Alban flanked Gray’s left. Eduard was nowhere to be seen, and Gray wondered if his wife’s brother would dare to make an appearance. As if he’d read his thoughts, Alban leaned in to murmur, “Eduard was still being stitched when I checked on him a few moments ago. ’Tis not likely he’ll come out of his sanctuary soon. I doubt he’ll want to face the king, looking as he does.”
“That bad, is it?” Gray grimaced as he shifted his weight partially onto his wounded leg.
“Aye. His nose is swollen twice its size. One of the women had to pack it with wool to stop its bleeding. ’Tis so distended from the stuff that he looks like a sow caught rooting in a patch of milkweed.”
Hearing a smothered laugh, Gray twisted to see Elise; her hand covered her mouth, and his breath caught at the sparkle of humor in her eyes. Yet he couldn’t question her unexpected reaction to the news of her brother’s condition, because at that moment trumpets sounded in the courtyard.
The doors swung wide, and His Royal Highness Henry III, King of England, strode into the chamber, followed by his retinue of flag bearers, armorers, vintners, men at arms, wardrobe attendants, grooms and ladies. The entire assembly of Ravenslock Castle sank into bows and curtsies as the king passed. By the time all of his retainers had filed into the vaulted hall, the room looked more like a crowded marketplace than a spacious chamber in the greatest estate ever gifted to one of England’s knights.
Gray pulled himself to his full height as he faced his Sovereign. At six and twenty, Henry was a tall, impressive man, yet he was not well liked by all of his barons. In the seventeen years he’d worn the crown, he’d chosen numerous and often unpopular favorites as political advisors. Many of England’s nobles whispered of rebellion, angered by the constant stream of foreigners he welcomed to court. Gray, however, had decided to bide his time. Until the need arose, he saw no reason to act out against the man who ruled the land.
“Welcome, Your Highness,” Gray called loudly, though the effort sent a burning lance of pain through the dagger wound below his ribs. “You honor us with your presence. Care you for some refreshment after your journey?”
He felt more than saw Elise move closer to him, her skirt whispering against his legs as she positioned herself at his side. Her hand slid, warm and comforting, beneath his elbow, supporting him as he bowed his greeting.
“Lord Camville.” Shifting his gaze to Alban, who also bowed, King Henry nodded, “Sir Warton.” He waved off the courtiers who had rushed forward to help him to a seat upon the dais. He chose to stand directly in front of Gray, scowling as he took in the physical state of his favorite champion. Without speaking further, he reached for the cup of wine a servant held ready for him, drinking deeply before he fixed Gray with another frown. “We see that you’ve been engaging in something more demanding than the pleasures of your marriage bed. Might it be another one of these tournaments We’ve forbidden you to host?”
Elise’s hand tightened on Gray’s arm, but he stood firm. “’Tis true that I sought a bit of sport to celebrate the nuptials you were so gracious to arrange for me.”
“Aye, well, in light of the occasion We will overlook the transgression.” A thin smile creased the king’s cheeks. “Now that you’re wed, you must admit We made a fine choice of brides for you.” His gaze swept over Elise, but he paused, mild confusion replacing his smile. “Yet lady, We must say that you’ve changed greatly in the years since We saw you first at your brother’s knighting ceremony.”
Elise dipped into a curtsey, murmuring, “I was but a child, then, milord. I had not yet reached my twelfth year, if memory serves me.” Her voice shook ever so slightly, Gray noted, and she cast her gaze to her hands, clenched in front of her.
The king frowned. “Aye, you were small. And exceedingly pale, as We recall.” He tilted his head as if to study her, a quizzical look on his face.
“I—I regret that time has not been overkind to me, milord,” Elise mumbled.
Gray glanced to his wife, feeling the same twinge as when he’d lifted her veil in the chapel. But she bowed her head, refusing to meet his gaze.
“My wife hadn’t mentioned her acquaintance with you, Sire,” Gray said evenly, swinging his gaze back to the king.
“We met but that one time,” King Henry commented, pausing to drink from his wine again. “It must have been…” he gestured in vague circles with his cup, “…some eight or ten years ago, now. Isn’t that right, Lady Camville?” Henry’s gaze pinned her, and Gray noticed that she squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“Aye, milord.”
“’Twas a fine dubbing ceremony your brother had that day.” King Henry laughed as a new, obviously fonder memory came to his mind. “Montford stood stoically in the heat, refusing even to sip some water to refresh himself. A staunch warrior even then. He’s served as one of Our best knights since. Second only to you, of course, Camville,” Henry acknowledged, raising his cup to Gray.
He drank again, then looked round the chamber, searching among the guests. “Where is Lord Montford, by the by, that he comes not to greet Us upon Our arrival at Ravenslock?”
After a moment of uneasy silence, Gray answered, “He rests in another chamber, being stitched.”
The king went still before raising his brow. “Ah.” His gaze swept over Gray again, pausing for an instant on each of his visible wounds. “And who, We must needs ask, found means to injure a seasoned warrior like Montford?”
“’Twas I.” Gray admitted the truth boldly, looking Henry straight in the eye.
It was as if an icy wind swept through the chamber; every voice hushed, and each gaze seemed trained on the dais. “How unfortunate,” King Henry clipped with deceptive calm, “in light of Our command forbidding the two of you from ever taking weapons to each other again.”
Gray clenched his fists at his sides, reminding himself to be careful in what he revealed of Eduard’s craven attack or his feelings about it.
“Your disobedience aggrieves Us, Camville,” the king continued, enunciating each word with cold precision. “It calls your loyalty into question and makes Us wonder at your sincerity in defending Us against Our enemies on the field of combat.”
“I have never lost a battle of honor for you, Sire, nor will I, unless the life be taken from me. I am as always your true subject.”
“Then I must needs ask why you persist in trying to slaughter Lord Montford against Our command!”
Elise gasped, and Gray stiffened before answering, “’Twas not my wish to fight him.” He stepped away from the dais, anger helping him to ignore his painful wounds. “But I could do no less without forfeiting honor.”
“He speaks true,” a voice called from behind them. Everyone nudged and jostled each other to see more clearly who had spoken. Gray knew without looking that it was Eduard. Yet the bastard’s admission was so unexpected, he wouldn’t have believed it without proof of his own hearing.
