Page 27

J ames returned from the Gregorys’ house at midday.

After finding their quarters empty and no sign of Bennett or any food about the place, he decided he would have to brave the Great Hall in search of sustenance.

Yanking the door open, he found Hal Payne stood there, his hand raised as though about to knock.

“Oh, there you are, Wycliffe,” he said, lowering his hand.

“We thought we would come and see if you were coming down to eat.” Hal was flanked again by two friends, though Kit had been replaced by a newcomer.

All of them looked flushed and tousled as though they had been running exercises all morning.

The new boy had grass stains up the right leg of his yellow hose.

“This is Hadrian Kellingford,” Hal said, pointing his thumb toward a tanned-looking youth who was staring at James with open curiosity.

“How do you do,” James said, extending his hand.

“Very well, as it happens,” Hadrian asserted, shaking his hand. “You really married to Payne’s sister?” he asked cheekily.

“I am.” Kellingford , thought James. Was that not another of Hal’s friends he had thought would do for Gunnilde? James shut the door behind him and locked it. “We’ll go down together, then, shall we?”

“Where’s my sister?”

“She had plans to wait on the Queen this morning.”

“Oh. What about Neville?” Hal asked, looking about as though James had stashed him somewhere.

“I have not the faintest idea,” James admitted. “I have been out all morning in the city.”

“Maybe we’ll see them down there,” Hal said, looking faintly disappointed.

“Hal wants to show you off,” Cuthbert said, as they started down the corridor. “He’s been telling the fellows about you all morning.”

James rather dreaded to think how his brother-in-law might have described him. He glanced over his shoulder and found him deep in conversation with the Kellingford lad.

“Don’t worry, he never said you were handsome,” Cuthbert reassured him.

They had just reached the steps and James paused. “Mayhap he did not think it worth mentioning,” he replied tersely.

“Well, I know you do not,” the strange boy replied, “but most people would think it worthy of note.”

James frowned at him and then started down the steps. “You have been training this morning?” he asked, attempting to show polite interest.

“Yes,” Cuthbert agreed but did not seem anxious to elaborate in any way. “Sir Ned was asking after Gunnilde most particularly. He was taken aback to hear she was wed.”

And what is it to him? thought James irritably. “Who is Sir Ned?” he asked aloud, then felt some vague stirrings in his memory. “Was he the one who brought you all to court?”

“Yes.”

“And which one of you is his squire?”

“None of us are, strictly speaking,” Cuthbert replied. “Though Hal is acting the part at present. Sir Ned’s real squire is Ancel Somers.”

“And who is Ancel Somers?”

“Well, now, that is the question,” Cuthbert muttered, and seemed to be thinking about something else entirely. Suddenly he seemed very far away, though walking at James’s side.

“Was he the one who broke his neck?” James asked, harking back once more to the conversation of the night before.

“It wasn’t his neck; it was his arm. And no, that was not Ancel but Sir James Attley, Hal’s true mentor. He and Sir Ned swapped squires.”

“Oh yes, I remember now,” James recalled. But why was the boy laboring the point? He seemed to attach some strange significance to the fact.

“Sir Ned was staying with us at Vawdrey Keep in September before Gunnilde left for court,” Cuthbert said in an expressionless voice.

Slow cogs turned in James’s brain. “Was not Gunnilde at Vawdrey Keep last summer?” he asked aloud.

“She was there from July to September,” Cuthbert confirmed, his eyes meeting James’s.

So then... James halted on the bottom step.

Presumably at least some of their stays would have overlapped.

A sudden suspicion sprang into his mind.

Was it possible that Sir Ned was the one who had insulted his wife so grievously?

The effort of remembrance was a strain. James had been distracted the previous evening and following the conversation had been difficult at times with so many present.

Thinking of it now, he could not help but wonder if it was before or after the mention of Bevan’s name that Gunnilde had turned quiet and pale?

He strongly suspected it was the latter.

Nice, and eminently forgettable. Anyone who would describe her thus must be an arrant fool.

“Who is he, this Sir Ned?” he asked bluntly.

“Sir Edward Bevan of Knollesley,” Cuthbert reeled off obligingly. “He is a knight who tours the tourneys and sees more success in the melees than the jousting. He is tactical and strong and one of the closest friends of my master, Roland Vawdrey.” Softly he added, “He is also riding for a fall.”

