Lady Knight by L J Baker Page A

she strolled to join them, lacked
the lady’s usual vivacity. At the conclusion, the senior priestess offered
highly flattering remarks.
    “My father told me that I could’ve earned my meat as a minstrel,” Eleanor said.
    Her audience greeted this playful idea – of a noblewoman earning wages as a
performer – with a prudish horror that Aveline found amusing.
    “Fortunately, Lady Barrowmere,” Aveline said, “your riches are not limited to
musical talents.”
    “That’s true, madam,” Eleanor said. “I’m fortunate enough to be able to set
aside my amateur efforts and call upon a true artist to entertain us.”
    Eleanor signalled to her minstrel. He bowed and launched into a long song. Lady
Cicely and most of the younger priestesses closely followed the romantic tale of
improbable deeds. They sighed often, and murmured dismay at the slightest
faltering of the hero. Some of the older priestesses looked scarcely less
susceptible. Aveline preferred Eleanor’s performance. Perhaps it was the soprano
voice. Or perhaps it had been that hint of sadness.
    “My mother warned me strictly against unseemly public display,” Eleanor said to
Aveline. “I’d not considered myself in danger in a grove house.”
    Aveline smiled. “It’d be a pity if you were to restrict your play to the
confines of your home and the ears of a husband.”
    “Sadly, madam, it has been my experience that not all husbands appreciate
music,” Eleanor said. “For certès, no more than the sound of their own hunting
tales.”
    “Perhaps it’s merely a question of acquiring the right husband.”
    Eleanor’s expression didn’t noticeably change, but Aveline detected a wariness.
    “Like yourself, madam,” Eleanor said, “there are those who prefer to remain
without husbands. As your late lord father also graciously accepted.”
    Aveline nodded. She understood perfectly well what Eleanor implied about wishing
to pay to continue her widowhood. She would have to make enquiries about just
how extensive Lady Barrowmere’s land holdings were.
    “Not all are suited to marriage, just as some find no solace in being alone.”
Aveline rose. “You sing prettily, Lady Barrowmere. Your melody was less
melancholy, though, when my cousin of Gast was with us.”
    The surprise on Eleanor’s face lacked any artifice of concealment or disguise.
Aveline wondered about that as she retired to her chamber.

Chapter Six
    Riannon slowed her horse when she saw the clutter of horses, servants, wagons,
and Eleanor’s bright tent pitched in a fallow field on the west side of the
Great North Road. The day’s delay needed to track down the under-sheriff to
render her tale of the robbers had done little to sweeten her temper. She
dropped to the ground and yanked loose the ties that held the gift sword on the
back of her saddle. She stalked across to where Eleanor, Aveline, Cicely, and
their principal attendants sat partaking of a picnic dinner.
    Eleanor smiled. Riannon nodded to her but immediately turned her attention on
her cousin.
    “I take it that you found even less than you expected at Gast to entertain you,”
Aveline said.
    “We must talk,” Riannon said.
    Aveline cocked an eyebrow and looked poised to make a pointed observation.
    “Now,” Riannon said. “You’ll excuse us, lady.”
    Aveline’s amusement appeared to deepen as she passed her trencher to a servant
and rose. Eleanor watched with a quizzical frown.
    “Did you lose your courtesy somewhere on the roadside?” Aveline said.
    Riannon put a hand on Aveline’s elbow and propelled her clear of the ears of
those around the tent.
    “No. I left bodies. Bodies in parts.” Riannon released Aveline and dropped the
gift sword on the grass at her cousin’s feet. “You lied to me.”
    “Lied? What can you be accusing me of?”
    “I cut men in two with that. I’ve cleaved with it a tree which should have taken
a half a dozen axe blows to fell. It is no blade of mortal steel. What other
magical