Eduard walked closer; a path opened before him as lords, ladies, and servants backed away to allow him free passage. His movements seemed slow and stiff; it looked as though his back pained him, and several bandages marked the places where Gray’s blade had found its mark. However, the packing had been removed from his nostrils; his nose was still swollen, but it would heal cleanly.
Eduard stopped within a few paces of both the king and Gray, so that the three of them formed a sort of triangle as they faced one to the other.
“Montford…” the king said, tight with rage. “What have you to say about this forbidden fray?”
“I can say little, other than to confess to receiving a well-deserved drubbing.”
Gray looked askance at him, doubting him more with every word that fell from his lips.
“And ’tis Your Highness’s humble apology I wish to beg before this assembly, as well as that of my noble brother by marriage, for goading him into battle. ’Twas in sport that I approached him on the field, hoping to collect ransom as a jest so soon after his wedding to my sister.”
The king looked ready to explode, but whatever he was feeling, it was only half of what Gray himself experienced. “What mean you by this?” Gray growled under his breath. “If you play another mockery with me, Montford, I warn you, ’twill be answered in blood.”
Eduard turned full to face him, his expression so contrite as to make the very angels of heaven welcome him with an embrace. Gray’s eyes narrowed, and he saw the king’s gaze shifting back and forth between them.
“Nay, brother, ’tis no jest.” Eduard bowed his head. “I must needs beg your pardon for the injuries I did to you, and hence to my sweet sister,” his gaze swept over Elise, “when I pursued you on the field. I fear I was overzealous. And when you threw down your sword and walked away after besting me, ’twas to my dishonor that I leapt up and used my dagger against you.”
The king turned, incredulous, to Gray. “You threw down your blade and walked away?”
“Aye,” Gray answered, never breaking his gaze from Eduard’s face, “though I can assure you that it will never happen again.”
Silence settled thick over the crowd. The king stared and scowled, while Gray fought against renewed rage bubbling hot in his blood. That Eduard worked another travesty here was clear, but why? What could he gain by admitting his guilt before the king?
Finally King Henry made a scoffing sound and spun to face the assembly. His cloak billowed around him in regal folds. “We will rest here for the remainder of the day,” he called, his voice echoing tight off the great chamber’s stonework. “Seek you a place and prepare for the banquet. We leave on the morrow, at sunrise!”
Then turning back again, he muttered, “Camville, Montford—come with Us.” He stalked away toward Gray’s private solar off of the great hall, leaving the men to make their way after him.
Gray glanced at Elise, whose face was ashen, her eyes trained on the floor. But Alban met his gaze, his brows raised in an expression that echoed his own uneasiness. ’Twas a time for diplomacy, his friend seemed to say, not for the settling of scores. Nodding agreement, Gray strode forward, his jaw clenched, and his steps stiff but purposeful. Anger at Eduard still gnawed his gut, but he forced himself to suppress it.
Alban was right. More important matters than a desire for vengeance needed to be addressed right now. The signs were all there, God help them, and Gray knew as well as any that the next minutes might well determine certain key aspects of his future and the achievement of his goals.
As much as he despised the political games required on occasions such as these, ’twas the harsh truth that the Royal Lion of England needed soothing. Unless reparation was made, some kind of concession given, Gray knew that his Sovereign’s razor-sharp claws were extended at the ready—and prepared to scratch their measure of blood from his already battered flesh.
A quarter of an hour later the solar door remained firmly shut. Catherine had been sitting at her place on the dais, hands clenched in her lap, as she waited. She’d struggled unsuccessfully to quell the fears that kept assaulting her. Meeting the king had terrified her beyond reason, and the dread still encircled her chest like a band of steel.
She nodded to one of the ladies who caught her glance, forcing a smile to her lips. Grasping her goblet with trembling fingers, she took a sip of its potent brew to calm herself. It didn’t work.
Sweet Mother Mary, the king had noticed her appearance enough to comment on it in front of the entire assembly. She’d felt, at that moment, that she might not possess strength to take another breath of air into her lungs. When she’d found voice to answer, ’twas with the first response that sprang to mind. She only hoped she’d remembered Elise’s age correctly. That she hadn’t exposed herself to more scrutiny, more noticeable discrepancy.
Curse Eduard for leaving her out to dry again. In those weeks before the wedding, he’d tutored her and fed her details that he thought might be useful concerning Elise’s life and experiences. But she couldn’t learn everything about his dead sister or her habits in so short a time. Now he was closeted in the solar with the king, her husband and Alban.
What if Henry remembered something more about Eduard’s knighting ceremony, recalled some detail and questioned him about it, and he unknowingly gave the true facts, glaringly different from those she’d blurted but a few moments ago? His Highness might become suspicious about her, as she sensed her husband already was.
By the Saints, if the lie she lived was exposed, all was lost. Aye, the discovery of Eduard’s plots might save her from having to assist in a foul murder, but what then? Her children would surely perish at the hands of Eduard’s men. At the very least the king would have her imprisoned for her part in the plot to kill his most powerful, favored champion. Then there’d be no one left to protect her babes, no one to shield them from brutality and avarice.
Sickness clenched her belly, and she forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly. Panic would gain nothing here, she reminded herself. She’d not survived men’s cruelty this long by falling to pieces every time she felt threatened. She would be strong. She’d wait and watch, as she always had. And then she’d find a way out of this nightmare, or any other that might come her way to torment her.
The solar door opened. Catherine’s gaze flew to the faces of the men emerging from behind its polished panels. The king came out first, his expression inscrutable. She felt a tiny flare of hope. He didn’t seem angry.
Then her husband walked through the portal, and her hopes withered. He looked like a thundercloud ready to burst.Lord of the Storm, they call him…William de Bergh’s comment echoed its warning in Catherine’s mind as she stood and forced her legs to carry her toward the men. For once she was glad of the many eyes that watched her as lady of Ravenslock; several servants fell into step behind her, awaiting her command for attention to the king.
But her husband spoke first. He motioned for his steward to lead Henry to the large bedchamber. For this night at least, he and Catherine would move to a room down the hall. Henry said something about a rest before the feast, then swung his arm in command of his own servants, before following the steward to the door.
Catherine’s fingers twisted in her skirts as she caught Gray’s intense expression.
“Is something amiss, my lord?” she murmured, trying without success to pull her gaze from the mesmerizing force of his stare.
“Aye, lady. Much is amiss.”
