chuckled. “He neglects to mention my uncle is young and newly wed. I vow I’ll not be heir much longer.” He laid a carefully trimmed slab of beef on Leonie’s trencher and cut it into dainty pieces. “Alas, lady, I am but an impoverished knight, but I vow always to cut your meat finer than any man, for I shall be enslaved to your lovely green eyes all my life.”
Lightning swift, her gaze flew up to meet his, and she was shocked by the man’s male beauty. With dark brown curls dangling over his brow, lips that curved in elegant arches like a bow, and deep brown eyes, Hugh of Hatterie was a man any maid might dream of wedding. He gazed at her in utter adoration. God in Heaven, help her. She did not have the power of the gaze, but he talked as if she had entranced him. She had not even noticed him before now. What had she done? It must have been something.
The Peregrine cleared his throat again, loudly, startling her. She looked up at him before she could remember her vow, and caught a fire sparking in his dark eyes. With a twitch, she lowered her eyes, pretending fascination with her food. Hugh straightened and returned his attention to his own trencher.
Oh. He was just flattering her after all, like a good guest. Any polite knight knew to gaze adoringly at even the less-than-fair maidens of the household.
She renewed her litany of modest behavior. If it cost her every nerve and sinew in her body frozen into permanent rigidity, she would not look into the Peregrine’s eyes again.
Uncle Geoffrey, moderate in his drinks but not in his meat, ate heartily, engaging Philippe in conversation as they ate, while Leonie managed a few agreeable words with Hugh. But the man’s voice had become pleasant but distant. That was just as well. But it would be rather nice to really be adored by a fine-looking man such as he.
Oh no! Don’t even think of it!
Leonie pleaded with God to never give her the power of the gaze and to help her keep her eyes off both men. But again and again she strayed, just a peek, and every time the Peregrine was watching her.
She was hopeless. She begged God instead to end the meal quickly so she could flee up the stairs to her chamber.
“Tell me, Philippe,” said her uncle, swiping a linen cloth across his lips to signal he had finished with his meal. “What news from the king’s court?”
“’Tis no secret, the Scots king is in England,” the Peregrine replied.
“Aye, so we heard. We hear the Scots raid less when their king is not safely within their borders.”
“He is safe enough here. Rufus will scrupulously honor his safe conduct. Unless Malcolm means mischief.”
“When does he not?”
The Peregrine drew in a long breath that sounded thoughtful. “Now that he has come, he refuses to submit to the king’s court. He denies he is Rufus’s vassal, yet we all saw him bend the knee not a year ago. So Rufus ignores him. You know, of course, the Scots king’s daughter, Edith, is at Wilton Abbey where her Aunt Christina is abbess. ’Twas only the week before Malcolmarrived that the Count of Richmond petitioned Rufus for Edith’s hand.”
He had? Leonie exchanged glances with her uncle, embarrassingly aware that the Peregrine observed them. Did he know that same Count of Richmond had been here at Brodin not three days ago seeking her uncle’s blessing to ask the king for her hand in marriage? Thankfully, her uncle had refused. She could only hope the king would as well.
“That randy old goat?” said Uncle Geoffrey. Leonie held her breath, but her uncle said nothing more.
The Peregrine took such a deep sip from his cup that he must have drained it. “Rufus said if the girl was ready to wed, perhaps he’d marry her himself.”
Someone near the far end of the table dropped a cup that clattered all the way to the floor. No one else moved. Even Leonie stared.
“Rufus? Marry?” A chorus of voices spoke together.
The Peregrine chuckled harshly. “Then the king took seven
Lightning swift, her gaze flew up to meet his, and she was shocked by the man’s male beauty. With dark brown curls dangling over his brow, lips that curved in elegant arches like a bow, and deep brown eyes, Hugh of Hatterie was a man any maid might dream of wedding. He gazed at her in utter adoration. God in Heaven, help her. She did not have the power of the gaze, but he talked as if she had entranced him. She had not even noticed him before now. What had she done? It must have been something.
The Peregrine cleared his throat again, loudly, startling her. She looked up at him before she could remember her vow, and caught a fire sparking in his dark eyes. With a twitch, she lowered her eyes, pretending fascination with her food. Hugh straightened and returned his attention to his own trencher.
Oh. He was just flattering her after all, like a good guest. Any polite knight knew to gaze adoringly at even the less-than-fair maidens of the household.
She renewed her litany of modest behavior. If it cost her every nerve and sinew in her body frozen into permanent rigidity, she would not look into the Peregrine’s eyes again.
Uncle Geoffrey, moderate in his drinks but not in his meat, ate heartily, engaging Philippe in conversation as they ate, while Leonie managed a few agreeable words with Hugh. But the man’s voice had become pleasant but distant. That was just as well. But it would be rather nice to really be adored by a fine-looking man such as he.
Oh no! Don’t even think of it!
Leonie pleaded with God to never give her the power of the gaze and to help her keep her eyes off both men. But again and again she strayed, just a peek, and every time the Peregrine was watching her.
She was hopeless. She begged God instead to end the meal quickly so she could flee up the stairs to her chamber.
“Tell me, Philippe,” said her uncle, swiping a linen cloth across his lips to signal he had finished with his meal. “What news from the king’s court?”
“’Tis no secret, the Scots king is in England,” the Peregrine replied.
“Aye, so we heard. We hear the Scots raid less when their king is not safely within their borders.”
“He is safe enough here. Rufus will scrupulously honor his safe conduct. Unless Malcolm means mischief.”
“When does he not?”
The Peregrine drew in a long breath that sounded thoughtful. “Now that he has come, he refuses to submit to the king’s court. He denies he is Rufus’s vassal, yet we all saw him bend the knee not a year ago. So Rufus ignores him. You know, of course, the Scots king’s daughter, Edith, is at Wilton Abbey where her Aunt Christina is abbess. ’Twas only the week before Malcolmarrived that the Count of Richmond petitioned Rufus for Edith’s hand.”
He had? Leonie exchanged glances with her uncle, embarrassingly aware that the Peregrine observed them. Did he know that same Count of Richmond had been here at Brodin not three days ago seeking her uncle’s blessing to ask the king for her hand in marriage? Thankfully, her uncle had refused. She could only hope the king would as well.
“That randy old goat?” said Uncle Geoffrey. Leonie held her breath, but her uncle said nothing more.
The Peregrine took such a deep sip from his cup that he must have drained it. “Rufus said if the girl was ready to wed, perhaps he’d marry her himself.”
Someone near the far end of the table dropped a cup that clattered all the way to the floor. No one else moved. Even Leonie stared.
“Rufus? Marry?” A chorus of voices spoke together.
The Peregrine chuckled harshly. “Then the king took seven
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