“But there must be thirty horses,” Elaine protested. “Whose can they be? What could they want?” She turned, her face alight with excitement. “Whoever they are, they're staying. I saw bedrolls behind their saddles.”
Grannic pulled the shutters closed. “At least we've room for them, with all the men away.”
“Go find out who they are, Grannic. I've got to know.”
“Not on your life, my lady. Your mother told me to stay here, and here I stay. We'll find out soon enough.”
Elaine reddened at this challenge to her authority. “These visitors could be important. For all you know, they could be suitors. If you won't go find Mother, I'll go myself. I'm tired of stitching.”
Grannic scowled and beat Elaine to the door. “You'll do no such thing, my lady. Not without permission.”
“Are we prisoners, then? Oh, I'm so tired of all my mother's rules!”
“Nevertheless—” Grannic stumbled as the door she leaned against opened and pushed her forward. Cissa and Leonora swept into the room, eyes shining.
“You'll never guess what's happened—” Leonora began, but Cissa could not contain her excitement.
“A lord has come to visit, and we're to have a banquet tonight!”
CHAPTER TEN
The Guest
Cissa and Leonora took seats before the brazier, with the girls at their feet and the rest of the women clustered around. All thoughts of weaving and stitching were forgotten in a wholly feminine impatience to hear the news.
“He rode in the gates with an escort and a gift of twenty fleeces,” Leonora began. “He asked the queen's pardon for coming unannounced. She had little warning, and she was furious at the presumption until she saw his face.”
“He wore two gold wristbands and a jeweled torque around his neck,” put in Cissa. “And he's as handsome as the day is long.”
“Who is he?” Elaine cried.
“We weren't close enough to catch his name,” said Leonora. “There was such a clamor and a bustle, with all the house guard on display, and Regis snapping orders left and right, and the horses stamping and blowing—”
“The queen dismissed us,” Cissa said, “to come prepare you.”
“Hurrah!” Elaine jumped up and twirled about in a celebratory dance. “I know why he's come. He's here to look me over—he's a suitor. He's the first of them!”
Guinevere saw Cissa and Leonora exchange glances.
“I don't think—” Leonora began, and stopped. Footsteps were coming down the corridor, sharp, brisk footsteps that everyone recognized.
Ailsa, who was nearest the door, opened it as Queen Alyse swept into the room.
Guinevere noticed at once a difference in the queen. Her gray-blue eyes were shining, and to judge by the curve of her lips, she had recently been amused. Gone was the sour temper of the past three days, of the past month, of the long winter. Queen Alyse looked lovely, vivacious, and young, even though she was nearly thirty.
“Elaine, Guinevere, attend me. I am arranging a banquet tonight for Sir Darric of Longmeadow. He has come to visit for a few days. I want you both to be there. You are old enough to be included in formal company, and it will be good practice for you.”
Elaine's eyes danced. “But we have nothing to wear, Mama. Our gowns are not ready yet.”
“You have others. Add a new ribbon or belt to the best of them, and it will be good enough. Your gray gown, Guinevere, has just come from the fuller's. You will concentrate on your table manners and on learning to make polite conversation when you are addressed.” She turned to Grannic and Ailsa. “Bathe them, dress them, and have them in the hall of meeting at lamplighting.”
“Yes, my lady,” they replied together.
The queen swept out with Cissa and Leonora in attendance.
“Hurrah!” Elaine threw her arms into the air. “A banquet! And I've got a new ribbon and a new belt out of her, too. What shall I wear, Gwen? My yellow, do you think, or my russet and blue?”
“The blue is warmer,” Guinevere said. “But don't get your hopes up, Laine. I don't think Sir Darric is a suitor.”
Elaine gave a toss to her bountiful golden curls. “What do you know about it? Of course he is. Why else would he come?”
“Your mother hasn't had much time to get the word out.”
“She's had time to get it as far as the Longmeadow Marshes,” Elaine said defiantly. “They're only half a day's ride away.”
“Now, now, lass,” Grannic clucked. “There's been no talk of any suitor. Whatever gave you such a notion? Put it out of your head this moment and don't let your mother hear you.”
“Why not?” Elaine turned on Grannic. “What's the matter with him?”
