Chapter Twenty-Nine

P ushing her door closed behind her after a long day of duties, Alyce flopped on her bed in exasperation. At times, the king was like a father figure, offering advice and encouragement, and then the next he was demanding and inconsiderate of everything but his own desires. Despite her dislike of King Edward at times, he was the king, and she was being unreasonable for expecting anything less.

While she and Aelwin were in attendance with Edward, he had sent a messenger to find out when Hawk would be ready to resume his duties. The request had surprised her as she had assumed Hawk would be dismissed from his services after his punishment, but apparently, it was only a warning, and, in the king's eyes, Hawk's service to him would continue as before.

Which meant he would soon leave Hawkspur.

"My lady?" Gertie asked, her voice laced with concern. "Are you well?"

Alyce sat up with a huff. "Aye, Gertie, I am well."

Ffyddlon let out a whimper where she lay on the rug before the hearth, then stood to limp over to her mistress. Alyce held out her hands to the hound, cradling her head in her lap to stroke the fur on her head and back. The dog was healing well according to Thomas, but still needed to rest despite her eagerness to be at Alyce's side at all times.

"The day has been long, and I should not be complaining," she said to Gertie, "but this is the only place where I can shake off the propriety required of being Lady of Hawkspur and just be Alyce for a short while. Forgive me if I caused you concern."

Gertie curved a conspiratorial smile. "Anything and everything that happens within your chamber will be kept in confidence with me, my lady. Have no fear I will never tell anyone that you are anyone other than Lady Alyce."

"Thank you, Gertie." Alyce sighed and let her shoulders relax. "I cannot do this alone. Your support and companionship are cherished."

Gertie seemed to swell with pride and her smile broadened as she reached for the gown spread across the wooden chest in preparation for the evening. "Now then, let us get you dressed. As Lady of Hawkspur, you must look every bit as important as the queen. No one will dare to doubt your authority."

Alyce laughed, gave Ffyddlon a pat on the head, then gently shooed her back to her rug, and stood to allow Gertie to do her duty of dressing her. "Like a stallion…"

Gertie cocked her head to the side in question. "A stallion?"

Alyce shook her head. "It just means to go forth with confidence."

Her maid nodded at her. "Like a stallion, then."

Red was emerging from Hawk's room as she stepped into the corridor a short while later dressed in a flattering gown of midnight blue that matched her eyes and contrasted with her hair, making the strands appear an even deeper shade of auburn. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders instead of being tied into a tight braid, and it was covered with a loose wimple held in place by a simple circlet of silver.

The big Viking extended an arm. "May I escort you to the hall, my lady?"

Alyce nodded with a smile and placed her hand over his extended forearm. "How is the patient today?"

"Ungrateful and growly," he said, but his tone was light and full of humor. "More importantly, how do you fare?"

"I am faring quite well, thank you," Alyce said, lifting her head and squaring her shoulders, determined to present herself with the confidence of a leader this eve.

Red smiled down at her. "Confidence is good. Even when you are not feeling it, always show it."

"Like a stallion," she said with a nod. She was beginning to understand why men seemed to always have their chests puffed and why they walked with an air of authority, even when they did not have a reason for their cockiness. Perception meant more than reality.

"I think you to be like a lioness," Red suggested. "They are fierce, protective, and more cunning than the lions."

Alyce stopped at the top of the stairs to face him. "You have seen one?" she asked in amazement.

He nodded. "Caged, in the Holy Land. We saw both a lion and a lioness. The lioness was absolutely mesmerizing, and she scared the wits out of all of us when she bared her claws and forced the lion to back away because she did not want his attention. Not even a lion will cross a lioness."

Alyce thought for a moment, then nodded once. "I like that. Fierce and protective." She proceeded down the stairs ahead of Red. "Like a lioness."

*

The hall was already teeming with the king and queen's entourage, Aelwin, the lesser lords from the region, and anyone else who could fit into the stuffy hall to catch a glimpse of the king and queen.

As she stepped into the great room and walked toward the table on the raised dais, she passed by Janet, who immediately stopped, turned to her, and dipped into a quick curtsy. There was a nervous smile on her lips as she rose up.

"Good eve, Janet," Alyce said, tamping down the old, unwanted jealousy. "I thank you for your service this evening." She hesitated, then added, "And if you or any of the other women who are working in the hall in the evenings are in need of anything, please come to see me. All of you work very hard in service to Hawkspur."

"Thank you, my lady." Janet looked at her, wide-eyed, and bobbed another curtsy. Her cheeks were bright with color but a sheen of sweet glistened on her face, which was pale despite the rosy blotches on her cheekbones and the tip of her nose. She looked flushed and clammy.

"Are you well?" Alyce asked, genuinely concerned.

"Aye, my lady," Janet responded, diverting her eyes. "I must get more ale for the king's men."

"Of course," Alyce said. Janet was likely warm from the stuffy room and endlessly carrying trays of food and drink across the hall. "Please do not let me deter you from your duties."

Alyce continued to the dais as Janet rushed toward the buttery, feeling satisfied that she was doing the right thing to ensure everyone at Hawkspur, including the serving women, was cared for equally. After all, everyone's contributions were necessary for Hawkspur to thrive.

