T
he Painted Chamber was crowded with courtiers and noblemen. Will looked around nervously and tried to suppress his rising anxiety. He had to find Richard and warn him that Guy Faucomberg was at court. There was no telling what trouble the villain might try to stir up. They must keep out of his way.
Will inched through the press of bodies and reached the far end of the room in time to see King Henry rise from his ornately-carved chair. The crowd parted as the King made his way among them, his long, green brocade robe edged in sable swirling as he walked. For a moment Will’s view was blocked. When he could see again, he almost gasped aloud. Richard was down on one knee, directly in the King’s pathway.
My God, he’s really going to do it!
A sickening wave of premonition washed through Will. This was not a good time. He’d heard the King had been very irritable and short-tempered lately. Rumor was the Queen was in the early unpleasant stage of pregnancy and taking it out on her husband.
Will could not hear Richard’s words, but he could easily guess what his friend was asking. He watched the King’s face. Henry looked intent, but not hostile. A surge of hope lifted Will’s heart. Then he saw Guy Faucomberg move beside the King, and his hope shattered.
Faucomberg’s voice echoed loudly through the now-quiet room. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but I think it unwise to set the precedent of allowing baseborn knights to take charge of your castles. What’s next—appointing peasants to your Chancery?”
Furtive snickers rippled through the room. Will closed his eyes and cursed God for allowing men like Faucomberg to rise to positions of power. When he opened them again, King Henry was glowering like an angry bear.
“You’re wrong, Rathstowe,” the King said shortly. “I will award guardianship of my property to anyone I see fit.” His hooded eyes flicked from Faucomberg to Richard. “But I demand more than a few years’ battle service for such an honor.”
The King gave Richard a meaningful look, then brushed by the kneeling knight and swept from the room. Will licked his lips, relieved and despairing at the same time. It could have been much worse, but it was bad enough. Richard had not sprung up and throttled Faucomberg, though Will knew he must have wanted to. Somehow Richard had controlled himself, but at what cost? Will shuddered, thinking of Richard’s fury. Rage like that could destroy a man, and it had already burned inside Richard for years.
Will cautiously approached his friend. Richard had risen and was staring after the King. He was utterly still, his face expressionless. Only the twitch of the scar on his cheek betrayed his inner turmoil.
“Richard, I...”
“Don’t,” Richard warned. His dark eyes flashed like live coals. “Don’t say anything.”
* * *
“Bless the heavens the King has finally arrived,” Marguerite murmured as Henry strode into the banquet hall, trailed by a crowd of nobles. “Now we can finally be seated. I’m utterly starved.”
Astra didn’t answer. Food was the farthest thing from her mind. Since her arrival in the hall, she had been scanning the crowd, searching for a certain dark-haired knight. She intended to speak to Richard at the first opportunity. She would tell him she was aware of his wicked plan and no longer willing to endure his attempts to entice her.
Astra perused the gathering around the King. The men all wore lavish robes that reached below their knees. Despite the warmth of the crowded hall, the elegant garments were trimmed with coney, fox and sable fur. King Henry favored the formal style, but Astra suspected a serious fighting man like Richard would never attire himself in such a cumbersome robe. The men around the King must be rich noblemen, she decided. Her thoughts were immediately confirmed by Marguerite.
“My word,” her friend whispered. “Half the barons in England must be here tonight.” She pointed discreetly. “Those are the men you should attempt to beguile, Astra. They’re all so rich they needn’t worry about marrying for wealth. A beauty like you might well catch their eye.” She tugged on Astra’s blue velvet sleeve. “The King seems to be dawdling again. This would be a good time to introduce you to some titled noblemen.”
Before Astra had a chance to protest, Marguerite grabbed her hand and led her across the hall, weaving in and out of the clusters of elegant ladies and gentlemen waiting for the King to take his place at the high table. Marguerite did not slow until they reached a straight-backed older man with short, iron-gray hair.
“Lord Darley,” Marguerite cooed. She bobbed a curtsy and then extended her hand. “My father will be sorry to have missed seeing you.”
The man stared at Marguerite a moment and then smiled warmly. “Little Marguerite Fitz Hugh—how you’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you were small enough to bounce on my knee.”
