A Lily on the Heath 4 Read Free

undeniably pretty and the daughter of one of the king’s French vassals, Ursula was six years younger than the twenty-two-year-old Judith and extremely marriageable. She still found the royal court mesmerizing and exciting, filled with colorful opportunity and gaiety and excitement.  
    Judith had long ago lost such ingenuousness. But she straightened in her seat on the rough wooden bench and peered toward the front to see if she did, indeed, know who the newcomer was.
    “He’s sitting next to the king,” hissed Ursula unnecessarily. “He must be someone important!”
    “That’s Lord Warwick,” said a low voice that nevertheless reached Judith’s ear from across the table and beneath the dull roar of conversation, laughter, shouts, and the metallic clang of utensil and tray. “I heard him announced earlier today. He arrived with Ludingdon.”  
    Judith glanced at Lady Alynne, one of Eleanor’s other favorite ladies, and then, turning back to look at the dais, replied, “Warwick?”  
    She could be forgiven if there was a note of disbelief in her voice, for she’d met both John de Monde, the Lord of Warwick, and his son and heir, Malcolm, when the latter fostered with her father at Kentworth nearly a decade past. The imposing, muscular man settling into his seat next to the king was much too young to be Lord John, and he didn’t at all resemble the awkward, earnest young man she’d known years ago.
    As Lady Ursula had noted, the newcomer was tall, and Judith suspected he’d top the king by at least a full head. And, unlike Henry and most of the other men in court, he was clean-shaven. His hair, the rich brown color of well-tanned leather, was overly long, just covering his ears and nearly brushing his shoulders in the back. This gave him an unfashionable, almost wild appearance next to the other neatly trimmed and groomed attendants at the high table.
    Trying not to appear too interested—for the sharp eyes and quick tongues of the court were always on the spy for gossip—Judith nevertheless continued to steal looks toward the dais throughout the meal. It was curiosity that got the best of her, for despite their differences in personality and appearance, Malcolm de Monde and Judith’s betrothed husband, Gregory of Lundhame, had been friends during their fostering.
    It wasn’t until the man in question turned so she saw the clean shape of his profile that Judith was convinced of his identity. Although his shoulders had broadened greatly and the rest of his body had filled out and matured, the sharp, prominent jut of his nose and squared jaw hadn’t changed.  
    She mused silently at this revelation. So Malcolm was now Lord Warwick. Judith didn’t recall hearing of his father’s death, but it could have happened during the time she was away from court. Home at Kentworth, grieving over the death of Gregory.
    As Judith drew her attention from the guest at the high table, her glance slid over the king. He was looking at her.  
    Startled, Judith smiled in acknowledgment and half-rose in her seat to make a brief curtsy. The king smiled back and, still looking at her—or at least in her direction—lifted his wine goblet and drank.
    “Judith, did you see the new fabrics Tyrinia brought to the queen today?” asked Alynne, drawing her attention from the high table. “I vow, I’ve not ever seen such delicate material. ’Tis like cobwebs, but shot with emerald and sapphire threads.”
    “Nay, and I’m sorry I didn’t. It sounds lovely, if not expensive. I didn’t know Tyrinia was visiting today,” Judith said with genuine disappointment. “I might have waited until the morrow for my hunt if I’d remembered.”
    “That fabric costs more for a bolt than does a good warhorse,” Ursula said, a bit of wistfulness in her voice. “And though it glitters like the sea in sunlight, the cloth is so fragile and transparent it isn’t suitable for anything other than a veil or overtunic.”
    “But it would