My Lord's Desire. Margaret Moore

“It does, however, make you look quite savage. Should we next expect to see your face painted blue like a Pict? Or will you be wearing the horned helmet of a Northman? Is there some reason for this unusual hairstyle, my lord, or do you simply enjoy shocking people and being the center of attention?”

      As Francis guffawed, the expression that came to Lord Armand’s face made her want to squirm.

      “Someday, perhaps, my lady,” he said, “I will tell you why I haven’t cut my hair since I was taken prisoner. I doubt, however, that you’d understand.”

      Adelaide blushed with shame, and she wanted to apologize, but she didn’t dare. She had a reputation to maintain, even if it wasn’t one she particularly relished.

      “Pay no heed to what he says, my lady,” Francis said. “And you, my lord, had best take care how you speak to one of the king’s wards.”

      Lord Armand didn’t look the least bit worried. “Tell me, Francis, while I was in the Comte de Pontelle’s dungeon, where were you?”

      Francis straightened his shoulders. “I, too, was serving the king.”

      “I’m sure you were, in your own way,” Lord Armand agreed with more than a hint of mockery in his voice and eyes. “We cannot all bear arms in battle.”

      “And some of us can barely walk,” Francis shot back, his gaze darting to Randall FitzOsbourne, who blushed bright red.

      That was truly a low blow. Randall FitzOsbourne couldn’t help being crippled.

      The slight smile remained on Lord Armand’s face, but his eyes filled with renewed rage and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. So did Francis’s.

      Eloise blanched and Randall FitzOsbourne looked worried. Adelaide, however, was quite sure Lord Armand could defeat Francis in a contest of arms, and Francis deserved to be humbled.

      “By the teeth of God, is something amiss among my courtiers?” the king called out.

      They all turned to see John striding toward them. Everyone had been too intent on the exchange between Sir Francis and Lord Armand to notice his arrival.

      As always, John was expensively and ornately dressed, in a long tunic of ivory cendal, heavily embroidered around the neck, cuffs and hem. His belt was gilded, and he wore a large gold brooch with a ruby in the center. Rings sparkled on his plump fingers, and his hair shone with oil. The odor of expensive perfume wafted from him, overpowering the more delicate scent of the roses nearby. The queen and several of his routiers followed, trying to keep up with the king’s brisk pace.

      Regardless of the presence of his queen, the king leered at Adelaide when he came to a halt. “I suppose these two bold cockerels are glaring at each other because of you, my lady.”

      “Your Majesty,” she replied, keeping her tone and expression carefully neutral, “I was merely passing the time of day with Lady Eloise when these gentlemen approached me.”

      “I see.” The king ran a speculative gaze over Lord Armand, who was a full head taller than he. “We were informed of your arrival, Lord Armand. You’re most welcome at our court.”

      “Thank you, sire,” Lord Armand replied. He took a step toward John. “I hope—”

      “We can guess what you hope,” the king interrupted with a hint of pique, “and we do not intend to discuss it when the noon meal is about to be served.”

      John turned back to Adelaide. “For the sake of peace in the hall, you must sit beside me at table, my lady.”

      Knowing she really had no choice, trusting she could continue to be neither encouraging nor obviously discouraging to the notoriously lascivious king, Adelaide smiled and said, “It would be my honor, Your Majesty.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      “I’M SORRY. I truly thought I’d be able to keep my temper,” Armand said to Randall as they watched the king and his companions, now including Lady Adelaide, leave the garden. “Unfortunately, the very sight of de Farnby is enough to annoy me.”

      It didn’t help that Francis was talking to the bashful beauty, who proved to be anything but bashful. Indeed, her lively responses had been very disconcerting.

      “Francis annoys everybody,” Randall consoled. “At least you didn’t attack him. That would have been a disaster.”

      Armand eased himself onto the stone bench Lady Adelaide and her fair-haired friend had recently vacated. He stretched out his right leg and massaged his aching knee. “I notice Francis manages not to annoy the king.”

      “He flatters the king and amuses the queen.”

      Armand knew he should curb any interest in the sharp-tongued Lady Adelaide, as well as stifle the desire that leapt into life when he saw her, given his reasons for marrying and the sort of placid wife he hoped to have. He also had no idea how rich or poor Lady Adelaide’s family might be. After all, there were other unmarried ladies at court, and if there were none so beautiful, or with such shining, soft eyes, they might be richer, and that was what he needed to remember.

      Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist asking a little more about the dark-haired beauty. “Francis flatters Lady Adelaide, too, yet she doesn’t seem susceptible to his oily charm. Is that because she’s set her sights on a richer prize?”

      Sitting beside him, Randall looked around to make sure they were alone. “You mean the king?”

      That wasn’t what Armand meant, yet it wouldn’t be surprising if John had enticed, bribed or compelled that young beauty into his bed. “Is she his mistress?”

      “Not yet, I don’t think, although nobody knows for certain.”

      “In this court, they’d know,” Armand replied, trying not to betray any relief, or to feel it, either.

      “It’s very difficult to say what that lady’s plans are,” Randall said, “or who, if any man, she likes or wants. She gives nothing away and acts the same to all.”

      “Perhaps she doesn’t want to limit her choice of wealthy husbands.”

      “I don’t think we can fault her for that,” Randall said. “She has two unmarried sisters who are wards of the king, as well, although they aren’t at court, and the family isn’t very rich. If she makes a good marriage, their chances to do the same improve considerably.”

      “What about her friend, Lady Eloise?” Armand asked. “Is her family rich?”

      Randall hesitated a moment, and didn’t look at Armand when he answered. “Yes, her family is richer. Her dowry should be more than enough to pay Bayard’s ransom. I haven’t really inquired.” He swiftly got to his feet. “We had better get to the hall if we want to eat.”

      Randall’s manner and his sudden desire to leave was more than enough to tell Armand that even if Lady Eloise were the richest woman in England and panting after him, he shouldn’t consider her for a bride—not unless he wanted to upset Randall.

      “I suppose I could try for Lady Hildegard,” Armand mused as they made their way toward the garden gate.

      “Things have changed since you’ve been gone,” Randall replied. “She’s got her eye on Lord Richard.”

      Armand raised a brow as he held the gate open for his friend. “Don’t you think I could persuade her that I would be a better husband?”

      “I don’t doubt you would be,” Randall replied. “But Lady Hildegard is as ambitious as any man. Lord Richard, for all his vanity, is from a very wealthy family, and wealth means power.”

      “Then I must choose another,” Armand said with a shrug as they crossed the yard between the garden and the hall.

      “At least you have a choice,” Randall said with more bitterness