“So, then he is another like Hal’s former master. I suppose it is a consequence of competing.” James eyed Cuthbert sidelong. “Do you claim to see into the future, Ames?” he asked abruptly.

“Oh, I get the odd glimpse or two, nothing more.” The lad shrugged. “They just come to me. Like dreams.”

“Like seeing white cliffs in connection with Gunnilde?”

“Something like that,” Cuthbert agreed, “yes.”

James was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, “And just what is Sir Ned about to break in this upcoming fall of his?”

Cuthbert smiled a rather pitiless smile. “His heart,” he answered in the voice of a seer, and James shivered.

They spoke no more until they reached the hall, which was busier than usual at this time of day.

James found himself scanning the crowded tables for his wife without success.

“She’s not here,” he threw over his shoulder at Hal.

“Let me just go and ask where she might be.” He strode up to a table where several of the Queen’s ladies were sat whispering to one another.

“Good morning, ladies,” he addressed them with a small bow. “I am looking for my wife, she attended the Queen’s chambers this morning, but it seems she has not accompanied you to the Great Hall.”

There was a chorus of Oh Sir James and Good morrows and many smiles and the like. Belatedly, James recalled Gunnilde confessing the other ladies-in-waiting did not seem to like her very much. An uncomfortable notion crossed his mind that they might have excluded her and left her behind.

He narrowed his gaze. “You would surely have seen her there.” There was much rustling of skirts and whispering behind hands until James lost patience with them altogether and turned pointedly to the nearest one. “Lady Osanna, have you any idea where I might find my wife?”

Osanna Spencer straightened in her seat. “She did not accompany us to break her fast, Sir James, for she was had the distinction of being singled out by Her Highness and invited to dine with her in her private chambers.”

This pulled him up short. “Is that not somewhat unusual?” he asked, glancing around the table.

“’Tis highly unusual!” cut in another of the ladies, Frances Lessimore this time. “And a thing usually reserved for her most particular favorite.”

“Yes, but The Bartree is there too, so she has not been deposed yet,” pointed out Patience Stanhope. A few titters greeted this and a few head tosses.

“All morning, she and The Bartree have been quarrelling over the Queen’s favor!” cut in Emma Thackeray excitedly. “It has been most diverting!” The others immediately shushed her and elbowed her into silence.

“Do not pay any attention to Emma,” Lucy Melvin said loudly. “For she gets the silliest notions into her head!”

“No, I do not!” Emma objected. “We all agreed they were vying for Her Majesty’s attention, did we not?” Another round of shushing and from Emma’s winces, a good deal of ankle kicking occurred this time. Finally taking the hint, Emma lapsed into a pouting silence.

“We’ve found a table,” said a voice at James’s side. It was Hal. “Come and join us.” He gave an admiring glance around the table and bestowed a flourishing bow. “Ladies,” he said and seizing James by the elbow, drew him firmly away.

“They’re a pretty company of women,” Hal said appreciatively. “You must introduce us later, Wycliffe,” he said, steering James toward a far table.

“Well, those particular ladies are not being very kind to your sister at present!” James observed dryly.

“Aren’t they?” He glanced back at them over his shoulder. “Ah well, I daresay they’re just jealous.” He shrugged.

James dropped down onto the bench he indicated and found himself at a table full of squires, all craning to look at him. Kit Montmayne gave him a nod and pushed an empty tankard in his direction.

“Who are jealous?” Hadrian Kellingford enquired chirpily.

“The Queen’s ladies are all jealous of Gunnilde,” Hal replied quite unabashed, seizing hold of a pitcher of ale from a passing servant and sloshing it into the cups.

“Oh, because she landed Wycliffe, you mean?” asked another with a snub nose and freckles. James bristled to find himself discussed so openly in his own presence, but they barely seemed to notice his discomfort.

“Sure to be,” opined another youth loftily. “Women are rather like cats, you know. They like to show their claws. Like to sink ’em in you too. You should watch your step, Payne. Your fondness for their company will get you in trouble one of these days my lad, mark my words!”

Hal snorted. “You fear what you do not know, Cosgrave. Let me tell you, you’re missing out.”

“Oh gods, don’t let him get started on this again!” Kit groaned. He looked across at James. “Hal is always holding forth about women. It’s one of his favorite subjects.”