His Fair Lady (29 page)

“What is that about?” Sir Royce’s gaze fixed
on the two young men, suspicion in his eyes.

“I’m not sure.” Ana gazed after them as
well, perplexed. “One gifted me with a bouquet of flowers, the
other later snatched it away when it tumbled from my lap. ‘Twas all
quite ridiculous really.”

“Then you are the cause of their injuries,”
he stated flatly.

“Me? That’s absurd.”

Sir Royce continued to frown at her.

“You might blame me for your own injuries,
Sir Knight, and rightly so. But you cannot lay blame to me for
theirs.”

“Can’t I? By accepting the flowers from your
first admirer, you gave him to believe that you accepted his suit,
that you were committing your affection to him alone.”

“That’s preposterous!”

“And when he later encountered your other
admirer, and found him in possession of the flowers, he likely
believed you to be fickle and demanded their return.”

“I
was
fickle?”

“My guess is the second suitor refused to
relinquish the flowers, unwilling to part with them. Obviously a
fight ensued.”

Ana’s gaze drew back to the two swains. “The
young man who snatched the flowers did seem uncommonly happy to
have them,” she said thoughtfully. “He uttered something about
their being on my lap ‘guarding Love’s Gate.’”

Royce rolled his eyes. “God in His mercy,”
he grumbled. “Juliana, someone must lesson you about the rules of
courtly love before we have half the young swains battling one
another on your behalf.”

Ana’s eyes widened. “Why would they do
that?”

“Because they are infatuated with you, and
because you lead them on when you should be spurning their
advances.”

“You are faulting me for their misbegotten
behavior?”Ana’s voice rose as she stared at him, incredulous.

“And, you believe you own no fault?” his
voice rose too, matching hers.

Ana narrowed her eyes. “Sir Knight, be
warned. I have been criticized all day. I’m in no mood to endure
your criticisms too.”

“Juliana, ‘twas not my intent to criticize
you.” He released a heavy sigh. “The day has held frustrations for
myself as well. Here, let us eat rather than argue, shall we?”

He signaled to one of the servants, who
instantly brought a trencher and goblet of wine for them to share.
Ana glowered at the servant’s retreating back. He was one of the
servers who’d purposely ignored her.

“Would you care for some suckling pig?”

“No,” Ana said stubbornly, still furious
that Sir Royce blamed her for her suitors’ injuries.

“Trout? Venison pasty? Mortrews?”

“No and no and no.” She crossed her arms
over her chest in a very unladylike manner.

The knight swiveled in place and
scowled at her. “Is there anything that
would
please you?” he ground out. “What exactly
do you want, Juliana?”

“Shush, the minstrel is about to sing,”
scolded one of their table companions, a reed-thin woman with
knifelike features.

Ana groaned audibly. “I hope he’s not going
to try out his boar song.”

The woman shushed her again. “‘Tis of Sir
Gawain and the Loathly Lady he’s been requested to sing.”

A hush fell over the hall as Guy of Lisors
stepped to the center of the chamber and picked a simple tune on
his lute. In introducing the tale, he explained ‘twas in part that
of the knight’s trials — trials that tested his courage,
discernment, and his truest heart. It also held the answer to an
age-old question, he baited his audience, and sang on.

In order to save King Arthur from a spell of
enchantment, Sir Gawain agreed to marry Ragnell, the most hideous
of crones. She alone held the answer to the question that would
break the spell entrapping the king. The question was this. What
does a woman most want?

Ana’s interest pricked at that. Had not Sir
Royce just now posed the very same question to her? She slid a
meaningful glance his way, assuring he was listening, then returned
her attention to the minstrel. What answer would Ragnell offer? And
would she herself agree?

Guy sang on. In accordance with the crone’s
demands, Gawain married her, to the court’s horror. He would allow
nothing ill to be said toward her and treated her with the greatest
courtesy.

Ana flicked a glance to Sir Royce,
remembering his great courtesy toward her own self at court,
especially on the day of their arrival when he presented her in the
hall and saw to her every need. How she wished he could have been
with her today to shield her from the unkind remarks hurled at
her.

Ana returned her attention to Guy’s
tale.

