“Bless you, lass, that is more than choice gossip. It is almost too good to be true, for it has all the classic elements of a truly great scandal; the best ones always involve the Church, the Crown, and clandestine conspiracies. Throw in a virgin nun-bride and it is well nigh perfect!”
Eleri joined in their mirth, delighted with the success of her story. They were laughing too hard to hear the approaching female footsteps, lightly treading upon the summer grass. “What,” Maud asked, “is provoking so much merriment?” Her dark eyes widened as they turned toward Hywel. “If it is not the poet-prince!”
Hywel kissed her hand with his usual panache. “I am flattered beyond words that you remember me, my lady.”
“You… beyond words? Now why do I doubt that?”
Hywel grinned. “Why are the most beautiful of women always the cruelest?” After introducing Maud to Peryf, he collected his son, just returning with a sackful of wafers and several cider flasks. Munching on the wafers, they corralled the children and sauntered back toward the booths, stopping to watch as a daring youth juggled knives and axes and even flaming torches.
It was a dazzling performance, and the audience responded with generous applause and a shower of coins. Leaving the juggler to count his booty, they moved on. Eleri soon dropped back to walk beside her sister. “It is shameless,” she hissed, “the way Maud is flirting so blatantly with Hywel! You’d think she’d have more pride, would you not?”
Rhiannon made a noncommittal reply. She would much rather Hywel do his flirting with Maud than with Eleri, for the widowed countess was far more worldly than her little sister and better able to deal with Hywel’s formidable charm. While she was convinced that Eleri loved her husband, she knew, too, that Hywel was dangerously adept at seduction, and she wasn’t sure his friendship with Ranulf would restrain him if Eleri offered encouragement. No, better that he turn that beguiling smile upon Maud, a more worthy adversary in every sense. Even without sight, she could detect the unmistakable sparks flying between them, and she found herself wondering about that first meeting of theirs in Poitiers.
They were strolling side by side, Maud’s arm linked in Hywel’s, and their laughter drifted back upon the breeze, bringing a fresh frown to Eleri’s face. Peryf had fallen in behind them, escorting Maud’s ladies-in-waiting, Clarice and Isolda, who’d hastily reappeared to attend her mistress. Eleri was keeping watch over the children, and Caswallon trailed after the others, digging in his sack for the last of the wafers.
Up ahead, a crowd had gathered and they were starting in that direction when Maud was intercepted by another woman. What drew Rhiannon’s attention was the contrast between their voices. While the stranger seemed delighted by the chance meeting, Maud showed little enthusiasm, sounding polite but wary. The woman was talking with considerable animation, arousing Rhiannon’s curiosity, for her demeanor bespoke an intimacy that Maud was not acknowledging. She was almost upon them when her husband’s name was unexpectedly thrust into the conversation.
“I am gladdened that you are so well, Lady Maud. Tell me… how is Ranulf? How has he been faring?”
Rhiannon came to an abrupt halt. She knew suddenly, with a certainty that owed nothing to logic, that this was Annora Fitz Clement, the woman Ranulf had once loved to distraction. She felt the blood rushing to her face, and for a moment, all she could hear was the thudding of her own heart. And then Maud had slid an arm around her shoulders, saying warmly:
“Ranulf has been faring very well indeed, Annora. And here is the proof, a woman dearer to me than any sister could be, the Lady Rhiannon… Ranulf’s wife.”
The rest of the introductions passed in a blur for Rhiannon. Annora made the proper responses, saying that she’d heard Ranulf had wed a Welsh cousin, and offering her belated congratulations and well-wishes. But the liveliness had drained from her voice and the conversation soon trailed off into an awkward silence. Rhiannon did not doubt that she was being subjected to a critical scrutiny, and she felt a rush of rage, directed against Annora and the Almighty in equal measure, that she could not even look upon her rival’s face.
