Page 6 of Promise of a Knight
How was she here? She should have been at the abbey with the rest of the ladies. Was she the one who’d been asked to escort the princess?
What was her name?
“Sir Alaric de Garde of Northumbria,” Margaret said with a smile. She waved her hand toward the lady in question. “Meet one of my new ladies-in-waiting. I was in luck that her family asked Lady Home to be her chaperone at court. Now she will attend me here this night.”
Alaric half-bowed to the Homes and to the beauty. She kept her blue eyes steadily on his, sending a thrill into his chest. “A lovely addition,” he said, but his eyes were locked on the flame-haired chit. “I believe we’ve already met, my lady, but I did not catch your name.”
“Lady Alexandra Maxwell,” Princess Margaret interrupted.
Alexandra? A prim and proper name to be sure, and not at all what he’d imagined, but he found he quite liked it, for ’twas a trick. A game to be played.
The princess leaned in close to Lady Alexandra. “De Garde is famous in England, as has been every de Garde before him. A mighty knight. Not yet bested in a tournament nor a battle. Not even by his elder brothers, though they come rather close.”
Lady Alexandra’s eyes roved over him and he felt the pride of his name, his accomplishments rushing through him, but at the same time, he knew that if he were to impress her, it would not be with feats of war or showmanship. This lady, this enchanting female, begged to be wooed in other ways.
Alaric could have smacked himself. He wasn’t going to be doing any wooing. And yet…
“My lady,” Alaric reached for the hand that Alexandra reluctantly held toward him. Her fingers were dainty. He found her reluctance intriguing. He wanted to know more about her. “I trust you’ve not met with any other disasters?”
Her lovely cheeks pinkened more. “Not yet, Sir Alaric.”
Lady Home frowned, but then turned her attention elsewhere. The countess did not seem overjoyed at the prospect of having a ward, and Alaric had seen her treat Alexandra rather rudely when he’d helped her to stand at Lamberton. The poor chit was without many friends, it would seem, though she’d impressed the princess rather quickly.
Margaret laughed. “Have you dined yet, Sir Alaric? I’d not be a good guest host if I did not see that my personal guard was fed.”
Alaric smiled. “I have, your grace.”
Margaret held up her wine goblet. “Please, enjoy the festivities! I shall call upon you when I’m ready to be escorted to my chamber.”
Alaric nodded, thankfully dismissed by his princess, before he said something idiotic to the flame-haired lady. He backed into the crowd where he could make assessments on each of the Scottish nobles present. Some of them looked on their soon to be new queen’s table with a mixture of curiosity, while others had downright disdain. Alaric suspected that his princess would find at least half of her courtiers to be prickly at first.
A signed treaty wouldn’t assuage the hurt of hundreds of years of warring. Even if she was young, pretty and refined.
A mug of ale was thrust into his hands and he dutifully drank some of it before setting the cup on a table as he passed by.
He listened to the whispers as he made his rounds through the Great Hall.
“She’s so young, the king will certainly wait before he beds her. Long enough that she might catch a fever and never be truly his wife.”
“His Majesty is going to certainly enjoy riding such a fine, young mare.”
“How many of her Sassenach ladies do ye think will be sent back over the border?”
“If she bears the king a son, there is a possibility that child could be named King of England. The ultimate revenge on the bastards’ abuse of us.”
Hardly a word of praise or kindness. All calculating.
Certain the princess was surrounded by men of his guard, Alaric escaped the keep through a door in the back of the hall for some fresh air—and silence.
He passed a few people on his way to freedom. A man hunched over, nursing a flagon of drink. A man pressing a woman up against a wall, their grunts echoing in the silence of the passageway. And then finally, a door.
The heat of the day made way for a slightly cooler breeze of the night as he found himself in the kitchen gardens. Alaric swiped his hand over his face. Perhaps he ought to consider staying at the Scottish court longer than he’d originally anticipated, just to be certain Princess Margaret was safe. Not at all to get to know Lady Alexandra better.
He wandered through the tangy, herbal scents toward the rear. He’d not checked the safety of the postern gate, and though the security near the main gate was adequate, one could never be too certain.
Alaric greeted the two guards on duty. A thick bar and iron lock kept the gate securely closed and up on the wall, two more guards stood sentry. The Scots guards nodded, not bothering to hide their hostility toward him. Though he’d like nothing more than to bash the two of their heads in, he gave them a respectful nod, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The guards bristled, each of them having also been warned not to start anything. Alaric would have time enough to bash in a few Scottish heads once they reached Edinburgh where a tournament would be enjoyed by all. Satisfied that at least no rebels would be breaking in through the rear of the castle, he turned his back on them and retreated into the garden.
In the dim light of the roses, sweet peas and carnations, Alaric spotted a lady stooped by a row. He approached with caution, not wanting to scare her, after all, he was the foreigner at Fast Castle.
