Lady Of Lyonsbridge. Ana Seymour

tales of the man who’d been chosen as her bridegroom, the nightmares had begun. But this night it was guilt that kept her tossing restlessly on her small bed. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed that a number of tall knights, all looking like Dunstan’s messenger, were forcing her to eat a wretched pottage of rotten entrails. Then they were dragging her down a long hall toward a dais, where her bridegroom awaited. She awoke with her skin cold and clammy.

      It was shortly before dawn. She sat up, staring into the dark, suddenly beset with worry. What if one of the men she had so callously sickened were to die? She rose from her bed and fumbled around in the dark, putting on her clothes. She’d not bother Lettie, nor any of the other servants, but she would quietly slip down to the great hall and make sure that none of the visitors was in dire condition.

      If any of them were truly sick, she’d have no choice but to reveal herself and care for them. She had her mother’s herb chest, and she’d learned how to use it these past years since her mother had died, when Alyce was only ten.

      She had no need of a tallow reed to light her way down to the great hall. She knew Sherborne Castle like the palm of her hand. Quietly, she stepped into the big chamber and paused to listen. All around her she heard the low rumbles of sleeping men, but, she noted with a sigh of relief, there were no sounds of distress.

      Surely if anyone was very ill, there would be some sign. The fire would have been built up and men would be awake, caring for the patient.

      Moving noiselessly, she crossed the room toward the buttery. She was feeling none too sharp herself this morning, she thought with an ironic grin. Punishment, no doubt, for her wickedness in finishing off half a capon the previous evening while her guests ate rotten food.

      The sun was beginning to send slanting rays through the castle windows, but as she entered the buttery, it took Alyce a moment to realize that the room was illuminated not by the sun but by a blazing wall torch. The torch had evidently been placed there by the knight of her restless dreams, who was this moment standing frozen in front of her, his mug of ale halfway to his lips.

      Chapter Two

      “My apologies, mistress,” he said after a moment. “You startled me.” He placed the mug on top of a nearby barrel and gave a slight nod. “I couldn’t seem to find anyone about this morning, so I helped myself to some ale.”

      Alyce stood still for a moment, her mind racing. The knight did not appear to know who she was. She probably looked far too healthy for him to consider that she might be the same Lady Sherborne whom he had seen so ill just a few hours before.

      “By all means, serve yourself, sir. ’Twould be milady’s wishes. She’d be seeing to it herself, if she was able.”

      “How does your mistress fare this morning?”

      His eyes were unusually dark. They were watching her intently, making her feel as if he could read her every secret. She lowered her gaze. “Milady’s much better.”

      “As are my men.”

      “Lady Alyce will be glad to hear it.” She glanced up at him again, but he was still looking at her with those disturbing eyes. Could he see through her deceit? she wondered.

      “Forgive me for staring,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s just that you’re the first lovely thing I’ve seen since I arrived here at Sherborne.” His voice softened. “Indeed, mistress, I venture to say that you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen for a good long time.”

      She felt heat rising in her cheeks. Since her mother’s death, her father had chosen to live a quiet life at Sherborne, and she’d had no exposure to the flirtations of the more sophisticated world of the court or the big cities. She wasn’t even sure if it was a flirtation that the knight was attempting.

      She hesitated a moment, then murmured, “Ah…thank you,” and dropped her eyes once again.

      “Does such beauty have a name?” he asked, and this time when she looked up he was regarding her with such a charming smile that there was no doubt of its nature.

      She hesitated, then said, “Rose. My name is Rose.”

      “How appropriate.” He took a step toward her, seized one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “I’m Thomas, Mistress Rose, most humbly at your service.”

      Was it her imagination or did the pulse seem to surge through her fingers where his hand touched her? “Thomas…?” she asked.

      He paused before he answered, “Thomas…Havilland.”

      She slipped her fingers out of his grasp and tried to gather her wits, but she could scarcely think for the rushing in her ears. She tried to keep her voice steady, her words logical. “And you say your men have all recovered, Sir Thomas?”

      “I believe so, all save Harry Streeter, who may have taken more than his share of the fatal stew last evening,” he added with a grin.

      “I’m sure my mistress is mortified that Sherborne fare caused such distress.”

      “Such misadventures happen. ’Tis the fault of no one.”

      She felt a quick flash of guilt, but mostly she felt unsettled and shaky. He was standing less than a yard distant. She took a step backward, willing her unruly senses to calm themselves. This was absurd, she chided herself. This knight had come to rob her of her independence, to carry her off to a cruel man who would become her husband against her will. The thought brought her strength.

      “I trust you will report as much to your master,” she said coldly.

      “My master?” He sounded surprised.

      “Baron Dunstan.”

      The dark brown eyes blinked in confusion. “I owe no allegiance to Dunstan, mistress. What would make you think such a thing?”

      “Have you not been sent by Prince John to fetch the lady of Sherborne as bride for Baron Dunstan?”

      The knight’s expression darkened. “I’d clean stable dung before I’d serve as errand boy to Prince John. As for Philip of Dunstan, I beg pardon, mistress, but if your lady is to marry him, then God help her.”

      “His name is Thomas Havilland, Lettie, and he’s not from Prince John at all. He’s simply a knight going around…I don’t know…doing whatever knights do.” Alyce sat on her bed, resting her head on her hands.

      Lettie sat beside her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Ye’ll just have to tell him the truth, Allie. Ye say he himself called Dunstan a monster. He’ll understand that ye were trying to protect yerself. He’ll probably admire ye for it.”

      “Will he admire that I poisoned his men?”

      Lettie was silent for a moment. “I think they’ve mostly recovered. And he does seem to be a nice man. Ye said he was courtly, Allie.”

      Alyce lifted her head. “I said he seemed to be courting me. No doubt for his own male purposes.”

      Lettie’s eyebrows lifted. “What do ye know about male purposes, Alyce Rose?”

      “I know that most men are without scruples.”

      “Those are yer father’s words, lass. He fed ye nonsense about men that was every bit as poisonous as the meat those poor knights ate last night.”

      Alyce’s tone was defensive. “Father always wanted to protect me. If he had known that I’d be sold in matrimony like a prize broodmare, he’d have moved heaven and hell to leave me enough money to pay my tribute to the king and free myself from the burden.”

      “Aye, lass, that he would, but I still don’t hold with the way he soured ye on suitors.”

      Alyce gave a little sniff. “I’m not interested in suitors, Lettie. I have the life I want.”

      “But what