache eased. The pleasant music and her repose upon the soft ticking bed aided her distress, though every passing hour reminded her of the King, impatiently awaiting the moment he would claim his cruel victory over her.

She had debated surprising the King with a dagger in hand, or sewing needle if need be, but care was taken to assure all dangerous objects were removed from her person. Even the little dinner knife attached to her purse had vanished.

In the past hours, Alianor decided her body might be abused, but her mind need never be touched. The King might ravish her physically, but he would have no pleasure from it. She knew his enormous ego would demand he find fault with her, real or imagined, and tire of her quickly. She would be free of the King perhaps, but not her husband.

She frowned. Quintin de Lacy was another matter. The King was easily enough distracted; all toys, whether animal or human, bored him after a time. He was like a toddler, forever wanting what he could not have. Once he conquered Alianor, the challenge ended, and he would move on. Not so with de Lacy. His obsession went far deeper.

He was even willing to stomach the King enjoying his bridal night in his stead, rather than lose her again. Alianor suspected he intended punishing her for the King’s lust, but no matter. Again she would blank her mind of de Lacy and substitute Liam’s visage, as she had during the ceremony.

Imagining she awaited Liam instead sent a tingle through her. How different everything would be — anticipation replacing dread, and joy replacing disgust. Her imagination was so strong, she envisioned Liam slipping into the candlelit room, his eyes gleaming with the soft promise of passion. There would be no need for pretense with the Irishman who held her heart. She might scream, aye, but it would be from pleasure, and the thunderous aftermath would leave them both limp, sated, spent.

Lilith shattered her reverie. “Milady, a message has come from the King. You are asked to join the procession to the tournament within the hour.”

“Ordered, not asked,” Alianor said, realizing she had been so caught up in thoughts of Liam she had not even heard the messenger at the door.

With a sigh, she rose from the bed. Lilith trailed anxiously after her, asking, “What will you wear, milady?”

“One of my black gowns will serve well enough.”

“Oh, but they are all so plain, milady, and make you look so …”

“Dull? Severe?” Alianor laughed, but no humor touched the notes. “Aye, that’s the whole point.”

Disappointment showed on Lilith’s face; nevertheless, she brought one of the black gowns and dressed her charge. When Lilith moved to replait her hair, Alianor waved her hand and said, “Leave it — the plain silver circlet shall suffice.”

Alianor knew it unseemly for a married woman to leave her hair unbound like a maiden, but did not care about convention. Lilith’s years in service had disciplined her to keep personal opinions to herself, so she merely nodded and placed the simple band about her forehead. In truth, Alianor resembled more a peasant maid than a noble bride, and this pleased her for the simple fact it was sure to displease de Lacy.

Within the hour, both women were en route to the field where the tournament had been planned; first, however, the games would commence.

The women and their guard escort moved from the bawn onto the parade grounds. A throng of people swarmed about, excitement high in the air. Lackland had done little during his reign to gain the love of the Irish, but he did know how to celebrate in style.

There were competitions of every sort, from billiards to ninepins and dicing. Even the merchants and peasants were welcome to participate in these games. This was one of the few times the lower classes were allowed to mingle with the nobility.

Even the King himself competed in his much beloved sport, falconry. He carried his favorite bird hooded on his wrist, and strapped it to the perch behind the stands while he greeted and held each arriving lady’s fingers, and kissed more than a few on the cheek, forehead or mouth.

Unlike the tourneys of earlier days pitting knight against knight, sometimes to the death, the rules decreed for this event were stringent. The number of contestants was limited, fighting was done only with blunted swords and lances, and the object was to seize the opponent’s banner rather than kill him.

Alianor watched from the stands as people continued gathering, listening to the buzz of anticipation. Soon the grounds resembled a festival. There were horse dealers, armorers, usurers, even fortune tellers and women of ill repute. Not far off, she saw a bear danced for its owner, while vendors hawked their goods. Pastries, libation, a myriad of noises and sights all for the pleasure of the people.

