In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,35

loving, adoring, devoted uncle,” she boasted. “And he will lovingly tear your heart out with his teeth for daring to touch me!”

“My lady … I had no idea—”“With his teeth!”

Ignoring his further, futile attempts at an apology, Ariel snatched her tunic off the floor and stormed out of the chamber without another word or glance back. Eduard could hear her brisk, angry steps tapping hollowly along the stone floor and clipping up the stairwell, and, because it would indeed be a miracle if the earl did not take personal offence at the insult to his flesh and blood, he debated chasing after her and forcing an apology upon her.

With the next breath, however, he cursed and strode out of the armoury, continuing on his way to the wine cellar. He had never, in all his life, apologized to a wench and he had no intentions of doing so now. He might be dead by nightfall if he did not, but at least he would have the dubious honour of being run through by the greatest knight and champion of all time.

Chapter 5

William the Marshal, despite the three score and six years he had already put behind him, was still a handsome man, immensely strong, with limbs as stout as the abutments of a bridge. He bore a full mane of long, thick hair, the black less evident than it once had been, the gray streaking down into the neatly trimmed, luxuriant beard. His voice could quiet a battlefield and his eyes, bright blue, sharp as daggers, could turn a man’s courage to water on a single glance.

He had been knighted by the old king, Henry Secund, and had spent most of his younger years in fierce and loyal service to his liege. He had been devastated by his mentor’s death and sickened by the way all three of the king’s surviving sons had conspired to break their father’s spirit and drive him into an early grave.

When Richard had succeeded to the throne, he had considered himself a champion in all things to do with battle and combat. He had harboured an intense dislike for William since the age of eighteen when he had been unhorsed by the seasoned veteran and publicly humiliated in a tournament. But the Lionheart also had a keen eye for valour and had not only retained William in his service upon being crowned, but had invested him as Marshal of England and rewarded the reluctant bachelor with a marriage to the wealthiest and most sought-after heiress in the kingdom: Isabella of Pembroke.

Eduard FitzRandwulf had good reason to fear the earl’s umbrage. At last reckoning, William the Marshal had championed over five hundred tournaments and single-combat bouts —an impressive feat that most likely would never be surpassed. His closest rival for trophies and honours was Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer, who could count slightly more than half that number of victories in forfeited pennants and prizes. But Randwulf had also retired from the tournament circuits over a decade ago and had no intention of picking up a lance again for the sake of amusement.

The two men had become friends over the years—a respectful friendship between two old warriors, both of whom had been men of action and honesty all their lives and who found it hard to tolerate ineptness or deceit, especially from their king.

“Give me a sword and show me an enemy to fight,” the Wolf remarked dryly, “and I would gladly do so seven days of the week rather than have to debate a point of law for a single hour.”

The earl shook his head ruefully. “The king’s right to manipulate marriages is not even a law; more of a habit the crown has assumed in order to suit political needs. I myself had no choice in my bride, but …”

“But yours was a reward, not a punishment?” the Wolf suggested gently.

“I loved Isabella the moment I saw her,” the marshal admitted. “If she was a reward, I cannot think what I must have done to deserve her.”

“Possibly saved Henry’s life a time or two; surely saved the throne for Richard.”

The marshal chuckled. “Then ’tis no wonder John dislikes me so. Yet I had thought my family to be relatively safe from his interferences, especially now, when his mind should be occupied with other, far more pressing matters. I should have known better. When he is in one of his fevered moods of accomplishment, he can think on ten different subjects at the one