The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) Read Free Page A

Palmer’s.
    Palmer gave a polite bow, unable to find words. ‘Abbess.’
    The Abbess of Godstow Nunnery came to greet them with a broad smile, clasping Theodosia’s hands in welcome. ‘God has been treating you well, my lady, in the years since we last met.’ Her soft voice still held the traces of her Irish birth.
    ‘He has, Abbess.’ Theodosia returned her smile, though with bewilderment clear on her face as to what the Abbess could be doing here at Sonning.
    ‘You have moved here from Godstow, Abbess?’ asked Palmer.
    The ever-shrewd Dymphna met his query as he would expect. ‘You mean, why on earth am I here at Sonning to greet you, S ir Bene dict?’
    ‘I sought to be polite, Abbess.’
    ‘Of course you did, Sir Benedict.’ Dymphna’s mouth twitched in a smile. ‘I am still Abbess of Godstow. But here at his Grace’s invita tion, the same as you. He must be the one to tell you w hy. I cannot .’ She gestured to a linen-covered table along one wall, laden with fine-looking meats and wine. ‘Now, please. Restore yourselves. The King is expected soon.’
    Palmer knew he’d get no more from her and did as she offered, the food calling to his stomach after the long journey.
    Theodosia hung back. ‘Abbess, I have far more hunger for knowing why we are here.’ She wouldn’t meet Palmer’s eye as he poured water from the full aquamanile into the washing bowls. ‘ I b eg you: has something happened to the King?’
    ‘The King is hale and well, my lady.’ Dymphna’s words brought a bit of colour back to Theodosia’s face.
    ‘You see?’ Palmer pulled Theodosia’s chair out with one hand as he took a large bite of venison from the knife in his other. The gamey meat brought a delicious iron tinge on his tongue. ‘You have worried for nothing.’ He wouldn’t show Theodosia his own unease.
    Dymphna came to the table with a swish of her long dark skirts as Theodosia took her seat too.
    ‘You have no injuries that need seeing to, Sir Benedict?’ Dymphna raised a knowing eyebrow.
    Palmer held up a hand at the memory of Dymphna’s efficient if robust healing. ‘Not this time, Abbess.’
    Thumping footsteps from outside could only mean the arrival of one man: Henry.
    Palmer dropped his knife and scrambled to his feet even as Theodosia was halfway to the door.
    ‘God smiles on me!’ The King burst in, dressed for hunting, his splattered clothes telling of a recent hard ride as he flung his arms wide to greet Theodosia, the daughter whom he could never claim.
    ‘Father.’
    As Theodosia returned his hard embrace, Palmer was thrown by how old Henry had become since he had last seen him. The passing of the best part of a decade is kind to few: Palmer knew his own dark hair was now mixed with grey in places, and he had to weigh up a sack before he threw it onto a cart without help. Theodosia’s pale skin, still beautiful, showed threads of wrinkles when she laughed or frowned. But Henry had fared badly. His eyes had the rheumy look of an old man, and his sure stride of old had gone; he swayed instead in a cruel limp as he made his way to the table with Theodosia.
    ‘Palmer, my boy.’ He clapped Palmer hard on the shoulder and acknowledged Dymphna’s bow. ‘Abbess. Sit, all of you.’ The relief to be off his bad hip showed plain in his face. ‘It is so good to see you. It has been too long since the last time we met.’ The King shook his head. ‘A great comfort that we do not gather in grief today.’
    The Abbess poured him a generous measure of wine into a finely worked goblet.
    ‘We do not,’ said Theodosia. ‘But I think of you and pray for you every day.’ The joy in her face at being reunited with Henry shifted to sadness. ‘And Mother.’
    ‘As you know we pray at Godstow, your Grace.’ Dymphna’s voice softened as she looked from Palmer to Theodosia. ‘We pray for you both every day of every year, pray for everyone the King loved. Everyone.’
    Her meaning was clear: Theodosia’s