Free Three French Hens by Lynsay Sands

for someone else and that she could not keep him.
    “Are you done?” Royce asked after finishing off the last of his ale. The meal was coming to a close. Several people at the lower tables around them had already risen to return to their chores, or to find a place to relax and listen to the minstrel, who was even now preparing to torture them some more with his version of music. Even Brinna had finished off what Royce had served her with, though she couldn’t recall actually eating a thing. “Shall we go greet your father now?”
    “Oh, I-I should … er …”
    “Aye, we should,” Royce agreed, misunderstanding her stammering and taking her arm as he rose to his feet.
    Brinna remained silent, following reluctantly as he led her toward the head table where most of the guests still sat chatting over their ales, her mind still squirming about in search of escape. Luck lent a hand as the others began to rise in groups now to leave the tables, slowing them down and making Royce and Brinna proceed in single file as they weaved through the crowd. Royce let go of her hand then, and Brinna walked behind him for a couple of steps, then simply turned on her heel and made a beeline for the steps that led upstairs.
    She had to get to Joan’s room. She had to find Joan, and the only place she could think to look was the room. Not that she would normally be there at this hour. Joan didn’t even sleep in her own room anymore. She had fallen into the pattern of leaving as soon as Brinna departed with Royce for Mass, then not returning until just ere dawn on the next morning. She had been doing so since the day Brinna had told her what Royce’s cousin, Phillip of Radfurn, had said. The girl had stormed out in a fury, been absent through the night, then returned just moments before Royce had arrived to escort the woman he thought was Lady Joan to Mass. The fact that Lady Joan had been out all night had been worrisome enough to Brinna, but the fact that she had returned in a fabulous mood, and had actually glowed with satisfaction and happiness as she had insisted that they continue with the charade, had made Brinna fear that whatever was going on did not bode well for Royce.
    Now, Brinna just hoped that the girl, wherever she normally spent her time, had heard about her father’s arrivaland had returned to the room, prepared to take over her role as a member of nobility.
    Royce stepped onto the dais directly behind Lord Laythem and tapped the man on the shoulder, offering a polite smile when he turned on his seat to glance at him.
    “Royce. Greetings, son.” The older man stood at once, as did Lord Menton and his son William. “I hope you are having a good Christmas here with Robert and his family? I am sorry I haven’t been here from the beginning, but I fear the ague and chills felled me where many men have failed.”
    Royce smiled at his wry words and nodded reassuringly. “I was told that you were ill. I hope you are recovered now?”
    “Aye, aye. I’m still regaining my strength and I’ve a stone or two to put back on, but I feel much better.”
    “I’m glad to hear it. Your daughter and I—” He turned slightly to gesture Joan forward as he spoke, then paused, blinking in surprise as he saw that she was no longer with him. “Where did she—” he began in bewilderment, and Lord Laythem clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled wryly.
    “I think she slipped away when you moved through that one group halfway up the room,” Edmund Laythem told him dryly, revealing that he had watched their approach.
    Royce’s eyes widened at this news. “Why would she—”
    “She was none too pleased with me when last we met,” the older man confessed, then shrugged. “I fear I handled things badly. I never really bothered to mention the betrothal agreement until she arrived at court on her way here. It was all a great surprise to her and she was understandably upset by my neglect.”
    “I see,” Royce murmured