The Troubadour's Romance Read Free Page A

with fury, fists clenched and voice strangled with rage, the little man bounced on his toes as he berated the knights. “ Bumble-headed fools! Clumsy idiots! Look beneath the feet of your donkeys to my baked goods! ”
    Some men within the group chuckled at the sight of the distraught man, while others sought to placate him. “ The wheel can easily be returned to the cart, ” one knight said.
    “ Minus a few loaves that can be replaced, ” attempted another.
    “ You foolhardy jackass, ” the man stormed at the knight. “ ‘ Twas for Windsor I carried these breads and cakes. These streets are for people, not armies. ”
    Felise giggled brightly from her window. Every hour that passed she found some new amusement or delight in this city. Ofttimes an event below her very bedchamber could intrigue her, for many were the people passing there, from merchants and soldiers to harlots and jugglers. People were always hawking wares, predictions, entertainments, or sa vory foods. Or beyond, when she ventured out, there was some new corner of the city that held an exciting pastime, entertainment, or fair.
    Daria grabbed her mistress from behind, hooking her lean fingers into Felise ’ s gown. “ Get thee within, ” she demanded hotly. “ Come now, before you cause a stir among them. ”
    That worry was far from Felise ’ s thoughts. She was out of the reach of these men and watched them in childlike wonder. She knew each of Lord Scelfton ’ s men-at-arms, many of whom were with them in London, and every squire and servant at Twyford keep. These were all new faces; she had never seen the gathering of so many varied groups of knights before. She reached a hand behind her inside the window and motioned Daria to be still.
    Even though Felise had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday and by custom was tardy in marrying, she was much the child in her own home and gave no consideration to how these restless knights might view her. She wore a thick velvet gown of deep rose that was lined about the low neckline with miniver. Her sleeves, snugly fitted to her arms, gave her a slender appearance, though full breasts rose provocatively from a pinched bodice. She leaned fully out the window, her elbows resting on the sill. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, its great length of shimmering golden fire cascading out the window.
    Felise had never been given cause to be either overly modest or vain about her fair looks. Her mother, although not her natural mother, was humble and gentle and did not boast of her own beauty or Felise ’ s. The sons of the Scelfton household did not dote upon her at all, for they were all older and much about men ’ s diversions. While Felise was not of the same blood as they, she was raised as their sister and therefore no dallying between them would have been allowed. And finally, her adoptive father, Lord Scelfton, took such parental guardianship of her that no knight or yeoman in his demesne would dare look at her with lust, or his neck might be stretched from the nearest oak. She was raised as free as a peacock. Free to roam, ride, play, and tempt fate. There was naught to stay her. She neither revered nor feared men.
    Two knights dismounted and began to struggle with the wheel of the cart, its bearer continuing to curse them. There was a shuffling about as the leader of their group, well ahead of the riders, tried to squeeze his horse closer to the trouble. This was difficult for -- the round little man was right -- the streets were not wide enough for armies.
    “ Demoiselle, ” one of the young knights called to her. She looked down and waved, a smile on her lips. He edged his horse nearer, an awkward chore that caused her to laugh the more. “ Dare I hope you are prisoner here and in need of rescue? ”
    She laughed gaily at his play. Her father had hosted tourneys among his neighbors, and the courtly sport of knights and lords among the ladies was not alien to her. “ Never that, sir knight,