The reason for the gathering mattered little to the common folk; they did not care Alianor was married at all, much less against her will. Women of any station had little or no say. What did matter was the abundant variety and amount of food offered, and kegs of mulled wine and beer and ale, all provided for free by their liege. At this hour, they did not despise Lackland so heartily.

Parti-colored pavilions were set up for the contestants and their gear. A puppet show entertained children in another tent. Their delighted laughter drifted up to the stands where Alianor greeted the King and Queen, and joined her glowering husband on the bench behind them.

“It took you long enough, wife,” de Lacy said by way of greeting, critically examining her appearance. “And I see you wear damme black again. Where is your wimple and veil, and why is your hair unbound? You look like a peasant wench headed to a funeral.”

Alianor took her seat and laughed off his ire. “Why, milord, I hear your taste runs to peasant wenches. You should be touched by my attempt to please you.”

De Lacy snorted. Thankfully, he was distracted for awhile by the festivities on the grounds. Especially by the ale maids with their half-laced bodices and short, flounced skirts. He frequently signaled to get his tankard refilled, leering at the women when they came over and curtsied low.

Another procession arrived and Alianor recognized William Marshal striding to his seat. He was wearing his hauberk so he intended to compete. Even at his age, he still defeated many younger, stronger knights with relative ease on the field.

Seeing her there, William nodded. Their gazes met and held, and Alianor sensed something was amiss. She dared not approach him, for he was still in the King’s ill favor, and drawing attention to the one man who might yet help her was unwise.

The falconry competition came first. The King liked to claim his victory early in the games, so he could revel in it for the remainder of the eve. Lackland left the stands to join the competitors.

Seated behind the Queen, Alianor was concerned with keeping the increasingly belligerent de Lacy under control, and did not see much of what was happening on the field. Her mind toyed with strategies for subduing her husband, short of drugging him outright. The notion caught and lingered. She had noticed an elderly hag hawking her potions and pottages as they had made their way to the stands. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind took hold of the idea.

Still deep in thought, Alianor turned her attention to the falconry competition as the spectators seemed to take on a new level of excitement. The crowd favored the King and his buff-colored gyrfalcon, as expected. He was, after all, providing the celebration for them. It was unwise to bite the hand literally feeding them.

Another competitor, a knight dressed all in black, commanded equal attention. His face was partially covered by the nose piece of the helmet he wore, his eyes shadowed and dark. He raised a magnificent bird balanced on his gauntlet, whispered something to it and tore off its leather hood. The crowd applauded as he displayed the golden tercel, its head swiveling and its fierce eyes looking over the field.

The tercel reminded Alianor of Goliath and she felt the pain of leaving him behind. Many birds looked alike; nevertheless, she found herself drawn to this one. Alianor watched as the black knight’s bird performed with rare speed and grace.

When the quarry was loosed, a white dove, the golden tercel easily overtook the King’s gyrfalcon, and with a triumphant cry brought the prey back to its master. Alianor blinked, squinting to make out further detail. She could have sworn the dove was still alive — the knight slipped it inside his tunic when the others were not looking.

She felt lightheaded. What were the odds another had trained a bird of prey not to kill other birds, but merely capture them? This tercel flew and hunted in its own peculiar fashion, a style so familiar Alianor thought her heart would break in anguish. Ah, she was imagining things.

Thinking of Goliath reminded her of Wolf Haven. Wolf Haven equated with Liam. She must not think of the Emerald Prince. The black knight was muscular, his build reminding her of Liam’s. He held himself with visible strength and pride as he guided his bird through the rest of the competition with ease. Alianor looked away, finding the scene too heartbreaking.

The King’s frustration increased with each trial, as his best gyrfalcon was outstripped by the tercel. With a cross exclamation, he finally withdrew and conceded defeat. His expression reflected a mixture of brooding disappointment and envy. He presented the prize to the winner with a grudging little nod, and the black knight’s manners also outstripped royalty as he bowed low, displaying proper obeisance to the King.

