Free L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep by Sharon Schulze Page B

“I trust you’ll not
drag me down apurpose .”
    His words could be taken in more ways than one, and the meaning
that filled her mind drove away the sense of playfulness that had so briefly
washed over her. She lowered her gaze. “Nay, milord, I will not,” she said, her
voice flat.
    Unaware of her change of mood, Sir Will raced lightly down the
stairs and waited for them at the bottom. “Come along,” he called. “If you
don’t hurry, I’ll go on without you.”
    She took a step toward the stairs, only to be brought up short by
Lord Connor’s hold on her hand. He tightened his clasp on her fingers and moved
closer. “What troubles you, milady?”
    “′Tis nothing,” she murmured. “They’ll be waiting for us in
the hall—we must go.”
    He leaned down, making her aware of his size, his strength,
though not in a threatening manner. “I wish you would tell me. But perhaps ′tis
too soon,” he added, so quietly she barely heard him.
    “There’s naught more to tell,” she replied.
    He stared deep into her eyes for a moment, then shook his head.
“I wonder.”
    Straightening, he eased his clasp on her hand and led her down
the stairs, matching his steps to her slow ones. They entered the hall and were
immediately surrounded by revelry.
    More torches than usual lit the huge chamber, casting a
flickering golden glow over the room. ′Twas easy to see that the people
of Gerald’s Keep had been glad of this opportunity to celebrate. Folks laughed
and smiled, many of the women had livened their garb and hair with bright
ribbons, and some of the men appeared cleaner than usual.
    It seemed they’d welcomed Lord Connor’s men into their midst
already. Life at Gerald’s Keep had been dark and solemn for months, and ′twas
clear everyone needed a respite from those days.
    Moira returned smiles and happy words of greeting, as Lord Connor
led her across the long room to the table set upon the dais at the far end. Her
heart swelled with gladness to see her people’s joy.
    Her pleasure dimmed somewhat when she stepped up onto the dais
and discovered Sir Ivor waiting for them, arms folded tight across his chest,
his handsome face twisted in a mocking sneer.
    Once Lord Connor pulled out the bench for her, bowing over her
hand before stepping away and taking a seat to her right, she motioned Sir Ivor
closer. “Good humor and revelry are the order of the day, Sir Ivor. I will not
allow you to cast a pall over this meal with your ill temper.”
    His sneer turned to a frown, but he gave a curt nod and took his
seat—thankfully, as far away as he could be from her.
    Lord Connor’s questioning look changed to a commanding glare as
he glanced from her to Sir Ivor. “Ignore him, milady. I don’t plan for him to
be here much longer.”
    The level of noise tapered off as people took seats at the tables
ranged below them in the hall. Moira rose and clapped her hands together,
silencing the last snippets of chatter. “I am so pleased to see smiles and hear
laughter,” she said, smiling herself as she gazed about her. “It’s been too
long since we’ve had something to smile about. But that has changed.” She
turned to Lord Connor. “Our overlord, Lord Rannulf FitzClifford, has heeded our
request for assistance and sent his brother with troops to help us. I know
you’ll continue to make them welcome and to lend them whatever aid they need.
We’ve hard work ahead of us, but for tonight, let us celebrate our newfound
good fortune.” She reached for her goblet of wine and raised it to salute the
man seated beside her. “Our thanks, Lord Connor.” She sipped the drink as the
crowd echoed her words, then placed the goblet on the table before her and sat
down.
    Father Thomas rose and blessed the food, and the servers carried
the platters among the trestle tables below. A young man, tall, slim and
unfamiliar to her, knelt and held a basin of scented water for her to wash her
hands. “My squire, Padrig,” Lord Connor