savor the peculiar color of her brother’s complexion. Hawise was equally flustered, and Maud wondered gleefully which rankled more: the implicit slur upon her husband’s manhood or the suggestion that she’d been abducted stark naked.
Satisfied with her victory, Eleanor allowed the discomfited couple to flee the field, trailed by amused titters from some of the spectators. Slipping her arm through Rhiannon’s, Eleanor guided the Welshwoman up onto the dais. “I need to sit down,” she confessed, not surprisingly, for she was in the eighth month of yet another pregnancy.
“That was a highly enjoyable spectacle,” Maud declared, “watching my lout of a brother be minced into sausage. But ought I to warn Cousin Harry how sharp your claws can be, Eleanor?”
“Harry knows,” Eleanor said, with a complacent smile that faded as she glanced toward Rhiannon. “Gloucester is a fool, wed to another one. Try not to let their spite spoil your evening.”
“It does not matter,” Rhiannon repeated. This time she meant it. “It hurt me to think that they were making sport of my blindness,” she confided, and then she smiled. “But now that I know they scorn me merely for being Welsh, I can return their hostility in good conscience and full measure.” And the last sour aftertaste of the Gloucesters’ rancor was washed away by the approving, amused laughter of Chester’s countess and England’s queen.
THE HILDREN ERE Shrieking again and a nurse hurried over to make peace between three-year-old Mallt and two-year-old Maude, now nicknamed Tilda. Although the floor of the solar was strewn with toys, the cousins invariably set their hearts upon playing with the same puppet. Richard kept trying to claim that puppet, too, but at eleven months, he was too wobbly on his feet to offer a serious challenge. Hal, a handsome, cheerful youngster of three and a half, was more interested in teasing his mother’s greyhound, using a wafer to lure the dog within reach. Slouched on a coffer seat, Rhiannon’s son, Gilbert, was disconsolately bouncing a ball against the wall over his head. After a time, that irritating, rhythmic thud attracted Eleanor’s attention.
Gilbert was feeling very sorry for himself, trapped here with his little sister and cousins when he yearned to be outside, playing games like hoodman blind or hunt the fox. After all, he reasoned, he was nigh on seven, old enough to be having fun on his own. When the queen said his name, he glanced up incuriously, finding these English adults no more interesting than their children. He didn’t understand why they were in Winchester, yearned to be back home in Wales with his friends.
Eleanor was beckoning to one of the young women working upon an embroidered cushion. “Beatrix, I’d like you to take Gilbert down to the stables and show him the roan mare’s new foal.”
Gilbert sprang to his feet, remembering just in time to toss a plaintive “Mama?” in Rhiannon’s direction. “Go on,” she said reluctantly, hoping that Eleanor had chosen a sharp-eyed caretaker for her spirited young son, whose mischief-making capabilities were truly awesome. The banging door told her that he was now on the prowl and Winchester Castle in God’s Keeping. Getting to her feet, she moved cautiously across the solar to join Eleanor at the window.
It was unshuttered, open to the August heat. “Sit beside me,” Eleanor invited, “and I’ll tell you what I see as I look out upon the city.”
Rhiannon did, appreciative of Eleanor’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her blindness. Most people were too self-conscious to make such an offer, so fearful of offending her that they denied her the opportunity to envision new surroundings. “I would like that,” she said. “Ranulf often talks of Winchester, for he was under siege here during the war between his sister and King Stephen.”
“Yes, I’ve heard those stories, too. To judge by all the men who’ve boasted to me
Satisfied with her victory, Eleanor allowed the discomfited couple to flee the field, trailed by amused titters from some of the spectators. Slipping her arm through Rhiannon’s, Eleanor guided the Welshwoman up onto the dais. “I need to sit down,” she confessed, not surprisingly, for she was in the eighth month of yet another pregnancy.
“That was a highly enjoyable spectacle,” Maud declared, “watching my lout of a brother be minced into sausage. But ought I to warn Cousin Harry how sharp your claws can be, Eleanor?”
“Harry knows,” Eleanor said, with a complacent smile that faded as she glanced toward Rhiannon. “Gloucester is a fool, wed to another one. Try not to let their spite spoil your evening.”
“It does not matter,” Rhiannon repeated. This time she meant it. “It hurt me to think that they were making sport of my blindness,” she confided, and then she smiled. “But now that I know they scorn me merely for being Welsh, I can return their hostility in good conscience and full measure.” And the last sour aftertaste of the Gloucesters’ rancor was washed away by the approving, amused laughter of Chester’s countess and England’s queen.
THE HILDREN ERE Shrieking again and a nurse hurried over to make peace between three-year-old Mallt and two-year-old Maude, now nicknamed Tilda. Although the floor of the solar was strewn with toys, the cousins invariably set their hearts upon playing with the same puppet. Richard kept trying to claim that puppet, too, but at eleven months, he was too wobbly on his feet to offer a serious challenge. Hal, a handsome, cheerful youngster of three and a half, was more interested in teasing his mother’s greyhound, using a wafer to lure the dog within reach. Slouched on a coffer seat, Rhiannon’s son, Gilbert, was disconsolately bouncing a ball against the wall over his head. After a time, that irritating, rhythmic thud attracted Eleanor’s attention.
Gilbert was feeling very sorry for himself, trapped here with his little sister and cousins when he yearned to be outside, playing games like hoodman blind or hunt the fox. After all, he reasoned, he was nigh on seven, old enough to be having fun on his own. When the queen said his name, he glanced up incuriously, finding these English adults no more interesting than their children. He didn’t understand why they were in Winchester, yearned to be back home in Wales with his friends.
Eleanor was beckoning to one of the young women working upon an embroidered cushion. “Beatrix, I’d like you to take Gilbert down to the stables and show him the roan mare’s new foal.”
Gilbert sprang to his feet, remembering just in time to toss a plaintive “Mama?” in Rhiannon’s direction. “Go on,” she said reluctantly, hoping that Eleanor had chosen a sharp-eyed caretaker for her spirited young son, whose mischief-making capabilities were truly awesome. The banging door told her that he was now on the prowl and Winchester Castle in God’s Keeping. Getting to her feet, she moved cautiously across the solar to join Eleanor at the window.
It was unshuttered, open to the August heat. “Sit beside me,” Eleanor invited, “and I’ll tell you what I see as I look out upon the city.”
Rhiannon did, appreciative of Eleanor’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her blindness. Most people were too self-conscious to make such an offer, so fearful of offending her that they denied her the opportunity to envision new surroundings. “I would like that,” she said. “Ranulf often talks of Winchester, for he was under siege here during the war between his sister and King Stephen.”
“Yes, I’ve heard those stories, too. To judge by all the men who’ve boasted to me
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