In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,42

sharing an equal voice, appeared to be the normal state of affairs. Doubtless it was due to the mettle of the women who occupied the prominent seats on the dais. Lady Servanne showed no hesitation in confronting her husband on a point of order, nor did he attempt to exclude her from any subject under discussion. Lady Gillian, despite being in the very delicate state of pregnancy, argued the most efficient use of siege weaponry as if she had just walked off a battlefield. More than once, Ariel thought she could envision her aunt Isabella’s flustered, even shocked reactions to such talk coming over a course of poached salmon, and it was all she could do not to smile.

She forgot herself once and was rewarded by the sensation of a thousand tiny hairs across the nape of her neck standing on end.

“Do you always stare at your guests so intently?” she asked, turning slowly to confront the source of her discomfort.

Eduard FitzRandwulf grinned through an overbearingly white slash of unchipped teeth. “Only when I see something so totally out of keeping, it astonishes me.”

“What, prithee, could have caused such an upheaval?”

The bold, smokey eyes descended languidly to rest on her mouth. “You smiled. And nothing cracked or broke when you did so.”

Ariel’s gaze narrowed. Why, the arrogant, self-serving beefwit. Was he about to try flattery now?

She was not to know, for her uncle chose that moment to thump his goblet on the table and call for silence from the gathered throng.

“A toast, my lords and ladies, to our gracious host and hostess. God grant I still have the strength in my legs to carry me off to my chambers after partaking of such a feast as has been set before us tonight. A king could expect no better fare at his table, nor better company at his side. A l’Amboise!”

Benches scraped and booted feet shuffled to attention.

“A l’Amboise!” echoed a chorus of voices.

Cups and tankards were raised, swords drawn and held high in a salute to the lord of the manor and his exalted guest. Many remained standing, including those on the dais, for the varlets had begun clearing away the remnants of the meal. Ariel kept to her feet as well, pointedly turning her slender back on Eduard FitzRandwulf. She had borne enough of his sarcasm and mockery, and had no intentions of lingering to watch the foolish games of strength and dexterity with which the knights would amuse themselves while they drank their way into a drunken stupour.

A pair of boasting combatants were taking to the centre of the floor even as she watched, their swords drawn, their challenges earning shouted wagers from the laughing onlookers.

“A pity women are not invited to participate,” a voice murmured close to her ear. “With what fancy footwork as I witnessed this afternoon, a canny opportunist could make a handsome profit over the course of a bout or two.”

Meant as a compliment to the skills she had displayed in the armoury, Eduard’s words were, naturally, misconstrued as being anything but complimentary.

Ariel turned her head and found her gaze level with the top of his shoulder. He was standing infuriatingly close— enough for her to mark the individual stubbles of hair that grew on his chin and neck, and to see the pale line of white flesh where a second scar slashed through the arch of his eyebrow. Had that been the only mark on his face, she would have had to admit to a distinctly unnerving handsomeness. His body was certainly adequate. There were few, if any, knights who could have the term lean applied to their builds; fewer still who were not muscled like plowhorses simply from the weight of the armour they wore and the rigorous training they endured to become champions. Exchanging iron link mail and bullhide gambesons for studded and embossed velvet surcoats softened the effect somewhat, but there was no possibility of completely camouflaging massive shoulders, chests, and thighs. Partially camouflaging it was an art. Done with careless charm and sensual indolence, it was a breathtaking achievement.

Eduard FitzRandwulf d’Amboise was a breathtaking achievement in raw masculine power. He was a beast in his prime. His arrogance, scorn, and cynicism, however, reduced him to the level of a brawny oaf.

Eduard was easily able to translate each of the Lady Ariel’s fomenting opinions of him in the hot green sparkle of her eyes, but in truth, he was enjoying the backwash effects of baiting her. Each highly charged emotion