“You could still try,” Marguerite answered with a boldly flirtatious look. “Although I daresay I am slightly heavier these days.” She touched Lord Darley’s robe with an intimate gesture. “It’s a pity my father has left London already. I know he counts you among his dearest friends.”
“Still the little flatterer, aren’t you?” Darley said wryly. “It’s sweet of you to favor an old man like me with your charming company. Your time might be better spent in cultivating the young gallants.” He turned to the two men beside him. “Faucomberg, Ferreres—have you had the pleasure of making Lady Marguerite Fitz Hugh’s acquaintance?”
“I think not,” the stocky, red-haired man immediately to Lord Darley’s left replied. He reached for Marguerite’s hand and lifted it to his lips. “I am Guy Faucomberg of Rathstowe. Charmed, of course,” he murmured. Astra watched him, thinking he had the reddest hair she’d ever seen. In contrast, his eyes were a flat, pale green.
The other man, who was very small, wiry and dark, leaned forward. “Adam Ferreres of Montgomery. It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He took Marguerite’s hand and kissed it. All three men looked at Astra expectantly.
“Where are my manners!” Marguerite exclaimed. “You must meet Lady Astra de Mortain, my dearest friend. Astra, this is Lord Darley, and his companions, Lords Rathstowe and Montgomery.”
Astra curtsied and then awkwardly held out her hand. Lord Darley brushed it with a light kiss and gave her a warm, fatherly smile. Ferreres’s kiss was polite, his eyes disinterested. In contrast, Faucomberg grasped Astra’s hand very tightly in his thick, sweaty fingers and pressed a wet kiss against the back of her hand.
“A great pleasure, demoiselle,” he said, smirking. “I cannot recall seeing you at court before. Where has a beauty like you been hiding away?”
“Astra grew up at the Stafford Priory,” Marguerite said. “This is her first visit to court.”
“You’ve never been to London before?” Lord Darley asked.
Astra shook her head. “I have been fortunate to see quite a few of the sights in the several days I’ve been here. It’s an amazing place.”
“Lord Fitz Hugh took you around?”
“Not my father,” Marguerite interjected. “William de Lacy and Richard Reivers were kind enough to show us the city.”
“De Lacy!” Lord Rathstowe’s face wore an aghast expression. “Does Fitz Hugh know you are spending time in de Lacy’s company?”
“Of course,” Astra answered, anxious that their unchaperoned adventures in London not be misconstrued. “Lord Fitz Hugh expressly asked de Lacy and Sir Richard to look after us,”
“That is a little like asking a wolf to guard your flock,” Rathstowe murmured, his green eyes narrowed. “Among his other faults, Reivers is an appalling lecher, and de Lacy, he is—”
“It looks as if the King finally intends that we should eat,” Marguerite broke in. “Shall we be seated, Astra?”
They returned to their usual table, and Astra sat down on the bench beside Marguerite. She was puzzled by her friend’s rudeness but also relieved she hadn’t asked the three noblemen to join them. Astra suspected having such important men nearby would make her too nervous to eat.
“Why did you leave so abruptly?” she asked Marguerite as a servant poured their wine. “I know you are hungry, but we could have taken leave of Lord Darley and his friends a bit more politely.”
“I suspect that Guy Faucomberg mislikes Will for some silly reason,” Marguerite said lightly. “I didn’t want to stay and hear him ridicule a man I call a friend.” She shot Astra a piercing look. “Court politics can be unpleasant business. I avoid involving myself in men’s stupid quarrels. Really, they can be even pettier than women!”
Astra looked down at her trencher, dismay replacing her appetite. Court life was overwhelmingly complicated. How would she ever figure things out?
“Where’s Sir Richard?” A coy, feminine voice disrupted Astra’s gloomy thoughts. She glanced across the table to see Lady Isabel regarding her with a smug smile. “He’s been your constant companion these last few days, but I don’t see him tonight.” Isabel laughed snidely.
Astra gritted her teeth and tried to recall what the Scriptures said about turning the other cheek. In truth, there was nothing she could say. As much as she hated to admit it, Lady Isabel was likely right. Sir Richard was distinctly absent from the banquet hall, and she suspected he was seeking companionship elsewhere. Repressing a sigh, Astra choked down a bite of spiced venison.
