Lady Winifred was warming to her subject. She shook a finger at him as she continued. “Lothar is the son who poses the greatest threat to Queen Judith. Beware of Lothar. The man has a nasty temper, and he jealously guards his right to the title of emperor. It’s said Charlemagne was reluctant to assume the title bestowed upon him by Pope Leo III, but his grandson has no such reservations. He will not give up any of his power without a struggle.”
Although Lady Winifred had asked for news, she seemed content to display her own knowledge of royal history. She was well-informed and had a clear understanding of the issues. Chetwynd was content to listen to her talk while he poured himself more of Lord Theodoric’s excellent wine.
As if she suddenly realized Chetwynd wasn’t contributing to the conversation, Lady Winifred took the direct approach. “What about you, Lord Chetwynd? Do you support Queen Judith’s ambitions for her young son?”
Playing for time, Chetwynd took a long drink of wine and struggled not to choke as the strong liquid coated his throat. Lady Winifred was an intelligent woman whose probing questions threatened his peace of mind. She waited patiently for an answer.
“I vowed to stay clear of the conflict between Queen Judith and the king’s grown sons,” he finally managed to say.
It was a recent vow. Earlier Chetwynd had fallen under the influence of Queen Judith. But he had realized his mistake and made the vow to Justin.
Lady Winifred studied his face as though trying to read meaning into his answer. Clearly impatient with her inability to elicit information, she abruptly changed the subject. “Do give me more personal news of Justin. Has he found a wife yet?”
Chetwynd almost sighed with relief. “Not yet, my lady. But there is someone he has been courting. I think he is quite smitten with Lady Lilith, a young widow with two children.”
“A widow, you say. Does she have a large estate?”
“Yes, I think you’d call her estate large.”
Chetwynd looked down to hide his grin at her satisfied expression. When Lady Winifred was suddenly quiet, he realized he had lost her attention.
“Praise be to God,” he heard her whisper as he followed the direction of her wide-eyed stare.
Chetwynd echoed her words in his mind. Lady Isabel stood at the entrance from the family quarters. She stared at the soldiers, color draining from her face. He had seen stone statues that looked more alive.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN ISABEL STEPPED INTO THE GREAT hall, a wall of noise brought her abruptly to a standstill. Boisterous male voices, sounding much like the taunting laughter she had heard eight years ago, carried her back in time.
She stared at the soldiers at the lower tables. At first just a few heads turned in her direction; then others followed suit. Leering faces that looked eerily alike filled her vision as jarring laughter changed to whispers. The hush that fell over the hall caused a shiver to pass through Isabel’s body. Eight years ago, she hadn’t known enough to feel fear. It was as though her body were making up for that mistake.
Frozen to the spot, she prayed her wobbly legs would continue to support her. She told herself that she was in her father’s great hall, not a secluded meadow. Before she could gain enough control to move, her grandmother was at her side. Lady Winifred grabbed Isabel’s arm in a painful grip.
“There’s no turning back now, my dear. For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together.” Lady Winifred’s whispered words were a firm command. “It’s about time you behaved in a manner appropriate to your station. Come along and take your rightful place at the head table.”
Isabel managed to pull her arm free, but at least her grandmother’s presence dispelled her nightmare. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on putting one foot before the other. Her father stood as she approached the high table, and her grandmother followed close behind. No doubt Lady Winifred wished to block any possibility of retreat.
When Isabel reached her father, he extended his hand and gave her a smile, the first she had received from him in a long time. “Good of you to join us, my dear,” he said looking her up and down.
Since Isabel had no clothing appropriate for the great hall, her handmaid had found her a gown from a trunk of her mother’s belongings. Isabel had often searched through her mother’s chest when she was a child, wondering about the woman who had died before she could know her. Now she wondered if her father would recognize her mother’s gown.
Lord Theodoric’s eyes widened as he examined the low-cut garment, but if he recognized the formfitting, sky-blue dress as belonging to his dead wife, he gave no indication. Although he was no doubt surprised by her appearance in the hall while soldiers were present, he didn’t comment on it.
Isabel had only nodded at her father’s words of welcome, and the familiar faces at the high table watched their exchange. Vaguely aware of her father’s chief steward and several merchants, the only person Isabel was really conscious of was the one she refused to look at directly. After seeing the footprints at the pond, she had rushed home, determined to search the hall for a golden-haired soldier. Out of the corner of her eye she had caught a glimpse of a visitor with flaxen hair. Was he the stranger who had startled her at the pond? She realized by his position at the high table that he was no common soldier.
Again her grandmother took her arm, this time more gently. Isabel allowed herself to be led to a place beside the stranger. As he stood at her approach, Isabel gathered enough courage to look at him. His tresses were not
