swept his gaze over her. “Jossie, what fool were you to go into the city alone? You could have been—” He sighed. “I should have taken the strap to you more often when you were young.”
As if he had ever taken the strap to her. Keeping her voice low, she said, “The king has named Oliver heir of Ashlingford over Liam Fawke.”
“As I was told.”
“Then you know why I fear for Oliver.”
He glanced past her to Liam. “I do, though as Fawke came to your aid, mayhap ’tis unfounded fear, Jossie.”
“I would like to believe it, but I will not risk my son.”
He nodded.
“Why were you delayed in returning to London, Father?”
He groaned low, scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, Daughter, it grieves me to admit it, but the delay was not in returning to London but in leaving it in the first place.”
She knew the answer but asked, “A game?”
He shifted his weight. “I was winning, Jossie. But then I was not. And I thought… Well, I was certain I could get back what I had lost. And more.”
The tale was not new. Often he put gambling and drinking ahead of commitments to others, just as he had done over three years past—and for it, she had been forced to wed Maynard to save their family from ruin.
“Hence,” he continued, “I returned to Rosemoor days later than planned.”
She resented that when Oliver and she had arrived in London, her father had been here, and his delay in returning to Rosemoor had kept him from her side when she had first gone before the king.
“But of course, as soon as I was told what had transpired, I followed—about killed my horse to reach London as fast as I did.” He gave a nod of the sort that begged for understanding and forgiveness.
She breathed deep, gently squeezed his arm. “I am glad you are here now.”
“Lady Joslyn!” Queen Philippa beckoned from the stairway. “There is much to be done ere meal time.”
Joslyn looked one last time into her father’s lined face. “You will go to Oliver directly?”
“Of course. Worry no more on it, Jossie.”
She would, though not as much as when there had been only Father Ivo to watch over her son. As she turned toward the stairs, she saw Liam had gone to lean against a sideboard.
He straightened. “I shall keep my word, Lady Joslyn,” he said and strode forward.
She faltered. “Your word, Sir Liam?”
Without reply, he moved past her.
She looked around and watched him halt before her father. “I will accompany you to the monastery, Lord Reynard.”
To her chagrin, her father accepted his offer—if it could be called that.
“Lady Joslyn!” The queen again, this time irritation in her voice.
Joslyn lifted her skirts, and as she ascended the stairs behind Philippa, realized Liam’s word referenced the assurance given in the streets of London that she and Oliver were safe with him—comforting only if he could be believed.
Shortly, the queen pushed open a door and ushered her into a chamber of such grandeur it dazzled.
“My apartments,” Philippa said as a maid lifted the queen’s short ermine-edged mantle from her shoulders. “And your quarters for the duration of your stay with us, Lady Joslyn.”
Then she was to share this place with the queen as if she were one of her attendants?
As her own mantle was removed, she noticed a group of five beautifully garbed women before a fireplace at the far end of the chamber. Though several held worked cloth in one hand and a needle in the other, they appeared more intent on conversation than adding stitches to their embroidery.
“I would be honored, Your Majesty, but I have been given an apartment of my own.”
“You were, but this is where you will sleep and occupy yourself.”
Did the queen suspect what Liam believed? Worse, did she think Joslyn had invited her husband’s attention? Longing to defend herself but knowing it would be improper, she said, “I thank you, my queen.”
Philippa looked to the woman who had taken her mantle.
As if he had ever taken the strap to her. Keeping her voice low, she said, “The king has named Oliver heir of Ashlingford over Liam Fawke.”
“As I was told.”
“Then you know why I fear for Oliver.”
He glanced past her to Liam. “I do, though as Fawke came to your aid, mayhap ’tis unfounded fear, Jossie.”
“I would like to believe it, but I will not risk my son.”
He nodded.
“Why were you delayed in returning to London, Father?”
He groaned low, scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, Daughter, it grieves me to admit it, but the delay was not in returning to London but in leaving it in the first place.”
She knew the answer but asked, “A game?”
He shifted his weight. “I was winning, Jossie. But then I was not. And I thought… Well, I was certain I could get back what I had lost. And more.”
The tale was not new. Often he put gambling and drinking ahead of commitments to others, just as he had done over three years past—and for it, she had been forced to wed Maynard to save their family from ruin.
“Hence,” he continued, “I returned to Rosemoor days later than planned.”
She resented that when Oliver and she had arrived in London, her father had been here, and his delay in returning to Rosemoor had kept him from her side when she had first gone before the king.
“But of course, as soon as I was told what had transpired, I followed—about killed my horse to reach London as fast as I did.” He gave a nod of the sort that begged for understanding and forgiveness.
She breathed deep, gently squeezed his arm. “I am glad you are here now.”
“Lady Joslyn!” Queen Philippa beckoned from the stairway. “There is much to be done ere meal time.”
Joslyn looked one last time into her father’s lined face. “You will go to Oliver directly?”
“Of course. Worry no more on it, Jossie.”
She would, though not as much as when there had been only Father Ivo to watch over her son. As she turned toward the stairs, she saw Liam had gone to lean against a sideboard.
He straightened. “I shall keep my word, Lady Joslyn,” he said and strode forward.
She faltered. “Your word, Sir Liam?”
Without reply, he moved past her.
She looked around and watched him halt before her father. “I will accompany you to the monastery, Lord Reynard.”
To her chagrin, her father accepted his offer—if it could be called that.
“Lady Joslyn!” The queen again, this time irritation in her voice.
Joslyn lifted her skirts, and as she ascended the stairs behind Philippa, realized Liam’s word referenced the assurance given in the streets of London that she and Oliver were safe with him—comforting only if he could be believed.
Shortly, the queen pushed open a door and ushered her into a chamber of such grandeur it dazzled.
“My apartments,” Philippa said as a maid lifted the queen’s short ermine-edged mantle from her shoulders. “And your quarters for the duration of your stay with us, Lady Joslyn.”
Then she was to share this place with the queen as if she were one of her attendants?
As her own mantle was removed, she noticed a group of five beautifully garbed women before a fireplace at the far end of the chamber. Though several held worked cloth in one hand and a needle in the other, they appeared more intent on conversation than adding stitches to their embroidery.
“I would be honored, Your Majesty, but I have been given an apartment of my own.”
“You were, but this is where you will sleep and occupy yourself.”
Did the queen suspect what Liam believed? Worse, did she think Joslyn had invited her husband’s attention? Longing to defend herself but knowing it would be improper, she said, “I thank you, my queen.”
Philippa looked to the woman who had taken her mantle.
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