either.
Trumpets sounded.
“Mother, come look! The princess approaches!”
Lucinda moved to the window and looked down at the little girl atop a brilliant white horse. A cloak of shimmering gold draped her shoulders and flowed down to beyond her feet.
Matilda was but a year older than Philip. Her royalbearing, however, contradicted her age. Here was not a little girl, but a princess bound for the Roman Empire to become its empress. And she knew it.
Behind Matilda rode three men. The emperor’s delegation, Lucinda guessed. Then came the nobles of England and Normandy. Richard and Stephen rode in the third row—high placement in the procession, indeed.
“He is truly wondrous,” Philip sighed.
“Sired and foaled of the finest of Wilmont stock,” Edric said proudly.
They spoke of Odin. Lucinda stared at Richard. He rode straight-backed, his chin raised high and expression stoic. Truly wondrous. Odd that she felt a tingle of pride.
Richard looked up and acknowledged Philip’s wild waving with a slight nod. His gaze locked with hers for an unsettling instant, then he turned his eyes forward again, a grim set to his mouth. He passed on, headed for Westminster Hall, where feasting and entertainment would go on far into the night, interrupted only by the betrothal ceremony this afternoon.
“His lordship does not care for pomp,” she uttered the observation aloud.
“Nay, he does not. But he does what he must for the benefit of Wilmont,” Edric said with an edge to his voice.
“I did not mean to insult him, Edric. I merely notice that he looks uncomfortable.”
“Humph. He should not. For a bastard he has done right well. Richard can stand his ground with any of them without shame.”
Philip spun around to ask Edric, “What’s a bastard?”
“A child born out of wedlock,” Edric answered.
“Is that a bad thing?”
Edric thought a moment before answering. “Depends on what the person does to rise above it.”
“Am I a bastard?”
Philip’s question took Lucinda by such surprise she sputtered, “N-nay.”
“Oh,” Philip said, disappointed.
A hint of a smile touched the corner of Edric’s mouth. “You may not be a bastard, Philip, but you have another shortcoming to rise above. You could do worse than to model your life after Richard of Wilmont’s. Now go eat.”
Philip jumped down off the trunk to do Edric’s bidding. Edric left the bedchamber. She heard the bolt slide and the door close behind him.
“What shortcoming?” Philip asked, spitting crumbs from talking with his mouth full of bread.
She sat down on Richard’s bed, suddenly weary.
“The shortcoming is not yours, but your father’s. I have told you what a hateful man he was. Many will hold his faults against you.”
“So I must rise above them, like Richard.”
It seemed a daunting task for one so young. “Aye.”
“Aught else?”
She ruffled his hair and smiled. “You must learn not to talk with your mouth full of bread. Look, you make a mess. Out to the sitting room with you.”
Philip was napping when Richard returned to the chamber, looking overwarm and out of sorts.
“Are you all right?” escaped Lucinda’s mouth beforeshe thought better of asking. ’Twas not her place, nor should she care.
“I will be as soon as I get out of this garb. A servant is fetching ale for me. Let her in.”
He disappeared into his bedchamber. No sooner had he done so than Lucinda opened the door to a serving wench bearing a large flagon and cups.
No guard stood outside the door. Surely, there must be one. She poked her head out into the passageway, looking right, then left. No guard? Was Richard finally coming to realize that she didn’t intend to run?
She closed the door.
“I see no need for a guard while I am in the chamber,” he said from the archway.
“I see,” she said, her lightened spirit fading.
He’d traded his black silk for unadorned brown linen.
She poured ale into his cup. He drank it down like a man
Trumpets sounded.
“Mother, come look! The princess approaches!”
Lucinda moved to the window and looked down at the little girl atop a brilliant white horse. A cloak of shimmering gold draped her shoulders and flowed down to beyond her feet.
Matilda was but a year older than Philip. Her royalbearing, however, contradicted her age. Here was not a little girl, but a princess bound for the Roman Empire to become its empress. And she knew it.
Behind Matilda rode three men. The emperor’s delegation, Lucinda guessed. Then came the nobles of England and Normandy. Richard and Stephen rode in the third row—high placement in the procession, indeed.
“He is truly wondrous,” Philip sighed.
“Sired and foaled of the finest of Wilmont stock,” Edric said proudly.
They spoke of Odin. Lucinda stared at Richard. He rode straight-backed, his chin raised high and expression stoic. Truly wondrous. Odd that she felt a tingle of pride.
Richard looked up and acknowledged Philip’s wild waving with a slight nod. His gaze locked with hers for an unsettling instant, then he turned his eyes forward again, a grim set to his mouth. He passed on, headed for Westminster Hall, where feasting and entertainment would go on far into the night, interrupted only by the betrothal ceremony this afternoon.
“His lordship does not care for pomp,” she uttered the observation aloud.
“Nay, he does not. But he does what he must for the benefit of Wilmont,” Edric said with an edge to his voice.
“I did not mean to insult him, Edric. I merely notice that he looks uncomfortable.”
“Humph. He should not. For a bastard he has done right well. Richard can stand his ground with any of them without shame.”
Philip spun around to ask Edric, “What’s a bastard?”
“A child born out of wedlock,” Edric answered.
“Is that a bad thing?”
Edric thought a moment before answering. “Depends on what the person does to rise above it.”
“Am I a bastard?”
Philip’s question took Lucinda by such surprise she sputtered, “N-nay.”
“Oh,” Philip said, disappointed.
A hint of a smile touched the corner of Edric’s mouth. “You may not be a bastard, Philip, but you have another shortcoming to rise above. You could do worse than to model your life after Richard of Wilmont’s. Now go eat.”
Philip jumped down off the trunk to do Edric’s bidding. Edric left the bedchamber. She heard the bolt slide and the door close behind him.
“What shortcoming?” Philip asked, spitting crumbs from talking with his mouth full of bread.
She sat down on Richard’s bed, suddenly weary.
“The shortcoming is not yours, but your father’s. I have told you what a hateful man he was. Many will hold his faults against you.”
“So I must rise above them, like Richard.”
It seemed a daunting task for one so young. “Aye.”
“Aught else?”
She ruffled his hair and smiled. “You must learn not to talk with your mouth full of bread. Look, you make a mess. Out to the sitting room with you.”
Philip was napping when Richard returned to the chamber, looking overwarm and out of sorts.
“Are you all right?” escaped Lucinda’s mouth beforeshe thought better of asking. ’Twas not her place, nor should she care.
“I will be as soon as I get out of this garb. A servant is fetching ale for me. Let her in.”
He disappeared into his bedchamber. No sooner had he done so than Lucinda opened the door to a serving wench bearing a large flagon and cups.
No guard stood outside the door. Surely, there must be one. She poked her head out into the passageway, looking right, then left. No guard? Was Richard finally coming to realize that she didn’t intend to run?
She closed the door.
“I see no need for a guard while I am in the chamber,” he said from the archway.
“I see,” she said, her lightened spirit fading.
He’d traded his black silk for unadorned brown linen.
She poured ale into his cup. He drank it down like a man
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