As she approached the dais, the king gestured for her to take the seat to his left, the queen already occupying the seat to his right. There was an empty seat remaining between her and Aelwin, and another to the right of the queen, but she thought little of it as each day saw a stream of noblemen and commanders coming and going to hold counsel with the king or bring updates on the destructive progress of Prince Llywelyn, Daffydd, and the Welsh rebels.

She listened intently to each report, as much to plan for fortifying Hawkspur against attack as for news of Cynwulf, but no one spoke of him. At least not in her presence. Llywelyn and Daffydd were progressing south along the border, their armies quickly descending from the northern reaches of the Marches into the central region. The latest reports put their armies near Oswestry, mere days from Hawkspur.

Which meant Cynwulf may be nearby.

Her heart leaped with hope that he may send word of his welfare, and then with fear that he may try to contact her. She ached for news that he was safe, or better yet, that he had escaped to Ireland or some other distant land out of King Edward's reach. But she prayed he would not be so foolish as to come near Hawkspur himself and further flame the king's ire.

The king signaled for a waiting servant to fill her goblet with wine as a familiar, boisterous crowd entered the hall, sending shivers of revulsion down Alyce's spine. She closed her eyes with a long sigh, wishing she could disappear before the owner of the unmistakable nasal voice reached the head table.

"Luc Montworth will do anything to win my favor, and he has served me well because of it," the king said in a low voice, leaning close to Alyce. "He is a widower, himself. Already has two sons of his own."

Alyce cringed inwardly while keeping her face expressionless. Obviously, the queen had spoken to the king about her barrenness. Matching her to a husband who had heirs would be the ideal solution in the king's eyes. She would get a husband to compensate for her vulnerabilities and serve as liege of Hawkspur; he would get a wife, a castle, and a title.

If she were wed to Luc Montworth, he would gain everything, and she would gain nothing. In truth, she would lose much if she were to agree to become his wife, as she suspected the king wished her to do. He would expect his wife to be obedient, accepting of all of his decisions, and to succumb to his odious desires in the bedroom. Of course, she had no proof he would be a demanding and selfish husband in the privacy of their chamber, but how could he be anything different when he showed himself to be concerned only for himself in every other aspect of his life?

And how would the people of Hawkspur fare with him as lord?

She would wager not well. He would take all for himself and give very little in return if the rumors were true of how he took advantage of his role as sheriff of the forest, using his position to strongarm others into giving him what he wanted, which was more than he deserved. Obviously, he was cunning enough to appease the king in order to keep his position while detracting from those who would dare complain about him.

No. She had no desire to marry Montworth, but would the king allow her to keep her right to remain a widow as well as respect the law of the Marches while the Welsh rebels pushed closer to Hawkspur? She risked losing everything if she did not acquiesce to the king's suggestion she marry, which she knew to be a thinly disguised command that would be accompanied by consequences if ignored for too long.

"Join us," the king commanded Montworth as he finished bowing his respects and blathering on about what an honor it was to dine in the king's presence. "Take the seat next to our lovely hostess, Lady Alyce, Lady of Hawkspur." He said the last with a raising of an eyebrow and a pointed look at Montworth.

Alyce's lips curved into an uncomfortable smile that hurt her cheeks as the sheriff practically skipped and hopped around the table to the chair next to hers. She wanted to laugh at his ridiculous display of enthusiasm, thinking he looked more like a court jester than a potential lord of the realm.

"My lady," Montworth said, bowing his head to her and extending a leg with flourish as he held his hand out for hers. Reluctantly, she touched her fingers to his palm and swallowed her revulsion as she tightened his grip to pull her hand to his lips and press a disgustingly hot, wet kiss to her knuckles, lingering far longer than was polite. She thought of the way Hawk kissed her hand the night before and her gut wrenched with regret at the comparison.

As though the thought of him conjured the man, Hawk ducked through the doorway and into the hall. Her eyes flew to him, but she was too stunned to do anything else as his eyes met hers, then narrowed as they drifted to the man still holding her hand.

"Hawk," the king called out as he pushed to his feet, greeting him as a long-missed friend. "Come, sit." He stretched out an arm to indicate the chair next to the queen.

Alyce pulled her hand out of Montworth's and watched as Hawk walked toward the dais with only the slightest hint of stiffness in his back. She could see the rigid lines of his face, but she doubted others would notice the strain he worked to hide. She could only imagine the discomfort he was feeling with the shirt rubbing against his scabbed back. Montworth was saying something at her side, but her eyes were on Hawk, and she did not hear a word he said.

Lord, help her, but she could not catch her breath when Hawk was near. She wanted to go to him, to take his hand and lead him out of this hall, away from the king, from Montworth, from everything. She wanted to be lying in his bed with him again, his head on her shoulder and his leg draped over her body, the smell of him overwhelming her with each breath. She wanted to hide away in his chamber, away from this chaotic world, and soothe him. With her fingers. With her body.

And she wanted the same from him.

His eyes were locked with hers until he took his seat, putting the queen and king between them. Alyce kept her focus on the table in front of her, not wanting to look at Montworth, and unable to see Hawk without craning her neck.

This was the queen's doing, of that she was sure. Queen Eleanor had told her Hawk needed a wife who could give him heirs, and she was sending Alyce a message at this moment that could not have been clearer if she stood on the table and shouted it at her.

Hawk was not for her.