As Sir Gawain faced the wedding night with
the Loathly Lady, his courage wavered. He brooded awhile, but at
last rose from his place by the fire to embrace his duty and bed
his bride. Turning around, Gawain discovered Ragnell had shed her
ugly exterior and now was a beautiful woman, the most beautiful
he’d ever seen. She explained that she too was held by an
enchantment and must pass half the day in the guise of the hideous
crone. She gave him the choice of having her ugly by day and
beautiful by night, or the opposite — beautiful by day and ugly by
night.

Noble Gawain found the choice impossible.
For if he chose for his bride to be hideous by day, she would be
subject to the disdain and public ridicule of others. But if he
chose the latter, he must share intimacies with her as the hideous
crone, grossly deformed and unbearably repulsive.

Unable to choose, Gawain gave the choice to
his bride, agreeing to abide with her decision. Instantly, the
spell was broken, but not only the one that entrapped Ragnell, but
also the one that bound the king as well. Gawain had answered the
riddle! What a woman wants most, Ragnell revealed, is to have her
own way.

The story held Ana enrapt. She identified,
in part, with the crone figure, seeing them both as misfits at
Court — people staring, disapproving, despising their presence. Ana
thought of the tutor, Peter Coffey, and Lady Mertise.

As Guy of Lisors sang the last word and
plucked the final note, Ana smiled and turned to Sir Royce.

“You asked me what I want exactly, I will
tell you, Sir Knight. I want the same as Ragnell — to have my own
way — to be allowed to return to where I truly belong, Chinon.”

The knight shuttered his look, the blue
draining from his eyes, turning them steel-gray. “That I cannot
give you.”

“No, of course you can’t. Or won’t? There is
no difference,” Ana retorted bitterly and turned her face from
his.

“‘
Tis not my place to grant you
anything, Juliana. Lord Gilbert is your guardian.”

“Perhaps, and perhaps not.” She rubbed the
scar on her hand, then expelled a long breath.

Where was all this to end? Ana wondered
dispiritedly. How she longed to be curled up in her tiny room in
Chinon, smelling the wonderful aromas of her foster mother’s bread
and stew, knowing Marie and Georges were near, their love ever
blanketing her.

“Sir Royce! Lady Juliana!” Brodric appeared
at the portal, then spying them ran apace, directly toward them,
greatly agitated.

“What is it, man?” Sir Royce rose at his
place.

“You must both come at once. ‘Tis Lord
Gilbert. He’s taken a turn for the worst.”

Ana and Sir Royce ran the full distance from
the hall to the tower chamber, Brodric close behind them.

Entering the room, she discovered it to be
crowded with men in flowing black robes gathered about Lord
Gilbert’s bed. ‘Twas the queen’s physick and his assistants, she
realized at once. Godric stood to one side, a stricken expression
on his face. Ana’s heart leapt at that look, dread seizing her.
Frantic, she began to shove and push her way through the wall of
black-garbed men.

“What have you done to him? Get away, leave
him alone!” she screamed, fighting to reach the lord’s bed.

Catching sight of Lord Gilbert’s face, she
froze in her steps, shocked by his pallor, by his deadly paleness.
Ana’s hands flew to her mouth, her breath trapped in her lungs.

A hand suddenly snaked out and gripped her
by the arm, preventing her from taking another step. Seeking the
owner of that hand, she found herself face to face with the odious
little man with the purple-veined nose, Renfeld.

“Lady, you will restrain yourself and allow
us to finish attending his lordship. We’ve only just now completed
our examination.”

“Take your hand from the lady, at
once,” Sir Royce growled as he materialized beside Ana. Looming
over Renfeld, he clamped down on the man’s wrist, breaking his hold
on her. “Tell the queen’s physick I wish to speak with him
now
. Lady Juliana and I will wait by
the fireplace. And take special care in your ministrations to Lord
Gilbert. You’ll answer to me should harm come to him.”

Sir Royce circled his arm about Ana and
guided her across the room. Almost immediately, the physick joined
them. Looking up at the knight, Ana vowed she could see fire in his
eyes.

“I left this chamber not two hours ago, and
his lordship was resting peacefully. What happened?” Sir Royce
demanded.

Ana widened her eyes over the knight,
unaware of his visit to Lord Gilbert. At the same time, the physick
cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts and drawing her
gaze.

