Simon's Lady Read Free Page B

to court gossip, for he could have sworn that Cedric of Valmey was currently in an adulterous relationship with one of Adela’s favorite ladies. However, since he was beginning to perceive that he was in a losing battle, he did not think it wise to challenge Adela on this tricky point. Even he knew some limits.
    Beresford was desperate now to find an acceptable substitute husband for Gwyneth of Northumbria. “Warenne, then,” he suggested, flinging an arm at the man next to him, who ducked in self-defense.
    The laughter was open this time. “Warenne’s wife, Felicia, might object,” Adela said, having to bite her lip to contain her own laughter.
    Because Felicia Warenne was such a mousy woman, Beresford had forgotten that she existed. His initial thought was “She wouldn’t object!” but the general hilarity at the table had put him at a disadvantage. “I beg your pardon, Roger,” he said gruffly.
    Seizing the moment, Adela said swiftly, “Let us toast your impending happiness then, Simon of Beresford.”
    The wine was poured and the chalices raised.
    Beresford felt a sudden physical restriction, like a cramp in his sword arm. Recognizing defeat, he lifted his chalice and brought it to his grimacing lips. He did not so much drink the wine as filter it through his teeth. It was very bitter.

Chapter Two
     
    At a signal from the king, the barons rose from the table, but they did not immediately leave the council room. Instead, they lingered, speaking of this and that, as was the custom after the conclusion of official business. One or two of the braver barons paused to say a few words to Beresford. The aging Walter Fortescue, along with Cedric of Valmey, who was or was not promised elsewhere, went so far as to wish him well. Lancaster, the ladies’ man, had his mind on the Saint Barnabas Day tourney and engaged Beresford on that topic.
    Beresford had risen with the others and was accepting their congratulations with very bad grace. He felt a strong sense of injustice and was hungry for prey.
    He found it. “Senlis!” he summoned angrily, his tone bringing his good friend’s head around with a snap. He strode forward and grasped two handfuls of Senlis’s tunic, chest high. Nose-to-nose, he accused, “You
knew,
you cur, and you delivered me into the hands of the king as unsuspecting as a babe!”
    Senlis tried to shrug free of Beresford’s grip, but to no avail. “I did not know, Simon!” he protested, torn between laughter and alarm. “Truly I didn’t!”
    Beresford wanted to wipe the poorly suppressed grin off his friend’s handsome face. He was within an inch of yielding to the urge when a group of barons overheard the exchange and came to Senlis’s aid.
    “No one knew,” Roger Warenne said, seconding Senlis’s assertion.
    When Beresford did not immediately release his friend, Lancaster offered, “I thought your summons had to do with some change in the tourney. Why, I was saying as much to Valmey here earlier this afternoon.”
    Cedric of Valmey soothed slyly. “Yes, in fact, Lancaster assured me that Adela was calling for a change in plans on the field of contest, but instead you have the honor of marrying in service of your king. Why, had I been available to be chosen for the honor, I hope that I would have known my duty and willingly submitted, just as you have.”
    This distracted Beresford’s murderous attention from Senlis, but he still did not release his friend. Eyeing Valmey coldly, Beresford asked,
“Could
Adela have chosen you, then? God’s teeth, Valmey, you led the successful campaign in Northumbria! Were you asked first, but declined, pleading a prior promise that might well not exist?”
    Valmey quickly held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I was not asked, Simon! My guess is that you were the king’s first and only choice!” Tacitly declining Beresford’s challenge of his “prior promise,” he continued smoothly, “And a remarkably good choice it proved to be,