Page 5 of The Sword and the Damsel (The De Veres #2)

A lais sat with four other young ladies near her age on a blanket laid on a grassy field next to Winchelsea’s west gate, watching knights arrive for next week’s tournament. The tall, crenelated city wall loomed beside them, showing patches of lighter stone where repairs had been made after last year’s battle. Vines twined up the square sides of the watch tower by the gate. The mottled aquas and indigos of the bay rippled in the distance and the crisp, sea-salted air that rolled off of it made their blanket and clothing billow in the breeze.

Alais and her friends had an excellent view of the ancient Roman road to Hastings without being close enough to be overheard by passersby. Dora was sitting with them and knitting. Sir Victor sat at a discreet distance, sharpening his sword, looking like a thundercloud ready to ruin her sunny day.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Sir Victor?” Alais called over to him.

“Very sure,” he called back.

“But I was hoping you’d let me braid your hair,” she teased, making her friends erupt in uncontrollable giggles. Dora gave her a scolding look.

“Absolutely not,” he answered, setting to work on his sword with renewed vigor.

Alais turned to Dora. “I know I shouldn’t tease him, but it’s so hard to resist. He’s been so grumpy lately.” She couldn’t say why, but nothing pleased her more than getting under his skin. He tried so hard to be stoic and impassive. It was delicious fun to see his fa?ade slip, even if it was only to express annoyance at her.

Dora shook her head and then went back to her knitting. Alais turned back to her friends.

“So what’s your ideal man, Lady Alais?” Lady Eugenie asked, taking an apple from the picnic basket before looking back at the road below, and then tucking a golden lock behind her ear.

“My ideal man? Hmm.” Alais smiled and looked up at the clouds, narrowing her eyes, as if she had to think about it. As if she hadn’t listed his attributes a thousand times in her head. “He’s brave and loyal and true—”

“That goes without saying,” Lady Eugenie objected.

“He’s clever and witty—” Alais continued.

“Boring!” interjected Lady Mathilda, brushing away a fly that had landed on her raven hair, and rolling her deep brown eyes.

“And handsome, of course!” Alais persevered. It was hardly the most important factor for her, but she knew what her audience wanted. The distant sound of sword sharpening suddenly picked up pace.

“Elaborate,” demanded Lady Simone, her round, baby face sporting a wicked smile as she folded her arms beneath her ample, pillowy breasts.

“He’s tall and lean and well-muscled. He’s graceful of bearing. He has blond hair and piercing blue eyes that set my heart aflame. When he looks at me, his eyes become haunted and hungry. He can’t eat or sleep for the love of me, but he’s ready to fight all comers to win me. None can withstand his sword. He sings me love poems, woos me with sweet words, and gives me precious gifts, and I pretend to be aloof and unmoved but still he persists. I don’t give in to his courtship or show him any sign of my affection until he demonstrates his love through some grand gesture, like slaying a leviathan, defeating an evil tyrant, or better yet, providing a dramatic rescue. My rescue, preferably.”

The ladies leaned in around Alais, nodding and murmuring approval as she pontificated. Their brightly colored skirts puddled around them, rustling in the ocean breeze. The sound of the sword sharpening stopped.

“And then, and only then,” she added in a confidential murmur, “will I grant him the kiss he so fervently seeks. His kiss will be a delicious torment, filling us both with desire and longing, and he’ll propose on the spot because he can’t live without me. He needs to hold me naked in our bedchamber, or he will surely die.” The sword sharpening started again.

“Alais! Don’t say things like that,” Iselda yelped in shocked tones, looking remarkably like their older sister, Carenza, at that moment.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude,” Alais said, jabbing a finger repeatedly into Iselda’s shoulder.

Iselda swatted away Alais’s hand. “I’ll tell Mother!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“At least your mother admits to what married people do. My mother still pretends babies are carried down from heaven by angels and delivered in baskets,” Lady Simone said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m confused,” said Lady Eugenie. “What do babies have to do with being naked in a bedchamber?”

Everyone was suddenly silent. They all looked anywhere but at each other. Alais certainly wasn’t going to be the one to explain. Dora’s knitting needles clacked, and her mouth moved. She appeared to be counting her stitches with great attention and was of no use, either.

“Oh look!” Lady Mathilda said, pointing. “There’s another knight coming along the road. See his banner?”

Grateful for the distraction, Alais turned to pay avid attention to the new arrival.

“I don’t recognize the banner,” Lady Simone said, squinting to make it out.

