fear I will be the one to taint him?”
“This is plain speaking indeed,” the earl murmured, straightening.
“I’m neither stupid nor a timid maiden, my lord. I know well what is said of me. And I know, as well, that Will’s family is concerned for him. Or so I’ve been advised by half a dozen of the older tabbies at court,” she finished dryly.
To Madeline’s surprise, his blue eyes lightened with rueful laughter. For the first time, she witnessed the beguiling charm the other ladies of the courts had tittered about whenever Ian de Burgh’s name was mentioned.
“’Twould appear my lady mother is most industrious in her correspondence.”
Madeline’s own lips curved in instinctive response to the smile creasing his lean cheeks. “And you, my lord? Do you share your mother’s concerns?”
“I? I begin to share my brother’s interest.”
His soft, slow drawl raised ripples of pleasure all along Madeline’s nerves. When the man chose to be charming, he did so with a vengeance, she thought somewhat breathlessly. That particular combination of gleaming eyes and crooked grin was enough to make any woman’s breath catch in her throat. She ran her tongue across suddenly dry lips and sought for something to say.
“Your pardon, my lord, my lady.”
She turned to see one of the household pages standing just beyond the alcove. The golden lion, symbol of the house of Plantagenet, shone on the boy’s red tunic.
“They’re laying the boards and will soon begin to serve. Lord John sent me to escort you to your seat, my lady.”
“Aye, I’ll be with you shortly.”
Madeline turned back to finish her conversation with the earl. She had yet to assure him that he need not worry about Will. The boy’s adoration amused her, but she’d been in the world enough to know how to let down a young knight without shattering either his pride or his illusions.
The earl’s closed expression stopped the words in her mouth. No trace of either laughter or friendliness lingered in his eyes. Confused, Madeline stared up at his tanned face.
He bent at the waist in a bow so shallow it was more insult than salute. “Don’t let me keep you from a royal summons, madame.”
His cold tone sent a spear of regret through her so swift and sharp she had to bite back a small gasp. So he, like all the others, disparaged her friendship with John. This knight, whose reputation with women was common knowledge, dared scorn her.
Madeline knew well the rumors that flitted through the court about her, skittering here and there through the castle halls like old rushes stirred by the drafts that swept the winding corridors. ‘Twas widely believed that the king’s son took her to mistress. If John led her in the dance, heads would bow and whispers pass from mouth to mouth. If she danced with another knight, knowing eyes would flash the message that she sought another husband to wear the cuckold’s horns while she dallied with the king’s son. After all, she’d held the man enthralled since childhood and through two marriages.
Normally Madeline dismissed the whispers with the ease of long practice. The look in de Burgh’s eyes, however, pricked at her pride.
Lifting her chin, she nodded coolly. “Aye, I must not keep the prince waiting.”
Allowing none of her inner turmoil to show in her face, Madeline followed the page through the throng filling Kenilworth’s vast hall and took her seat at the high table beside the man who was youngest son to King Henry and Queen Eleanor.
Her usual place was lower, well below the salt, with the other maidens and widows in warship to the crown. But with the king not yet arrived and Richard Lion-heart otherwise disposed, John had ordered the seating this night to suit his own preferences. Madeline bit back a sigh as she caught the sly glances thrown her way from those seated at the lower tables. By elevating her well above her station, John had once again fueled the rumors about them. ‘Twould do no good to protest, however. It never did. Spoiled, darkly handsome, and indulged by his father from earliest infancy, the young lord was rarely denied his wishes.
“Why don’t you eat?” he asked when she took a meager helping from the dish of eels stewed in honey and wild onions that a perspiring page presented. “You’ll never attract another husband if you don’t fatten up and fill out your gowns more. You were ever flat as a sword blade, Maddy.”
Her gaze flew up to meet his dancing black eyes. “Aye, and you were ever ready to tell me so, my lord. You’ll never know how much I feared my first wedding and bedding because of your slighting comments about my shape when we were children.”
“Ha! That doting old fool who wed you cared not about your shape. He was as beguiled as they all are by your green eyes and ripe lips.”
The lips under discussion lost their ripeness. Slowly Madeline set down her two-tined fork—a recent introduction to the court—and turned to give the man beside her a level look.
“I’ve valued your friendship since I first came to your mother’s household these many years ago. But I’ll not allow you to speak so of the man who wed me. He was good, and kind, and treated me most gently.”
“He was also so old his knees rattled when he walked.” John held up a hand. “Nay, nay, do not glower at me. He was good and kind, if so you say.”
He waited until she had given a stiff nod and picked up her fork once more, then grinned wickedly.
“But I’ll warrant you enjoyed your second wedding and bedding far more.”
“Jack-a-napes,” Madeline sputtered, using the nickname she’d called him by privately since they were four years old. “Do not start on that again!”
He leaned forward, his shoulder brushing hers. “Come, Maddy. Your second lord may have had wool for brains, but he was rumored to have the accoutrements of an ox. Were the pleasures of the marriage bed all that they’re rumored to be?”
“You’ll find out when you consummate your marriage to the Lady Isabel,” Madeline replied lightly. “As if you didn’t already know!”
At the mention of his betrothed, John’s eyes lost their dark light. He drew back and lifted his wine goblet to his lips.
Madeline stabbed at a slithery eel and cursed herself under her breath for her slip. As the youngest of the king’s eight children, John had no hereditary duchies to claim as his own, and much resented his landless state. To rectify this situation, King Henry had debated endlessly whether to strip his other sons of some of their lands to give John a heritage. He’d also betrothed him as a young boy to Isabel of Gloucester, Strong-bow’s great heiress, a cold, supercilious girl. Despite the fact that Isabel’s holdings constituted as yet his only estates, or mayhap because of it, John secretly despised the dark-haired heiress. He was careful not to show his dislike, but Madeline knew of his disdain for his betrothed, as she knew most of his innermost thoughts.
Almost since the day she’d come into the king’s wardship, a lonely little four-year-old, John had been her friend and companion. Madeline could recall as if it were yesterday the rainy April morning he’d released her, white-faced and stiff with fright, from the dark privy a mischievous playmate had locked her in hours before.
