Nodding wordlessly, Alissende moved along with Damien through the crowd, forcing herself to look around and see whom she might recognize. There were several ladies with whom she had spent hours sewing at court the last time she’d been here; though she caught two of them blatantly staring at her as she passed, both looked away when she attempted to smile in greeting.
It was to be expected, she supposed, but she felt the twinge of it nonetheless. They were snubbing her. She had been an earl’s daughter from birth, and then with her marriage to Godfrey, an earl’s wife as well, always deemed worthy of conversation by society dames and maidens alike. But they were turning their noses up at her now.
Her decision to marry a simple knight in defiance of the king seemed to have diminished the value of appearing in her company. She’d always listened to complaints about the fickle nature of society without possessing much real understanding of it. Even those years ago, when Damien had quietly seethed over the slights dealt him due to his common blood, she had tried to ease his anger without truly comprehending it.
Now she understood, at least a little, what he must have felt. This kind of rejection stung—the more so in realizing she had been duped into thinking these people were her friends.
She realized her fingers had clenched onto Damien’s arm, for he looked away from what was happening in the main part of the court, where he had been watching, as best he could, the process of the royal reception of combatants. Gazing down at her in concern, he murmured, “Is aught amiss, Alissende?”
“Nay, I—” She shook her head, then looked up into his stunning eyes and face, which were so dear to her. “It is just that I never realized how difficult it was. And I—”
She stuttered to a stop, and Damien wrinkled his brow in consternation.
Taking a deep breath, she began anew. “I am trying to say that I wish to thank you once more, for walking with me into the lion’s den like this.”
He surprised her—and several other people, if the reactions around them were any indication—by throwing his head back and laughing aloud.
“I suppose that is as apt a description of a royal court as any I have heard, Alissende.” His eyes twinkled. “You are very welcome. It helps me that I have you on my arm as well, you know.”
For some reason his honest and, in its own way, tender admission made her eyes well with tears, and he looked at her in confusion again.
“By the rood, woman, I did not mean to make you cry,” he said, his voice sounding hushed with disbelief. “I was not laughing at you, you know.”
She could not help but grin through that watery haze, pulling on his arm and half-laughing herself as she shook her head. “Nay, it’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
“It is your sweetness that caught me off guard so. Your kindness and understanding.”
He continued to appear completely bewildered at what she was saying—and none too pleased that she had termed him, the fierce warrior of countless tourneys and battlefields, “sweet.”
“It is naught, Damien,” she said, laughing again as she tried to smooth over the moment. “Just attribute my reaction to my anxiety about this evening. Think no more on it.”
That was not a total falsehood, she decided. Shewasfeeling nervous about what was still to come.
Shaking his head, Damien murmured something about never truly understanding the workings of a woman’s mind, to which she retorted that it was just as well, for such was beyond any man’s ken, just as God had intended it. She was readying another pertinent comment on the matter when she felt him tense, at the same moment that she heard the herald’s call.
“Sir Damien de Ashby, with his wife, Lady Alissende of Surrey.”
Her stomach felt like it rose into her throat, and the room was a blur as they made their way down the impromptu path of spectators, toward their audience with the king of all Britain. In contrast to the low hum of conversation and the restless movements of the crowd prior to this moment, a kind of heavy silence spread over the chamber with the announcement of their names. At the same time, everyone seemed to cease what they were doing, craning to hear what the sovereign would say to his two so recently disobedient subjects.
Alissende’s nausea was not helped by the fact that in addition to Edward’s new queen, Isabel of France, and the king’s favorite, Piers Gaveston, Hugh also stood on the dais, behind the royals. He appeared quite serious in demeanor, but she knew she had not mistaken the flash of a less proper expression—a lecherous wink directed at her—when she felt all the muscles in Damien’s powerful arm tense to rock under her fingers.
But then they reached the dais, and Alissende was constrained to dip into a low curtsey, while Damien offered a deep bow to their king and queen.
“Rise and receive your greeting.”
King Edward issued that command in a voice that was at once filled with authority and at the same time somehow less awe-inducing than she remembered his sire’s having been. Daring to glance at the young sovereign and his queen, married only seven months prior, Alissende noted that the king was still handsome and athletic in appearance, as he had been the few times she had been granted a glimpse of him at prior courts. But he bore that softer look about the eyes and mouth that Michael had foretold when he had first predicted that her proxy union with Damien would be accepted at court.
Isabel was fair as well, though not in the manner of delicate English ladies. She appeared bold and dramatic, and rumors had run rampant, reaching even Alissende’s ears, concerning the resentment she bore Piers Gaveston, or at least her husband’s involvement with the man. At this very moment, in fact, she looked none too pleased that she sat on one side of the king while Piers lounged on the other, in a chair set only slightly back from the monarchs’ and of just as opulent a design.
The silence continued for what had to have been a full minute, as King Edward gazed at Damien then turned his stare to Alissende, and then looked back to Damien without uttering a sound. His brows frowned slightly, and his mouth looked tight, but other than that, he showed little expression.
Damien stood at attention after having been bid to do so by his king; he remained in that position, unmoving, a knight of unmistakable discipline. She, however, was having difficulty keeping herself from fidgeting under the weight of the royal gaze. At last, when she thought she could bear it no longer, King Edward swung his stare to her again and spoke. And then that was almost as terrible, for he revealed his displeasure in a voice tinged with royal annoyance, delivered in such a way that the words seemed to echo from the very walls.
“Lady Alissende, you are of noble birth, and We wish to make note before this assembly that you have disparaged the honor of your ranking by seeking marriage to a man so far beneath you in title—especially considering the fact that such was undertaken against Our express desire to see you wed to Our dear Hugh de Valles, Lord Harwick. It is to Our offense, lady, that you completed such an impetuous and ill-advised action.”
Alissende felt her stomach drop to her knees, the effect making her nausea swell anew and causing her to wish she was not required to remain still, with her hands by her sides, while facing the king.