Ailsa said evenly, “He's the second son of Sir Gavin, Earl of the Longmeadow Marshes, who serves your father.”
“So he's young, then,” Elaine rejoiced. “And good-looking, too.”
“He's eighteen and a troublemaker,” Grannic said bluntly. “Stay away from him.”
Elaine's gaze was coy. “How can I, when Mother's just invited us to dine with him?”
Grannic shook a finger at her. “Now don't you go getting silly ideas. Your mother will skin me alive if he looks at you twice, she will, indeed.”
“But why?” Elaine pouted. “Why should his admiring me upset her? Is he someone important?”
“Yes and no,” Grannic said, a frown of disapproval darkening her narrow face. “He serves a purpose, you might say. If you want to keep your mother sweet, you'll not get in her way.”
An hour before lamplighting, Guinevere sat on her stool in the anteroom of Elaine's bedchamber, bathed, gowned, and scented, while Ailsa stood behind her, braiding and arranging her hair. The gray gown, an old one, was very plain and unadorned except for a band of dark blue that had been added to the hem during her last growth spurt. Now it needed lengthening again. So did the sleeves.
“Ailsa, don't I have anything better than this old gown? I've outgrown it again.”
“Never you mind,” Ailsa said. “This is the one the queen chose for you, and this is the one you'll wear.”
“But it doesn't fit. I look ridiculous.”
“Nonsense.” Ailsa patted the last strand in place and turned Guinevere around to look at her. “Listen to me, Gwen,” she said quickly, under her breath. “Stay as far away from Sir Darric as you can. I've heard tales I dare not repeat. He's no end of trouble to his family. I don't know what Queen Alyse thinks she's doing, allowing him to stay here with King Pellinore away. I hope and pray she won't regret it.”
Guinevere looked up at her. “Why do you think he's here?”
Ailsa avoided her eyes. “I'm sure I don't know.”
The evasion confirmed a suspicion Guinevere had formed that afternoon in the workroom, when the queen's women had given her the impression that they knew quite well why Sir Darric had come, or at least why the queen had received him.
“He's come for Queen Alyse, hasn't he? Not Elaine.”
“Hush, child! I've no idea why the man is here.” But Ailsa's worried eyes belied her words.
Guinevere frowned. “But why would she want to see him if he's no one of importance? Why would she throw a banquet for him? It can't be just because he's handsome. Can it?”
Ailsa began to look alarmed. “Put all thought of him out of your head, Gwen. Until we know what his game is, pray you can stay in the shadows and go unnoticed.”
“I don't know why you're worried. No one will ever notice the ward in this old gown.”
Ailsa sighed. “You have much to learn about men, my little chicken, and it's my duty to keep you safe until the right one comes along.” The word right was accompanied by a grave wink, and Guinevere scowled.
“Don't start that again, I pray you. You know what Iakos thinks of prophecies? ‘Dreams of the ignorant fostered by the willing.’ And I agree with him.”
Ailsa paled. “You haven't been telling that foreigner about the prophecy? Oh, Guinevere, he's only a tutor—”
“He didn't hear it from me. I've told no one, ever. I don't even know all of it, anyway. I've only heard the first part. No one will tell me the rest. But Iakos knows it already, I can tell he does. He probably heard it gossiped about, like everyone else's secrets. There's probably no one in all Gwynedd except me who hasn't heard the whole of it.”
“ You know all you need to know,” Ailsa said darkly. “If your father had wanted you to know the rest, he'd have told you.”
“He didn't have time,” Guinevere countered. “He died too soon. If he were still alive now, he'd tell me. I know he would.”
“He might. He could never deny you anything for very long.”
“Then why won't you tell me, Ailsa? Please? What harm could knowing do?”
Ailsa half smiled. “So you can foster the dreams of the ignorant? No, Gwen. Knowing will only cause you worry. If it is to be, it will come in its own time. Meanwhile, mind you keep clear of Sir Darric. He's dangerous. Let Queen Alyse handle him, if she can.”
