Lady Of Lyonsbridge. Ana Seymour

      “You might have killed someone with your childish tricks.” His cold tone masked a deeper fury. She sensed that Thomas Havilland could be a forgiving man if the injury was to himself alone, but not when his men were harmed. And suddenly it was important to her that he not think her mean-spirited.

      She turned to face him. “You’re right. ’Twas foolish and wrong of me, and if your men hadn’t recovered I would never have forgiven myself.”

      He seemed surprised at her forthright admission. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

      “I was trying to make the point that I’d be a terrible wife. If Dunstan had been among the delegation, I was hoping he’d decide to look for a better housekeeper.” There was a forlorn note to her final words.

      Thomas gave a reluctant smile, and his voice was more gentle as he observed, “If he’d caught a glimpse of you, Alyce Rose, I venture to say that all the rotten meat in the kingdom would not have altered his course.”

      His kindness was almost harder to bear than the anger. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Your men were kind to me. I wish I could see the act undone.”

      He shook his head. “I daresay they’ve eaten worse on the battlefield and lived to tell the tale. But just the same, I think we’ll keep this as our secret, if it’s all the same to you.”

      “Oh, thank you, Sir Thomas. I’m in your debt.”

      One dark eyebrow went up suggestively. “Ah, milady, that may not be the wisest thing to say to a battle-weary knight when he’s alone with you in your bedchamber.”

      His teasing tone told her that she had no cause for alarm at his words. He made no move to touch her, and she realized with a pang of regret that he had no intention of doing so. She was not Rose any longer. She was the lady Alyce. And things could never be as relaxed between them as they had been that morning in the meadow.

      “I’m never alone for very long,” she said, allowing the regret to creep into her tone. “Lettie will be here shortly to help me prepare for bed.”

      “Of course,” he said, and nodded, his eyes flickering over her briefly. She wondered if he was having the same thought as she. If she were only the servant Rose instead of a nobly born lady, she might be anticipating a very different kind of bedding ritual.

      “So it would be best if you left now,” she said softly.

      “Aye, ’twould be best.”

      Their eyes met for a long moment, mirroring regret. Then he said, “Sleep well, milady,” and turned to leave.

      If any of Thomas’s men were suspicious about the tainted meat, they didn’t show it. By the time Alyce descended to the great hall for breakfast the following morning, they all seemed to know the truth about her identity. In fact, Kenton took a private moment to apologize for any of his comments that, while fine for a serving maid, might not have been appropriate for the lady of the castle.

      Their graciousness only deepened Alyce’s guilt, but since Thomas appeared to have forgiven her, she vowed to put the matter out of her mind. She was determined, however, to make up for the poor hospitality the knights had received on their arrival. Though she knew that the men had tarried at Sherborne longer than intended, she insisted that they remain for an evening of festivities, now that they all had recovered from their illnesses.

      “I shall be offended if you don’t agree,” she told Kenton with a smile that she was only beginning to understand could turn a fierce knight into a veritable puppy dog.

      His reaction did not disappoint her. His eyes wide, he rushed to assure her. “I’d not offend you for the world, milady. The problem is—”

      “Then ’tis settled,” she interrupted gaily. And so it was decided. She sent Alfred’s grandson, Fredrick, to the village for Quentin, the brewer, who was to bring some of his finest ale, as well as the tambour he often used to entertain at fairs.

      “On the way back, you can pay old Maeve a visit,” she told the young villein. “If she’s in her right head today, invite her as well. She can entertain us with her fortune-telling.”

      Happier than she had been since the death of her father, Alyce spent the day busy with preparations, seeing to it that fresh rushes were strewn in the great hall, and putting Lettie to oversee the cooks. “Have them fix their finest dishes,” she told her, then added, “with nothing but freshly caught game. Bring in the stable boys to help with the skinning, if you need extra help.”

      “’Tis a wonder Sir Thomas did not skin ye, Allie,” Lettie answered with a shake of her head, but as usual she went along with her young mistress’s plans.

      By sundown the meal was ready and the brewer had arrived from the village, with a great cask of ale. He’d brought along his cousin, a huge bear of a man adept at picking out melodies on a ridiculously tiny harp.

      Alyce was nearly giddy with excitement. Her mother had always been one to make a festive occasion with the slightest excuse. After her death, Sherborne parties were more subdued, and usually attended only by the castle residents themselves, since her father had wanted little contact with the outside world. Nevertheless, Alyce had many fond memories of warm evenings in the great hall. It was almost like having both her parents back to see the room filled with happy people enjoying merry company and good food.

      Thomas sat by her side at the head table. His gaze was often on her, warm and admiring, but his manner was much more formal than it had been when he’d thought her a servant. Though it was what she should have expected, it made her a little sad. The smile she’d been wearing all evening dimmed briefly.

      He seemed to notice the change at once. Leaning toward her, he observed in a conspiratorial whisper, “Was the stew left over from St. Swithin’s Day or were you able to obtain an even older vintage?”

      His teasing voice and wink took the sting from the words. She gave a rueful laugh. “These rabbits were hopping around the meadow this very morning.”

      Thomas looked at the trencher with a look of mock sorrow. “Ah, noble creatures. They sacrificed themselves to fill the bellies of a band of wandering knights.”

      “I doubt they were given a choice in the matter,” Alyce replied. As she said the words, her smile faded.

      Thomas lowered his head to peer into her eyes. “We all must eat, milady. ’Tis the lot of animals to be sacrificed.”

      “Of animals, aye, and of some females as well.” She was silent a long moment, her thoughts suddenly sober. A night of merriment did not change her situation. Soon the real emissaries from Prince John would appear at her gates, and from then on she would have no more control over her life than the rabbits that Thomas’s men were devouring.

      “Forgive me if I seem to be meddling in your affairs, milady,” Thomas said. “But Prince John should have no authority over you. Your liege lord is King Richard.”

      “Most say that Richard will die of his wounds before the ransom is raised to free him. Then John will be king in his own right.”

      “There are good people hard at work trying to avoid that calamity, milady,” Thomas told her.

      The vehemence of his words made her curious. “You sound as if King Richard’s welfare is important to you, Sir Thomas. Is it because of your dislike for Prince John?”

      She could tell at once that he did not want to discuss the matter. “’Tis you who concerns me, not John. Your father should have seen to it before his death that you were affianced to someone acceptable. Even the king could not have overturned a legal betrothal.”

      Alyce laid down her knife, her appetite gone. She had no reason to tell this stranger her story, but the words tumbled out. “My mother died ten years ago trying to give my father a son, who died with her. After that, Father seemed to lose interest in everything but taking care of Sherborne Castle. He never looked at another woman, and