Free Autumn Lord by Susan Sizemore

sight of your beauty. To see you again
    refreshes me like cool water from a hidden spring."
    He kissed her cheek, and heard her women snicker and giggle as he did so. From the corner of his
    vision he glimpsed Diane as she rolled her eyes heavenward. Clearly, she was unimpressed with his
    eloquence. Perhaps they did not practice the false flattery of courtiers in her land. If so, it was a lucky
    place for a man to live.
    Alys accepted his lying devotion easily enough, especially since it was spoken in front of the other
    castle women. She cared no more for him than he did for her, though he knew she had missed his
    company for her own purposes. Curious, prying Alys hated not knowing every little detail of his plans
    and projects. That he was leaving the castle without her knowing when he would return or how long he
    would be gone or where he planned to ride must have galled her. He had no doubt that she would want
    to crawl into his bed tonight to bid him a fond farewell—and find out things he had no intention of telling
    her while they dallied.
    "Come, let us listen to the storyteller."
    Alys fluttered her eyelashes at him. "As you wish, my lord."
    "I crave only your pleasure, my dear."
    He kept his arm attentively around Alys's shoulders as he escorted her back to her seat, then he stood
    beside her with his hand on her shoulder. This left Diane alone in the middle of the room while a dozen
    knights filed in. The women eagerly made room for the men, and they were soon settled on cushions and
    Benches and reclining at favored ladies' feet. He watched Diane react nervously to all this activity, with
    her arms crossed protectively under her breasts.
    Diane shivered with apprehension as the crowd gathered around her. People stared at her and talked
    about her as though she weren't there. So, she countered by pretending they weren't there, either. All but
    Simon, that is. She wondered if she could ever escape his sharp scrutiny. It was like she physically felt it,
    as though his awareness of her seeped all the way into her bones and blood.
    The problem was, that as the silence grew, her mind went blank. She couldn't think of a story. Her
    mind remained on Simon, and the disgusting exchange he'd had with Bimbo Alys. Did either of them
    really believe that the other was in love? Cynicism fairly dripped off both of them when they were
    together. The odd thing was, Diane somehow expected better of Simon. As if she really knew the man.
    The only thing that came to her as the crowd grew restless, stirred in their seats and mumbled to each
    other, were the lyrics of a song from Operation: Mindcrime. Which was a rock opera of sorts and not
    a movie, but at least it had a storyline. So, since it fit the criteria of the stupid curse or spell or whatever it
    was, and she had to do something, she ended up keeping her attention firmly on Simon as she sang the
    first words of "I Don't Believe in Love," a cappella. Even though she didn't have the greatest voice in the
    world, she could at least carry a tune, and his nod of approval gave her the encouragement to go on.
    So, his storyteller had a talent for song, Simon thought as she began to sing. He was pleased at first to
    discover that she shared his own musical gift. Though he did not know why he should care that Diane
    had an interest in music when he'd given it up himself.
    The meaning of the song was rather hard to follow at first, though the theme that believing in love was
    not worth the pain of being in love soon became clear. How true, Simon thought, and how sad. He
    enjoyed himself as he listened, even though Diane's singing voice did not match the quality of her
    speaking voice. What interested him was that listening to this song was like looking at one section of a
    cathedral window and having to guess the parable depicted in colored glass that made up the rest. This
    was very different from listening to a section of the Song of Roland, or some other familiar chanson