My Lady's Favour

Chapter Nine

Richard

I'll show no fear to my cousin, no matter how much anger and suspicion there is in his eyes. I return his glare with a level, open look.

"Greetings, coz!" I smile, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened—though the speed of my heart tells me differently. "Have you come to enquire after me? It will please you to know that the Lady Elena has been most kind, checking me for broken bones. We found none, fortunately. So—there's no need to string up your carpenter, Gilbert. It may not have been his fault anyway—the wood could have been rotten at the core."

A muscle in Gilbert's jaw twitches as he surveys Elena, where she stands to one side with her head lowered submissively.

"We're waiting for Dorigen to bring up an ointment." She lifts her face, its expression of innocence so sweet, it can't fail to calm the tempest that is Gilbert de Waltham.

For a moment he just scowls at her—the brute. Then his head snaps up and he strides across to the arrow loop, blocking our light with his hulking form.

"I'm glad you have no broken bones, St Aubyn. It means you'll be well enough for a hand-to-hand combat with me upon the morrow."

Elena gasps, but he seems not to notice. Is this how he deals with jealousy? By punishing someone he considers a love rival? I'm amused to think he might consider me such. Although, in Elena's case, I'd fight to keep her until the last drop of my heart's blood is drained. If things were different. If I thought for one moment that she'd have me.

I'm not afraid of Gilbert's challenge "With which weapons shall we fight? Mace? Battle-axe? Morning star?"

Behind his back, Elena shakes her head at me. Surely, she knows I can't refuse, even if I was knocked senseless this morn. What manner of man would I be then? I'll show no cowardice.

"We'll use them all. It'll make a better spectacle." Gilbert stands with his back to the light, his expression hidden by shadow.

"All, then. Though mayhap not the battle-axe. I've yet to mend fully from my last encounter with one. At what hour shall I meet you?"

He names a time, gives me a curt nod, then shoots a darkly disapproving look at Elena before departing. His loud voice booms back at us from the stairs. "Dorigen! Dorigen! There's a knight here needs healing by tomorrow. Hurry up with your ointments, woman!"

I have to hope that Lady Dorigen's a miracle worker. If not, I'll have to nail my will to the task of getting better in half a day, lest my peers think me weak.

Elena has battle-light in her eye. Blessed lady! Does she fear for my sorry hide?

"Be not alarmed," I tease. "I promise I'll not harm your guardian's son. No more than I need to."

The look she gives me balances between irritation and amusement, but before I see which wins out, Dorigen enters the chamber, bearing a sealed pot.

"I'll take over now, my dear," she announces. "You're wanted below."

Elena sighs heavily, then gives me a pleading look—to make me back out of the fight, I surmise—then hurries past. I'm seized by a sudden impulse to caress the wool of her cotehardie as she passes. My touch is so light, she'll never notice. I hope.

And now I am left with just Dorigen. Who I feel no need to touch, even though she's fair to look upon, and more buxom than the slender Elena. What foolishness! The blow on my head must have addled my brains. That must be why I longed for the touch of Elena's fingers, and thrilled at the feel of them against my skin. Because I know full well there can be no mere dalliance with a lady of her status. And I'm not in search of a wife, am I? Far from it—I've forbidden myself the joys of marriage, not wishing my ill-luck to be visited on anyone else.

"Forgive me, Lady Dorigen. I think I'll sleep now." I flop down, feigning weakness. "My thoughts are feverish and my head aches. I will lie me down awhile."

She assists with this, and when I'm positioned to her satisfaction, seats herself on a stool to watch over me. Yet, I have no inclination to talk, as I did before. There is something unworldly, intriguing, about Elena. But I must take care from now on to only admire her from afar, and be subtle as I do so, lest I bring Gilbert de Waltham's wrath down upon my head. Or upon Elena's.

For he is a man who I know will give no quarter.

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