Lenora smothered a groan and turned to face her aunt. Her hand moved in a tiny sign of the cross in hopes her aunt had not seen Geoffrey speaking with them.
“Aunt Matilda, we were just…” She hesitated and explored the recesses of her brain for a believable excuse.
“I don’t have time for your stories now. Come, I have us seated at the far table.” Matilda gripped her daughter’s hand firmly. “Lenora, your father’s friend requested you to sit with him. Lord Ranulf is on this side of the hall.” Beatrice gave Lenora a helpless look while Matilda dragged her to the opposite side of the room.
Lenora scooted to her seat just as the royal party entered. She dutifully rose with the rest of the hall, lowered her eyes and folded her hands. The crackle of paper in her pocket reminded her of the letter she had been entrusted to deliver.
As she curtsied, Lenora ventured a peek at England’s sovereign. She met Henry’s curious eyes, alight with good humor. He gave her an impish wink when he passed. The cleric at the king’s side cleared his throat and pretended not to notice the lack of decorum. She returned the devilish wink. Servants directly behind the party almost tripped with their heavy loads. Henry’s laugh boomed out across the great hall. He took his seat at the raised table and commanded, “Food and drink.”
Great platters of artfully displayed food were presented to the guests. Four men strained to support pallets with two golden brown suckling pigs. The glistening skins made Lenora’s mouth water. Two porters carried a mountain of sweet cakes and honeyed nuts. They managed to genuflect before the king with their delicious load. Servants ladled bite-sized pieces of meat into the guests’ trenchers. Bells tinkled from the juggler’s hat. A minstrel rehearsed a ballad while he strummed a lyre.
Seated at her right, Lord Ranulf stabbed a piece of spiced meat from the trencher and offered it to her. “How is your father? When you were delayed, I feared ‘twas due to my old comrade’s health.”
“He’s much better, thank you, Lord Ranulf.” She chewed the tender morsel. One of the many pages scampered over to fill the agate wine cup. The tip of his tongue showed while he poured the red liquid into the heavy cup.
Lord Ranulf waited with patience for the lad to finish his task. “I suppose ‘twas the heavy rains that delayed you. ‘Tis a shame you missed what competition there was. The rains canceled much of the tourney, also.”
“The roads were nearly impassable, but my aunt was determined to come.” She watched the page and felt the lad’s nervousness.
With trained grace, the page returned the goblet without a spot on the white linen tablecloth. He let out a loud sigh of relief. She gave the boy an understanding smile. ‘Twas not easy to be at everyone’s beck and call. An opportunity to gain information on her adversary came to her. “I have heard that much of what victories there were belong to Sir Roen de Galliard. Is he here?” She flashed the elderly knight a brilliant smile.
“I’m sure he is.” The gray-haired man scanned the crowd, then smiled. “The knight approaches Henry now. He’s a hard man to miss.”
She turned toward the high table and knew instantly who Lord Ranulf spoke of. Roen de Galliard towered over the king and the rest of the men in the room. The modest cut of his tunic did nothing to hide the man’s brutal strength and power. Lenora wondered at the aura of self-assurance the man radiated.
Broad shoulders filled the back of the chair he sat in while he conversed with the king. Worn long and in the old Saxon style, his mane of hair flowed to just past his shoulders. The flaxen hair hid much of the man’s face.
She concentrated on deciphering what she could from his half-hidden features. His sharp profile showed rugged lines and dark color. Battle scars, white with age, gave him a fierce look but did not mar him in disfigurement. No emotion humanized his face. Like a marble statue, he sat on the dais. He seemed to dismiss the crowd of people with a bored disregard, as though they were not important enough to consider.
A sudden movement and he turned to face her intruding gaze. Eyes the color of thunderclouds pierced her own. Humiliated, Lenora broke contact, not sure if he had truly seen her or if her guilt made her self-conscious. Unwelcomed warmth burned her cheeks.
“Lady Lenora?” Lord Ranulf wrinkled his brow in concern. “You look ill.”
“Nay, I am fine.” A quick gulp of wine calmed her. She prodded the man to speak to give her a chance to recover from her embarrassment. “Pray, tell me of your daughter. I have not seen her here.”
“Expecting again. The girl has given me three strapping grandsons. I think this time she and her husband wish for a daughter to spoil.”
The gregarious elder recited story after story of his eldest grandson’s strengths and wits throughout the meal. She nodded at the right moments and made the correct oohs and aahs but listened only halfheartedly. Every long tale gave her the opportunity to reconstruct her composure.
Fortified at last, Lenora hid behind heavy lidded eyes and spied on the dais table. The king sat with his advisers and the Lord of Tintagel, but the knight had disappeared. She probed the hall for his whereabouts and spotted him with no trouble. He stood near the back of the hall with a dark-haired man. At first she thought ‘twas Geoffrey he spoke to, but the smaller man carried himself differently, his stance more lighthearted than her friend’s serious one.
Lord Ranulf’s tales continued to roll from his tongue. The abundance of wine the man had drunk probably explained his exceptionally good memory. A horn blasted from the balcony above. At last, the end of the meal; time to break away from her talkative companion. “Lord Ranulf, thank you so much for the delightful entertainment. You must come and see us soon.”
“Oh, aye, I will.” The man reached for the wine cup and slurped the last few drops. “But let me finish my story. Charles, that’s the oldest boy, he grabbed the horse’s tail and—”
Lenora shot to her feet; friendship could demand only so much. “As much as I would love to hear the tale of the tail, I must speak to King Henry. Father wishes me to extend his sorrow at not being able to attend.”
“Of course, of course. I will see you later and finish the story. That boy is a rascal.” Lord Ranulf raised his hand in salute and turned to the man seated across the table from him. “Darius, my friend. Come let us share a cup of wine. Have you heard of the prank my grandson pulled?”
Lenora whistled under her breath at her escape and took off to scan for her relatives. Luck came her way; they stood not far from her. A woman in a garish blob of color flittered near them. Lady Marguerite. Thank heaven for such a stroke of luck.
Rushing to her aunt’s side, she whipped her arm through Matilda’s and swung her around. “Aunt Matilda, may I introduce you to one of Queen Eleanor’s favorite ladies-in-waiting. Lady Marguerite, this is my aunt, Lady Matilda.”
With a slingshot motion, she propelled her aunt forward and pushed the two ladies together. “I know you have much to discuss. Lady Matilda was at Stephen’s court, you know.”
The two dowagers sized each other up. Curiosity won. Each dropped a snippet of gossip, then their heads drew together and the real news began. Her plan was working.
She backed away with Beatrice behind her. After she cleared the eagle eyes of Matilda, a giggle burst from her lips. “Step one, accomplished. Hurry and find Geoffrey. I’ll take care of Galliard.”
For the first time all day, her cousin’s face glowed with hope. “Perhaps this will work.”
“You had doubts?”
“Your plans don’t always work. Remember when you tried to-”
“Don’t think failure, think victory.” A gentle push toward the window displayed her urgency. “Now hurry off. Stay in the garden as long as you can and watch for your mother.”