Both the crimson and gold.”
While Isolde fetched the long ribbons, Eloise brushed away broken strands of hair from the gold-trimmed, crimson velvet gown she wore. ’Twas the richest and newest gown she owned, made up for her wedding day, the only time she’d worn it.
Isolde’s deft hands wound the ribbons and hair into a thick braid. “You look fine enough to greet royalty, mi-lady.”
Fine enough to distract an earl for another hour or two while her father and Isolde’s brother put time and distance between them and Lelleford?
“I hope so. Isolde, did you talk to Edgar before he and my father … went hunting?”
“Last I had a word with Edgar was early this morn. Why?”
Eloise battled her conscience. Refraining from forewarning Isolde of the adversity to come didn’t sit well. If anything horrible happened to Edgar, his sister would suffer mightily.
“I merely wondered if he said where he and my father intended to go.”
“Not to me.” Isolde tied off the ribbon, then chuckled. “If I had me an extra coin or two, I might wager on them bringing down that big heron. Sure is taking them long enough, though. Or perhaps his lordship thinks bagging the heron of more import than waitin’ on an earl.”
Isolde assumed the patrol had found his lordship and informed him of the earl’s impending arrival. Eloise knew those men must be confused and worried by now, had likely checked all of her father’s favorite hunting spots and not found him.
“Perhaps.” Eloise rose from the stool and adjusted the gold-link girdle that wound about her twice to rest lightly on her hips. “Think you I need more adornment? A gold amulet or brooch?”
“Nay, milady. ’Twould be a waste. Once men fix on your face they do not notice all the rest anyway.”
“You flatter me, Isolde.”
“ ’Tis no more than the truth.”
Eloise knew men noted far more about a woman than her face. Too many times she’d been inspected from head to toe, her form and assets judged. Some lingered overlong on her bosom, some tarried at her hips. She’d learned how to distinguish appreciation from lust. Some men’s looks revolted her, while others invoked a delicious tingle of response.
She tugged lightly on her sleeve to smooth the velvet, memories of the disastrous wedding coming to the fore. Hugh St. Marten and several members of his family had arrived two days before the ceremony. In the spare moments they’d managed to find time alone, she’d tried in vain to conjure delicious tingles for her betrothed.
In his eyes she’d perceived a mingling of affection and desire. As a dutiful wife, she’d have lain with Hugh and borne his children. Perhaps, in time, she might have come to care deeply for him.
Unfortunately, at the time she’d been distracted by another, wholly unsuitable, irritating, and compelling man who inspired not tingles but deep, burning heat. With a shiver she again thanked the Fates that she’d unwittingly discovered his disdain of her before she’d made an utter fool of herself over her betrothed’s half brother. To her chagrin, she could still envision Roland St. Marten’s face more sharply than Hugh’s.
A rap on the door brought Eloise out of her disturbing thoughts. Isolde admitted a page.
“Sir Simon says to fetch you, my lady. The earl has arrived.”
“I will be down in a moment.”
The page scurried off. Eloise took a deep, calming breath.
“Must be a fearsome one, this earl,” Isolde commented. “ ’Tis rare to see you uneasy.”
“Does it show so much?”
“You rub your hands together. A sure sign.”
Eloise stilled her hands. “I wish my father were here to greet him. High nobility can be troublesome guests.”
With that nasty thought in mind, she made her way down to the great hall. Just inside the doorway stood Simon with a group of chain mail-clad knights and a bevy of squires. Eloise guessed the oldest and most richly garbed man must be William, earl of Kenworth.
Chin high,
While Isolde fetched the long ribbons, Eloise brushed away broken strands of hair from the gold-trimmed, crimson velvet gown she wore. ’Twas the richest and newest gown she owned, made up for her wedding day, the only time she’d worn it.
Isolde’s deft hands wound the ribbons and hair into a thick braid. “You look fine enough to greet royalty, mi-lady.”
Fine enough to distract an earl for another hour or two while her father and Isolde’s brother put time and distance between them and Lelleford?
“I hope so. Isolde, did you talk to Edgar before he and my father … went hunting?”
“Last I had a word with Edgar was early this morn. Why?”
Eloise battled her conscience. Refraining from forewarning Isolde of the adversity to come didn’t sit well. If anything horrible happened to Edgar, his sister would suffer mightily.
“I merely wondered if he said where he and my father intended to go.”
“Not to me.” Isolde tied off the ribbon, then chuckled. “If I had me an extra coin or two, I might wager on them bringing down that big heron. Sure is taking them long enough, though. Or perhaps his lordship thinks bagging the heron of more import than waitin’ on an earl.”
Isolde assumed the patrol had found his lordship and informed him of the earl’s impending arrival. Eloise knew those men must be confused and worried by now, had likely checked all of her father’s favorite hunting spots and not found him.
“Perhaps.” Eloise rose from the stool and adjusted the gold-link girdle that wound about her twice to rest lightly on her hips. “Think you I need more adornment? A gold amulet or brooch?”
“Nay, milady. ’Twould be a waste. Once men fix on your face they do not notice all the rest anyway.”
“You flatter me, Isolde.”
“ ’Tis no more than the truth.”
Eloise knew men noted far more about a woman than her face. Too many times she’d been inspected from head to toe, her form and assets judged. Some lingered overlong on her bosom, some tarried at her hips. She’d learned how to distinguish appreciation from lust. Some men’s looks revolted her, while others invoked a delicious tingle of response.
She tugged lightly on her sleeve to smooth the velvet, memories of the disastrous wedding coming to the fore. Hugh St. Marten and several members of his family had arrived two days before the ceremony. In the spare moments they’d managed to find time alone, she’d tried in vain to conjure delicious tingles for her betrothed.
In his eyes she’d perceived a mingling of affection and desire. As a dutiful wife, she’d have lain with Hugh and borne his children. Perhaps, in time, she might have come to care deeply for him.
Unfortunately, at the time she’d been distracted by another, wholly unsuitable, irritating, and compelling man who inspired not tingles but deep, burning heat. With a shiver she again thanked the Fates that she’d unwittingly discovered his disdain of her before she’d made an utter fool of herself over her betrothed’s half brother. To her chagrin, she could still envision Roland St. Marten’s face more sharply than Hugh’s.
A rap on the door brought Eloise out of her disturbing thoughts. Isolde admitted a page.
“Sir Simon says to fetch you, my lady. The earl has arrived.”
“I will be down in a moment.”
The page scurried off. Eloise took a deep, calming breath.
“Must be a fearsome one, this earl,” Isolde commented. “ ’Tis rare to see you uneasy.”
“Does it show so much?”
“You rub your hands together. A sure sign.”
Eloise stilled her hands. “I wish my father were here to greet him. High nobility can be troublesome guests.”
With that nasty thought in mind, she made her way down to the great hall. Just inside the doorway stood Simon with a group of chain mail-clad knights and a bevy of squires. Eloise guessed the oldest and most richly garbed man must be William, earl of Kenworth.
Chin high,
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