Guinevere sighed unhappily. What an evening lay ahead! She must go downstairs in her plain gray, ill-fitting gown to dine with a dangerously handsome scoundrel without attracting his notice. She wished she could be sure that in the adjoining chamber, Grannic was giving Elaine the same advice.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Banquet
As dusk fell, Elaine and Guinevere sat patiently on a cushioned bench in the hall of meeting, waiting for the queen. At last, the rain had stopped, and a soft spring breeze crept through the unshuttered windows, bringing with it the light perfume of blooming flowers and the gentle, earthy scent of hardwoods bursting into leaf. But the thick stone walls of the castle still trapped the winter cold, and the log fire in the grate was very welcome.
Guinevere pulled at the sleeves of her gray gown, but still they did not reach her wrists. She glanced at Elaine, sitting motionless and expectant, eyes on the doorway. Her yellow gown had been recently refitted, lowered at the neck to show off the gentle rounding of her shoulders and belted high to accent the definite curves of her breasts. Grannic had dressed her hair with yellow ribbons and borrowed a blue and yellow embroidered belt from Queen Alyse to wrap tight about her midriff. She looked older than her years, pretty, confident, and ready for anything.
A servant opened the door, and Queen Alyse entered with her women. The girls rose and made their reverences. Guinevere tried not to stare. Queen Alyse looked even lovelier and younger than she had that afternoon. Her pale cream gown, banded in rose and gold, flowed in a graceful line from shoulder to heel. A net of tiny river pearls embraced the careful coils of her wheat gold hair, and earrings of mother-of-pearl glimmered like moonbeams on her ears.
Three men followed her into the chamber, all of them laughing at some recent jest. The leader was the youngest, richly dressed, with the kind of features no woman could forget. Tawny and lithe from his doeskin boots to his rich, blond-streaked brown hair, he reminded Guinevere of a hunting cat. He was dressed entirely in leather so soft and pliant that his clothing clung to his supple body and sighed as he moved. Gold flashed from rings, wristbands, and belt. The jeweled torque around his neck was a half a handspan deep and etched with flying birds. Hot hazel green eyes flicked from face to face as he entered the room, then found Queen Alyse's smiling gaze and returned it.
The queen performed the introductions. White teeth gleamed in a charming smile as Sir Darric of Longmeadow bowed and pressed his lips to the women's fingers, one by one. Guinevere shivered. She could not escape the impression that however witty his banter, however smooth and pleasing his social graces, something sinister lurked within. He watched them all with the sulky gaze of the predator.
Wishing that King Pellinore had never left home to follow the High King Arthur, Guinevere trailed along behind Elaine as Queen Alyse led them into dinner. The high table in King Pellinore's great hall was unique in Britain: it was round. With so many men away at the wars, the hall was nearly empty, and Queen Alyse allowed her women and Sir Darric's men to sit at the round table, normally reserved for the king's family and his guests. The advantage to the round table was that everyone sitting at it could see and speak to everyone else. The disadvantage, Guinevere decided, was that no one could escape anyone else's notice. Whenever she raised her eyes from her plate, she found either Jordan or Drako, Sir Darric's companions, watching her and Elaine with knowing smiles.
Sir Darric sat beside Queen Alyse and gave her most of his attention, leaning closer as time passed and the wine went continually around. He drank wine as if it were water, but instead of getting drunk, he grew silkier in his speech and more audacious in his flattery. He knew a thousand amusing anecdotes and kept Alyse in buoyant humor throughout the meal.
Guinevere tried to listen to Sir Darric's conversation. She could catch only snatches, because Cissa and Leonora were doing their best to flirt with Jordan and Drako, who were doing their best to flirt with Elaine and her.
Sir Darric, she gathered, had been left in charge of his father's lands in the earl's absence and had been having a rather dissolute time of it. Left to his own devices, he had held feast after feast and, to clear his head, had rampaged through woods, fields, and water meadows in pursuit of any animal he could chase, although it was planting season. Guinevere wondered why he had come to King Pellinore's castle. Had all his own wine casks run dry?
Sir Darric signaled the winebearer to refill his cup and the queen's. He drank thirstily, then lifted his long-lashed eyes to hers. “Tell me, Alyse, when may we expect the return of your honored husband?”
