Free Lord of the Mist by Ann Lawrence Page B

metal old and worn, the terminals that embraced the
hollow of his throat, ravens’ heads.
    She thought of how the old gold must feel, smooth where it
lay against his skin, warm from the throb of his pulse. Why was she having such
thoughts? Quickly she ran through the resisting potion. Had she made a mistake?
Forgotten something? There was no one to consult. The potion had come from her
mother’s mother.
    A lady rose and went to Lord Durand’s side. As Cristina
watched, the woman slipped her hand along the back of his neck. She toyed with
the hair at his nape, then leaned down to whisper something in his ear that
caused him to smile.
    Just then, Lady Oriel rose with elegant grace. “Cristina.
Come. Join us.”
    With a quick shake of her head, she took a step back, but
Lady Oriel touched Lord Durand on the arm. “Command her here, Durand. Lady
Sabina, you’d like to see Marion’s babe, would you not?”
    The woman draped over Lord Durand’s shoulder straightened
and turned to where Cristina stood. “Aye. Bring the child.”
    Cristina walked slowly to the table, aware of many eyes on
her. The ladies gathered about. The Lady Sabina had flawless skin, gray-green
eyes, and thick lashes as black as her hair. Unkindly, Cristina also noted the
sharp nose and thin lips.
    “Durand, she is a sweetling. She has the de Marle look. My
father will surely want her for my brother. What say you?” Lady Sabina asked
over her shoulder.
    Lord Durand shook his head and rose. “Nay. I’ll settle only
for a prince.”
    Lady Sabina laughed. “Mayhap King John will know of a little
princeling who’s dangling for a bride. Shall I ask him when he arrives?”
    How easily they spoke of princes, Cristina thought. Did she
nurture a future queen? She thought of King John coming to Ravenswood Castle,
planning a marriage for Felice, sporting with these men and women just as he
had this past summer. How long until they all left for Normandy and war? Some
of the men in this hall would die. A shiver of fear, a sudden foreboding,
filled her.
    “Please yourself, Sabina.” Durand swept her a bow. “What
brings you here, mistress?” He did not approach, but the look he directed at
her would melt metal. Had Master Aldwin already complained of her?
    “I had need of a word with Sir Luke.”
    A nearby knight made a remark aside to his lady. The lady
snickered. So did the bishop.
    Cristina lifted her chin.
    “Luke?” Durand turned to his brother.
    “Ah, mistress, have you brought me some of your fine soap?”
    “Nay, my lord. I have found my stores seriously depleted,
and I am unable to make your soap. Mayhap another time.” She curtsied deeply
and left the company. She did not belong here among these fine folk, and the
talk of soap merely informed the company at large where she stood among them.
    Behind her several men laughed. They thought nothing of
embarrassing a stranger with their laughter. She held them in contempt. At the
first opportunity she left the hall.
    * * * * *
    Durand attended with great concentration to the sauced
partridges and fine wines that evening, but by the time the poached pears were
set before him, he could no longer contain himself. “Soap?” he demanded of his
brother. “What need have you for scented soap?”
    Luke grinned and shrugged. “Fine ladies enjoy such trifles.”
    “So ‘tis just to speed the shedding of a gown?” His relief
was unaccountable.
    “Aye. I’ll play at sport in a warm tub—but not alone.”
    The idea fascinated Durand. “Damn you, Luke.”
    Luke wagged his eyebrows. “I can have a tub drawn for you,
brother. Mistress le Gros will supply the soaps; Lady Sabina will scrub your
back. What say you?”
    “I’ve already said it. Damn you.” He speared a sliver of
pear, poached in the last of the wine from his wife’s estates. Sourly he sucked
the morsel of fruit off the tip of his blade.
    Luke excused himself. “I believe I’ll find out why Mistress
le Gros lacks what she needs to make