My Lord's Desire. Margaret Moore

on his friends, or those to whom he owes much?”

      “Yes, he does,” Randall replied as they entered the courtyard.

      Several soldiers patrolled the wall walk and guarded the gate. Others not on duty lounged in the July sunlight, laughing and cursing as they exchanged stories. Ostentatiously ignoring the soldiers, a few young female servants strolled toward the well, whispering and giggling. Other servants, in finer garments, bustled about on business for their noble masters.

      Merchants and tradesmen’s carts arrived with produce for the castle kitchens; others, now empty, departed, their drivers cursing nearly as colorfully as the soldiers as they tried to pass.

      Armand realized that Randall’s expression was noticeably grim. “I’m very worried about Bayard, too,” Armand said, speaking a little louder to be heard above the din. “I’m hopeful a marriage will mean I can free him soon.”

      “Perhaps.”

      These short, brusque answers were totally unlike Randall’s usual responses. “What’s wrong? Is there a scarcity of young, unmarried ladies or rich widows, or don’t you think John will bestow one upon me? It’s the least he can do after what I’ve suffered for him.”

      Armand had to strain to hear Randall’s reply as they threaded their way through baskets of peas and beans outside the kitchen storeroom. “John might not like being reminded about his losses in Normandy.”

      “It wasn’t my fault he lost his lands there and he should still be grateful for my service.”

      Randall’s gaze flicked over Armand. “I agree John should reward you, and I hope he will. But…well…” He delicately cleared his throat. “Are you planning on cutting your hair?”

      “No, and you know why not,” Armand replied, unable to keep the hostility from his voice as he contemplated the reason for that decision.

      “What will you say to anyone else who asks?”

      “The truth.”

      Randall took hold of Armand’s arm and pulled him behind the nearest farmer’s cart. “For God’s sake, Armand, do you want to be accused of treason?” he demanded in a fierce whisper.

      Armand shook off his friend’s grasp. “I’m no traitor. I swore my oath of loyalty to John and I’ll keep it, although I rue the day I put my honor in his hands. It’s because of John that I nearly died in that dungeon. It’s because of John that my squire and several good men did, and it’s John’s fault my brother is still imprisoned in Normandy.”

      “Even so, you must take care, Armand, especially when you’re not completely recovered from your injuries—or are you?” Randall’s gaze darted to Armand’s right knee that had been struck hard with a mace and left to mend on its own while he was imprisoned.

      “Almost,” he replied, although his knee ached like the devil most of the time. His arms were still weak, and his voice was a little rough from the lingering cough he’d suffered for over a fortnight. Still, he was much better than he’d been the last time Randall had seen him.

      “But not yet, so you must be careful,” Randall persisted. “John sees conspiracies everywhere, and your oath may not protect you. And your estate alone would be enough to encourage greedy, ambitious men to poison John against you. If you’re accused of treason, what will happen to Bayard then?”

      Armand’s jaw clenched before he answered, although he knew his friend was right. He’d have to be cautious in this nest of vipers. “I’ll be careful.”

      “Good,” Randall replied with genuine relief. “Now let’s get something to eat. John and the queen are still abed, so you won’t have to see them right away.”

      “Thank God. Otherwise my appetite might disappear completely.”

      “I’M GLAD you’re feeling better,” Adelaide said to Eloise de Venery as they sat on a stone bench in the castle garden later that morning.

      Sweet, kind and pretty, Eloise was Adelaide’s one true friend at court. She was also genuinely good, trustworthy and blessedly free of ambition.

      Nearby, several of the courtiers were playing a game of bowls on the flat, lush lawn that formed the center of the garden. Their goal was to get their ball nearest to the one in the center, and to block or knock away any others that were closer.

      Around the outside of the garden were walks bordered by beds of flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. Roses climbed the walls, and several alcoves and nooks had been created with vines and lattices.

      Lord Richard D’Artage was about to take his turn. He was the most vain peacock at court, spending hours every morning on his hair and clothes. There were rumors that he had padding in the shoulders of his tunics, and that his hair owed its color as much to art as to nature.

      Other young noblemen looked on and offered their advice, whether it was welcome or not, and more than one was somewhat the worse for wine. Several ladies were also in attendance, including the ambitious, sharp-tongued Lady Hildegard, with her piercing eyes and pointed chin.

      Adelaide was quite happy to watch the other courtiers play their games, whether it was bowls, or bantering, or maneuvering for power. She preferred to be ignored, although her damnable beauty made that all but impossible.

      Eloise gave her a sheepish look. “I wasn’t really sick this morning. I just didn’t want to be near Hildegard for a while.”

      “Understandable,” Adelaide said. Hildegard was no favorite of hers, either.

      Eloise sighed. “She always manages to upset me. I wish I were more like you, Adelaide. Nothing she says bothers you.”

      “Because I don’t care whether Hildegard likes me or not,” Adelaide truthfully replied. Only the king’s opinion of her mattered, as he was the one who held power over her fate, as well as that of her sisters.

      Eloise still looked upset, so Adelaide sought to lighten her mood. “Randall FitzOsbourne was watching you dance last night.”

      Eloise’s head shot up like an eager puppy’s, and then she flushed and looked down at the stone walk at her feet. “Oh, I don’t think so. He must have been looking at someone else.”

      “He certainly was looking at you,” Adelaide assured her. “Perhaps tonight you should speak to him.”

      “I couldn’t! What would I say? He’ll think I’m being too forward.”

      “I doubt that. You’re the most modest woman at court. I’m sure he likes you. Unfortunately, he’s as shy and modest and unassuming as you are. Perhaps if you were to speak to him first—”

      “I just couldn’t! Besides,” Eloise woefully continued, “since his friend’s arrived, he probably won’t even remember I exist.”

      “What friend is this?” Adelaide asked, trying to sound nonchalant despite the excitement that coursed through her. As far as she knew, there was only one new arrival at court—the man she’d met in the stables. She’d heard of no others.

      “Lord Armand de Boisbaston,” Eloise said. “You weren’t here when he was last at court, or I’m sure you’d remember him. He’s a very handsome man.”

      That had to be the knight she’d met in the stable. “I think I may have seen him,” Adelaide said, oddly reluctant to tell Eloise about her encounter with the man in the stable. “Does he have long hair?”

      “My maid said it’s nearly to his shoulders. Marguerite was fluttering about like a loosed pigeon when she told me about him. Wait until the ladies of the court hear he’s come back. They’ll be just the same. I wonder why he hasn’t cut his hair, though. He used to be quite neat and tidy in his appearance before he went to Normandy. Did you think he was handsome?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’m surprised