Warrior's Deception

She started to speak but a page barreled past her. He ran to the war-horse’s stall and began to scoop grain into the empty food bag. “Boy, to whom does this animal belong?”

“Why, milady? Is he ill?” The boy’s voice cracked with worry. “I forgot to feed him this morn but rushed here as soon as I remembered. The knight will beat me sure if he finds I’ve not taken good care of him.”

“Nay, he is fine.”

The lad gave her a doubtful look.

“Believe me, I know the beasts. He is none the worse for a late meal, though do not make a habit of it,” Lenora reassured the page.

His eyes showed the first signs of tears and his young body trembled. A flare of hot temper blazed through her. What knight would so threaten the lad? He could only be eight or nine.

“Are you sure, my lady? Sir Roen de Galliard is not a knight I wish to cross.” The boy looked hopeful. “I think I will check on the animal myself.”’ He ducked into the stall and began to inspect the horse.

Lenora shook her head in disapproval. So the great warrior scared children as well as barons. The code of chivalry demanded a knight protect women and children, not frighten innocent boys. In her eyes, Galliard fell far short of that code.

“Lenora?” Beatrice’s voice intruded into her thoughts. “What will we do about him?” Her cousin dropped her shoulders in defeat.

“You’re not to worry about Galliard. Geoffrey and I will think of a way to keep you from him.” She gave her cousin a confident wink. “Come, we need to return to the hall for the midday meal.”

During the short trip back, Lenora racked her brains for some plan to help her cousin. She entered Tintagel’s great hall and joined the assembly of people. Entertainers, nobility and servants wove through the hall. Voices chattered and dogs barked. The melodic sounds of the musicians could barely be heard above the din.

Beatrice poked her in the back. “There’s Mother.”

Across the hall, Matilda maneuvered between the gaily dressed aristocrats. The elder woman’s gaze swept from side to side, searching. Lenora pulled her cousin back. A hand settled on her shoulder, and Geoffrey squeezed his body between two heavy-set warriors.

“Come with me.” He motioned toward the wall. The noise in the hall drowned out most of his words. Lenora followed with Beatrice in tow. He led them to an indentation in the thick castle wall. An arched window allowed in midday light.

“We must plan.” Geoffrey’s sienna gaze darted about the room. “Our fears are more than warranted. The rumor is the king intends to repay Galliard with a wife.”

Beatrice’s back stiffened, color drained from her face. Her voice wooden, she stated, “If you know this, my mother is sure to, also.”

“Aye,” Lenora theorized, “but from what I hear, Galliard strikes me as a man who would want more than Father has set aside for you. Pray the man is as greedy as I believe him to be.”

“Can we take that risk?” Geoffrey held up a hand to silence her protest. His voice sounded bleak. “There is always the chance Galliard could be turned by Beatrice’s face.”

Lenora crossed her arms and began to pace back and forth in the small area. Three steps forward, a sharp pivot and then three steps back. The answer came to her on the fourth trip.

“We must make sure he does not see her.” She pointed her finger at the young couple. “There is naught we can do till after the meal. When the trenchers are cleared for the poor, that will be the time Matilda will try to introduce Beatrice to Galliard. Geoffrey, you must see that your lady removes herself from the hall.” Lenora squeezed her alarmed cousin. “The gardens will be populated but do not strike me as a site where Galliard is likely to spend time.”

“What of Matilda?” There was a critical tone to Geoffrey’s voice.

“Ah, my dear aunt.” She snapped her fingers. “Lady Marguerite is here. Matilda will jump at the chance to be introduced to one of Queen Eleanor’s ladies-in-waiting.”

“Will that delay her long enough for me to spirit Beatrice away?”

“Lady Marguerite was one of the castle’s biggest gossips. I trust she has not changed. She will hold my aunt’s interest.”

Geoffrey patted Beatrice’s hand and gave her a wink. “Do not worry, my love. We need only hide you till Galliard chooses a bride. He is sure to arrange a betrothal soon.”

And I will hasten that along, Lenora vowed to herself. Before this night is over, Galliard will be betrothed to some unlucky girl. A trumpet blast intruded into her promise.

“The meal begins. When the trenchers are distributed to the poor, look for me.” The young man blended into the crowd.

“Always I am looking for you two. Have you no thought to proper etiquette?” Matilda swooped down on the girls from behind.

Lenora smothered a groan and turned to face her aunt. Her hand moved in a tiny sign of the cross in hopes her aunt had not seen Geoffrey speaking with them.

“Aunt Matilda, we were just…” She hesitated and explored the recesses of her brain for a believable excuse.

“I don’t have time for your stories now. Come, I have us seated at the far table.” Matilda gripped her daughter’s hand firmly. “Lenora, your father’s friend requested you to sit with him. Lord Ranulf is on this side of the hall.” Beatrice gave Lenora a helpless look while Matilda dragged her to the opposite side of the room.

