prescribed. “More than I would have thought." He squeezed her hand, almost hurting it "Dominique, I would tell you before someone else does. Paxton of Wychchester and I wagered for you today.”
"What?”
"If I won this afternoon’s jousting, you were to be released into my custody.”
She halted in her steps. Her eyes expressed their disbelief until she saw the determined intent in his. “ And if Paxton won?”
His determination gave way to an anguished whisper. "I have given him my services for seven years.”
"Seven years!” she gasped. "Whatever for?” Other couples were circumventing them, but she scarcely took heed.
"His captain, John Bedford, tells me that my skill will be needed in constructing bridges, forts, things of war instead of things of beauty.”
Her hand clasped his arm. "Oh, Denys, you should not have risked your future for me!” "My future is you. I could not be happy knowing that you are here, endangered by this English churl.” He was speaking rapidly now, as if there might not be another chance. "There is yet another reason why I would stay, Dominique. The people who are not locals, they are talking about your efforts in the pavilion yesterday, about your attempt to save the wounded knight.”
"I can well imagine what they say, that I am a sor —” She broke off at the tugging on her sleeve and glanced down. It was Hugh. He pointed from her to his new master, Paxton, whose broad back was to her at that moment. The towheaded boy did not need the gift of speech to make her understand she was being summoned.
A flourish o f trumpets interrupted the dancing. As the duke-king approached the canopied dais that had been transported from the tourney gallery to the great hall, the vociferous revelers cleared the center of the room. Paxton and Edward's advisors took chairs arranged on either side of him.
For this occasion Edward had donned a sleeveless scarlet robe over his short, tightly fitting cotehardie. If she separated his position from his person, he appeared not much older than herself. Young. Determined to rule. Headstrong. His advisors, it was said, counseled restraint. Among those who did so was Paxton.
The advisors were richly bedecked in plumed c aps and mantles trimmed with embroidered velvet. Beside them, Paxton's dress was sober, yet his physique was so commanding that all eyes were drawn to him as well.
When a crier called out, "Oyez, oyez,” her heart began to beat in her throat.
Edward I II began speaking in a calm, almost conciliatory manner. His tone was warm, his voice firm, as he told the assembly that the tourney and gala feast following it were being held in the honor of Montlimoux's new Lord and Grand Seneschal, Paxton of Wychchester. He was treating her ousting as nothing more than a change of administration.
He fixed his imperial eye on her. "Countess Dominique de Bar, I bid you present yourself.”
She drew a steadying breath and walked toward the dais, where she knelt, then rose to stand proudly. The duke-king nodded toward a paunchy man on his right, the sergeant-at-law. He completely lacked calves, and the points of his shoes were so long they were attached to his knees.
In a stentorian voice, the man began reading from a scroll: "I, Dominique de Bar, Countess of Montlimoux, make known to those present and to come that I have become liege lady of the King of England, Duke of Aquitaine, who from this day holds the County of Montlimoux in feud. Whereupon, I commend myself to his representative for guardianship, Paxton of Wychchester. I have made faith and pledge homage to His Highness and his heirs. In return, I seek the security and protection of the Duke of Aquitaine, through his representative, Paxton of Wychchester. By the Lord before Whom all is holy, I submit myself to Paxton of Wychchester and choose his will as mine.”
Her gaze locked with the dispassionate one of Paxton's. It could have been worse, she told herself. Nominally, at least, she still
"What?”
"If I won this afternoon’s jousting, you were to be released into my custody.”
She halted in her steps. Her eyes expressed their disbelief until she saw the determined intent in his. “ And if Paxton won?”
His determination gave way to an anguished whisper. "I have given him my services for seven years.”
"Seven years!” she gasped. "Whatever for?” Other couples were circumventing them, but she scarcely took heed.
"His captain, John Bedford, tells me that my skill will be needed in constructing bridges, forts, things of war instead of things of beauty.”
Her hand clasped his arm. "Oh, Denys, you should not have risked your future for me!” "My future is you. I could not be happy knowing that you are here, endangered by this English churl.” He was speaking rapidly now, as if there might not be another chance. "There is yet another reason why I would stay, Dominique. The people who are not locals, they are talking about your efforts in the pavilion yesterday, about your attempt to save the wounded knight.”
"I can well imagine what they say, that I am a sor —” She broke off at the tugging on her sleeve and glanced down. It was Hugh. He pointed from her to his new master, Paxton, whose broad back was to her at that moment. The towheaded boy did not need the gift of speech to make her understand she was being summoned.
A flourish o f trumpets interrupted the dancing. As the duke-king approached the canopied dais that had been transported from the tourney gallery to the great hall, the vociferous revelers cleared the center of the room. Paxton and Edward's advisors took chairs arranged on either side of him.
For this occasion Edward had donned a sleeveless scarlet robe over his short, tightly fitting cotehardie. If she separated his position from his person, he appeared not much older than herself. Young. Determined to rule. Headstrong. His advisors, it was said, counseled restraint. Among those who did so was Paxton.
The advisors were richly bedecked in plumed c aps and mantles trimmed with embroidered velvet. Beside them, Paxton's dress was sober, yet his physique was so commanding that all eyes were drawn to him as well.
When a crier called out, "Oyez, oyez,” her heart began to beat in her throat.
Edward I II began speaking in a calm, almost conciliatory manner. His tone was warm, his voice firm, as he told the assembly that the tourney and gala feast following it were being held in the honor of Montlimoux's new Lord and Grand Seneschal, Paxton of Wychchester. He was treating her ousting as nothing more than a change of administration.
He fixed his imperial eye on her. "Countess Dominique de Bar, I bid you present yourself.”
She drew a steadying breath and walked toward the dais, where she knelt, then rose to stand proudly. The duke-king nodded toward a paunchy man on his right, the sergeant-at-law. He completely lacked calves, and the points of his shoes were so long they were attached to his knees.
In a stentorian voice, the man began reading from a scroll: "I, Dominique de Bar, Countess of Montlimoux, make known to those present and to come that I have become liege lady of the King of England, Duke of Aquitaine, who from this day holds the County of Montlimoux in feud. Whereupon, I commend myself to his representative for guardianship, Paxton of Wychchester. I have made faith and pledge homage to His Highness and his heirs. In return, I seek the security and protection of the Duke of Aquitaine, through his representative, Paxton of Wychchester. By the Lord before Whom all is holy, I submit myself to Paxton of Wychchester and choose his will as mine.”
Her gaze locked with the dispassionate one of Paxton's. It could have been worse, she told herself. Nominally, at least, she still
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