Free Dragon's Lair by Sharon Kay Penman

parchment sheet. "This is a letter from the queen, attesting to my authority to act upon her behalf. I am sure you recognize her seal."
    Fitz Alan's eyes locked upon that wax emblem. Snatching the letter, he began to read, occasionally throwing Justin an incredulous glance. Justin waited, thanking God for Eleanor's foresight, for realizing that he might have need of such a warrant. The letter was deliberately effusive in its praises; after handing it to him, Eleanor had commented dryly that she hoped it would not go to his head. He saw now that her embellishments had done the trick. Fitz Alan was staring at him, mouth agape.
    "For the life of me, I cannot imagine how you accomplished this act of sorcery," the Marcher lord blurted out, shaking his head in disbelief, "But it is indeed clear that you do Queen Eleanor's bidding. And… and your use of the de Quincy name, that is somehow meant to advance your investigation?"
    Justin wasn't surprised that Fitz Alan sounded so tentative, for that was a frail reed. But it was the best he could come up with under the circumstances. He nodded, with what he hoped was an enigmatic smile. "The queen is relying greatly upon the bishop's assistance in this matter." Adding, "As is the Earl of Chester," figuring that name-dropping couldn't hurt his cause any.
    It seemed to have worked, at least for now. Fitz Alan was utterly confounded by the series of surprises that had been sprung upon him this afternoon and would need time to sort them all out. Justin did not doubt that Fitz Alan's suspicions would surface again and hoped that he could warn his father before they did. Fitz Alan's entire demeanor had changed dramatically. Justin was no longer a former squire of dubious origins. He was a trusted agent of the Crown and, possibly, the Church, and the Marcher lord treated him accordingly, sounding almost friendly as they retraced their steps toward the great hall.
    They were just about there when Fitz Alan paused to acknowledge a woman walking in their direction. She was strikingly attractive, with the dark hair and eyes so common to the Welsh. Later, Justin would realize that her allure came more from her exuberance and vivacity than from physical charms. Now he was aware only of the impact she made upon his senses. Fitz Alan introduced her as one of Lady Emma's handmaidens, and Justin was quick to kiss her hand, more than willing to linger there in the sun and flirt with this bewitching young Welshwoman. Her name was Angharad, her French was quite good, and when she smiled, he was bedazzled, until he realized that she was gazing over his shoulder, that beguiling, seductive smile meant for Thomas de Caldecott.
    ~*~
    Justin's father had not been wrong. Emma of Anjou, then in her forty-second year, was still a lovely woman. Justin could only guess at the color of her hair, for it was covered by a white silk wimple and veil, but her skin was so fair that he'd wager it was flaxen, a shade of summer sunlight. Her eyes were blue sapphires, her cheekbones high and delicately drawn, her chin pointed, her mouth accented by two deep dimples. Hers was an ethereal, gossamer beauty, hers the elegance of queens, the purity of the Holy Madonna. Most men did not look upon her with lust. They gazed into the depths of those bottomless blue eyes and discovered chivalric impulses they did not even know they had, protective instincts that they thought had died in childhood.
    Justin had been given a seat far down the table, as befitted his lowly status, whereas Davydd had seated Thomas de Caldecott upon the dais with Lord Fitz Alan. Justin did not mind the slight, for his seat afforded him an unobstructed view of the high table, enabling him to study the Welsh prince and his consort without attracting attention. He'd been told that Davydd and Emma had two children, but neither one was present at Rhuddlan, having been sent to live in noble households, as was customary for the offspring of the highborn. He conceded