Alianor heard a shrill cry and looked up. The golden tercel had left its master’s arm, and circled above the stands. Her gaze focused on the spiraling bird and her heart pounded. The bird swooped down into the stands and landed with a flurry of beating wings upon the railing beside her.

She froze, staring at the bird. It was Goliath. From a distance she wasn’t sure, but she had no doubt now. She scanned the field for the black knight. He faced her direction, and at her shocked stare proffered a slight bow.

Alianor’s heart thundered. The blood roared in her ears and she did not hear the King’s words until he stood right below her in the stands, his own bird rehooded and riding upon his arm.

“It seems yon knight’s bird has taken a liking to your lady wife, de Lacy,” King John observed, laughing. He apparently did not recognize Goliath. Alianor’s hands clenched in her lap. She prayed nobody noticed her trembling, or if they did, they attributed it to bridal night nerves.

De Lacy was half sprawled beside her, seemingly deep in his cups. His response was sullen. “As long as its master does not do the same.”

The King chuckled and turned to look down upon the black knight, who had approached the stands and stood below, waiting to retrieve his tercel. “A fine bird, sir knight. We could almost believe ’twas raised from our own superior stock, so nobly did it perform.”

The black knight bowed his head in acknowledgment of the King’s compliment.

Despite his loss, the King’s mood was restored again and he glanced at Alianor, smiling. “It seems our day’s finest falconer is at a loss for words, my dear. Perhaps you would be so kind as to return his prized possession.” With a flourish for the benefit of the crowd looking on, he gave his own gauntlet for the lady to use.

Alianor rose and took the glove, hoping the King could not see how her hand still shook. With only the slightest effort, she coaxed Goliath onto her arm. De Lacy looked on with a surly air, but was too inebriated to make the connection. Rather he appeared resentful she was the center of so much attention. “Witch,” he muttered, taking another deep draught of ale.

To avoid passing her husband, she threaded down the far aisle and walked onto the field to meet the knight. Goliath rode with customary ease upon her arm. Her blood raced and her heart sang as she reached the black knight and he pivoted to face her.

The black knight stepped closer and reached out to retrieve Goliath. Alianor lined her arm up alongside his so the bird might be coaxed from one human perch to the other.

As their flesh touched, a shiver coursed through her, brushing her soul. Their gazes locked, and Alianor recognized those green eyes. She had instinctively sensed Liam was the black knight upon first glance, but her conscious mind protested the impossible notion.

When Goliath was settled and the bird’s jesses secured, Alianor turned away from Liam, unable to bear the tumbling emotions any longer. Why was he here? The danger he placed himself in, indeed both of them, dismayed her so she felt sick. What could he possibly do? Was he foolish enough to think he might rescue her? It was too late. She was de Lacy’s wife, and the King himself waited to ease his lust upon her.

The answer echoed like an anvil inside her head. Of course Liam was brave enough. He had kidnapped her once, why not again? She saw it in his eyes. He had come for her. Her blood tingled, a thrill beyond description mixed with the fear.
The Emerald Prince has come for me
.

Maintaining a calm mien, Alianor returned to her seat in the stands and returned the King’s gauntlet. She was afraid even a sidelong glance at the black knight would betray her thoughts or his plan. As she settled beside de Lacy, he reached over and grabbed her by the wrist, raising her hand to his lips.

“My sweet wife. Mine.”
Le Anguille
slobbered over her skin, while Alianor sat rigidly beside him, staring off across the field. She resisted the urge to yank her hand free, knowing it would only plunge de Lacy into a fury. She sensed Liam’s gaze upon them. How he must ache and rage within, forced to watch his adversary paw her, maul her. She felt frustration welling and blinked back tears.

She must find a way to slip away and be alone with Liam. Her mind sought for options while she kept a calm exterior, despite the war raging inside her. How could she approach the black knight without others becoming suspicious?