* * *
The Black Swan was crowded as usual, except for the area around Richard. Looking at the conspicuously empty tables, Will guessed the tavern’s inhabitants had already had a taste of Richard’s violent temper and were staying out of his way. He wished he could do the same, but his conscience dictated otherwise. Richard was his friend, and he was honor-bound to do what he could to help him.
He approached Richard cautiously, wondering if his mood had mellowed since the encounter with Faucomberg two days ago. Richard scarcely moved as Will sat across from him. Then he looked up and regarded him with flat, expressionless eyes. “What do you want?”
“I’ve come to talk some sense into you,” Will replied. He’d decided a firm, brusque approach would be the best way to scald his friend out of his self-pitying anger. “How long do you intend to hide away?”
“Hide away?” Richard retorted, his eyes flashing. “Would you have me go back to the palace and kill Faucomberg with my bare hands? I assure you, that will be the outcome if I am forced to be in the same room with that devil’s spawn!”
“So, you intend to let him win?” Will goaded. He held his breath. Richard’s eyes grew even blacker and more deadly, until Will thought he must be looking into the very pits of hell.
Then, slowly, Richard appeared to relax. He turned away. “How can I hope to defeat a baron?” he asked bitterly. “All my life men like Faucomberg have ground me beneath their boots, and there has been naught I can do about it but grit my teeth and endure. I am sick unto death of holding back, of choking on my fury. The anger burns so deep inside me—sometimes I think it will consume the very flesh off my bones.”
He looked back at Will, his dark eyes no longer gleaming with hate, but raw pain. “I cannot win this battle. Henry’s court is Faucomberg’s territory, not mine. He has all the advantages.”
“Not so,” Will argued. “Henry hates to be mocked and challenged, and Faucomberg has done exactly that. If you continue to be patient and dutiful, the King may finally decide to award you some property, with the goal of putting Faucomberg in his place. But you must remain in Henry’s presence, subtly reminding him that you are a dutiful subject, a man he can count on.”
“God’s teeth, it sickens me to think of groveling before the King again!”
“You have no choice, Richard. If you don’t return to court, Faucomberg will think you have run off like a whipped hound with its tail between its legs.”
“That puling whoreson! I have more courage in my smallest toe than he does in his whole flabby, worthless body!”
“Then show it, Richard. Walk into Westminster with your head held high and proud. Let them know the Leopard is not yet beaten.”
Richard nodded, his eyes agleam with the brilliant glow of vengeance. Despite himself, Will shivered. Sometimes the white-hot fury that burned inside his friend frightened even him.
* * *
The Queen’s ladies were sewing quietly in her outer chambers. Queen Eleanor arose and left to see her children in the nursery, and pert, green-eyed Lady Nell turned to Lady Isabel and whispered something in her ear. The two laughed delightedly. Lady Isabel smoothed the embroidery in her lap and announced: “I haven’t seen Sir Richard around the palace lately. Have you heard nothing from him, Astra?”
Astra stiffened, sensing the malice underlying Isabel’s seemingly innocent remark. Before she could reply, Isabel continued: “Perhaps he has grown tired of you and moved on to more interesting conquests.” Her eyes widened as she feigned shock. “Oh, Astra, surely you did not already give him what he wanted!”
Astra’s tongue failed her. It was Marguerite who answered, her voice light and deadly sweet. “Don’t be silly, Isabel. Richard isn’t ignoring Astra. He’s away on the King’s business.”
“The King’s business?” Plump, dowdy Lady Sybil frowned. “That seems rather unlikely. Sir Richard is a soldier, not a diplomat!”
“Nevertheless, it is true. He told me so himself,” Marguerite said haughtily.
Isabel gave Astra a sharp, condescending look. Astra ignored her, blessing Marguerite for her convenient lie. She would die if Isabel found out that Richard had taken advantage of her and then abandoned her. Even thinking about his manipulations made her feel sick. Richard was a liar, a conniver, a silver-tongued snake. She was fortunate she had realized the truth of his intentions before it was too late.
“Sir Richard must stand high in the King’s favor if he entrusts him on such an errand,” Nell purred. “Perhaps Henry means to gift him with some property. Would that not make him absolutely irresistible—handsome, charming and possessing land and a title as well? Reivers would truly have to fight off the ladies then.”
“Aye, if he had some property, Sir Richard would no longer have to amuse himself with cheap little country wenches.” Isabel looked down her long nose at Astra, and then both she and Nell began to twitter.