Lord Liar Part 25

Lord Ranulf's consequence was soon put right by a visit to the horse monger yard within sight of the red-tiled roof of the palace. Here they purchased four mounts, a spirited black with barb blood for Ranulf, a large gray capable of carrying Urse's weight without tiring, a beautiful bay mare for Lady Vivienne and a short, stocky, piebald cob for Aldyth.

The horse's markings gave him a gaudy, almost comical appearance, but Aldyth realized it would not have been appropriam for a page to be riding an expensive lady's palfrey. She named him Motley.

Thus remounted, they rode the short distance to the palace, where the sergeant at arms took Ranulf's name.

Moments later they were shown up to the duke's apartments, where Duke Robert roused himself from dicing with several knights to greet Lord Ranulf and his party. "You are welcome to my duchy, my lord. Always pleased to welcome envoys of my dear brother the king, especially at this festive time of the year. You will keep Christmas with us, I Ixust?" Robert inquired hopefully.

Though older than Rufus by two years, he was several inches shorter, which had earned him the hated nickname "Curthose." He had the same slightly bulging hazel eyes as his royal brother, but his manner was more genial and easygoing.

"Yes, I thank your grace, we would be honored to celebrate Our Lord's Nativity with you and your court. But I would not mislead you, by my troth.

I fear I am not precisely an envoy of your royal brother," Ranulf said vaguely, gesturing with his hands but making the movements a trifle less flamboyant than he would have at Rufuss court.

"I fear the king is--how shall I say this?--displeased with me." He added an expressive sigh and rotated his eyeb.a.l.l.s toward the ceding.

"But I'm sure I need not explain further to your grace, wise as you are. You know how he can be."

"Indeed," Robert said wryly.

"You are very welcome to Normandy, then!

You shall find loyal men are always appreciated in my duchy. "

His sentiments were echoed by the duke's dicing partners, who greeted Ranulf and his squire and bowed to Ranulf's lady as if they were long-lost allies.

Aldyth, of little importance as a mere page, was free to study the scene and marvel. The duke tested Ranulf's allegiance no further and was already making vague promises of lands in Normandy to be given Lord Ranulf in reward for his shifting of allegiance.

She caught Urse's eyes. That's all? Lord Ranulf's his man, just like that?

Urse read her gaze correctly, for he nodded, his mouth twitching with amus.e.m.e.nt. It was apparent that Robert of Normandy's reputation for carelessness and uncritical acceptance of any who made friendly gestures was well earned.

The duke was speaking again, inviting Ranulf and his lady to sup with them that evening in his apartments as his guests of honor.

That evening, Aldyth, bathed and dressed in Lord Ranulf's livery, helped the duke's pages serve the meal and 135 listened to the duke's amiable, artless chatter. Lord Ranulf and his winsome mistress must join the party as they hunted the red deer on the morrow, Robert insisted, after kissing Lady Vivienne's hand and complimenting Lord Ranulf on his taste in ladies.

Proffering a dish to her lord on bended knee as if she had been Lord Ranulf's page forever, Aldyth was able to catch the flicker of distaste in Lady Vivienne's eyes as she retrieved her hand. How she must hate acting the lord's leman now that she had given her heart to Urse, Aldyth thought. How she must long for the supper to be over so she could escape to Urse's arms.

One of the duke's pages, a lanky bean pole of a lad named Bertrand, invited her to join them as the pages trooped down to the hall to seek their own supper.

"Do you like serving Lord Ranulf, Edward?" he asked as he heaped a trencher between them with grilled fish, roast pheasant and crusty bread.

She found his Norman French, so much thicker than Ranulf's, hard to follow, but eventually she comprehended and nodded.

"He's very kind."

Unfortunately, her slow response gave another of the pages, called Fat Louis by the others, the idea that she was slowwitted.

"He's very kind!" he mimicked in a carrying falsetto. "Bah, he'll never make a squire, let alone a knight, this gringalet from England who speaks such terrible French." Aldyth glared at the stocky, pimply Louis and clenched her fists, trying her best to make it look as if

"Edward" would be a formidable opponent in spite of his slender frame.

Fat Louis continued his goading.

"And your lord, the so elegant one with his flowing black locks and exquisite gestures-are all of the lords on the other side of the Channel such popinjays? It seems he cares more for the fineness of his garments than knightly skills, hein?" he jeered from across the table.

Aldyth jumped up.

"Come here and I'll show you what a fine squire I'll make, under my 1ord's training" -- She felt a hand gently pushing her back onto the bench. "Let him be, Fat Louis," Bertrand said impermrbably.

"You're being insufferable, as usual. I'll b.l.o.o.d.y your nose if your antics get us kicked out of the hall by the seneschal again. I haven't even finished my supper."

Fat Louis subsided, but the look he gave Aldyth promised trouble.

