Page 17 of The Sword and the Damsel

“Like, for example, a noble lord that comes to me several times a week without fail because he can’t have the real Lady Alais?” She cocked her head, giving him a saucy look.

He groaned. “I already know about him. You’re all the ‘Lady Alais’ he needs. Trust me.” He pulled her into a kiss, which she returned with more affection and enthusiasm than he had any right to expect from a woman in her profession. “So you’ll help me then?”

“Of course.” She winked at him and smirked.

“Thank you, Jane.” He left his payment and hurried out into the night, praying that none of the Rossignols or de Veres ever found out who exactly it was that he visited so often on Birdie Street. Or what it could possibly mean about him, something he didn’t want to delve into too deeply. Better he ignore that and focus on what he should instead of what he could never allow himself to have.

Chapter Seven

The great hallwas filled with troubadours, and for once, Alais hardly noticed. She was ensconced by the enormous hearth with her bevy of suitors, her mother keeping a watchful eye from a discreet distance as the other guests caroused and got drunk on wine from the de Vere cellars.

Sir Victor also looked on from the other side of the room, although he pretended to be otherwise occupied every time that she tried to meet his gaze. Surely, he couldn’t be concerned for her safety in such a public setting. Did he think one of her suitors was going to leap upon her unexpectedly? The thought made her want to giggle…unlike the sorry joke Lord Guy just made.

She should be enjoying this. Wasn’t this what every girl dreamed of, to be surrounded by attractive men vying for her hand? Instead, she was bored out of her mind. She wished they would talk about politics and court intrigue, but they all resolutely refused to say a word that wasn’t either a compliment or a comment on the weather.

“Lady Alais,” Lord Alphonse and Lord Guy said at the same time. They exchanged looks of annoyance thinly disguised as polite surprise.

“After you, Lord Guy,” said Lord Alphonse.

“No, no. After you,” said Lord Guy, smiling nicely but looking daggers at Lord Alphonse.

“Oh dear. I seem to have dropped my handkerchief,” she improvised quickly. “Whichever of you retrieves it for me should speak first.”

They both dove for it. Lord Guy got there first. Unfortunately, Lord Alphonse was holding wine and spilled a bit on Lord Guy’s cotte.

“Look what you’ve done, you sorry oaf,” Lord Guy grumbled under his breath but not so quietly that she couldn’t hear every word. He seemed to realize his gaffe because he rose and announced, “My lady,” he said aloud, “You are as beautiful as the morning sun. You outshine every other lady in this room.”

It took every bit of her willpower not to roll her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Guy,” she said politely, attempting not to show any sign of favor through word or deed.

“I was going to say you are celestial, my lady,” said Lord Alphonse, not to be outdone by his rival. “You sparkle like the night sky, pure and serene as an angel from heaven.”

Oh, Good Lord preserve me.“You are too kind, Lord Alphonse,” she answered, taking her handkerchief back from Lord Guy.

Lord Alphonse had designated himself her wine bearer and sat by her left side, handing her goblet with a lingering touch of the fingers whenever she wished a drink. Unfortunately, he kept stealing quaffs himself when he thought she was distracted, and he was starting to list a bit to the side. She didn’t want to marry a drunkard, so he was probably off the list for serious consideration, even if his mouth did look inviting and kissable.

The handsome Sir Robert stood behind her, a possessive hand resting on her right shoulder. He’d wrapped his velvet cloak around her shoulders the moment she mentioned a slight chill and had kept his hand in contact with her ever since, as if giving her the cloak gave him an excuse. Not that she minded. She found herself nestling into his touch and adjusting herposture to give him a better view down over her shoulder to her chest. He was still the front runner, though she had yet to determine what his views were on Lady Helisende. Despite her attraction to him, she hesitated to tell her family to accept on her behalf. She wasn’t sure why she was putting him off, but there was no need to rush this more than her parents already were.

Sitting across from her was Lord Guy, strumming the same three chords over and over on a lute he’d borrowed from one of the troubadours. He kept mumbling, “No, wait. No, wait. Ah, here it is,” every time his fingers fumbled a chord. Clearly, he fancied himself a musical genius. It was kind of adorable how inept he was, though also a little bit hard on the ears.

Lord Louis sat beside Lord Guy looking more like a chaperone than a suitor, and Sir Elias stood by the fire, saying nothing, but watching her intently with those unnerving blue eyes.

“Sir Elias,” she said, attempting to draw him out. “I’ve heard that tensions have eased between the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Archbishop of York after the king’s intervention in their jurisdiction dispute. Do you happen to know the details of how things were settled?”

Sir Elias’s gaze sharpened, though she wasn’t sure how that was possible. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“You needn’t worry your lovely head with such matters,” Lord Alphonse interrupted, drunkenly. “Especially on such a pleasant, fall day. The air is quite crisp, don’t you think?”

Not the weather again!

Her hands balled into fists as she struggled to bring her irritation in check. A glance at Sir Elias told her he was ready to murder Lord Alphonse where he stood.

“Lord Guy,” she said quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Do you know any troubadour love songs?”

She didn’t really want to hear one at the moment, but she had to do something.

“Oh, uh…of course, my lady,” he said. He looked thoroughly flummoxed. She was going to regret asking, she could already tell.

“By the fountain in the orchard, where the grass is green…” he began to sing. If one could call the off-key honk of a goose being strangled singing. Alais watched in alarm as Sir Victor—on the other side of the room, but never out of eyesight—turned his head in what appeared to be alarm. And, she was sorry to note, he wasn’t the only one.

---