“My father seems to think so,” her voice was quivering, too. She wondered if Penelope and Emma could detect it. “He’s been in London for several months, you know. I…. I have no way of knowing if he even received the invitation.”
Emma was still sloshing about in the pond; only Penelope saw the trembling and observed the faint mottling around Arissa’s cheeks. She always reacted in the same fashion when they spoke of Richmond le Bec. She’d been in love with the man for as long as any of them could remember.
“He shall be here,” Penelope said softly. Richmond was a subject off limits to the usual taunts. It ran far deeper than Arissa would ever admit; in fact, she’d never admitted to anything at all. As of late, she’d tried her hardest to remain distant on the subject of the mighty knight, to assume a neutral manner when his name entered the conversation. But as hard as she tried, she was not always successful.
“I care not, truthfully,” Arissa said as steadily as she could manage. “The man is a friend of my father’s and sworn to the service of King Henry; he’s of no concern to me. Now, as I was saying, I believe the House of Harcourt will….”
“Aren’t you the least bit awed by the man?” Penelope was not about to let her slip away so easily. “After all, he organized Henry’s armies against his cousin Richard II and nearly single-handedly secured the throne for our king. ’Tis said that he and Sir Henry Percy of Northumberland are blood brothers. Doesn’t his reputation impress you in the least?”
Arissa slanted her friend a wavering glance. “Of course not. Why should it?”
Before Penelope could reply, Emma turned about and began to wade onto shore once again. “The man is a god. Too bad he’s so old.”
“He’s not old!” Arissa said hotly, defending Richmond before she could control herself.
“Bartholomew says he’s thirty-nine,” Emma wandered onto the grass and wiped the mud off her feet. “He might as well be one hundred.”
Arissa lowered her gaze, toying with the icy clover beneath her hand. “My brother doesn’t know everything. Richmond is ageless. He has remained the same in manner and appearance for as long as I can remember.”
Penelope leaned back on her arms, eyeing her raven-haired friend. “I would wager to say I have never seen a more handsome man. Rich brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that makes me swoon simply to think on it. And, of course, being as tall as the sky certainly doesn’t hurt,” she winked at Emma. “Aye, I would say he was the image of a god. Only a god would be so fortunate.”
Arissa did not reply; she did not want to think on Richmond le Bec. She’d spent the past several months attempting to forget him and a part of her hoped he would not come to the celebration on the morrow. But a major portion of her whispered desperate prayers that he would make an appearance, if only so she could gaze into his amazing face one last time before she was shut away from the world.
Even as she pledged to distance the man in hopes of complete abandonment, she knew it was a foolish venture. She had grown up living on the sight of Richmond, sustaining herself on his rich baritone voice and anticipating the moments when he would turn his incredible blue eyes on her fondly. Six years, eight years, twelve years old… she couldn’t remember when Richmond le Bec hadn’t been an integral part of her daily existence. She couldn’t remember when she hadn’t loved him.
As Arissa lost herself in thoughts of Richmond le Bec, a lanky, aged knight came marching across the dead winter grass. His lined face was grim.
“Have you no idea what time it is?” he demanded.
The three women jumped. Penelope was startled into a sitting position, her eyes wide at the man.
“It’s… it’s, uh…,” she turned helplessly to Arissa and Emma, who were quickly regaining their feet.
“It’s time for the nooning meal,” the knight said sternly, resting his large fists on his hips. “God’s Truth, Penelope, if I hadn’t fathered you myself, I would swear you’d been born without a brain.”
Penelope rose to her feet, her gaze sheepish. “We lost track of time.”
He rolled his eyes, beseeching the gods for patience. “And if I hear that excuse one more time, I swear I shall do something drastic to the lot of you,” he pointed a gloved finger at the fortress. “Inside. Now.”
Penelope brushed off her surcoat and scampered past her father. Emma followed in close pursuit, while only Arissa seemed unfazed by the knight’s anger. She smiled pleasantly at him.
“Good day to you, Sir Carlton,” she said, trying to ease his fury. “How goes the preparations for my party?”
Sir Carlton de Long gazed at his little mistress, wondering how his daughter was going to survive when the Lady Arissa left to join the cloister next month. The two had been inseparable since three years of age, long enough to form an unbreakable attachment. He, too, would miss her terribly. She was a bright, wonderful bit of sunshine.
“Running smoothly, my lady,” he offered her the customary elbow. Arissa took his arm and he began to lead her towards the keep. “Your mother has gone to great lengths to make it the grandest celebration in these parts for years to come.”
Several feet ahead of them, Penelope and Emma walked arm in arm, casting baleful glances at Arissa. With her sweet nature, men were naturally eating out her hand and her companions were understandably jealous of her talent; they always managedto find trouble whereas Arissa seemed to possess the power to soothe the savage beast.
Arissa was acutely aware of their pouting looks and stuck her tongue out at them, twice, while Carlton’s attention was diverted. The more she antagonized them, the angrier they became and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. By the time they reached the massive entrance to the bailey, Penelope and Emma were prepared to throttle her and Arissa braced herself for the barrage of temperamental insults.
But the revenge of Emma and Penelope would have to wait; high atop the battlements, shouts abound from the sentries, distracting the women. All straining ears and eyes, they turned their attention to the commotion at hand.
A party was swiftly approaching, it was announced, bearing Henry’s banners of lions and leopards. Carlton, still clutching Arissa, stared up at the sentries as if he had not understood their words.
“Henry is approaching?” he demanded for clarification.
The sentries, hawk-eyed and seasoned, peered sharply at the southern horizon. Arissa wait with bated breath for their reply, hardly aware when Penelope and Emma joined her.
