In The King's Service

Blaidd, however, had spent years among hypocritical courtiers so he quickly realized that the friendly smile did not reach the man’s hazel eyes. They were as wary as the girl’s at the gate.

The hairs on the back of Blaidd’s neck tickled, as if he was trying to pick his way across swampy land, yet he betrayed nothing of his foreboding. After all, what man wouldn’t be suspicious of a knight who arrived without warning? And it could be that his own disinclination for subterfuge was making him more suspicious than he should be. “Greetings, Lord Throckton,” he said as he bowed.

“Nasty weather for traveling,” the nobleman noted.

“Which is why I’m thankful for your hospitality.”

“Think nothing of it, man! It’s my pleasure.” Lord Throckton’s smile grew, but his eyes did not lose their shrewd wariness. “Still, I doubt it’s merely chance that brings you so far from the main road.”

“No, it isn’t,” Blaidd replied with his friendliest smile. “However, my reason for coming here is one that I would prefer to speak of in private, if we may.”

“Of course! We can discuss what brings you here in my solar.”

Lord Throckton led Blaidd toward the staircase he had just descended, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that he was following.

They reached a landing, and Lord Throckton opened the door leading off it. He gestured for Blaidd to enter the chamber first, and when he did, he found himself in a very comfortable room that provided more evidence that Lord Throckton was rich and liked his creature comforts. More colorful tapestries covered the walls, and the chairs, of pale new oak, sported silken cushions in bright, jewel-like colors. A trestle table was covered with parchments, vessels of ink, several quills and a silver candleholder. An open chest painted blue and green revealed parchment scrolls, likely the records of tithes and other estate business. A bronze brazier glowed with coals and a carpet covered much of the stone floor. Linen shutters over the tall, narrow windows shut out the chill spring breeze.

It was like being in a warm, comfortable, Oriental cocoon, and a far cry from many a nobleman’s plain, chilly solar.

With a sigh of pleasure, Lord Throckton sank onto the scarlet silk cushion on the ornately carved chair decorated with vines, leaves and grapes behind the table. He gestured for Blaidd to sit in a slightly less intricately carved chair opposite.

“Are you related to Sir Hu Morgan, by any chance?” Lord Throckton asked when Blaidd had done so.

Blaidd didn’t hide his surprise that the man knew who his father was. “I’m his son. Have you met him?”

Lord Throckton’s eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “No. As I’m sure you’re aware, I don’t go to court. Westminster and London are too noisy and crowded for my taste. But I’ve heard of him nonetheless. He has many important friends.”

“My father rarely goes to court, either,” Blaidd replied, electing to say nothing of his father’s friends, some of whom were very powerful indeed. “He shares your dislike of cities, and he prefers to stay at home.”

“With your mother, who was reputed to be the most beautiful lady of her time,” Lord Throckton added with a chuckle. “A wise and happy man.”

Blaidd inclined his head and didn’t disagree.

“I recall many people were shocked that Lady Liliana married a man who had been born a shepherd.”

He didn’t speak with obvious disrespect or malice, but Blaidd’s jaw clenched regardless. He didn’t reply until he’d mastered the flash of anger such statements about his parents’ marriage always elicited. “My father was a knight when she wed him.”

“And a very handsome fellow himself, like his son. So I suppose that you’ve come to woo my beautiful daughter?”

“Word of the lady’s qualities have reached the court, and I am unwed. I hope you won’t hold my father’s birth against me, but will allow me the privilege of meeting her, at least.”

“Indeed, I shall. I have a great respect for men who have risen above their station,” Lord Throckton replied with every vestige of sincerity. “So does my daughter.”

“Then may I also have your permission to woo her if she’s willing, my lord?”

Lord Throckton toyed with the thick gold ring on his left hand and ran a measuring glance over Blaidd’s clothes. The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. “You haven’t asked about her dowry, Sir Blaidd.”

“From all that I’ve heard about your daughter, Lady Laelia herself will be the true prize.”

Lord Throckton looked pleased. “Naturally, I agree, but I don’t think it’ll trouble you to know her dowry won’t be small. Nor will it be the largest you’ve ever heard of. But I’ve had many offers from many men for Laelia, from the time she was twelve years old, and not a one of them complained about her dowry.”