“Sir Royce, Lady Juliana. In truth, Lord
Gilbert has been failing for many days now. ‘Tis his heart itself
that is dying, ceasing to work, one portion at a time. There are
signs that tell us this, and his heart’s beat grows very
faint.”

“Nay, I do not believe you!” Ana refused to
accept his words. “What signs do you speak of?”

The physick’s gaze moved between Sir Royce
and Ana. “His lordship has been suffering a deep fatigue, even
before your arrival. Next came a swelling of his limbs, followed by
a shortness of breath, and the liquids he passes are cloudy, full
of poisons. These are all signs of his heart failing to do its
work, the flow of blood disrupted, backing up, and of his organs
failing as well. ‘Tis only a matter of time.”

“But he seemed so well last night,” Ana
protested, still unable to accept what she was being told.

“He
was
better last night, my lady.” The physick
turned to her, his look unexpectedly one of sympathy,
understanding. “Another portion of Lord Gilbert’s heart must have
failed during the night. This morning there was a great amount of
swelling about his back and in the veins of his neck. That I have
relieved somewhat. But he’s also taken with much coughing now —
blood coming up. ‘Tis in his lungs. There is little we can do for
him, except to make him comfortable. The lord’s time is
short.”

Ana’s knees started to give way, but Sir
Royce caught her about the waist and held her against him. Ana
swiped at the moisture rimming her eyes and, drawing herself up,
looked to the physick.

“Please, I must speak to Lord Gilbert. Do
not keep me from him a moment longer.”

“As you wish, my lady. I see my assistants
are finished.”

Her legs still quivery and her step
unsteady, Ana accepted Sir Royce’s arm as he accompanied her to the
bed. He remained by her side as she lowered herself onto the
mattress edge.

Ana’s heart ached to see the dear lord lay
so utterly still, ashen against the sheets. ‘Twas as though he’d
already departed this life. Only the shallow rise and fall of his
chest bespoke that he yet lived.

Gently, so very gently, Ana lifted Lord
Gilbert’s hand in hers and pressed a kiss to its back. His skin was
chill, as though his blood had already ceased to flow. She fought
back tears, still they whelmed, spilling hotly over her cheeks,
onto the back of his hand.

“Dearest lord, do not leave me,” her voice
broke. Shuddering with emotion, she bowed her head, then felt Sir
Royce’s hand settle upon her shoulder, a comforting gesture.

“Juliana?” Lord Gilbert rasped in a weakened
voice. “I must have dozed off again. Juliana?” He struggled to open
sleep-heavy lids.

“Yes, I am here beside you.” She tightened
her grip on his hand.

The old lord dragged his eyes open and gazed
on her. A smile feathered over his lips. “Sweetest Juliana. You are
my soul’s delight. I am so overjoyed to have found you.”

Ana choked back tears. “And I you,
Grandfather.”

“Grandfather?” His expression brightened.
“You remember? Dear girl, you remember?” Tears collected in the
corner of his eyes, trickling a path over his pale skin.

Ana brushed the tears away with her
fingertips and smiled on him warmly. “You were right about the
comb,” she said evasively, for her past remained shrouded in
shadows. “It has brought me dreams of many things — of scenes come
to life, and of people and places.”

Pleased by her words, Lord Gilbert’s smile
spread, but within seconds it disappeared as a spasm overtook him.
Doubling forward, he clutched at his chest, coughing violently.

“Grandfather! What is it?” she cried,
desperate to help him.

Instantly, Sir Royce stepped forward,
bracing Lord Gilbert up, assisting Ana. Godric rushed forward with
a bowl, thrusting it beneath the lord’s chin as he spewed a pinkish
discharge into it. ‘Twas blood, Ana knew, just as the physick
warned — a most unfavorable sign.

Seeing how Lord Gilbert had broken into a
heavy sweat, she called for Brodric to bring a damp cloth. As Lord
Gilbert’s coughing subsided, Sir Royce eased him back onto the bank
of pillows, and Juliana set to work, wiping his face and neck and
hands.

Recovering from the bout, a smile returned
to Lord Gilbert’s lips, though his eyes were touched with sadness.
“There is naught you can do, child. But I am content. I’d only
hoped we would have more time together. I’d hoped to see you dance
at your wedding.”