The old merchant would be ecstatic, she thought with a smile. She might not be in the first flower of her youth, but the bloom was not completely off the rose. And more important, she was happy. Happier than she’d been in a long time. And it showed.
With a word of thanks to the serving girl, Mary made her way down to the Great Hall of Alnwick Castle with her attendants, Lady Eleanor and Lady Katherine, the same two women who’d accompanied her to Scotland. She found pleasure in their company now. Once she relaxed her guard, she realized how much she’d missed female companionship. Perhaps it had been Margaret who’d made her remember.
The trip to Scotland had brought back many memories, and though she knew it was best not to dwell on them, she missed her old friends and her former home. Maybe someday…
She stopped the thought before it could form. Her life was here now; she would make do with what she had.
The Hall was already crowded and boisterous when Mary and her ladies entered. The Great Hall of Alnwick Castle was something to behold, even without the colorfully dressed noblemen and women gathered for the midday meal. The castle itself was one of the largest and most imposing she’d ever seen, with its seven semicircular towers, square keep, and massive curtain wall. The Great Hall was its jewel. The massive, vaulted room looked like a small cathedral, except that the crown of rafters was of wood and not of stone. The plaster walls were painted a bright yellow and lined with wooden panels and decorated with tapestries. Colorful silk cloths with embroidery every bit as fine as hers covered the long tables and fine silver platters, candelabra, and pitchers sparkled from every corner of the room. Huge circular iron chandeliers hung from the rafters, and despite the midday hour were set ablaze with scores of candles.
Lord Henry Percy had become one of Edward’s most important magnates, and his new castle certainly showed it. He had plans, he’d confided in her, to make it even more formidable, with more towers and improvements to the curtain wall and barbican. Those Scot barbarians (he immediately apologized—excluding her, of course) wouldn’t dare attempt an attack.
Sir Adam was already seated at the dais, but he rose and came forward to greet her as she approached. She returned his smile, grateful as always for the presence of her old friend.
“You look beautiful, my dear,” he said, leading her to her seat.
She blushed, still not used to compliments.
Another man rose and gave her a gallant bow. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. The way his gaze slid over her brought another rush of heat to her cheeks.
Sir John Felton was Percy’s best knight, and much to Mary’s surprise, since her arrival a few weeks ago he’d shown a marked interest toward her. As the mother of a young earl—who was presumably subject to influence—she was as much a marriage prize to the English as she was to the Scots. But his interest seemed to go beyond that, and she had to admit, she was flattered by it.
At thirty years of age, Sir John was in the prime of his manhood. He was close to six feet tall (not as tall as Sir Kenneth, she thought, before she could push away the comparison), with a thick, muscular build that gave credence to his reputed invincibility on the battlefield. He was also reputed to be the most handsome of all Percy’s knights, and nothing Mary could see disproved that. With his thick, golden-blond hair, deep green eyes, and finely wrought features, he could give Gregor MacGregor a challenge—or Sir Kenneth, she thought again, this time unable to prevent the pang.
Why was she doing this? What hold did this man have on her? For goodness’ sake, it had only been one night.
But oh, what a night! Even as the memories flooded her, she pushed them away. She had to stop this pointless fixation on a man who could never be hers. Her future was here. But maybe some day, if she let herself, she might find a man with whom to share it.
The idea of marriage, of giving up her independence, which had once been anathema to her, no longer felt out of the realm of possibility. With the right man, under the right circumstances, perhaps she could be persuaded. The peace and solitude she’d once craved were now tinged with loneliness. She’d caught a glimpse of a life she’d been missing and had opened her eyes to the possibility.
It wouldn’t be with Sir John. There were too many…complications. But perhaps it could be with someone else when she returned from France late in the summer—yet one more thing she had to thank Sir Adam for. He’d arranged for her to accompany him on his journey to the French court in the late spring.
Had he guessed the truth? At times, she wondered. Something about their relationship had changed, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He didn’t seem pleased by Sir John’s courtship.
Unlike her son.
Her mouth quirked with a smile, thinking of Davey, as she murmured her thanks and took the proffered seat between the two men on the bench. He would be vastly disappointed. Her son idolized Sir John in the way of a young squire who looked up to a great knight. He’d been shocked by his hero’s interest in his mother.
Actually, it was probably Davey’s reaction just as much as Sir Kenneth that was responsible for Mary’s transformation. The first time her son had complimented her on her appearance, she’d realized it pleased him to see her looking well. She wanted to make him proud of her. Had she unwittingly embarrassed him by her former drab appearance? She cringed, hoping not.
She knew preciously little about young boys, but since Davey had joined Percy’s household a few months ago, she’d begun to feel as if she was beginning to understand her son a little more. He was at an impressionable age, but also an age when he was trying to assert his manhood. As Sir Adam had suggested, the king had been pleased by her efforts on his behalf—even if it had yielded little—and had permitted her to see Davey as often as her duties allowed. Sir Adam had brought him to see her at Ponteland every other Sunday, but it wasn’t until the invitation came to Alnwick that they’d been able to spend any extended amount of time together.
The polite reserve that had characterized their relationship had relaxed enough to make her think she glimpsed the occasional sign of genuine affection. Sir John was partially responsible for that, she knew. She peeked out from under her lashes at the formidable knight beside her. If he approved of her, she followed her son’s thinking, she couldn’t be all that bad.
Mary was trying not to press Davey on their relationship, but her normal patience seemed to have deserted her. She longed to be closer to him and feared her eagerness showed along with her pride every time she looked at him. He was a favorite of the king and was on his way to becoming the same with Lord Percy. Having recently turned thirteen, her son was already exhibiting hints of his father’s prowess on the battlefield. He was a well-formed lad, tall and boyishly handsome. Though quiet and more reserved than his father had been, he was also more thoughtful—and more deliberate. Cautious, she realized. Like she. She had every right to be proud of him, and she was.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Sir John said from her side. “But I arranged for David and a few of his friends to join us at the dais tonight.”
“Mind?” Mary turned to him in surprise, just in time to see her son enter the hall and look toward her. Tears of joy pricked behind her eyes. It wasn’t just at Sir John’s thoughtfulness—it must have taken some persuading to allow squires to sit at the dais—but also at what her son was wearing. Beneath his velvet surcote, she could see the edge of his shirt. A shirt she’d embroidered for him. She’d given him things before, but this was the first time she could recall seeing him wear one. “Thank you,” she said to Sir John, her eyes damp.
He took her hand and bowed over it as he stood to make way for the youths. “You’re welcome,” he said with a smile that hovered just on the edge of intimacy. “I hope I shall have many more opportunities to bring a smile to your face.”
She lowered her eyes, feeling the blast of heat to her cheeks. She knew she should stop him, that it wasn’t fair of her to encourage him, but it had been so long since a man had shown an interest in her. Appropriate interest, she amended, thinking once again of the man about whom she’d vowed not to think.
But she couldn’t stop seeing Sir Kenneth’s face. Hard and intent in the semidarkness as he’d held himself over her—
She pushed the image away. It hadn’t meant anything. He probably looked at every woman he’d made love to like that. Except she knew for a fact he hadn’t—at least he hadn’t with the woman in the stable.
She had to stop this. But that one night had given her far more than she’d bargained for, in more ways that one.
