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toward
his brother could easily spread to her father and widen out to encompass
Raymond and herself, also. Thus, she slowed as she passed Richard, hoping to
catch a word that would give her a hint as to the cause of his displeasure. She
heard nothing to the point—Sancia was telling her husband about the song just finished—but
Alys’s wish was granted nonetheless. Sir James d’Aldithel stepped forward from
the wall where he had decorously withdrawn to avoid intruding on his master’s
greeting to his wife and bowed deeply.
    “Lady Alys, may I offer you my arm?” he asked gravely.
    Alys looked down at the hand extended toward her, then up at
the offerer, and shook her head. “It is too sinewy. It would not make good
eating at all. Nor do I fancy it as a decorative piece. Detached arms tend—”
    “Lady Alys,” the young man’s voice grated, and he maintained
gravity and dignity with considerable effort, “it is polite usage to offer a
lady one’s arm to escort her, as well you know.”
    Alys’s eyes twinkled. She and Sir James were old friends. He
had been one of Richard of Cornwall’s squires before his knighting and had
often been at Marlowe. He had not seen Alys for a number of years, however,
because after he was knighted he had served the earl in a keep on the Welsh
border. The admiration in his eyes when he first spoke had warned Alys that he
no longer saw her as a playmate. Thus her ridiculous answer to his courtesy had
been designed to make plain that she had no desire to begin a flirtation. Now
his expression much better fitted her taste.
    “Well,” she sighed, continuing in jest, “I have aged sadly,
I know. It is kind of you to offer to support my tottering footsteps the whole
ten feet to where my father stands. I had not realized I had become so decrepit
I could not go so far alone.”
    “Oh, how I would love to box your ears,” Sir James
whispered, leaning amorously over her as she laid her fingers on his wrist.
    “Do you not remember what befell you the last time you
indulged yourself with that pleasure?” Alys asked, smiling as sweetly as an
angel into James’s eyes.
    The only response she got that time was a choked growl.
Obviously Sir James remembered how naughty Alys had neatly sewn together the
ankles on every single pair of chausses he had, so that when he was called to
attend his master, his feet could not be inserted properly into the garments.
Possibly he could have stuffed the bottom of the chausses into his shoes, but
since the top would then reach no higher than his thighs, he did not attempt
it. Nor had he ever again used his superior strength to win an argument with
Alys. There were other ways to accomplish that, Sir James thought, recovering
his temper and uttering a deep, quite spurious sigh.
    “I am sorry you find my company so distasteful,” he said
sadly. “I could not think of imposing it on you long enough to tell you what
you were so obviously hoping to overhear.”
    “I do not find your company distasteful at all,” Alys said hastily,
tightening her grip on his wrist. “Dear, dear, Sir James, you are the very
person I have been hoping and praying to see.” She caught his smile of triumph
and batted her eyes exaggeratedly at him. “I will even eat your horrid arm, or
have it on the wall if you insist,” she offered with passionate sincerity.
    Unable to help himself, Sir James burst out laughing. This
drew a startled glance from the Earl of Cornwall, but when he saw who was with
Sir James, he smiled indulgently.
    “Some day, someone will murder you, Alys,” James said as he
pulled her urgently farther away from his master.
    “Perhaps,” Alys admitted, not resisting the pull, “but not,
I hope, until you satisfy my curiosity. Whatever made Uncle Richard—no, my Lord
of Cornwall—look so grim?”
    “One cannot blame him,” James muttered before he thought. “It
is the most infuriating thing that King Henry demanded that my lord give up
Gascony and