Free Bone of Contention by Roberta Gellis Page A

chamber, once more cursing her own beauty.
    Fortunately no harm came of the incident, but it demonstrated clearly that she would be deprived of one of the pleasures to which she had looked forward. It would be impossible for her to sit with Florete and gossip about old friends and old clients. She occupied herself with cleaning the bed and the chest while Florete’s man brought a small trestle table down from the attic. When he had set the tabletop over the trestles and moved the stools around it, he went out, casting a single longing glance back at her.
    Magdalene cursed and then sighed as she took clean sheets from the bottom of her basket and made the bed by the left-hand wall, hung her gowns from pegs, and moved her undergarments to the chest. She felt a trifle guilty at using the man, but not nearly guilty enough to give him what he wanted. And she had issued fair warning by paying him, she reminded herself.
    Before she had finished unpacking, Diccon returned to report that he had given Magdalene’s note to Sir Giles de Milland. Sir Niall Arvagh, her first choice to carry her message to Lord William, was not at the armorer’s house and was not expected at any particular time. Diccon giggled. Sir Niall was out courting a local girl.
    Interested, for she liked Sir Niall, who had a quick wit as well as a skilled sword, Magdalene probed for information. Several men had come in together, Diccon said, and when he had asked for Sir Niall and explained he had a message from Mistress Magdalene to be carried to Lord William, Sir Giles had explained why Sir Niall was away and that no time was set for his return.
    Diccon had then handed over his message, but he had heard one of the other men make some pointed remarks about Sir Niall’s good luck.
    “And that was all you heard?” Magdalene urged.
    Diccon looked at the floor and admitted the men had paid no more attention to him and talked among themselves after he had handed over the message. Then he fell silent. Magdalene chuckled. More likely, she thought, Diccon had deliberately hidden himself in a corner to listen, but she was even more interested and produced another farthing. Diccon grinned.
    “She’s Loveday of Otmoor,” he said. “That’s what they called her, and said she was an heiress in the king’s ward.”
    “Lord bless me,” Magdalene murmured. “What is Niall doing courting an heiress in the king’s ward? Stephen will want her for one of his highborn paupers.”
    “Nah,” Diccon stuck in. “She’ve not got enough for that nor’s born high enough.”
    Magdalene’s brows shot upward. “Now how do you know that, you little limb of Satan? Out with it! You’ve had two farthings of me, and the next thing you’ll get is a whipping.”
    “I was going to tell you,” he said indignantly. “The man said a king’s clerk told Lord William about this Loveday. Another said—I didn’t get his name either—that the clerk was looking for Lord William’s favor and thought the girl would do for one of Lord William’s men since she wasn’t grand enough for the king’s cronies. That man sounded a little sour, and Sir Giles snapped at him. He said the reason Lord William sent Sir Niall was because he remembered Sir Niall came from Murcot, which was not far from Otmoor.”
    Now that it was brought to her mind, Magdalene also recalled that Murcot was possibly half a league north of Otmoor, but she was reminded again of William’s acuteness. It was as if he kept the placement of every vill in the kingdom in his mind. Magdalene frowned. She could not call to mind any manor called Otmoor.
    “That’s all I heard, honest,” Diccon said.
    Magdalene wrinkled her nose at him. “I doubt it,” she replied, but then smiled and asked, “Where do the women get dinner?”
    “Cookshop just up the street near the Carfax, but they eat late. Busy time here at dinner hour. Men like a bit extra in their time off.”
    “And the cost of a meal?” Magdalene grinned at the