front of her.
The king frowned. “Aye, you were small. And exceedingly pale, as We recall.” He tilted his head as if to study her, a quizzical look on his face.
“I—I regret that time has not been overkind to me, milord,” Elise mumbled.
Gray glanced to his wife, feeling the same twinge as when he’d lifted her veil in the chapel. But she bowed her head, refusing to meet his gaze.
“My wife hadn’t mentioned her acquaintance with you, Sire,” Gray said evenly, swinging his gaze back to the king.
“We met but that one time,” King Henry commented, pausing to drink from his wine again. “It must have been…” he gestured in vague circles with his cup, “…some eight or ten years ago, now.Isn’t that right, Lady Camville?” Henry’s gaze pinned her, and Gray noticed that she squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“Aye, milord.”
“’Twas a fine dubbing ceremony your brother had that day.” King Henry laughed as a new, obviously fonder memory came to his mind. “Montford stood stoically in the heat, refusing even to sip some water to refresh himself. A staunch warrior even then. He’s served as one of Our best knights since. Second only to you, of course, Camville,” Henry acknowledged, raising his cup to Gray.
He drank again, then looked round the chamber, searching among the guests. “Where is Lord Montford, by the by, that he comes not to greet Us upon Our arrival at Ravenslock?”
After a moment of uneasy silence, Gray answered, “He rests in another chamber, being stitched.”
The king went still before raising his brow. “Ah.” His gaze swept over Gray again, pausing for an instant on each of his visible wounds. “And who, We must needs ask, found means to injure a seasoned warrior like Montford?”
“’Twas I.” Gray admitted the truth boldly, looking Henry straight in the eye.
It was as if an icy wind swept through the chamber; every voice hushed, and each gaze seemed trained on the dais. “How unfortunate,” King Henry clipped with deceptive calm, “in light of Our command forbidding the two of you from ever taking weapons to each other again.”
Gray clenched his fists at his sides, reminding himself to be careful in what he revealed of Eduard’s craven attack or his feelings about it.
“Your disobedience aggrieves Us, Camville,” the king continued, enunciating each word with cold precision. “It calls your loyalty into question and makes Us wonder at your sincerity in defending Us against Our enemies on the field of combat.”
“I have never lost a battle of honor for you, Sire, nor will I, unless the life be taken from me. I am as always your true subject.”
“Then I must needs ask why you persist in trying to slaughter Lord Montford against Our command!”
Elise gasped, and Gray stiffened before answering, “’Twas not my wish to fight him.” He stepped away from the dais, anger helping him to ignore his painful wounds. “But I could do no less without forfeiting honor.”
“He speaks true,” a voice called from behind them. Everyone nudged and jostled each other to see more clearly who had spoken. Gray knew without looking that it was Eduard. Yet the bastard’s admission was so unexpected, he wouldn’t have believed it without proof of his own hearing.
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
The king frowned. “Aye, you were small. And exceedingly pale, as We recall.” He tilted his head as if to study her, a quizzical look on his face.
“I—I regret that time has not been overkind to me, milord,” Elise mumbled.
Gray glanced to his wife, feeling the same twinge as when he’d lifted her veil in the chapel. But she bowed her head, refusing to meet his gaze.
“My wife hadn’t mentioned her acquaintance with you, Sire,” Gray said evenly, swinging his gaze back to the king.
“We met but that one time,” King Henry commented, pausing to drink from his wine again. “It must have been…” he gestured in vague circles with his cup, “…some eight or ten years ago, now.Isn’t that right, Lady Camville?” Henry’s gaze pinned her, and Gray noticed that she squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“Aye, milord.”
“’Twas a fine dubbing ceremony your brother had that day.” King Henry laughed as a new, obviously fonder memory came to his mind. “Montford stood stoically in the heat, refusing even to sip some water to refresh himself. A staunch warrior even then. He’s served as one of Our best knights since. Second only to you, of course, Camville,” Henry acknowledged, raising his cup to Gray.
He drank again, then looked round the chamber, searching among the guests. “Where is Lord Montford, by the by, that he comes not to greet Us upon Our arrival at Ravenslock?”
After a moment of uneasy silence, Gray answered, “He rests in another chamber, being stitched.”
The king went still before raising his brow. “Ah.” His gaze swept over Gray again, pausing for an instant on each of his visible wounds. “And who, We must needs ask, found means to injure a seasoned warrior like Montford?”
“’Twas I.” Gray admitted the truth boldly, looking Henry straight in the eye.
It was as if an icy wind swept through the chamber; every voice hushed, and each gaze seemed trained on the dais. “How unfortunate,” King Henry clipped with deceptive calm, “in light of Our command forbidding the two of you from ever taking weapons to each other again.”
Gray clenched his fists at his sides, reminding himself to be careful in what he revealed of Eduard’s craven attack or his feelings about it.
“Your disobedience aggrieves Us, Camville,” the king continued, enunciating each word with cold precision. “It calls your loyalty into question and makes Us wonder at your sincerity in defending Us against Our enemies on the field of combat.”
“I have never lost a battle of honor for you, Sire, nor will I, unless the life be taken from me. I am as always your true subject.”
“Then I must needs ask why you persist in trying to slaughter Lord Montford against Our command!”
Elise gasped, and Gray stiffened before answering, “’Twas not my wish to fight him.” He stepped away from the dais, anger helping him to ignore his painful wounds. “But I could do no less without forfeiting honor.”
“He speaks true,” a voice called from behind them. Everyone nudged and jostled each other to see more clearly who had spoken. Gray knew without looking that it was Eduard. Yet the bastard’s admission was so unexpected, he wouldn’t have believed it without proof of his own hearing.
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
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