Free Immortal Champion by Lisa Hendrix Page B

betray Lord Burghersh.”
    “I know that.” But it would be far worse sin to betray Providence. The thought formed whole, as if dropped into her head from above, and in the same instant, the weights fell from her feet. “I know what I am doing.”
    She ran for the stair, sending a silent prayer to Heaven that she truly did.
     
    THERE SHE CAME, sailing across the hall, the crowd parting before her like the sea before the prow of a fast ship.
    Gunnar watched Lady Eleanor approach with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Not one for the background, this one. If he was wrong about this, she would surely be the ruin of him.
    As she glided to a stop, he commended his fate to the Nornir and bowed. “My lady.”
    “ Monsire .” She stood there, wearing a pleased expression as she suddenly sprouted up an inch and settled back down. “Your business went well, I hope.” Up and down.
    “It did.” He watched her rise and fall again. “Is something wrong, my lady?”
    “No.” Up and down she went. “Why do you ask?”
    “You seem to be . . . bobbing.” He waved his fingers up and down. “You do it often.”
    “What?” She looked down at her toes just as she sprouted yet again. “Oh. So I am.” She settled firmly to the ground, embarrassment spotting her cheeks. “And so vanishes my pretense of calm and grace.” She shot him a rueful grin. “ ’Tis rude of you to point it out, sir, when the cause lies at your feet.”
    “It does? How?”
    “You are here.”
    “As I said I would be.”
    “Aye. But when the sun set and there was no sign of you, I thought you had failed me again. Thus my great pleasure at seeing you now.” Another flash of smile. “And my bobbing. I fear it gives me away when I am happy. Your pardon while I wash for supper.”
    She slid into the front of the line, leaving Gunnar shaking his head in amusement.
    They were soon seated once again at the high table. “Because we were interrupted last time,” the lady explained. “Though for good reason.”
    “A very good one. Mother and child are well, I hope?”
    “Very well, and thank you. My new brother is named Edward, and he already smiles at me, even if my lady mother believes otherwise.”
    She chattered on proudly about the babe. Gunnar tried to listen. Much as he wanted—needed—to keep his mind on the lady, the day’s chill weather and travel had left him as hungry as ever, and the aroma of the food being carried in made him slaver like a mad dog. As a pair of men entered with a spitted goose, his stomach rumbled even more loudly than it had before.
    Lady Eleanor glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I must be ware that my hand does not come between you and that gander, monsire , lest I lose it.”
    “You have your bobbing, I have my belly. They both betray us.” He held up his hands in surrender while Lady Eleanor broke off a piece of bread, smeared it with butter, and handed it to him.
    As he popped it in his mouth, she leaned near and lowered her voice. “’Struth, my stomach often rumbles as loudly as yours. My lady mother despairs of it. She says a lady of royal blood should not make noises like a peasant.”
    Gunnar almost choked on his bread. He swallowed quickly and wiped away the crumbs with the back of his hand. “Royal? But . . .” He wracked his brain for what little he knew of Ralph de Neville. “The earl is not a Plantagenet. Or is he?”
    “No. ’Tis my lady mother who carries the line.” She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, you do not know her, and I did not make a good introduction last time. She is Lady Joan de Beaufort. Her father—my lord grandfather—was John of Gaunt, God rest him.”
    “Of course. I should have remembered,” muttered Gunnar, stunned. John of Gaunt! It was a fruitless task, trying to keep track of the English and all their marriages and alliances from the forest deeps where he hid, but even he knew John of Gaunt, the third Edward’s middle son, who had been Duke of