The Maiden And The Warrior. Jacqueline Navin

vengeance. Peace will come when I have finished what I have set out to do. When Gastonbury is mine by Henry’s decree, and my mother is groveling at my feet, then I shall rest easy.”

      Lucien wiped the last of the dried blood from his sword and carefully placed it in the scabbard. When he was done, he faced Agravar.

      “If not for you, I would not have come this far. You gave your own father up to me, and that is a favor I shall not forget. But my grudge will end for me when it will, Agravar. Seek your lot elsewhere if you must, but the time for gentle living is not yet here for me.”

      Agravar shook his head. “I will remain.”

      Lucien nodded stiffly and preceded the Viking out the door. As they walked into the hall, they spoke tactfully of other matters.

      “I have ordered the kitchens to prepare a celebration this eve, not of victory but of new loyalties and fealty ties. A calmer feast than was seen last night.”

      “Tonight is soon,” Agravar considered.

      “I want it so, before the castellans who were here for Edgar’s wedding leave for home. A feast may do much to heal the breach.”

      Agravar gave him a long look, then smiled. “Perhaps, old friend, you are more suited to this life than you believe.”

       Chapter Six

      Lucien wore his usual dour expression as he took his seat at the head table to break his fast. He ordered the ornate canopied chairs Edgar had used taken away and seated himself on a plain stool.

      The faces of the others in the hall, a mixture of his soldiers, who were looking bleary-eyed from last night’s revelries, and the guarded expressions of the Gastonbury folk, stared back at him. His brows lowered and they looked away. Hushed conversation buzzed like a faraway hive, for the mood was full of expectation.

      Alayna entered. Their eyes locked for a moment before she turned away to sit at a trestle table with a few of the knights’ ladies.

      She looked beautiful this morning, more so without the disheveled hair and grime-streaked face of yesterday. Dressed plainly, she wore a simple gown of soft fawn with trailing sleeves to reveal a cream undertunic delicately embellished with a touch of gold thread. It was much less a show of finery than most in her position would favor. Her hair was caught demurely in a net snood, with some renegade tendrils twirling seductively around her face and neck. She wore none of the makeup that was making its way into fashion lately and the chain of gold links that encircled the gentle flare of her hips was her only ornamentation.

      Could it be she was unaware that this simplicity only added to her allure? Lucien wondered, then decided no. It had been his experience that everything a woman did was calculated for effect. Certainly this woman wanted to appear—what was it about her?—harmless. And that could hardly be so. She had made her intentions toward him clear, announcing herself plainly as his enemy. Thus, he could only assume she was trying to appear modest for a reason. His instincts were alert, warning against her innocent facade. But what was it she was contriving?

      

      Alayna was aware of Lucien’s covert scrutiny. She could almost feel the touch of his eyes, making her nervous though she was determined not to let it show. Keeping her own gaze carefully averted from his direction, she made a point to relax, pretending to enjoy the company of her companions, a group of gossipy knights’ ladies whom she found boring at best, and at worst irritating.

      “He does not wish us to rebel,” one woman whispered.

      “Well, if he wishes Henry to favor him, he needs to demonstrate he can keep the peace, keep control,” a young blonde added, blushing at the surprised looks her insight won from the others. “That is what Geoffery says anyway.”

      “He is not afraid of rebellion, Anne. Your Geoffery is correct, he does it for his ambition, not of fear. What has he to fear? He has already defeated us.”

      Anne leaned forward, casting a sly look over at the dais. “Well, if he is looking for a welcome, he should come see me.”

      “Him? Did you not notice Sir Will? He could make me swoon with just a word!” said another with a roll of her eyes.

      An older woman scoffed, “You would swoon at a word from old Gerald!”

      Alayna forced herself to laugh along with them, though she was having trouble attending to their conversation. She was tired, having spent the better part of the night going through Edgar’s trunks, now safely deposited in her chamber. It was difficult deciding how to best make use of them. She had the sumptuary laws to consider. A peasant was not allowed to wear certain materials or colors reserved for the nobility and clergy. But Alayna had no choice but to interpret the dress code guidelines broadly. She was determined the stolen garments would serve her intended purpose, and the peasants of the shire would sport a king’s ransom worth of finery.

      Lucien continued to glower at her from his seat on the dais. Her laughter sparkled louder.

      “Lady Alayna,” a voice said, and she looked up to see Sir Will smiling at her. The ladies around her twittered, offering their anxious greetings to the knight. He gave them a cursory nod. “You seem to be passing a pleasant morn.”

      “Pleasant enough,” Alayna answered. She liked him. He was an out-rageous flirt, but she sensed in him a kindness, as well.

      “May I sit with you?” Will asked. Alayna nodded. He sank beside her on the bench. “It is good to see you doing so well this day. You seem none the worse for the trials of late.”

      “Really?” she answered.

      His eyes stared warmly into hers, and Alayna realized he was singling her out for his attention. The other women stared at her with envy.

      “Well, I suppose no one expects everything to return to normal immediately,” Will said, “but laughter is a good medicine.”

      A new voice cut in, drawing their attention. “Indeed, your merriment is intriguing, my lady. Newly conquered peoples rarely can be heard laughing so soon after their defeat. Please, share it with us so we may all enjoy along with you.”

      Alayna’s head snapped up. It was, of course, de Montregnier, and he did not look in the least interested in sharing her amusement. His voice was even enough, but his expression was daunting. It was as if he sensed she had put on the show of gaiety to gall him. By the look of him, she had fairly succeeded.

      The women sat in tense silence.

      “‘Twas only a diverting story that made me laugh, for ’twas most ridiculous,” Alayna said, and shrugged.

      “Please, demoiselle,” he urged, “let us in on the hilarity.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “‘Twas nothing, I said.”

      “But I insist,” he countered. “If you keep eluding the question, I will be left to think that you have been caught discussing me.” His gaze matched hers, brilliant black and hard.

      She realized he was bullying her apurpose, but she could not keep herself from snapping, “Not you, but of a completely different man. The jest was of a lowborn cur who captures a castle and its people, then struts about as its lord. ’Tis a most funny anecdote.”

      She heard a sharp intake of breath from someone, and immediately, she knew she had gone too far. A quick glance about confirmed her fears. Pelly, who stood behind his lord, looked positively apoplectic, and even Will’s steady smile had faded. The only one who did not look stricken was de Montregnier himself.

      “How delightful,” he purred, his eyes telling a different story. “When I have time in the future to waste on the obtuse meanderings of a woman, I would like to hear more about it. The circumstances of your comedic tale are not dissimilar to my own. Oh, had you not realized? I wonder if this poor fellow is