Blaidd bestowed a smile on his host. “Despite my attire, I’m not a poor man who seeks only wealth when it comes to a bride, my lord. I’m dressed thus because it’s prudent when on the road, to avoid tempting outlaws.”

“I should warn you, Sir Blaidd, it’s not Laelia’s heart you have to win over. It’s my head. Be you knight or commoner, comely or not, and friend of the king or no, it’s me you have to impress, not her. I have refused every man who asked for her. Are you still willing to try to woo and win her?”

Blaidd nodded. “If you are willing to allow me the opportunity, my lord.”

“I am, and you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.” Lord Throckton put his hands on the arms of his chair and hoisted himself to his feet. “Now that we’ve reached an agreement, Sir Blaidd, the evening meal should be ready, and I am near to starving. Shall we?”

Blaidd rose and followed the man back down to the hall, which was now crowded with tables, benches, servants and soldiers. Trev was waiting near one of the tables, and after a nod to Blaidd, the lad continued his survey of the impressive hall and bevy of servants.

The hounds, now roused and hungry, prowled among the tables, noses aloft. Several of the men didn’t look much different, and Blaidd couldn’t blame them, for the aromas wafting out of the corridor that led to the kitchen smelled heavenly. His stomach growled in response, for his last meal had been half a loaf of bread that morning, accompanied by a drink from a stream.

“Here is my lovely Laelia already waiting,” Lord Throckton said.

Blaidd’s gaze followed the man’s gesture toward the dais, and then his breath caught in his throat. He had met many a beautiful woman, especially since more than one went out of their way to be introduced to him. But he had never, ever seen a woman who was as truly, absolutely beautiful as this one was. Dressed in pale blue velvet raiment, Lady Laelia was like an angelic vision, with perfect features, a graceful swanlike neck and shining blond hair cascading in curling waves over her slender shoulders. The picture was made perfect by her attitude of modesty, her head lowered as she stared at the rush-covered floor.

“Is she not a beauty?”

“Indeed, my lord, words fail me.”

Lord Throckton chuckled with pride and continued through the assembly like a horse through high grass.

Blaidd looked at the dais again—and got a second, even stronger jolt of shock that made him check his step.

What the devil was that wench doing seated at the high table? Wasn’t she a servant? This meant she couldn’t be, and if she wasn’t, what the devil was she? What had she been doing at the gate?

Perhaps she was a friend of Lady Laelia’s, and her interrogation of him had been her idea of a joke.

But then why would she be seated while Lord Throckton still stood?

The woman’s blue-eyed gaze locked on to him, and even from this distance, he could tell that she was amused by his surprise. As she continued to regard him with that mocking merriment, energy and determination fairly hummed in Blaidd’s veins. Whoever she was, and whatever she thought she was doing, she was going to rue the day she’d made Sir Blaidd Morgan feel like a fool.

Lord Throckton reached the dais ahead of him and took the blond beauty’s hand, leading her a little forward. “This is my daughter, Lady Laelia. Laelia, this is Sir Blaidd Morgan, from the king’s court.”

The lady didn’t raise her head or her eyes—a blessed change from being looked at as if he were a trained bear sent solely for someone’s amusement, Blaidd decided.

He bowed low and took her right hand, as limp and cool as a fish in a basket, and brought it to his lips to kiss. “My lady, reports of your beauty don’t begin to do you justice,” he said as he straightened.

It was an easy, unoriginal compliment. Usually he enjoyed exerting himself for a lady’s good regard, especially a beautiful one, but it must be the presence of that insolent wench that made his mind incapable of coming up with better flattery.

“You’re most welcome to our hall,” Lady Laelia replied, raising grass-green eyes to look at him, her tone high-pitched and breathless, like a little girl’s. Or a woman trying to sound younger than she was.

He couldn’t remember anybody ever saying how old Lady Laelia was.

The brown-haired young woman loudly—and rudely—cleared her throat. Was she some sort of mad relative? That would explain her place, and her bizarre behavior.

Lord Throckton’s thick gray brows lowered and he frowned as he looked at her. “Sir Blaidd, this is Rebecca. My other daughter.”