Warrior's Deception

“Oh, aye, I will.” The man reached for the wine cup and slurped the last few drops. “But let me finish my story. Charles, that’s the oldest boy, he grabbed the horse’s tail and—”

Lenora shot to her feet; friendship could demand only so much. “As much as I would love to hear the tale of the tail, I must speak to King Henry. Father wishes me to extend his sorrow at not being able to attend.”

“Of course, of course. I will see you later and finish the story. That boy is a rascal.” Lord Ranulf raised his hand in salute and turned to the man seated across the table from him. “Darius, my friend. Come let us share a cup of wine. Have you heard of the prank my grandson pulled?”

Lenora whistled under her breath at her escape and took off to scan for her relatives. Luck came her way; they stood not far from her. A woman in a garish blob of color flittered near them. Lady Marguerite. Thank heaven for such a stroke of luck.

Rushing to her aunt’s side, she whipped her arm through Matilda’s and swung her around. “Aunt Matilda, may I introduce you to one of Queen Eleanor’s favorite ladies-in-waiting. Lady Marguerite, this is my aunt, Lady Matilda.”

With a slingshot motion, she propelled her aunt forward and pushed the two ladies together. “I know you have much to discuss. Lady Matilda was at Stephen’s court, you know.”

The two dowagers sized each other up. Curiosity won. Each dropped a snippet of gossip, then their heads drew together and the real news began. Her plan was working.

She backed away with Beatrice behind her. After she cleared the eagle eyes of Matilda, a giggle burst from her lips. “Step one, accomplished. Hurry and find Geoffrey. I’ll take care of Galliard.”

For the first time all day, her cousin’s face glowed with hope. “Perhaps this will work.”

“You had doubts?”

“Your plans don’t always work. Remember when you tried to-”

“Don’t think failure, think victory.” A gentle push toward the window displayed her urgency. “Now hurry off. Stay in the garden as long as you can and watch for your mother.”

Beatrice merged with the crowd and met Geoffrey near the window. He leaned to whisper in her cousin’s ear, his brown curls merging with the blond ones.

“Step two, taken care of.” The blond giant of a knight came into view and she slapped her thighs. The crunch of paper reminded her of another mission. She struck her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I’ve got to deliver Father’s letter.”

King Henry rose from the high table when she scurried to his side. Breathless, she pulled the wrinkled sealed missive from her pocket. “Your Majesty, my father wishes me to extend his regrets at not being able to fulfill his obligation of counsel due to his health. He hopes this will aid you in your decision on the property dispute between Sir Ranulf and Sir Champlain.”

“’Tis with sorrow I heard of my hunting companion’s malaise. He will improve, I’m sure,” Henry stated good-naturedly. “We’ve planned a hunting adventure this spring. I want to try out my new falcon against your father’s Swiftkill.” Henry’s bright eyes shone with warmth.

He opened the letter and browsed its contents. The king’s brows knit together. “When did your father give you this?”

“Shortly after your invitation reached us.”

“Did anyone else see this message or know you were to deliver it to me?”

“Nay, Your Majesty. We, uh, Father felt ‘twould be less of a commotion if my aunt knew nothing of it. Is something wrong?” Lenora queried.

“Your father has given me something to ponder. Don’t worry, dear, nothing to concern yourself with. Go, enjoy the entertainment.” He brushed her off and retreated from the room, the letter still in his beefy hands.

Step three, accomplished.

Now for Galliard. She surveyed the crowd for the knight. Young girls in brilliant gowns glided about, casting flirtatious glances at wealthy lords. Laughter boomed from a group of war-hardened knights as they recounted old battles. Lenora took a deep breath and began her search for Roen de Galliard, not quite certain of her battle plan but determined to protect her cousin’s happiness.

Chapter Three (#ulink_2b1e7f59-8d32-5bba-bd9d-6a69dc33b706)

“Hamlin, take your pick. They are all the same to me.” Roen turned his back on the assembly of possible brides. “Only make sure you choose one with a prosperous demesne and a proper attitude.”

“How am I to know that? ‘Tis battle we’ve spent our time in, not tallying up what riches belong to what lord,” Hamlin replied, irritated. “I’m afraid this is going to be more difficult than I thought.” He stroked his chin while Roen gave him a cynical smile.