It had been an endless evening, and Ranulf was glad to seek his bed.

He had played the genial c.o.xcomb all evening, languidly fondling his leman while boasting of his influence among the young lords in England. Robert had lapped it up, as had the half dozen barons and comtes invited to share the meal. There had been much backslapping and bonhomie exchanged between Robert's cronies and their new Anglo-Norman ally.

He found himself wondering, as he followed the flickering path the torches lit up the stairs, what Aldyth had thought of it all. She knew now, of course, that the ca- msses he gave Lady Vivienne were but an act, but what did she think of the plotting he seemed to be entering into with the deep-drinking n.o.bles of Duke Robert's court? Did she think that he really did intend to intrigue with the eldest of the Conqueroffs sons against Rufus, the anointed King of England? If that was what she thought, did she approve, thinking Robert Curthose, with all his weak amiability, would be a better king for the English? Or did she know that Rufus had sent him to spy on his elder brother? If she knew that, did she think he was doing the right thing?

Lord Liar What would she think of Ranulf of Kingsclere if she knew where his true allegiance lay? Ah, it was too many dizzying circles of thought, given the lateness of the hour and the amount of good Gascon wine he'd consumed.

He entered his chamber quietly so as not to disturb Urse and Vivienne in their bed behind the curtainecl alcove. He'd sent his "mistress" from the table an hour ago to "warm the bed for me, my sweet friend."

His own bed would be cold, but he was glad his squire and the Norman woman had finally given in to the pa.s.sion he'd guessed each felt for the other for months. Urse would make Vivienne de Lisieux a good husband.

Someone had left a fat tallow candle burning on the low table beside his velvet-hung bed. By its flickering light he could see Aldyth asleep on a pallet between the table and the He stood over her for several long minutes, watching the candlelight illumine her high cheekbones, her vulnerable chin, her sensitive mouth, relaxed now in sleep. The loose neck of her tunic had fallen low, exposing one alabaster shoulder and the upper edge of her breast.

He felt his groin tighten in response to the sight.

You could take her. The thought came to him unbidden, but he knew it was true. He could stretch out beside her and begin kissing her and stroking the womanly curves she'd kept so well hidden under her page's livery. Very likely he could have her on fire for him before she--and that stern conscience of hers--was fully awake. He imagined touching her until she was wet and whimpering and slipping inside her, breaking the barrier of her virginity effortlessly because she was so relaxed, then bathing her in the pleasure of pa.s.sion.

He almost groaned out loud, biting his knuckle with the effort it took him to turn away. You lecherous fool, she trusted you enough to flee to you, in spite of how you treated her in that stable. She's terrified of what men do to women, especially after what that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Turold of Swanlea put her through. What would she think if she woke to find you leaning over her, leering?

Putting the bed firmly between himself and the sleeping Aldyth, he undressed in the shadows, then entered the bed from that side. It was not as chill as he'd feared, he discovered as he got beneath the blankets. Aldyth had put a large, heated stone at the foot underneath the covers.

He could not stop himself from pulling back the bed hangings and gazing down at her. Just for a moment, he promised himself, before I blow out the candle. Ranulf smiled as he saw her clutch a fold of the blanket and yank it determinedly over the bare shoulder. Thank you, little one, that makes it easier for me to conquer the devil.

It made it no easier to look away, however. He stared at the slumbering, innocent girl until his eyelids grew heavy and drifted shut. The candle eventually guttered out in its holder sometime near dawn.

It was the eve of Christmas. Aldyth, helping the other pages decorate the hall after supper with holly and evergreen boughs, was relieved to see that the Normans had some of the same ways of preparing for the Nativity as they had in England. The two peoples, English and Norman, owed much of their heritage to mutual Viking ancestors, after all. There would be a boar's head--she'd spied it being prepared in the palace kitchen--roasted and decorated much as the one that always adorned the high table at Sherborne.

There was a Yule log, only the French called it a souche de Noel. Tomorrow there would be feasting, Bertrand told her, and games.

She wondered how Christmas would pa.s.s at Sherborne. It was the first time she had ever been away from her father and brothers on that holy day. Had her father received the letter she'd sent by secret messenger, telling him she was safe? Did he nevertheless fret about her? Was Warin enjoying his holiday at home, yet managing to keep her secret?

Had Turold resigned himself to the fact that she had evaded him, or was he hara.s.sing her father about her? And what of G.o.dric--had he yet realized the folly of dreaming of an English return to power? She would give so much to be home and celebrating Christmas with her family instead of at a foreign court--and dressed as a boy!

A wave of homesickness swept over Aldyth, and her eyes misted over so that she could not see the wooden peg she was endeavoring to drive into the wooden rafter and dropped the hammer.

"Hey! You there up on that ladder! Have a care--you barely missed my head!"

shouted the aggrieved voice of Fat Louis below.