Alais shaded her eyes and nodded before announcing, “Robert of Guestling. He’s Sir Victor’s cousin. Victor’s father, Giles, is Castellan of Guestling. Robert is second-in-line after Sir Victor.” She’d never met him before, but she knew the banners of every noble house within a three-day ride, along with their political allegiances. Was Sir Robert independent-minded like his cousin or a tool of Lady Helisende’s scheming? She would have to listen closely to see if she could determine where his loyalty was bestowed.

The sword sharpening stopped again.

“ Eh .” Lady Mathilda shrugged. “You can do better than second in line.”

Robert was now close enough that they could make out his features.

“Blond hair, blue eyes, Alais,” Lady Simone said teasingly. “Just like that troubadour Gilbert you fancied.”

“Gilbert? I’m over Gilbert.” If he wasn’t such a coward, he would have invited her to run away with him. But as she watched the knights arrive, she started to think perhaps her marriage options wouldn’t be so terrible after all. “Heavens, this Sir Robert is rather handsome, isn’t he?” Alais said, appreciating the view.

The man who rode toward them seemed like her dream come to life. He had eyes the color of forget-me-nots and golden curls that perfectly framed a face full of laughter and mischief. As he passed the ladies on the hill, he doffed his cap with a flourish and winked at them, though he made a strange face when he noticed Sir Victor sitting nearby.

“Oh my,” was all she could say as he rode on through the west gate and into Winchelsea. She and her companions collapsed against each other in a fit of furious giggles.

*

That evening, Lords Rossignol and de Vere hosted a banquet in the great hall of the castle. Alais was forced to sit at the head table next to Carenza instead of gossiping with her friends, as she would have preferred. Worse, she was going to have to suffer through being introduced to the various noblemen who had come for the tournament as they came to pay respects to their hosts.

Candles cast warm light on the wood trestle tables in the hall, and braziers were scattered around the vast room to take the chill out of the brisk autumn air. It seemed as if half of Winchelsea was dining with them this evening. Nearly fifty people were amassed, if she had to guess. The sounds of laughter and the clinking of tankards completed the festive mood, as they all nibbled on bread and cheese, awaiting the feast. Lucky them. They weren’t on display and could simply enjoy the party.

“Now remember, treat them all with equal favor,” her mother whispered as they made their way to the head table. “You won’t like all of them, but you must pretend you do. You can’t afford favorites this early. We want them all to think they are in the running so that they bid each other up when speaking with your father about the terms of an alliance.”

“I’m not a heifer at market, Mother,” she murmured through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the many eyes that were turned her way. Normally, she didn’t mind attention, but on this day, they weren’t admiring so much as scrutinizing. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she swallowed hard.

Her mother took her firmly by the elbow and steered her to her seat. “Now smile, dear. They’re all watching.”

As if she needed to be reminded. Even Sir Victor was watching as she took her seat, and he usually avoided paying any attention to her whatsoever when he wasn’t guarding her. Their eyes met, and he quickly looked away, turning to Daniel, and asking something she didn’t catch. But she didn’t miss the slight reddening of his cheeks. At least her dress was having its intended effect. If she could get a rise out of Sir Victor, then her suitors ought to be properly dazzled.

“Good evening, Lord Daniel, Lord Martin,” said a tall, middle-aged, reedy man with a large bald spot and a fringe of mouse-brown hair who approached the table right after Alais sat down. “Lord Louis, Castellan of Hawkhurst at your service. Your cousin sends his respects, Lord Daniel.” He bowed deeply, and Daniel inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Lord Martin, it has been too long! I see your little girls aren’t so little anymore.”

Hawkhurst. She had no desire to have anything to do with the place, not after last year’s battle with Daniel’s uncle, the Earl of Hawkhurst. Lord Raymond was gone, thank heavens, replaced by his incompetent son. She planned to avoid Hawkhurst at all costs. Still, she needed to be polite to her father’s old friend.

Alais’s father smiled. “Very true, Louis. I was sorry to hear about your wife. She was a good and kind woman and will be missed by all.” Her mother nodded in sympathy. “I must say I’m surprised to see you here today after everything.”

“Well, um,” Lord Louis cleared his throat, “my son is bothering me to take another wife. He thinks his wife is overburdened taking care of us both, and so I agreed to examine my options.” He cleared his throat again, and, to Alais’s horror, looked hopefully in her direction.

No. Absolutely not.

A brief grimace crossed her father’s face before he composed himself and said as graciously as possible, “Allow me to introduce my daughters. My oldest, Carenza, is now Countess of Winchelsea, as I’m sure you’re aware. We’re all proud, though I’m not sure how I feel about my own daughter outranking me,” he joked, earning a strained smile from Carenza. “She’s holding my first grandbaby, little Charles, our tiny future earl.” He paused in his introductions to coo at the baby and make him giggle by puffing out his cheeks.