Guinevere stifled a gasp. Alyse? No one but King Pellinore dared address the queen so informally. She waited with held breath for the stinging rebuke that was sure to follow.
“About the same time we may expect your honored father,” Queen Alyse replied with a lift of her lips. “Why do you ask, my lord? Are you so eager to see your dear brother again?”
Sir Darric laughed shortly and leaned toward her. “Exactly as eager as you are to see your dear husband,” he said into her ear. Her smile warmed all her features, and his lips slid along the delicate scroll of her ear to plant two lingering kisses at the edge of her jaw.
Eyes bulging, Guinevere looked down at her plate and exhaled carefully. She knew very little about the relations between King Pellinore and Queen Alyse, but she had always sensed liking, if not harmony, between them. Her parents had married for love, Elaine had often told her, and she knew from her own observation that King Pellinore admired his wife. She could not therefore imagine what drove her aunt, who was always careful to mark the distinctions of rank, to allow such intimate attentions from a man so far beneath her.
When she looked up, she found Jordan grinning at her.
“Pretty as a bud in springtime,” he said, with a glint in his eye, “but no more sense than a day-old chick. He don't mean nothing by it, m'lady. Beltane's coming. The fever's in the air.”
He pursed his lips in an imaginary kiss, and Guinevere, coloring fiercely, bowed her head to escape his insolent eyes. She knew exactly what he meant by a fever in the air. At Beltane, everyone suffered from the same disease. She had not known that Christians, too, could fall under the Goddess's spell, but it was clearly so. That languid, laughing look in Queen Alyse's eyes was a sign even she could not fail to recognize.
She ignored Jordan and Drako, who could not hold their wine as well as their master and, as the evening progressed, grew bleary-eyed and sloppy in their speech. She concentrated on listening to what Sir Darric and Queen Alyse were saying. They were talking, of all things, about sheep.
“Three newborn lambs, my steward tells me, and nine cattle. Just in the last three weeks. They disappeared into thin air, apparently. No one saw them go. There were no signs of violence or predators.” The queen's voice carried, and heads turned as others fell silent to listen. “I've had men out searching, and they found a few cattle tracks which led into the hills and disappeared. But no human tracks. I've half a mind to s
et fire to the forest and burn them out, whoever they are.”
Sir Darric drained his winecup. “Hillmen. They're the culprits. I've suffered from them, too. Lost about ten animals, in all. Lambs, ewes, heifers, cows. Thieving savages.” He raised his cup, and a servant hurried to refill it.
“Hillmen?” Queen Alyse frowned. “Pellinore had trouble from them once before, but years ago. He met with their leader, and we've had no difficulty since.”
Sir Darric snorted. “They're an uncouth race. Live like animals. Can't trust a hillman's promise.” He looked to his companions for confirmation. Jordan and Drako vigorously agreed. “They're always after sheep and cattle at the end of a hard winter. Their own herds are tiny. By now, they're probably down to a few goats. And they don't wear boots like normal folk. Whatever it is they wear on their feet leaves no mark.”
Guinevere remembered the soft leather slippers on Llyr's feet. She looked anxiously at Queen Alyse, who was still frowning.
“They had an agreement with Pellinore. What would make them break it after so many years?”
Sir Darric laughed. His teeth were very white. The jeweled torque gleamed at the open throat of his tunic. “Who knows? Hard times. Probably ate their last ewe before the thaw and had no lambs for their crazy magic.”
“Lambs for magic? What nonsense is this?”
“You didn't know? You surprise me, royal lady.” Sir Darric downed a liberal swallow of wine and relaxed in his chair, his tawny hair loose about his shoulders and his hazel eyes alive with interest. “They need the skin and the blood of a newborn lamb to perform some kind of ritual healing. Sometimes they need two or three. They like cattle for the marrow in their bones. They think it gives the elderly new life.”
Queen Alyse looked skeptical. “Everyone knows the value of marrow. The rest sounds like witchery to me.”
Sir Darric gazed at her with sultry eyes. “They're a primitive people. But I have it on the best authority.” He leaned closer, and his voice dropped to a soft, seductive drawl. “I caught one when I was fifteen. Bit and clawed like a wildcat, the little savage. But I made him talk.”
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