about a trial.”
Frederic grinned from ear to ear, looking more like an excited puppy than ever. “He’s too modest to brag about his brother, but you should be very proud of your brother-in-law, Lord Armand, my lady. It was an amazing victory.”
“I would never have suspected modesty to be one of Sir Bayard’s virtues,” Lady Gillian remarked.
Bayard’s grip tightened around the stem of the goblet. She had to be one of the most aggravating women in England. “I saw no need to speak of it,” he said, “since Armand was proven innocent and the real traitor exposed.”
“The man who has wed Lady Adelaide, was accused of treason?” the steward asked as if that was the most disturbing thing he’d ever heard in his life.
“Falsely accused and proven innocent,” Bayard said, wishing Frederic had kept quiet about Armand’s recent troubles, especially since everyone else in the hall had fallen silent, as well they might.
The lady abruptly rose from her chair. “I was planning to announce this at the hall moot,” she said in a clear voice that easily reached the far end of the hall, “but the news has already been revealed here tonight. I have recently been informed that my sister, Lady Adelaide, may have wed Lord Armand de Boisbaston.”
As Lady Gillian’s servants and soldiers exchanged surprised looks, a murmur of wonder, disbelief, and excitement filled the hall. Over by the door leading to the kitchen corridor, the red-haired maidservant and another young woman whispered behind their hands, and so did several others seated at the tables or standing in clusters around the hall.
“This knight, Sir Bayard de Boisbaston, is his brother.”
Another mutter went through the hall, this time less excited and more suspicious. Bayard’s own men shifted uncomfortably, aware of the sudden tension in the hall. It was as if an ill wind had blown through, chilling all it touched except Bayard, who smiled as if all was well with the world, and he was delighted to find himself related to this termagant.
“I’m sure some of you fear that there will be a new lord of Averette,” Lady Gillian continued, balling her napkin in her hand. “That is not so. Lady Adelaide has given me her word Averette will always be mine to govern. She assures me this is still so, despite her marriage.”
However odd that might be, Bayard thought grimly.
A collective sigh filled the hall. Apparently the men of Averette didn’t share his reservations about having a woman in command of a castle.
Perhaps it was different here because of what Armand had told him about the late lord of Averette. Lady Gillian’s father had been vicious, cruel and unjust. Under those circumstances, perhaps any new lord would be met with dread and suspicion. Nevertheless, and despite the evidence of his own eyes—for seeing Armand and Adelaide together, no one could doubt but that they were deeply in love—Bayard still couldn’t accept that Armand was willing to leave this castle and estate in a woman’s control. To be sure, Lady Gillian was not the most feminine female he’d ever encountered, but she was still a woman.
“Now, my lord,” she said, returning to her seat and turning the full force of her vibrant green eyes onto him, “tell me about this trial.”
Since Bayard had no choice but to answer, he did, repeating the bare facts. “My half brother was falsely accused of treason and proved his innocence in a trial by combat against one of the men who denounced him to the king.”
“I’ll say he proved it!” Frederic cried, fairly bouncing in his chair. “He ran his sword right through Sir Francis’s face!”
The lady gasped, the priest paled, and the steward looked rather queasy.
“That was the traitor’s choice,” Bayard explained, not wanting them to think Armand was some kind of savage. “Francis ran into Armand’s sword rather than suffer a slow execution.”
“I wish I’d seen it!” Frederic exclaimed.
“A true knight takes no pleasure in death, however it comes about,” Bayard said swiftly, and sincerely. “When he has a duty to do, he does it, but he should never relish the taking of a life.”
He turned back to Lady Gillian, whose face bore an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. But he didn’t care what she thought. He’d had enough of her unladylike demeanor and behavior, her envious steward, her orders and refusals.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lady,” he said, getting to his feet, “it’s been a long day, so I’ll give you good night.”
No doubt just as happy to see the last of him for the day, she regally inclined her head. “Good night, Sir Bayard.”
“May I stay?” Frederic asked.
Since he didn’t require his squire’s help to prepare for bed, Bayard nodded. Then he bid his men a restful night and marched from the hall.
WHILE SUPPOSEDLY LISTENING to Dunstan relate the cases expected to come before for judgment at the hall moot, Gillian watched Sir Bayard cross the hall with long, purposeful strides. He paused to have a word or exchange greetings with his men, and they replied with seemingly genuine good humor, as if he were their friend as well as commander.
Interesting, and quite different from Iain’s method of command. He would no sooner jest with his men than he’d strip naked in the courtyard.
Sir Bayard would likely be only too willing to do such a thing if he lost a wager or for some other silly reason. With such a body he’d probably be glad to.
She could just imagine him standing there, smiling with arrogant vanity, taking off his clothing one piece at a time…
“My lady?” Dunstan said, laying his hand on her arm. “Did you hear me?”
As embarrassed as if Dunstan had read her thoughts, she swiftly pulled away. “Yes. If the chandler’s daughter wishes to marry the cooper’s son, I have no objections.”
Unable to prevent a blush, she took a drink of wine while Dunstan slowly and deliberately folded his hands upon his lap.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT DAY, GILLIAN ROSE from her seat at the table in the solar where she’d been reviewing the tithe rolls and lists of foodstuffs she’d recently purchased. She had to be aware of estate income and expenses, but sitting and staring at rows of figures was not how she preferred to spend her time.
Walking to the window, she looked out over the land she loved—the fields, meadows and woods, the village, and especially the people she cared about as if they were her family. She could see the mill and its wheel slowly turning, suggesting a peace she knew was absent from the miller’s household. Boats plied the river, and on the banks, several women did their washing, spreading their linen on bushes to dry and bleach in the sun. A few children swam a short distance away, splashing each other, their shouts and laughter inaudible above the bustle of the servants, and wagons, and merchants delivering goods in the yard below.
Smoke rose from the smithy in gray wisps and she could easily imagine Old Davy holding court with his fellows, talking about the news of the day, speculating about what the king might do next to try to retrieve his lands in France, and what he might tax