“Congratulations on a handsome grandson, my lord,” Lord Louis offered politely.

“This is my second, Lady Alais,” her father continued, trying to recover his dignity, “and my youngest, Lady Iselda. It’s amazing how quickly they grow up.”

“Such lovely young ladies,” said Lord Louis, offering another bow. “I look forward to becoming better acquainted.” Alais bowed her head in acknowledgment, trying to keep her inner turmoil out of her smile.

As Lord Louis returned to his table, she grabbed Carenza’s arm and whispered in her ear, “Please don’t let it be him. Tell Papa I won’t do it.”

“Calm down, Alais,” Carenza answered, removing her arm from Alais’s clutches.

“Calm down? He’s as old as Papa, not to mention that he’s from Hawkhurst.”

“Appearances aren’t everything,” Carenza said, mistaking her concern and patting her hand.

“Says the woman married to the most attractive earl this side of the English Channel.”

Carenza smiled and blushed, sneaking a glance at her husband as she bounced Charles on her knee. “Yes, but you may remember, I nearly had to marry his uncle.” She put a reassuring hand on her sister’s. “Don’t worry. It’s up to you who you choose, as long as you do it swiftly and with Father’s approval.”

The introductions continued, and Alais was relieved to find some acceptable candidates among the bunch. Lord Guy of Dymchurch was young, friendly, and jolly. He was a bit shorter than she would ideally like, not much taller than she was herself, but he had lovely green eyes and thick brown curls and made up in muscle for what he lacked in height. She liked his friendly, earnest manner. Dymchurch was already a friend to Winchelsea, so there was no political advantage to the alliance. He wasn’t an exciting choice, but he would do in a pinch.

Sir Elias of Canterbury was tall and lithe with hair so light it was nearly white. He had pale, penetrating blue eyes. He was a little bit on the serious side for her taste. He didn’t smile even once when they were introduced, but there was an intensity in his look that convinced her he was more interested than he was letting on. Relations with Canterbury had been fraught of late, and perhaps a marriage might ease tensions. Not that she planned to marry for strictly political reasons, but it would be nice to feel useful.

Lord Alphonse of Whatlington was clearly a bon vivant. He drank a bit too freely that night and feasted with carnivorous abandon, but his smiles and compliments pleased her. She found his auburn hair and hazel eyes rather appealing, and he had quite a kissable mouth. And Whatlington had rich farmland. With Winchelsea’s tendency to flood, it was always helpful to have a reliable source of crops.

Then there was Sir Robert. He had a confidence that fell just shy of arrogance, and he seemed to know exactly what effect he had on women. His deep blue eyes smoldered as they rested on her, and he smiled wolfishly as she returned his look with equal boldness. He moved as if dancing. Each word, each gesture felt like it was directed at her, even if it was spoken to someone else. And much as she disliked Lady Helisende, she supposed mending fences with Hastings would pose an interesting challenge, though she rather hoped he wasn’t close to his aunt.

“My lady, it is a rare privilege to behold such beauty and grace,” he said. A lock of his golden curls fell in his eyes as he leaned over her hand to kiss it. He ran the tip of his tongue across her knuckles as he kissed her, and it was all she could do to remain standing.

Sir Victor cleared his throat loudly, and she shot him a glance before returning her attention to the gorgeous man in front of her. What was he upset about?

“You flatter me, my lord,” she said, her voice suddenly breathy even to her own ears.

“It is no flattery. Your lips are rosebuds. Your eyes dazzle me like stars in the night sky. It is a privilege to be allowed to stand before you and drink you in. You are perfection itself, my lady. I am at a loss for words.”

He most certainly was not, but who was she to object? Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick, but as an often-ignored second daughter, she couldn’t help but melt at his words.

Sir Victor cleared his throat again, looking daggers at his cousin. But what did it matter to him whom she chose? Wasn’t he anxious to be rid of her?

Sir Robert pointedly ignored Sir Victor and gazed into her eyes with an irresistible smolder. Never mind that he was second in line behind Sir Victor for a tiny castle in a market village. She’d never cared much for wealth and position. She wanted passion and romance, and this was a promising start. None of the others had shown their interest as boldly as him.

As Sir Robert returned to his seat at a neighboring table, his gaze strayed momentarily to his cousin. The tense look they exchanged was so brief she almost thought she’d imagined it. Catching her watching, Sir Robert immediately adjusted his countenance, giving her a flirtatious wink as if nothing had happened.

She smiled, and her cheeks heated. Whatever that strange moment of hostility was about, it was hardly her affair. Sir Victor was grumpy at the best of times, and who knew what history there might be between the cousins? Knowing him, it was probably some matter of honor. He was so prickly about that. It was probably nothing to worry about. Was it?