A Dishonorable Knight(3)
"Don't you even think of chasing a skirt while you're here, Cynan, or I'll be telling Enid and you'll have no peace!" he said, forcing a teasing tone to his voice.
"It's not peace I'm worried about losing should my wife think I was straying," said Cynan with a comic glance at his lap.
Laughing hard, Bryant gasped out, "The folk would definitely have a hard time believing you're as stalwart as you boast if they saw you running from your wife with your tail between your legs!"
Gareth chuckled at the thought as he raised his mug to his lips, but his hand froze in mid-air as his eyes swept over the crowd to the top of the broad stone staircase. Cynan followed his line of sight and let out a low whistle. "Now there's a woman who might even change the mind of such a determined bachelor as you, Gareth."
Bryant craned his neck to see at who they were looking. "I could definitely change my mind about red hair on a woman."
"It's not red, you oaf,” Cynan argued. It's more to copper, or--"
"Chestnut," Gareth broke in.
"Exactly," Cynan said expansively as he filled his mug from a large pitcher on the table. "Chestnut. The exact color of the horse I wanted when I was ten years old. Do you remember that?"
Bryant made a joking remark but Gareth did not hear it. Never before had he been struck by a woman as he was by this one who looked around the room from her high vantage point. Perhaps the troubadours knew something after all when they sang of love at a glance. As the woman slowly made her way down the steps, Gareth took in her creamy complexion and slender figure, both of which were complemented by the dark green gown she wore. Velvet, he thought. She's a lady of great standing to wear velvet. With a sigh, he watched her make her graceful descent. No lady of great standing would give a second glance at a mere knight from Wales. Still, he would give much for the chance to at least talk to her. Perhaps she was interested in more than a title and a position in court.
***
From the top of the flight of stairs leading into the great hall, Elena de Vignon surveyed the noisy gathering, her cinnamon-brown eyes searching for Lord Edgeford, sparkling with determination when they alighted on his tall figure. Pinching her cheeks to make sure they were enchantingly pink (had not Lord Edgeford used those very words himself?), Elena slowly descended the staircase, grateful, as the pungent smell of the hall reached her nose, that she had elected to eat in the privacy of her room.
Carefully lifting the embroidered hem of her forest-green cotehardie from the soiled rushes that covered the floor, she joined the group of young women who sat at the table to the right of the king’s seat. Not once did she allow her gaze to stray again to the table where she knew Edgeford sat.
Selecting a seat where she was sure he would have a clear view of her, she carefully arranged her heavy velvet skirts before turning her attention to the conversation at the table.
"...the fact remains that marrying Anne brought him a great deal of wealth, Catherine, and the sooner you realize that is all your husband will care about--"
Catherine, short, slender, and incurably romantic turned and wailed, "Elena, please tell Margaret to stop her tiresome lectures. I came to court to escape such lectures from my mother and nurse!"
"Liar," Elena laughed. "You came to court to find a wealthy husband!"
"Is that not all you are here for?" asked Margaret scathingly.
Elena turned to face the dark-haired girl who, even seated, was tall. "I shall not settle for a husband who is merely wealthy."
"What other requisites must he possess," Margaret asked, her blue eyes narrowing with cynicism.
Elena stared across the table. "What matter is it to you? I thought you do not even wish to wed. Are you not planning on devoting you life to God?"
"'Tis the only occupation where a woman has any say in her future."
"As long as that future obeys the dictates of the pope and every bishop and priest from here to Rome,” Elena retorted.
"And I suppose Lord Edgeford will give you free reign to do whatever you desire."
Elena smiled. "Within reason, I am sure."
"And he probably will not even mind that your father is a Lancastrian earl or that your discretion where men are concerned is less than immaculate."
"I believe King Richard favors me well enough," Elena said tightly, abruptly turning her back on Margaret. Elena had always believed that sheer determination could make any dream a reality. Her father, upon realizing she was to be his only child, had lavished upon her the knowledge and schooling usually reserved for sons. She was determined to use both her intelligence and her wits to make Edgeford her husband. She had overcome her father’s ties to the Lancasters, now she had only to overcome the gossip that had plagued her for the past year.