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CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I understand that you already know my wife, Lord Leominster.” Sir John Munstone indicated the slender, pretty woman next to him covered in jewels. “I hear that you are old friends.”

Curtis found himself looking at Larue la Dechy, the woman who had long pined for him, but a woman he’d had absolutely no interest in. She hadn’t aged well, unfortunately, and he could see that she’d painted her cheeks with rouge to an obnoxious degree. Everything about her screamed of excess.

He smiled politely.

“Aye, we are,” he said, focused on Larue. “Congratulations on your marriage. Lord Munstone is a good friend of the House of de Lohr.”

Larue was gazing at Curtis with the look of a hunter sighting prey. “I know,” she said. “When we received your invitation for tonight’s feast, I was most excited to see your mother and father again. Where are they, by the way?”

Curtis turned and pointed to the dais across the hall. “My mother is over there with my wife,” he said. “You’ve not met Elle yet. I should like to introduce you.”

Larue’s pleasant expression faded. “I’m sure she is busy with your mother now,” she said. “There will be time later. I would much rather speak to you and hear about your new command. Brython is quite a prize, Curt. Well done.”

There was that hunter again. Larue had always been about prizes and money and prestige. It reminded him why he never liked her in the first place, and he realized he didn’t much want to speak with her any more than he had to. At the risk of being rude, he fumbled for an excuse to cleave the conversation quickly.

“Thank you,” he said. “It wasn’t only me, but my father and brothers as well. We had a good deal of help. In fact, please excuse me. I see someone over there I must speak with. Please enjoy yourselves.”

With that, he pushed his way through some of the gathered men and women, apparently on his way to speak with someone more important the either John or Larue. Munstone didn’t seem to mind, but Larue was positively livid.

“How rude,” she said. “The man never did have good manners. Living on the wilds of the marches has given him rough edges.”

John never paid much attention to his wife, who liked to complain too much for his taste. “He is a busy man, my dear,” he said. “Come—let us find a table and sit. I would like some wine.”

He was already moving for a table, leaving her behind. Larue was still looking for Curtis, seeing his blond head on the other side of the hall. Frustrated, she considered following him and asking him what he intended to do to make up for his rude departure. It had been years since she last saw him, but those years hadn’t removed her lust for Curtis de Lohr. They’d only dulled it a bit.

But it was back now.

There was no man more beautiful in all of England than Curtis de Lohr.

“Good eve, Larue.” A woman with faded red hair and a bejeweled wimple sauntered up to her. “Back in Curtis de Lohr’s realm, I see?”

Larue glanced at her friend, a woman she’d known many years who had been seeking a husband the same time as her. Not really a friend as much as she had been competition at one time. Lady Rosalie de Nage had grown up in the same town as Larue, in Brookthorpe, just south of Gloucester, and both of their fathers had thriving businesses. Both fathers had ambitions for their daughters, but it had been Larue’s father who took the leap for the big fish of de Lohr. Rosalie’s father had been a bit more pragmatic and found her a minor warlord in Bromyard, a town between Hereford and Worcester.

Minor as Lord de Nage was, he was still part of the marches alliance, which was how Rosalie also found herself at Brython Castle, and she knew the history between Larue and Curtis very well. She’d heard the rumors and gossip about it for the better part of a year.

But Larue had little patience for Rosalie’s taunts.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Rosalie,” she said. “Your husband is not nearly so important that he should have a de Lohr alliance, is he?”

Rosalie stiffened. “He’s important enough to have received an invitation, just like your husband did.”

Larue still had her focus on Curtis. “Charming,” she said drolly. “How long must you stay?”

“Long enough to see Curtis ignore you.”

Larue’s gaze snapped to her, eyes narrowed. “Only momentarily, darling,” she said. “I would stop gloating if I were you.”

Rosalie laughed when she saw how angry Larue was. “Be at ease, my dearest,” she said. “I come in peace, truly. In fact, I heard a little something about the new Lady Leominster that you might be interested in. If you’d like to make Curtis truly miserable for ignoring you, that is.”

Larue could always count on some good gossip from Rosalie. That was probably the only connection they’d ever had. “Oh?” she said. “What is that?”

Rosalie stepped closer, looking around to make sure they were not overheard. “We arrived earlier today,” she said, lowering her voice. “I sent my maid to the castle to find out what she could about Lady Leominster. No one knows anything about her, other than she’s a Welsh princess, of course, but my maid discovered plenty.”

Larue was all ears. “What did she discover?”

Rosalie leaned toward her. “She did not go to her marriage bed a virgin,” she whispered. “Evidently, she had been living with a bunch of Welsh rebels, if you know what I mean, and Hereford plucked her out of obscurity and demanded she marry Curtis.”

Larue’s eyes widened. “A whore?” she gasped. “But why did he force Curtis to marry her?”

Rosalie snorted. “Look around you,” she said. “This castle was hers. Now it belongs to him. Her father was the ruler of Powys, so I can only imagine the lands that belong to Curtis now. She had made him rich, so certainly, Hereford was willing to overlook her indiscretions.”

Larue put her hand to her mouth in shock. “Are you certain of this?”

Rosalie nodded. “It is all the English servants can speak of,” she muttered. “She’s of royal blood, and that was all Hereford cared about, so poor Curtis has been forced to marry the leavings of Welsh rebels.”

Larue shook her head in disbelief. “So Curtis has married a Welsh whore,” she said. “What else have you heard?”

Rosalie shrugged. “Isn’t that enough?” she said. “Now, if those rumors were to get around the feast this evening, it might shame Curtis sufficiently that he will be looking for comfort. Surely you could console him because he was forced to marry a Welsh strumpet. Certainly he would appreciate your… comfort.”

Larue was seized with the very thought of it. She knew that spreading the rumor about Curtis’ wife was a horribly nasty thing to do, but if it meant driving a distraught Curtis into her arms when his fellow warlords shamed him because of who he married, Larue was more than willing to be understanding enough. Besides… it would punish the man for not marrying her in the first place.

What a lovely, wicked thought.

“You have always been a true friend, Rosalie,” she said with insincere sweetness. “Mayhap I could very well comfort Curtis when news of his wife gets around.”

Rosalie nodded, moving her gaze out over the sea of mostly men and a few well-dressed women. “I will tell my husband,” she said casually. “He likes a bit of gossip.”

“Does he?”

“Enough that he will not keep it to himself.”

“Even if it is about Curtis?”

Rosalie looked at her. “What man would not like to take a de Lohr down a peg or two?” she said. “To be truthful, I think some of these men are only allied with Hereford because they are afraid of him. A bit of gossip like this is sure to knock him down a peg or two.”

Larue rather liked that idea, since it had been Hereford himself who rejected her father’s offer of a betrothal between her and Curtis. Perhaps he did indeed need to be knocked down.

Perhaps the whole family did.

With a scheme in place, Larue and Rosalie parted ways.

The evening was about to get interesting.