The great hall of Tintagel blossomed with the beauty of English ladies. Overadorned children, displayed like trinkets by their mothers, danced by him. The sight nauseated him. Roen would rather have his fee paid in gold, but the chance to own land compelled him. A lord with no other feudal obligation except to the king was a prize few obtained. However distasteful, marriage enabled him to become landed.

“I suppose we could ask someone,” Hamlin ventured.

“If a decent heiress is in the room, a man with good sense would not proclaim it to us but use the information to better his own lot,” Roen said, rebuffing his friend. The two men simultaneously dropped down onto a half-log bench.

“I’m better prepared for battle than I am to search for you a wife. I say let’s just look for a pretty one,” Hamlin suggested with a shrug.

“Perhaps I can help you with this dilemma.” A feminine voice intruded on their conversation.

Roen did not stand but turned his head to view the speaker. His tone sarcastic, he asked, “In what way could you be of any help to me?” He purposely conveyed his contempt and gave the wench a look meant to dissolve her audacity.

She almost turned away, but didn’t. Her eyes changed to a shade of brown that tantalized him. They reminded him of something familiar, yet it eluded him. His inability to stamp a name on their color needled him. It did nothing to improve his impression of her.

The woman did not lower her eyes from his scrutiny. He saw her back pull up straighter. The pointed chin tilted up like a defiant child. Her eyes blazed, her voice strained to rein in her anger. “I know most, if not all, of the women present and the worth of their landholdings. I’ll give you information on any women you choose.”

Roen snorted with indignation. “I should trust you? How do I know you won’t lie to further your own cause?”

“How would being untruthful aid me in acquiring your warhorse?” The woman scrunched her brows together, perplexed.

“You want Destrier!” Roen felt an almost uncontrollable urge to shake the wench senseless. “No woman is worth that horse.”

“Destrier? You named that magnificent animal Destrier? I suppose your dog is called Dog.” The woman’s voice held back none of her scorn.

Roen opened his mouth to speak, but the truth of her words muted him. What did it matter what he called his hound?

“I don’t want to keep the animal, just use him for stud service on some of my father’s mares at Woodshadow.”

At the mention of the keep, Roen’s interest peaked. “Woodshadow, you say. Does not the king have a palfrey from your stable?”

“Aye, that he does, a gift from my father.” Pride marked her words. “A steed from Woodshadow is much desired. Your mount, Destrier—” the woman rolled her eyes “—would be no worse from the wear.”

“Perhaps she could help us at that,” Hamlin noted.

Not willing to concede yet, Roen sneered. “An idiot could tell that Destrier is an unsurpassable mount. That she recognizes the fact hardly merits us trusting her judgment. How do we know she doesn’t wish to marry me herself?”

The words were no sooner uttered than Roen knew exactly what her eyes reminded him of—molten gold. He had seen a man in the Holy Lands melt down the precious metal to form items for the church. The woman’s eyes reminded him of hot gold, rich in color, scalding in temperature. Her eyes seared his with their intensity.

“I can think of no greater purgatory than to be your wife. For a number of reasons, most of them dealing with you.” She blasted out her words in a fiery voice. Nearby, heads turned toward them. The woman lowered her voice and gritted her teeth. She turned from him to face Hamlin, who looked both shocked and amused.

“Pray, knight, you seem to have a sensible nature,” she began placatingly. “Kindly tell your friend that not all women seek the confinement of marriage. Some wish time to study and learn. I am one such woman. Marriage is not what I seek for myself.” She smiled, and the embers of anger in her eyes began to fade. “Besides, I’ll be honest.” Her smile twisted into a mischievous grin. “I am cursed with three faults which make marriage not an option for me.”

Cursed! Her smile kindled a twinge of arousal but he quickly doused it. She seemed too intelligent to believe in superstition. Roen started to terminate the conversation with her but her eyes held him. They no longer burned, but had mellowed to the shade of warm cider. A half-hidden smile twitched at her full lips. She dared to tease him!

“Only three? You do yourself service, woman.” Roen arched his brow cynically.

The smile became more animated. “Aye, only three, but as far as men are concerned, major ones. The first is plain to see, I am no beauty.”