The Lioness and Her Knight Read Free Page A

in all, Luneta had gotten her way much more easily than she had expected. She was especially surprised at how easily her mother had agreed. Knowing that her mother was a dictatorial, controlling woman who never liked any idea that Luneta had, her acquiescence seemed strangely out of character. All Luneta could imagine was that her mother hadn't wanted to show her real self before a guest. Whatever the reason, though, it had all worked beautifully, and Luneta could not help congratulating herself on how well she had managed everyone.
    That evening was spent packing, which was a horrible experience, since her mother's notions of what colors and styles were acceptable for a young girl at court were positively antiquated. Several times Luneta had to bite back angry comments. Only the reflection that her mother could very easily withdraw her permission for this journey enabled Luneta to endure in silence the sight of all her most insipid clothes being folded and packed. She could always get rid of those whites and pale blues once she was there. Maybe Lady Laudine's dressmaker could make her a bright red silk dress.
    Luneta and Ywain set off the next morning. The parting was awkward. Luneta was angry to discover a lump in her throat and to feel the ominous presence of tears just out of sight. She set her face in a severe expression so as to maintain control of her emotions and mounted her horse beside Ywain. "Well?" she asked gruffly. "Are we leaving today or not?"
    "Let your escort get mounted, my dear," Luneta's mother said in an abrupt voice. Luneta allowed herself to glance at her mother, whose face was austere. Ywain mounted and took courteous leave of his host and hostess while Luneta tightened her jaw and looked at her parents.
    Luneta's father glanced from mother to daughter, then sighed and said, "I'll miss you, lass. Try not to turn Lady Laudine's castle upside down. Perhaps we'll drop by for a visit someday soon."
    Then they rode off—a knight, a lady, and a packhorse for Luneta's gear. Ywain didn't speak for nearly half an hour, for which Luneta was grateful, because by the time he made his first comment—a polite gambit about the scenery—she was fully in control of herself. They made good time, riding at an easy pace but stopping seldom. Ywain was a courteous and thoughtful companion, and if his conversation was rather heavily concerned with tournaments and feats of arms, he was not self-absorbed. Twice he broke off and, laughing ruefully at himself, apologized for prattling about arms and armor. They camped that night nearly forty miles from Orkney Hall, and Ywain told Luneta before they went to sleep that now that he'd seen that she was a fine horsewoman, they could go a bit faster the next day.
    On the second day, just as Luneta's stiffness from riding all the day before was easing, she and Ywain came upon a large pavilion set up in a field. There were horses tied at one side, marking this as a knight's encampment, and servants hurried about on evidently urgent errands. At the center of the bustle, under the main tent, a knight lay on a pile of pillows, surrounded by attendants. At his left was a sniffling lady, wearing a dress of the most dashing shade of pink and holding a handkerchief in one hand and a vinaigrette in the other. On the knight's right, a tall man in multicolored clothes was tossing a small ball up in the air and catching it in one hand.
    "Of course it's juggling," the man in motley was saying as Ywain and Luneta approached. "You know what your problem is, Sir Grenall? You've been seduced by the lure of spectacle. Sure, I could juggle three or four balls and use two hands, and that would be very impressive, but then what would I do after that? Five balls? Three hands? You see how it goes? Now me, I'm an artist, trying to recapture the original purity of the art form. This"—the man nodded at the ball he was tossing up and down—"this is the essence of juggling."
    "Yes, yes," the