armour was cursed black by the unrepented sins of his forefathers.”
“Well, I think the stories are slightly exaggerated—” “I was in the practice yards when he arrived this morning, and I caught but a glimpse of him. It is true, my lady: his armour was black, his pennants and crests are wrought in black and gold. It was an impressive sight to behold! And there were maidens swooning everywhere from the dreaded scars they envisioned beneath the black silk mask.” His voice trailed away, draining some of his excitement with it. “The mask, my lady …?”
She reached up and laid a hand against his cheek. “The mask conceals a face as handsome and unblemished as your own. It is only fearsome to those who do not know him, and dangerous to those enemies who do.”
“The Dragon and his lady seemed duly affected.”
“With good reason. The Dragon … your uncle … stole Lord Lucien’s name and birthright. He then tried to murder Lucien, and discredit their father, and … and …” She faltered under the look of complete incredulity on Eduard’s face. “And perhaps I should not be the one telling you any of this.”
The young squire’s nostrils were white and pinched. “You speak as if you know Lord La Seyne well.”
“I know him. I trust him. What is more, I love him with all my heart … as you will when you meet him.”
“Meet him? Where—on the jousting field? Will I be allowed a brief glimpse of him at the far side of the field while I prepare my lord for the contest? Or if the baron should win, will I be permitted a moment’s introduction before they drag his broken and bleeding body from the common?”
Servanne laced her hands tightly together and clasped them against her breast. “But Eduard—”
“I am Lord Wardieu’s squire. Because I am no longer his son does not mean my pledge of fealty is no longer binding. Did you think I was the first to ever hear he was unwanted, unloved, and unclaimed? Did you think this was the first time I had witnessed my uncle’s depravity and brutality, or the first time my”—he gritted his teeth, but the word would not come out—“the first time that woman has shown an appetite for cruelty and bloodshed? It is not, my lady, not by any measure. And while it may sicken and anger me, I am still bound by my oath of honour to serve him; to die for him if necessary in my post as squire. Nothing can change that. Forgive me, my lady, but nothing can change that!”
Tears flooded Servanne’s eyes as she watched Eduard brush past her and run out of the room. She wanted to go after him—he was just a boy, regardless of how manly he tried to act!—to take him by the arms and shake some sense into him. But she knew it would be to no avail. She felt helpless, caught between the unbreachable honour of the father and now the son.
“Ohhh …” She looked for something to break, something to smash into a million bits to vent some of her frustration, and when she turned, she saw Biddy standing a few paces away. The maid had been wakened by Eduard’s last heart-wrenching shout, and while she had not been privy to their conversation, she could see the extent of her lamb’s pain and fear.
Her chins trembling, she stretched her arms out with an offer of solace, and Servanne accepted gratefully, stumbling forward into Biddy’s protective embrace.
“Oh Biddy … what shall I do? What shall I do? Why did we ever leave Wymondham? Why did you not prevail upon me to enter a convent and live out my days behind sturdy walls of peace and solitude?”
Biddy pursed her lips. “Because you would always have craved the life outside those walls, my child. Your eyes would always have turned toward the horizon and your heart would have ached to be free.”
“It aches now. Almost too unbearably to endure.”
“I know. I feared as much. But you must not let the ache cloud your judgment. Nor should you insist upon bearing the burden alone. Tell me what ails you, lamb. A shared trouble is only half so much the worry.”
Servanne buried her face in Biddy’s bosom. “There is so much,” she sobbed. “I do not know where to begin.”