Lenora scooted to her seat just as the royal party entered. She dutifully rose with the rest of the hall, lowered her eyes and folded her hands. The crackle of paper in her pocket reminded her of the letter she had been entrusted to deliver.

As she curtsied, Lenora ventured a peek at England’s sovereign. She met Henry’s curious eyes, alight with good humor. He gave her an impish wink when he passed. The cleric at the king’s side cleared his throat and pretended not to notice the lack of decorum. She returned the devilish wink. Servants directly behind the party almost tripped with their heavy loads. Henry’s laugh boomed out across the great hall. He took his seat at the raised table and commanded, “Food and drink.”

Great platters of artfully displayed food were presented to the guests. Four men strained to support pallets with two golden brown suckling pigs. The glistening skins made Lenora’s mouth water. Two porters carried a mountain of sweet cakes and honeyed nuts. They managed to genuflect before the king with their delicious load. Servants ladled bite-sized pieces of meat into the guests’ trenchers. Bells tinkled from the juggler’s hat. A minstrel rehearsed a ballad while he strummed a lyre.

Seated at her right, Lord Ranulf stabbed a piece of spiced meat from the trencher and offered it to her. “How is your father? When you were delayed, I feared ‘twas due to my old comrade’s health.”

“He’s much better, thank you, Lord Ranulf.” She chewed the tender morsel. One of the many pages scampered over to fill the agate wine cup. The tip of his tongue showed while he poured the red liquid into the heavy cup.

Lord Ranulf waited with patience for the lad to finish his task. “I suppose ‘twas the heavy rains that delayed you. ‘Tis a shame you missed what competition there was. The rains canceled much of the tourney, also.”

“The roads were nearly impassable, but my aunt was determined to come.” She watched the page and felt the lad’s nervousness.

With trained grace, the page returned the goblet without a spot on the white linen tablecloth. He let out a loud sigh of relief. She gave the boy an understanding smile. ‘Twas not easy to be at everyone’s beck and call. An opportunity to gain information on her adversary came to her. “I have heard that much of what victories there were belong to Sir Roen de Galliard. Is he here?” She flashed the elderly knight a brilliant smile.

“I’m sure he is.” The gray-haired man scanned the crowd, then smiled. “The knight approaches Henry now. He’s a hard man to miss.”

She turned toward the high table and knew instantly who Lord Ranulf spoke of. Roen de Galliard towered over the king and the rest of the men in the room. The modest cut of his tunic did nothing to hide the man’s brutal strength and power. Lenora wondered at the aura of self-assurance the man radiated.

Broad shoulders filled the back of the chair he sat in while he conversed with the king. Worn long and in the old Saxon style, his mane of hair flowed to just past his shoulders. The flaxen hair hid much of the man’s face.

She concentrated on deciphering what she could from his half-hidden features. His sharp profile showed rugged lines and dark color. Battle scars, white with age, gave him a fierce look but did not mar him in disfigurement. No emotion humanized his face. Like a marble statue, he sat on the dais. He seemed to dismiss the crowd of people with a bored disregard, as though they were not important enough to consider.

A sudden movement and he turned to face her intruding gaze. Eyes the color of thunderclouds pierced her own. Humiliated, Lenora broke contact, not sure if he had truly seen her or if her guilt made her self-conscious. Unwelcomed warmth burned her cheeks.

“Lady Lenora?” Lord Ranulf wrinkled his brow in concern. “You look ill.”

“Nay, I am fine.” A quick gulp of wine calmed her. She prodded the man to speak to give her a chance to recover from her embarrassment. “Pray, tell me of your daughter. I have not seen her here.”

“Expecting again. The girl has given me three strapping grandsons. I think this time she and her husband wish for a daughter to spoil.”

The gregarious elder recited story after story of his eldest grandson’s strengths and wits throughout the meal. She nodded at the right moments and made the correct oohs and aahs but listened only halfheartedly. Every long tale gave her the opportunity to reconstruct her composure.

Fortified at last, Lenora hid behind heavy lidded eyes and spied on the dais table. The king sat with his advisers and the Lord of Tintagel, but the knight had disappeared. She probed the hall for his whereabouts and spotted him with no trouble. He stood near the back of the hall with a dark-haired man. At first she thought ‘twas Geoffrey he spoke to, but the smaller man carried himself differently, his stance more lighthearted than her friend’s serious one.

Lord Ranulf’s tales continued to roll from his tongue. The abundance of wine the man had drunk probably explained his exceptionally good memory. A horn blasted from the balcony above. At last, the end of the meal; time to break away from her talkative companion. “Lord Ranulf, thank you so much for the delightful entertainment. You must come and see us soon.”