Simon's Lady Read Free Page A

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    Adela raised a calm hand and smiled at this trusted knight’s outburst, thereby excusing him. “Her name is Gwyneth of Northumbria,” she continued, “and she has been recently widowed. Since you are a widower and have experience with both the bliss of the married state and the great loss of it, you are the perfect man to comfort her in her grief.”
    Beresford’s mouth dropped open. It was hardly necessary to remind anyone present that he had been unhappily married for eight years to an infamous shrew. He had not wished for Roesia’s death, but neither had he, in truth, missed her a day since she had died. In fact, he had known a great contentment during these past five years of his unmarried state, a contentment he had not fully realized until this moment. So hapless and befuddled was his expression that several of the barons could not contain their merriment.
    Adela took advantage of Beresford’s momentary speechlessness by inviting him, in soothing tones, to be seated.
    Beresford sat back down but did not bother to rein in his anger. “I am very far from being the perfect man to comfort any woman in her grief!”
    “And she is, furthermore, very beautiful,” Adela added.
    “Then give her to Lancaster,” Simon fired back, gesturing to the baron on his left, a noted ladies’ man.
    Adela averted what could have been hearty laughter with her quick response, “Lancaster is having difficulties just now on his estates, which are in the quarrelsome west. Your Gwyneth comes with a vast tract of land in the north that will need to be managed by a steady and undistracted hand such as yours.”
    Beresford’s brows snapped together fiercely. “Then she must be Canute’s widow,” he said. Canute had been a northern supporter of Henry, whose followers Stephen’s forces had, almost by accident, recently defeated. Beresford saw the trend, and his analysis was blunt. “You want my well-trained vassals to do the work of subduing the remaining rebels.” After a brief pause, he continued, “My loyalty to you, madam, and to the king are well known, and I am happy to put all my men at your disposal—on the instant!—for the task in Northumbria. It is not necessary to bind me in marriage to assure yourself of my willing help.”
    Only by a slight compression of her lips did Adela betray that she misliked having to state her case so openly. “It is not your loyalty that concerns me, my lord. Rather it is necessary to bind Gwyneth in proper alliance, so that Canute’s men can be made to shift their loyalty—” she glanced to her right “—to King Stephen.”
    “Have her wed Fortescue then,” Beresford said, flicking his hand toward another baron at the table. “He’s a widower with more vassals at his disposal than I have.”
    Adela’s mouth turned down. She said delicately, “The lovely Gwyneth needs a man more in the vigor of his youth, in order to provide her with children, since she is childless.” She nodded to Fortescue. “With all due respect to Sir Walter, who has served the king long and well, I wish to honor his long-stated desire to devote more time to his grandchildren.”
    “What about Northampton?” Beresford said. He tried to call to mind every widowed man of his acquaintance with sizable estates and ample ranks of vassals.
    Adela’s frown deepened. “It is fortunate,” she said, her pleasant tones overlaid with a hint of displeasure, “that Bernard of Northampton is not here this afternoon, my good lord, for it would pain him to hear me remind you that he has been twice married and still has no children to his name.”
    “And Valmey?” Beresford shifted his eyes around the table and pointed to the man next to the queen. “Everyone knows that he has sired a passel of bastards, and he’s not married.”
    The muffled laughter at this bald comment was not entirely masked by Adela’s sedate response. “He is promised elsewhere.”
    Beresford wished that he had paid more attention