and lights sweeping through the hall below, she sank to her knees, clutching the balusters in her sweaty palms.
The candles had been replaced by a blaze of torches. A fire roared along the length of the wide fireplace, banishing the drafts to the deserted corners. A line of ladies clasped hands and wound among the men, leading their perfumed sleeves and wimples in a seductive dance of shimmering silk. Gareth was nowhere in sight.
A handful of dice clattered on the stones in the center of a kneeling circle of squires. Their hearty shouts rose above the din. Rowena was not surprised to find Marlys among them, her only concession to the celebration a shiny black pair of gauntlets newly pilfered from Gareth's chamber. Her rusty scabbard clanked on the hearth as she swaggered to the other side of the group.
Her dark eyes lifted to the gallery. Rowena ducked behind a wooden column.
"You do seem to turn up in the most remarkable places."
Rowena looked up as the smooth voice poured over her.
Sir Blaine leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. The corner of his mouth curved in a smile. "Sleeping in my hall. Crouching behind pillars. You are a lady of mysterious pursuits. I've been asking Gareth where you were all evening. He simply replied, 'About' in the most infuriating manner. His habit of babbling all the time is one of his more endearing traits." He extended his hand to Rowena.
She took it, her eyes narrowed. He gently pulled her to her feet. "Ah, you have not forgotten me, either." This with a sheepish grin that must have gotten him far with his nurses. "I swear to you I have no intention of ravishing you here in the gallery. I mistook you for a different sort of lady at Ardendonne. There now. Do stop yelling at me. I can see you've acquired Gareth's loquaciousness in your stay at Caerleon."
Rowena opened her mouth and closed it. She had not said one word.
"That will be quite enough," he went on. "I will not tolerate that sort of talk from such a charming damsel. You should be ashamed."
Rowena found her tongue. " 'Tis you, sir, who should be ashamed. Regardless of the sort of lady you mistook me for, you had no right to force your attentions on me. Knights are supposed to stand for something noble and good. Would you not give even a lady of low birth a choice? Have you no respect for chivalry?"
Blaine applauded. "How your eyes sparkle when you chasten! More, more! Don't stop now."
"I should think—" Rowena paused, realizing she had been baited into berating him. Her glower collapsed into a reluctant smile at the mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes.
"You see, my fair lady, I was not only besotted with your beauty on that night, I was besotted with ale. I awoke the next morn with pounding head, aching chin, and cringing with mortification at my ill-mannered treatment of you. I humbly beg for the boon of your forgiveness."
Before she could answer, he had taken her arm and led her to the rail of the gallery.
Directly below them, the minstrel Mortimer bent over his lute, his mop of blond hair hiding his face. A lady clad in scarlet from wimple to slippers plopped down on his lap. He pushed her away with a sour note from his strings. A laughing squire took her place and Mortimer's music took wing. The hall rocked with laughter.
"Gareth has always told me Caerleon was my home as well as his," Blaine said.
"You take his words to heart, do you not?"
"Not as I take yours to heart. What does the merriment put you in mind of, dear lady?"
Rowena rested her chin in her hand to relieve the weight of the wimple. "An undignified siege."
"A charming thought! A siege not of blood and battle, but of music and laughter, wit and pleasure. Does it not make your blood sing?"
Rowena shrugged, ignoring the husky note which edged his voice. He rested his elbows on the rail, leaning nearer as if they had been friends for years.
"What would you do if it were a real siege disguised beneath the cloak of hospitality? Mayhaps I've
The candles had been replaced by a blaze of torches. A fire roared along the length of the wide fireplace, banishing the drafts to the deserted corners. A line of ladies clasped hands and wound among the men, leading their perfumed sleeves and wimples in a seductive dance of shimmering silk. Gareth was nowhere in sight.
A handful of dice clattered on the stones in the center of a kneeling circle of squires. Their hearty shouts rose above the din. Rowena was not surprised to find Marlys among them, her only concession to the celebration a shiny black pair of gauntlets newly pilfered from Gareth's chamber. Her rusty scabbard clanked on the hearth as she swaggered to the other side of the group.
Her dark eyes lifted to the gallery. Rowena ducked behind a wooden column.
"You do seem to turn up in the most remarkable places."
Rowena looked up as the smooth voice poured over her.
Sir Blaine leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. The corner of his mouth curved in a smile. "Sleeping in my hall. Crouching behind pillars. You are a lady of mysterious pursuits. I've been asking Gareth where you were all evening. He simply replied, 'About' in the most infuriating manner. His habit of babbling all the time is one of his more endearing traits." He extended his hand to Rowena.
She took it, her eyes narrowed. He gently pulled her to her feet. "Ah, you have not forgotten me, either." This with a sheepish grin that must have gotten him far with his nurses. "I swear to you I have no intention of ravishing you here in the gallery. I mistook you for a different sort of lady at Ardendonne. There now. Do stop yelling at me. I can see you've acquired Gareth's loquaciousness in your stay at Caerleon."
Rowena opened her mouth and closed it. She had not said one word.
"That will be quite enough," he went on. "I will not tolerate that sort of talk from such a charming damsel. You should be ashamed."
Rowena found her tongue. " 'Tis you, sir, who should be ashamed. Regardless of the sort of lady you mistook me for, you had no right to force your attentions on me. Knights are supposed to stand for something noble and good. Would you not give even a lady of low birth a choice? Have you no respect for chivalry?"
Blaine applauded. "How your eyes sparkle when you chasten! More, more! Don't stop now."
"I should think—" Rowena paused, realizing she had been baited into berating him. Her glower collapsed into a reluctant smile at the mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes.
"You see, my fair lady, I was not only besotted with your beauty on that night, I was besotted with ale. I awoke the next morn with pounding head, aching chin, and cringing with mortification at my ill-mannered treatment of you. I humbly beg for the boon of your forgiveness."
Before she could answer, he had taken her arm and led her to the rail of the gallery.
Directly below them, the minstrel Mortimer bent over his lute, his mop of blond hair hiding his face. A lady clad in scarlet from wimple to slippers plopped down on his lap. He pushed her away with a sour note from his strings. A laughing squire took her place and Mortimer's music took wing. The hall rocked with laughter.
"Gareth has always told me Caerleon was my home as well as his," Blaine said.
"You take his words to heart, do you not?"
"Not as I take yours to heart. What does the merriment put you in mind of, dear lady?"
Rowena rested her chin in her hand to relieve the weight of the wimple. "An undignified siege."
"A charming thought! A siege not of blood and battle, but of music and laughter, wit and pleasure. Does it not make your blood sing?"
Rowena shrugged, ignoring the husky note which edged his voice. He rested his elbows on the rail, leaning nearer as if they had been friends for years.
"What would you do if it were a real siege disguised beneath the cloak of hospitality? Mayhaps I've
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