Free The Enchanter's Forest by Alys Clare Page B

fine silvery net held in place with a silver circlet, was glossy, smooth and black as midnight.
         She would have been one of the loveliest women he had ever set eyes on. But beauty, in Josse’s opinion, needed a smile: the scowl that the woman wore drew her brows together, etched downward-sloping lines in the beautiful face and soured the wide mouth; in short, she had the look of a malevolent child thwarted of its latest unreasonable demand.
         ‘I am Josse d’Acquin,’ he said eventually.
         ‘I see.’ The frown eased a little. ‘And you say that you are wanting to build a solar?’ She sounded as if she found the suggestion faintly risible.
         ‘Er – it has been suggested.’ That was the truth; Josse’s servant Will had been dropping hints these five years past at least and more than once a local mason had just happened to pass by – undoubtedly summoned by Will – to propose to Josse the same idea.
         ‘New buildings don’t come cheap,’ the woman said rudely. She eyed his garments minutely, from the feather in his favourite and well-worn broad-brimmed hat to his comfy old riding boots.
         Refusing to be drawn, Josse merely said, ‘So I imagine.’
         She took hold of a fold of her skirt, swishing the gorgeous silk to and fro so that it made a soft, rustling sound. He caught a glimpse of an underskirt in a deeper shade of silver grey and saw a flash of exquisite, pure white lace, stiff and costly. She tapped her slim foot in its soft leather slipper. ‘Of course,’ she said languidly when she had evidently reassured herself that Josse had noticed every item of the display, ‘my husband is a very wealthy man.’
         ‘Indeed,’ Josse said mildly.
         ‘Oh, yes.’
         ‘That must be quite delightful for you, my lady.’ He wondered if she would detect the irony.
         ‘Naturally, it is.’ Apparently not. ‘My husband claims that it is his privilege to give me pleasure by buying me whatever I desire.’ She gave an artificial little sigh, as if she could not quite believe her generosity in allowing her husband the huge favour of allowing him to spend his money on her.
         ‘Perhaps he is fresh to marriage?’ Josse asked. ‘It is well known that a new bridegroom often indulges his bride.’
         ‘We are two years wed,’ she said sharply. Then, forcing a smile that went no further than her lips: ‘Florian likes to ensure my favour, sir knight. I had many suitors and he does well not to forget that he had to face much competition for my hand.’
         Watching her, Josse thought but did not point out that her former popularity was hardly relevant now that she had made her choice and was married to Florian. It seemed highly likely that she used the reminder of it as a stick with which to beat the unfortunate Florian whenever his attention slipped from his decorative, spoiled wife and his purse-strings began to draw closed.
         Josse was beginning to feel very sorry for Florian of Southfrith.
         It was hot in the courtyard. The sun was beating off the flagstones and the walls of the house and the air was dry and full of dust. The woman on her mounting block, predictably, had taken the only patch of shade. A better-mannered person would, Josse thought, by now have invited him inside the house and offered him something cool to drink. Florian’s wife contented herself with staring at him impatiently and making it perfectly apparent that she wished he would go away.
         ‘I am grateful for your kindness and your time, lady,’ he said, increasing the irony. Bowing, he added, ‘I will leave you to your overseer’s duties.’ And that, he decided as he straightened up, was verging on plain rude; to suggest to a rich man’s wife that she was forced to labour like a workman was an insult.
         Colour flew swiftly into her face. She seemed about to make some vitriolic reply but, with an effort, she