“Aye,” she said in a squeaky voice. “A little. But I was wondering something.”
“What?”
She discreetly pointed down the table. “Who are those men on the other side of Taid?” she said, referring to Christopherusing the Welsh name for grandfather that the de Lohr children sometimes used. “Are they knights?”
Both Roi and Diara looked down the table. It was Diara who spoke. “Those are my father’s knights,” she said, returning her attention to Adalia. “They have served Cheltenham for many years.”
Adalia nodded, but it was clear that she was shy when it came to Diara. Everything Roi had said about her was becoming obvious.
“Oh,” she said timidly.
It seemed that the conversation was ending right there because she couldn’t bring herself to ask more questions. But then she leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Diara noticed that Roi was trying not to smile.
“I do not know,” he told her. “I do not know the man.”
Adalia whispered again into his ear. Roi listened before shrugging.
“You will have to ask Diara,” he said. “She would know.”
Both Roi and Adalia looked at Diara, but Adalia was looking at her with genuine fear. Seeing that the young woman evidently had a question, Diara smiled at her.
“What may I tell you, Adalia?” she said. “I am happy to tell you what I know.”
Adalia flushed a deep shade of red and looked at her feet. Roi took pity on her.
“She wants to know who the handsome knight is at the end of the table,” he said. “She further wants to know if he is married.”
“Papa!” Adalia said, mortified. “You should not have said that!”
Roi laughed softly. “Lass, if you want to know the answer to something, you must ask the question,” he said. When Diara looked at him curiously, he gestured down the table. “She is speaking of Mathis. Is he married?”
Diara shook her head. “He is not,” she said. “Would you like me to introduce you?”
That nearly sent Adalia bolting from the table. Roi grabbed her before she could get away, but she was so embarrassed that she was starting to cry. As Roi pulled her back to the table, Diara reached out and grasped the young woman’s sweaty palm.
“I am sorry you are embarrassed,” she said gently. “You needn’t be, I promise. Your secret is safe with me. I will not say a word to him if you do not want me to. Does that make you feel better?”
Roi had his big arm around Adalia as she sniffled and wiped her eyes, but after a moment, she nodded shortly. Just once. But it was enough.
“Good,” Diara said. “Would you like me to tell you what I know about him? Mayhap that would help. I do not want you to be sad or embarrassed. His name is Mathis de Geld and he has seen twenty years and nine. He comes from an old family, and they have a castle in the north that is said to have housed the kings of Northumbria, back in the olden times when England was several different countries. He is an excellent knight, he likes to train horses, and I know that he likes sweets. Whenever the cook at Cicadia makes sweet cakes with honey and oats, he eats most of them before I can get any. As you can imagine, that makes me very angry.”
Adalia’s tears were fading and she was becoming interested in what Diara was telling her. She dared to look up, at the very knight Diara was telling her about, and didn’t seem quite so mortified.
“I was taught to manage the kitchens when I fostered,” she said in her small voice. “The cook was from France, and she taught me many wonderful things. I can make sweets.”
That was the most Diara had heard from her since she’d met the girl. “That sounds marvelous,” she said, trying to keep the conversation going. “What do you like best? Sweets, I mean.”
Adalia thought on that question. “I like the cakes with apricots and honey,” she said. “I can make little cakes with apples and cinnamon inside.”
Diara smiled encouragingly. “Then, much like your sister, you are very clever,” she said. “This is just a thought, of course, but if you would like to make some of those cakes—if your grandmother will permit you to use her cook and kitchen—Mathis is not returning home for a day or two. Time for you to make the cakes and for me to take them to him and not tell him who made them. Only that an admirer has sent them. That way, you do not have to face him at all, but you can still show your appreciation.”
It was a sweet little plan and one that had Adalia’s attention. She wouldn’t have to meet or see Mathis, yet she could send her regards via baked goods. She looked at her father, who nodded in wholehearted agreement with the plan.
“I think that is a brilliant scheme,” he told her. “But you are of age now, Adalia. I should be seeking you a husband, but you never seemed very interested. If you’d like to make great bunches of treats, I’ll send them out to every eligible knight in England. You’ll have your pick of men rushing to Pembridge, lured by your cooking talents.”
Adalia’s cheeks turned a deep red, but this time, she smiled. She wasn’t crying or embarrassed because her father, whom she didn’t have much of a relationship with, seemed to be interested in her and in her future. That bolstered her bravery. Truthfully, they’d never really spoken of such things, and although it made her uncomfortable, it also interested her.
It was something they could both relate to.
