The Dumont Bride. Terri Brisbin

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СКАЧАТЬ just what that meant. Knowing that her actions could be seen and would be reported back to all in Greystone, Emalie approached the queen and knelt before her with her head bowed.

      “I thank you, Your Grace, for being so concerned for the welfare of Greystone and all its people.” Lifting her face to Eleanor, she noticed the twinkle in the queen’s eyes. Eleanor saw the move for exactly what it was—a political way of insuring her people’s compliance and cooperation. And most importantly, their acceptance. “I will make preparations now for a feast to celebrate the count’s arrival in Greystone and our betrothal this evening.”

      Rising gracefully and steadily from her knees, Emalie followed the queen into the great hall and finally saw the expressions of her people. Disbelief, confusion, anger, acceptance. She was certain that they mirrored her own feelings, though she had not the luxury of exposing hers to them. Eleanor called out to her own ladies and walked off with them on some task, leaving Emalie standing alone.

      She did not have time to stand around wondering and worrying about her impending marriage. There was much to do before her betrothed husband arrived and the rituals began.

      “Come, Alyce,” she called out to her servant. “The Count of Langier will see Greystone at its best.” She smiled as she realized her thoughts included her people, her keep and village and herself when she spoke of Greystone.

      Chapter Four

      Although he tried to fight it, a wave of admiration passed over him at his first sighting of Greystone Castle and village. Mayhap ’twas that its size dwarfed his own estate. Mayhap it was that the layout of the village and surrounding farmlands gave the entire estate a look of well-managed care. Whatever the cause, Christian found himself impressed with the demesne that lay before him, even if it was in the middle of dismal England.

      Touching his heels to his horse’s sides, he moved forward with his escort toward Greystone and his yet unknown task for the king. He knew that one of the men accompanying him carried messages to Queen Eleanor, but that messenger did not or could not speak of his instructions. The few times Christian had attempted to discern more information from the man, the only response he’d gained was a few grunts and nods.

      Christian felt a knot begin to form in the pit of his belly as each minute brought them closer and closer to his fate. What if he discovered he could not carry out what the king demanded of him? What if it was something that would endanger his soul? Or something that would make his honor suffer even more than it already had? His mount noticed the tension in his body and soon danced nervously beneath him. Releasing his tight hold on the reins, he quickly brought the horse back under his control.

      How he yearned for his own mount. Though, in his still-weakened condition, he knew he would never be able to keep his massive destrier from overpowering him. He would wait at Greystone as the king had suggested and leave his horses at Chateau d’Azure. But once this onerous assignment was completed, he would return to his family’s estate and train once more with his magnificent bloods. And he would oversee Geoff’s recovery.

      Of course that all depended on him surviving whatever it was that lay ahead. The ignorance of his impending future weighed heavily on his shoulders. If it were just him, he could face this unknown much easier than he did, knowing that Geoff’s fate was entangled with his own. What would become of Geoff if Christian failed?

      His escort moved forward down the rough road leading to the main entrance in the castle wall. ’Twould seem that his future was moving quickly toward him. Taking a deep breath, Christian urged his mount to keep up with the rest of the riders. Wrapping the pride of generations of Dumonts before him around his shoulders as a shield, he rode to meet his fate head-on.

      His unease grew as they were permitted entry without challenge. Men-at-arms patrolled along a walkway that surrounded the entire castle. The gate, open as most were during the day, was closely monitored by both the men above and several guards standing on either side. It was obvious that they were expected, even welcome. Had he been summoned to take over protection of this estate? Mayhap it and its people faced threats from outside and Richard believed him capable of defending keep and village?

      But what of the owners? How could a demesne of this size and apparent prosperity not be protected? Christian felt the tension grow once more in his arms and shoulders as they passed en masse by the startled inhabitants. Men and women stopped and stared as they rode on to the steps leading to the keep itself. Finally, and not a moment too soon to his way of thinking, the group reached its destination and drew to a halt. Christian dismounted in one motion and nodded as a boy came forward to take his mount. Any hesitation on his part about the boy’s ability to handle a horse so much bigger than he was disappeared as he observed the skill and caring with which the boy led the horse away to the stables.

      Brushing off the dust of the morning’s travel, Christian waited for someone from within to greet them. He did not wait long before the doors at the top of the steps opened and a huge man approached them. Nodding at them, he paused until the royal messenger stepped forward and announced himself as such. After conversing in hushed tones, the messenger climbed the steps and entered the building. Then the man addressed the rest of the group, in heavily accented English.

      “I am Walter, lately captain of the guards here at Greystone. I bid you welcome in the name of the Countess of Harbridge and in the name of Eleanor, Queen of England, who is also in residence here. Come this way, so that you may refresh yourselves from your journey.”

      The big soldier stepped aside and motioned for the group to follow him. Only the promise of some decent wine and shelter from the gray English weather enticed Christian to enter in haste. At least if Eleanor were here, some tasty food and drink were probabilities as well. The queen did not suffer herself to travel without the comforts to which she was accustomed.

      Entering the great hall, Christian inspected the room and its inhabitants. The people were all busy, cleaning the floors, replacing the rushes, rehanging huge tapestries on the wall behind the raised dais. All he saw reinforced his notion of the prosperity of the estate and the good handling of its resources. A short, thin man separated himself from a small group talking among themselves and approached their burly escort.

      “Sir Walter, please allow me to escort our guests to table.”

      The captain’s relieved expression told Christian more than words could of his discomfort at this task. Nodding brusquely, he stepped aside and waved them on to follow this newcomer.

      “I am Fitzhugh, the steward. Allow me to see you settled with food and drink to refresh yourselves. Right this way.” The steward led them up the steps to the large table and guided them to seats. Fitzhugh called out to servants and, within a few moments, platters of bread and cheeses and cold meats were placed before them. Pitchers of ale and wine along with goblets were placed on the table. Serving women circled them, offering more food and drink, until there was a full trencher and cup before each man.

      Christian lifted the cup to his lips and drank deeply of the wine. As the drink washed away the dust in his mouth, Christian was overcome with a wave of homesickness for his own demesne and his own vintage of wine. Chateau d’Azure was known far and wide for its excellent quality of grapes and the wine they produced. He craved a bottle of his own even as he swallowed once and again of this local brew.

      “Milord, is something wrong with the wine?”

      Christian was pleased in one way that Fitzhugh had been so observant—it spoke well of his abilities. However, he knew that his own foul mood and the tension spiraling even tighter within his gut were not the steward’s problems.

      “The wine is acceptable,” he answered, СКАЧАТЬ