Page 13 of The Sword and the Damsel
“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 reassuringhand 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 someoneelse. 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 hiscountenance, 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?
Chapter Six
West of Winchelsea,in a large meadow just off the road, Victor guided Lord Daniel around the nearly finished tournament grounds, showing off the work of the carpenters. There were stands for the audience, a platform for the Rossignol and de Vere families, a corral for the horses, and booths for vendors. A group of men was currently hammering in a wooden palisade around the field of competition.
“I checked on the provisions this morning, my lord, and everything was delivered as expected. We have food, wine, and ale aplenty for your guests,” Victor said as they passed the half-built booths where merchants would sell their wares to the crowds attending the tournament.
“Excellent,” Lord Daniel said with a nod. “And the healer is prepared with everything he needs to treat the injured?”
He gestured to the ancient symbol of healing, a snake and staff, a worker was painting on the canvas of the healer’s tent as they passed by.
“Yes, my lord.”
They continued their tour of the grounds and came to a stop on the central platform where the Rossignol and de Vere families would sit.
“How are our guests from Hastings and Hawkhurst? Is everyone behaving?” Lord Daniel asked, surveying the field with a keen eye.
