“I am simply eager to learn when I might know the pleasure of your lips again.”
“I cannot tell you, though I can give you assurance about something else.”
“Pray, do not keep me in suspense,” he murmured, never expecting her somewhat pert response, delivered with a soft smile of her own.
“I am indeed more relaxed now, if that was your intent.”
A darkly familiar male voice echoed from behind him, “How touching…I am almost sorry to interrupt such a tender little moment.”
Turning, and in the same, smooth movement tucking Alissende behind him for safety, Damien faced Hugh. He met his rival’s gaze, his own cold and steely, his immediate assessment telling him that though Hugh was in the frame of mind to stir trouble, he was not planning any kind of aggressive behavior at the moment.
“Lord Harwick,” Damien intoned, giving him just enough of a nod, and shifting so that Alissende could slip into place at his side if she wished. She did, looping her arm around his waist in a way that, even in the tension of the moment, felt strangely gratifying.
“Ashby,” Hugh echoed back with a similar tip of his chin. His green-gray eyes looked impassive and assessing as his gaze took in Alissende. “My darling cousin,” he murmured. “You look fetching in that rosy hue. Ashby had best keep a close eye on you, lest you be deemed a better dessert than those set upon the king’s tables. I could gobble you up myself.”
He finished his crude comment with a smile that looked more lecherous than pleasant. Damien felt Alissende’s faint shiver, and he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, staring at Hugh coldly. “Alissende will be well protected by my side, as always.” He paused with deliberate insolence before adding, “My lord.”
“We shall see.”
Hugh’s murmured response, along with the fact that he did not react to Damien’s jab, sent an arrow of warning through Damien, but he had little time to consider it further, for Hugh’s demeanor suddenly brightened, and he lifted both hands, rocking back on his heels as he said with false joviality, “But why are we dawdling in this dank hallway, when the festivities are elsewhere? I came seeking you for just this reason—to bid you come, for the introductions are getting underway.” A sly look slid into his eyes, then, though there was no outward change in his expression. “I know you would not wish to miss that, after all your years away, Sir Damien. And many of those in attendance are more than eager to have a glimpse of you as well, you can be certain.”
Damien did not respond, well aware of the insinuation Hugh was casting with his carefully selected words. The bastard had been busy spreading gossip in preparation for Damien’s arrival, likely reviving some of the old stories and rumors as well.
Hugh made a show of seeming surprised at Damien’s silence. “What—do you not relish the chance to evaluate those you will be facing on the field tomorrow?”
Damien allowed his expression to alter, then, favoring Hugh with a chilling, wolfish grin that set Alissende to trembling again at his side when she caught sight of it. “It is of little matter to me. There is only one combatant who interests me, though for reasons that have naught to do with our imminent meeting on the lists.” He lifted his brow in another gesture of pure and intentional disrespect. “I evaluated him prior to this day and find myself…unconcerned.”
It was apparent that Hugh had never mastered the ability to keep his emotions suppressed, or even hidden, when facing an adversary. A sense of affront fairly billowed from him, and his face contorted with anger, but he managed to bring himself under control enough to clip off another tightly muttered, “We shall see, Ashby.”
“Aye, we shall,” Damien answered, not the least bit perturbed. He could tell that he’d startled his rival with the pleasantry of his tone, and he gestured down the corridor, adding, “However, in the meantime…shall we make our way to the great hall?”
Hugh jerked into motion, striding ahead without another word, and Damien followed behind, releasing Alissende’s shoulder to grip her hand warmly in his, and glancing down at her to give her a look of encouragement. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed pale and more than a little tense again. Damien cursed Hugh for having undone all the good they’d gained in getting away from the crowds to pause near the herb garden for a while.
But in the end, he supposed it couldn’t be helped. Alissende would have become nervous again anyway upon their necessary return to the festivities getting underway. Hugh had only cut short their brief interlude by a bit.
Damien kept his gaze fixed on Hugh’s powerful back as he followed him, knowing that for all his insults to the contrary, Hugh de Valles, Lord Harwick would likely prove a formidable opponent on the field. Whether or not he would conduct their combat fairly remained to be seen; regardless, Damien intended to keep up his guard where the man was concerned. The king would be another matter altogether.
Aye, it promised to be an unpleasant evening any way Damien looked at it, and as they neared the great hall, he thought longingly of that moment’s interlude he and Alissende had shared near the little garden. He half-wished they could have remained there and avoided all that was to come.
But that was sentimental foolishness, he knew. Time had run out for such fancies. He needed to cloak himself once more with the cold, hard aura of the battle-hardened warrior he had been if he hoped to traverse these next few days—these next fewhours—successfully.
The time was now, he thought, clenching his jaw and slipping Alissende’s hand into the crook of his arm again as they paused before the great doors at the portal of the reception chamber. He watched them swing open at Hugh’s command; the sounds of the revelers billowed out, along with a wave of jumbled scents from the milieu of bodies, perfumes, and food and drink inside.
Aye, the time was now indeed.
And he was ready for it.
Chapter 14
Alissende gazed around the great hall, everything about the royal court gathering bringing back a flood of sharp memories. The last time she had attended such an event had been when King Edward’s sire had still sat on the throne. That had been only two summers ago. Godfrey had insisted they make an appearance, for Hugh had convinced him it was in his best interests to show his face before the king more often if he wished to be the recipient of royal favor.
Two years ago.
It did not seem possible. In some ways that time was as fresh in her mind as yesterday, and in others—many others—it seemed a lifetime ago.
“Come, lady. The king and queen are already seated, and the tourney’s combatants and their ladies are gathering for presentation,” Damien said, breaking into her thoughts. “We should join them to await our turn.”
He sounded tense when he spoke to her, and she glanced over at him. She was not used to seeing him so ill at ease, though she could hardly blame him; they were about to face the king himself and receive judgment for the marriage she had coerced him into undertaking. At best it would be uncomfortable; at worst it could prove disastrous.
