Read His Fair Lady for Free Online Page B

matron, perhaps in her early thirties. She stared at him
with dark, compelling eyes, then tipped her head toward the other
two, asking some question, her gaze never leaving him.
    “Beware, Sir Royce,” Lord Robert advised
good-naturedly. “That is Lady Sibylla, Countess Linford, a fine
catch for her wealth and estates, though she’s buried three
husbands to manage it. She’s known to be looking for fresh prey and
has a particular liking for men younger than she.” His smile
disappeared behind his goblet as he downed its contents.
    Again the trumpets blared, declaring the
final course. But before the procession of food began, a single
youth — one of the ushers of the hall — appeared. He ran toward the
dais and dropped to one knee, flustered.
    “Your Highness forgive me. I tried to stop
him but—”
    An aged noble entered the hall, his hair
like snow and his robes a rich brocade edged with marten. He made
his way slowly, painfully, down the length of the hall with the aid
of two canes and servants supporting him on either side. With
dragging steps he came to stand before the main dais.
    “Majesty, a thousand pardons,” the man said
in a deep booming voice, bowing as low as he could manage. His
servants aided him upright once more.
    “I am Lord Gilbert Osborne of Penhurst and I
seek the knight, Royce de Warrene. On good word, I am told he
landed at Dover two days before last and departed there for
Westminster Palace. Happily, I was at Canterbury when news of his
return reached my ears.”
    The king exchanged a swift glance with
Royce. “Dover’s scribes are far busier than I imagined,” he uttered
in obvious amazement, his brows arching high.
    The old lord shifted his weight, leaning
heavily on his canes. “Sire, I have urgent business with the
knight. ‘Tis a matter of honor and of dire urgency. If he be
present, pray direct me to him.”
    Royce rose slowly, purposefully to his feet.
“I am he whom you seek,” he said, his rich voice carrying through
the hall. “I am Royce de Warrene.”
    Lord Gilbert turned and fastened his eyes on
him. For a moment he held silent. Then his features twisted, a
mixture of anger and torment flooding his features. He shuffled his
stance and turned back toward the dais.
    “Majesty, I demand justice!” he bellowed,
striking the floor with his cane.
    Murmurs rippled along the high table and
throughout the hall.
    “Justice?” the king blustered, his
expression confounded. “Sir Royce has just this hour arrived,
returned after a decade in the Holy Lands. What possible justice
could you seek?”
    “Justice for a grave wrong he has committed
regarding my granddaughter!”
    Gasps echoed all around and many a lady’s
eyes leapt to Royce, stabbing him with knifelike looks as though
he’d wronged all womankind.
    “I know not of what you speak,” Royce stated
flatly, maddened to be falsely accused and denounced before all.
“Ever have I acted honorably toward those of the gentle sex. Never
have I brought ill on the least of them. Who is your granddaughter,
sir?”
    “The lady Juliana Mandeville, child of my
daughter, Alyce, and of the great Marcher lord, Robert Mandeville,
God rest their souls. Surely, you know of Sir Robert. He served
King Richard on Crusade. ‘Twas at Acre he fell.”
    A face and blue banner flashed in Royce’s
mind. “I recall the knight, but I know nothing of his
daughter.”
    “Ah but you do!” The old man jabbed at the
air with one of his canes. “And because of you, she has been lost
to me these many long years. I demand you restore her to me!”
    Again the hall erupted in murmurings and
babble. Royce steeled himself, a knot forming in his chest.
    “Upon my honor, I know naught of what you
speak. But if I have unknowingly wronged the lady, I shall right
it.”
    “Aye, upon your honor, right it you will!”
the old man snapped. “Hear me out then.”
    Gathering his composure, Lord Gilbert bid
his servant bring his folding stool. This done, he