Shari Anton - Lord Of The Manor

Or that I was his enemy’s wife.

“Never have you told me anything of my father. I do not even know his name,” Philip accused.

“His name was Basil of Northbryre. I did not tell you of him because…” She faltered. She’d been about to tell her son a lie. She hadn’t spoken to Philip about Basil, not to spare her son pain, but to spare herself. “…because I wished to forget that he existed. That was wrong of me. I should have told you of him, and I will. You have my promise.”

Brother Ambrose returned. “You will be pleased to hear that private lodgings are available. The abbot sends his thanks for your kind gift. He will keep you in his prayers.”

A fine sentiment. Likely she would need all of the divine intervention she could get over the next few days.

“Philip, see to your pack,” she said, picking up her own bundle that contained her one unstained gown and a few coins.

The monk turned to lead them out of the room. Lucinda stopped him.

“Brother Ambrose, I have but one more request. I should like to have a message sent to the palace.”

The monk’s eyes widened. “A message?”

She ignored his incredulity. “To King Henry.”

His eyes widened farther. “What is the message?”

“Lucinda of Northbryre wishes an audience with His Majesty.”

The monk’s jaw dropped. “Indeed.”

“Can the message be delivered within the hour?”

He regained his poise. “Aye, my lady, I will see it done. Now, if you will follow me, I will show you to your lodgings.”

Taking Philip’s hand, Lucinda followed as bid, wondering if she’d given away the mule too soon. All of her plans depended upon the king’s willingness to hear her petition, and upon how much, after three years, Henry still detested Basil.

If the king refused to see her or denied her petition, within two days she and Philip would again be searching for a hiding place, a refuge to call home.

Richard leaned against one of the many marble pillars that supported the great arches of Westminster Hall. A large crowd had gathered with the vast room; voices and footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

He’d chosen this spot to best watch the comings and goings of nobles and peasants alike, noting in particular which men of power had arrived. Most notably absent was Emperor Henry V, to whom Princess Matilda would soon be betrothed. The emperor’s delegation would seal the bargain and fetch the princess who, at the age of seven, was having a grand time flaunting her impending title of empress.

If King Henry of England took offense at the emperor’s absence, Richard had no notion. He just hoped the king didn’t take offense that Gerard had sent his own delegation—him and Stephen—in his stead.

Richard looked toward the dais where the king presided from his throne, searching for Stephen, who was supposed to be listening to the petitions presented to Henry. With so many people crowding the hall, however, ’twas impossible to detect Stephen’s position.

Boredom had set in long ago. He’d seen those nobles whom he expected to see and exchanged greetings with the most staunch of Wilmont’s allies. Likely, tongues were wagging among England’s and Normandy’s nobility about Gerard’s absence—a situation Richard had already explained far too often this morning for comfort. He had yet to give Gerard’s greetings and regrets to the king—a task he was hoping Stephen would fulfill.

While he observed the crowd, Richard’s thoughts wandered to Lucinda and Philip, wondering how they fared at the abbey and if Lucinda could now walk without pain. He almost hoped not, for then she wouldn’t leave the abbey before he spoke to her about settling at Collinwood.

But before he asked Lucinda to become a part of his world, for his own protection, and that of his people he needed to know the secret she harbored behind her startling violet eyes. He needed to know why a Norman noblewoman trekked the road garbed as an English peasant Surely, she answered to some male relative—a father or brother, or other male head of her family or her dead husband’s. Every woman did.

Was she running away? Had she been exiled? And why?

Richard was about to bolt the hall in favor of the abbey when he saw Stephen coming toward him, perturbed.

“’Tis not a good day to ask the king for favor,” Stephen declared. “He hears petition after petition and grants few.”

“Not a good day, then, to ask for the hand of a fair heiress. Have you decided on one?”

“I have three I would consider. You?”

Richard shrugged a shoulder. Though he knew he should probably court at least one woman on Stephen’s list of heiresses, not one name struck the mildest note of interest.

Stephen chided. “Richard, if you wish to better your holdings, you had best make yourself known to at least a few of the heiresses. Mayhap one will take a liking to your ugly face and ask for you!”

Richard smiled. “Mayhap I should let you choose for me. Judging from your notes on the list, you have studied all of their qualities, from fairness of face to the coin they bring.”

“Ha! And have you blame me if her temperament is sour? Nay, brother, choose for yourself.”

Richard chuckled, then asked, “Did you happen to tell Henry of Gerard’s absence.”

“Aye.” Stephen sighed. “Another reason to delay asking for favors today. Henry accepted my explanation with little grace. He says he understands, but ’twas quite clear he is displeased.”

An unhappy Henry was also a dangerous Henry. Today was not the day to begin an attempt to heal the rift between Gerard and the king, a cause near to Richard’s heart. He disliked seeing the two men at odds with each other when they had been such great companions. For now, ’twas best to stay out of the king’s sight and beyond his reach until his spirits lightened.

Richard decided he’d had enough of noblewatching for the day. “I am off for the abbey. Do try to stay out of trouble.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “The abbey? Whatever for?”

“Mayhap I wish to confess my sins,” Richard suggested.

“Hardly likely.” Stephen knew him too well.

“I go to visit the woman and boy who traveled with us. I wish to see if they are well cared for.”

Stephen crossed his arms. “How can they be less than well cared for in Westminster Abbey? This is the third time you have mentioned this woman since you arrived yesterday. I begin to suspect that something happened between the two of you during your journey.”

“Nothing happened.”

’Twas a small lie he told. In truth, nothing had happened beyond her riding in the wagon and a few, brief moments of conversation. That something might have happened if he’d given in to the attraction that simmered whenever he looked at Lucinda was none of Stephen’s affair.

Stephen studied Richard for several moments before saying, “If you wish to bring the woman to Wilmont’s chambers to warm your bed while we are here, I have no objection.”

Richard felt a twinge of ire rise. “Not that I intend to do so, Stephen, but should I invite a woman to share my furs, I will not seek your permission!”

Stephen didn’t comment. Someone or something near the door had captured his attention.

A woman. She stood inside the door, glancing about the hall as if confused, almost frightened of entering. Lucinda.

Her simple gown of green wool hugged her curves as softly and becomingly as silk. Under a sheer white veil, held in place by a silver circlet, her raven hair shimmered almost blue in the light of a nearby torch.

She held herself erect and poised. One had to look into her eyes to see her anxiety. She might be noble, but perhaps not accustomed to attending court. Mayhap he could ease her anxiety. Perhaps he could explain the protocol or help her find whatever or whomever she looked for.