Lady Of Lyonsbridge. Ana Seymour

      “I think he had convinced himself he was doing what was best for me. He felt that any man who came to sue for my hand was only interested in Sherborne.”

      Thomas’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “Was your father a blind man?”

      His remark elicited a small smile. “’Twas not my attractiveness he was doubting, it was the nature of his fellow men.”

      “I’m sorry. He was wrong to be so cynical. There are many honorable men who would make his daughter a good husband.”

      Alyce sighed. “I don’t believe he was always so bitter. As I say, he never really recovered from my mother’s death.”

      “’Twas a true love match, then, and he is now where he no doubt wishes to be, which is with your mother.”

      “Aye, and their daughter is alone.”

      He smiled gently. “From what I hear, milady, you are hardly alone. You appear to have a castle full of people who love you. I’ve heard that your retainers will do anything to protect you, even poison your visitors.”

      Alyce glanced around the table to be sure his remark hadn’t been overheard. “I take the blame for that misadventure, Sir Thomas. Please put no fault on my household.”

      “You gave the orders, but your people carried them out with a vengeance. That Alfred of yours did not so much as twitch a hair on his face as he served us the fatal dinner. And the old woman who was in your chamber the other night appeared capable of bashing me in the head if I tried to come closer to you in your supposed sickbed.”

      Alyce chuckled. “Alfred and Lettie are true friends. You’re right, I have many here.”

      Thomas looked around the full hall. Unlike the people in some parts of England, the residents of Sherborne looked happy. Happy and prosperous. “Might your tenants be able to help you raise the tax to pay off Prince John?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “They’ve already paid too much. First there were the exorbitant taxes for King Richard to mount his Crusade, then for John to line his pockets.”

      Thomas frowned. “Those are dangerous words in today’s England, milady. I trust you don’t speak so freely to all your visitors.”

      Alyce shrugged, unconcerned. “You made no secret about your lack of love for Prince John. I doubt you’ll head to Westminster to denounce me as a traitor.”

      “But I may be Richard’s man and take offense at your words.”

      “I care little for politics. Like war, ’tis another male invention designed to convince women that we need men to handle our lives.”

      “When in reality the fairer sex could do just fine without us?” Thomas asked, amused.

      “Without war and without politics? Aye, I trow the world would be a better place. And we women would be free to run our households and raise our families in peace.”

      He leaned close again to whisper, “Just how would you have those families, milady, without the, er, cooperation of men?”

      Embarrassed, she blurted out, “I do know where babies come from, Sir Thomas. But I’ve never heard that a man needs to be a warrior to produce one, nor a politician.”

      He leaned back with a hearty laugh. The sound of it made Kenton, who was sitting at a table just below them, turn his head and ask, “Will you not share the joke, Thomas?”

      “Please,” Alyce begged in a low voice. “’Twas a foolish and brazen remark.”

      Thomas grinned at her, then answered his lieutenant, “We were talking of rabbits, Kent, and how easily their futures can go awry.”

      Kenton looked confused at the reply, but smiled and nodded. “Just mind that you don’t monopolize all of the lady Alyce’s conversation. You’re not the only one who’s been longing for the sound of a sweet English voice.”

      Under his breath, Thomas said to Alyce, “You see, I’ve not revealed your misdeed. My men still think you sweet.”

      Alyce stood, grateful both for Thomas’s discretion and for the interruption in a conversation that would surely have shocked her sainted mother to the core. She smiled down at Kenton. “’Tis Sir Thomas’s voice we should be hearing now that the meal’s done. Perhaps he’d favor us with a song.”

      “Your musicians are doing fine.” Kenton waved his hand toward the end of the hall, where the brewer and his cousin had been picking out stately melodies that could barely be heard over the noise of the crowd. “Our men have heard enough of Thomas’s lovesick ditties.”

      The look exchanged between Thomas and his lieutenant left no one in doubt that the insult was brotherly.

      Alyce hesitated, uncertain. “Well, then. Perhaps we should try a fortune or two.”

      Thomas had risen to his feet beside her. “Aye. Let’s see if we’re destined to have luckier futures than the little hares we’ve just devoured.”

      It was nearly half an hour before things were made ready. Servants cleared away the trenchers as some of the men wandered off to refill their flagons of ale, while others sought privacy to relieve themselves of the drink they’d already consumed.

      Finally the two master chairs were carried down and placed next to the big fireplace. Old Maeve was ushered into one, while the other remained empty.

      Alyce gave a little clap of excitement and asked, “Who shall be first?”

      There was a moment of silence, as none of the knights appeared eager to volunteer. Then old Maeve spoke, her voice crackly like the rustle of dry leaves. “’Tis your ladyship’s future I’ve come to tell. I saw it that night in the fire.” She lifted a bony finger and pointed to Thomas. “The night he came to me.”

      Alyce suppressed a sudden shiver. She’d thought the fortune-telling would be amusing for the visiting knights, but she’d forgotten that occasionally Maeve’s prophecies told of ill fortune as well as good. And the old woman did have the gift. Everyone at Sherborne knew that.

      “Aye, the lady Alyce,” Kenton exclaimed, and several of the rest of the men chorused their agreement.

      Thomas looked at her, questioning. “Are you willing, milady? Or are you afraid of what your seer might foretell?”

      Alyce was afraid, for some unknown reason. But she was not about to let Thomas Havilland know that. Stiffening her shoulders, she marched over to the chair opposite Maeve and sat down.

      “How are you tonight, Maeve?” she asked.

      The old woman blinked slowly, as if trying to focus her eyes. “The wolves howl at the moon.”

      Alyce sighed. Calling old Maeve to the castle had probably not been a good idea. “There are no wolves, Maeve. Perhaps you hear the castle dogs fighting over the scraps.”

      “’Tis a blood moon,” Maeve continued, without appearing to have heard Alyce’s words. “It tells of treachery and perhaps even death.” She closed her eyes. “Aye, death.”

      Alyce straightened in her chair as a second shiver made its way the entire length of her back. With a nervous laugh, she looked up at Thomas, whose expression had grown sober. “’Tis the fortune-teller’s business to be dramatic.”

      The music from the end of the hall had ceased as more visitors crowded around the fireplace to hear the exchange between the witch and the mistress of the castle. But Maeve appeared to have fallen asleep.

      Alyce leaned over and touched her knee. “Maeve!”

      The fortune-teller’s eyes opened and focused on Alyce again. “Don’t worry, lass. ’Tis not your death I see. ’Tis a man. He’s bathed in the blood of the moon.”

      Kenton, standing at Thomas’s side, crossed himself and went