She hoped that she’d regained her poise, although she knew that betraying color still stained her cheeks. As uncomfortable as the encounter was, it would have been far worse if not for Maud. The other woman’s silent support was as bracing as the arm around her shoulders, and Maud made a conspicuous point of introducing Rhiannon’s children to Annora, while mentioning ever so casually that Ranulf was not expected back in Chester for several days. Annora soon found an excuse to withdraw, but her presence continued to be felt long after she’d vanished into the crowd. Rhiannon felt no surprise at that. She, above all others, needed no one to tell her of Annora’s ghostly tenacity, for had she not haunted the shadows of their marriage for fully ten years?
“Is that the one?” Eleri squeezed Rhiannon’s arm. “The woman Ranulf was so besotted with? I thought her quite plain. He could surely have done better for himself, dearest!”
“He did,” Maud said emphatically, “he did.” Lowering her voice for Rhiannon’s ear alone, she murmured, “I never cared much for Annora, always found her to be rather forgettable. In fact, she seems to be fading from memory even as we speak.”
Rhiannon’s smile was forced. “No,” she said, “I’ll keep nothing from Ranulf. What if he learned from others that we’d met this woman? How would I explain our silence?”
“As you wish, Rhiannon. It matters for naught, though. I’d wager Ranulf has spared nary a thought for Annora in years.”
Rhiannon said nothing, wishing she could be as sure of that as Maud. She yearned to ask if Annora was truly plain, or if that was merely a sister’s loyalty. But her pride kept her quiet, as did her common sense. What did it matter, after all, if Annora was no great beauty? Ranulf had still loved her, had risked his life and his immortal soul for that love.
They continued on, pausing to watch an acrobatic tumbling act. Judging from the hearty applause of the audience, the performance was a good one. Rhiannon smiled as Gilbert and Mallt cheered and clapped, but not even her children’s pleasure could banish Annora from her thoughts.
“Rhiannon?” Hywel’s breath was warm on her cheek. “How are you doing, darling?”
“I am well enough,” she insisted. “Why should I fear a memory?” Hywel knew that few temptations were as seductive as memories of lost youth and lost love. He suspected that Rhiannon did, too. “You’ve nothing to fear from any other woman, sweetheart. And if you ever get tired of that husband of yours, I’ll be camping outside your door in the blink of an eye!”
“You’re such a liar,” Rhiannon laughed. “I do not doubt that you are a good lover, but you are an even better friend.”
“You have it backward,” he said. “I am a good friend, an even better lover.” And his eyes shifted from Rhiannon to Maud, who spoke little Welsh, but who seemed to understand exactly what he was saying.
Winchester was in the grip of an oppressive August heat wave, and Petronilla was not surprised to find the castle gardens deserted. She was turning to go back into the great hall when she spied a recumbent figure sprawled on one of the turf benches. He had a cap pulled down over his face to shut out the sun’s glare, but she still recognized her half-brother. Moving swiftly along the graveled path, she bent over and shook his shoulder. “Jos!”
Joscelin opened his eyes, blinking up at her drowsily. “Petra? What is it?”
“I’ve been searching everywhere for Eleanor. Have you seen her?”
“Not since dinner this morning.” Yawning, he slid over to make room for her on the bench, an invitation she ignored. “Why are you seeking Eleanor? Is something amiss?”
“That is what I am trying to find out. I heard that an urgent letter arrived for her from Normandy.”
“So?” Joscelin yawned again. “Mayhap it is just a love letter from her husband, telling her how much he misses their bedsport.”
“Harry is not a man for writing love letters,” Petronilla said impatiently, and Joscelin gave her a quizzical look.
“Not to you, no. But since I see no reason why Eleanor would share hers with you, how do you know what he writes? Why are you always so ready to find fault with the man, Petra?”
“Why do you think? Because he neglects our sister shamefully!”
“For the Lord’s pity, woman, he gave her a crown!”
“And you truly think that is enough?”
“Mayhap not in one of your Courts of Love, but we dwell in the real world. And you’re not going to convince
