Page 90 of Never Love a Lord
Sybilla’s heart melted inside her chest at the tenderness showing through his stoic reserve. Julian should know by now that she did not give a damn what anyone thought of her. She reached up with her right hand to grasp his neck and then rose on her toes even as his arms went around her back.
And she kissed him before all those who were gathered in the king’s court. Thoroughly. It would be talked about for years.
Sybilla had made her wishes known immediately to the guard holding her sisters and brothers-in-law in check, and now, with Piers and Oliver having gone to help Julian outfit for the return journey to Fallstowe, Sybilla, Cecily, and Alys raced through hidden corridors, on the heels of the soldier, to the section of rooms where Lady de Lairne stayed.
“But how did she know to come?” Cecily was asking, even atop Alys’s own questions.
“Is it truly over, Sybilla? Are you free?”
“It’s over, and yes, I’m free,” she said absently, her eyes on the soldier’s back in the shadowy corridor. “I don’t know how she knew. It’s one of the many questions I hope to have answered shortly.”
“But what of Evesham?” Alys insisted. “You must tell us! We don’t know anything.”
“I will tell you,” Sybilla promised. “I’ll tell you everything very soon. But now we must hurry.”
“Why?” Cecily asked. “Sybilla, slow down, please!”
Sybilla didn’t answer, only chased the soldier around a sharp corner, her slippers hissing against the stone. The man stopped suddenly and stood to the side of a nondescript door.
“Lady de Lairne’s rooms, my lady,” he said solicitously.
“Thank you,” Sybilla breathed, although her eyes were on the thick wood of the door as her sisters came to a breathless halt to either side of her.
“At His Majesty’s request, I shall wait for you to emerge to lead you on to a guest chamber.”
“We might be a while,” Sybilla said faintly, raising her right hand to let her fingertips lightly graze the door.
“No matter,” the guard said, stepping a respectable distance away to give the room’s occupant privacy when the ladies entered. “This is my duty.”
“Sybilla, Cee,” Alys whispered suddenly. “Listen!”
All three women inclined their heads toward the door to better hear the faint notes wafting weakly through the thick wood.
It was a woman’s voice, singing a song the sisters were familiar with from their childhood.
Cecily turned to look at Sybilla and Alys, her eyes wide with surprised pleasure. “She sounds just like Mother!”
“Exactly like Mother,” Sybilla said faintly, and felt the frown crease her brow. She raised her fist and rapped on the door.
There was no answer after several heartbeats, and yet the singing continued. Sybilla reached for the door latch.
“Sybilla,” Cecily hissed, disapproval clear in her tone.
But Sybilla did not heed her sister, engaging the mechanism that held the door shut and pushing. It was unbolted and swung open soundlessly.
The volume of the tune increased minutely as the three women stepped inside the chamber. They were faced with a curtained bed jutting into the room, perpendicular to the door. The side drapes were closed, but Sybilla could see one footpost, indicating that the end of the bed had been left open to the hearth ablaze before it.
“I’ve got gooseflesh,” Alys whispered, rubbing briskly at her arms. “Is she hard of hearing?”
Sybilla led the way slowly, cautiously, toward the foot of the bed. “Lady de Lairne?” she called calmly, although inside her chest her heart thrashed against her ribs like the splintering of a great tree. “It’s Sybilla Foxe. I’ve brought my sisters, Cecily and Alys, to meet you, and to talk with you.”
“Should you really be calling her Lady de Lairne, though?” Cecily wondered aloud on a whisper.
Sybilla paused to look down at her usually meek younger sister. “Would you rather I shout ‘old woman’?”
“I see your point,” Cecily conceded.
They rounded the bedpost then, and no one was prepared for the sight that greeted them on the mattress. Sybilla reached out instinctively and found the hands of her sisters, just as they in turn were reaching for hers.
