Royal Dynasty: Fire Song Part 5

William looked up with a rather uncertain smile. "I have an interesting proposal from Raymond," he said.

"I did not think Alys would wish to part with Marlowe," Aubery replied stiffly, bitterly ashamed of the sensations of loss and fury that rose in him. "After all, it was her home, and-"

"Alys's home is where Raymond is," William interrupted brusquely. He had always known that, but it hurt just a little every time he was reminded of it. "She does not want Marlowe, and neither does Raymond. To them, Marlowe would be a burden. But they seem to fear that the payment I offered would be a strain for me. Well, one thousand marks would not be easy, they are right about that."

"I will gladly pay part," Aubery offered immediately.

"I have told you already that the payment has nothing to do with you," William said. Actually, he would never have mentioned the sum at all except that he wanted Aubery to accept the marriage proposal. In William's opinion, his stepson had mourned his pretty, silly wife far too long already. "But it seems," he went on, "that payment might not be necessary. What Alys and Raymond propose is that you marry Raymond's natural daughter and that her lands in Provence be exchanged for Marlowe."

"What?" Aubery had been so determined not to hurt William or betray himself that he was unable to a.s.similate an idea that would give him what he wanted and also remove the guilt he felt for taking something without making recompense.

William, sensibly, paid no attention to the meaningless question, continuing his explanation. "I am sure I have mentioned that Raymond has two natural daughters. Now and again Alys has written about them. She is very fond of both. The elder, named Fenice is the girl being offered. She was married to one of Alphonse's va.s.sals, who died and left her heiress to two good properties."

Aubery shook his head as if he had been hit on it and was trying to clear his vision and hearing. "What the devil do lands in Provence have to do with Marlowe?"

"Alys is trying to save me from myself, I think." William grinned. "You know she always felt I was too inclined to generosity."

"So do I," Aubery remarked.

Ignoring that comment, William went on more soberly, "There is, I think, some reason they wish to send the girl away. Neither Alys nor Raymond makes that clear, but it does not seem to be any fault in Fenice. Alys, who is not inclined that way, you know, waxes lyrical over her stepdaughter's perfections-and, you must be aware, Aubery, that Alys loves you too well to suggest a marriage that could make you unhappy. Here, read her letter and Raymond's, too."

William held out the pieces of parchment, and then, as Aubery took them, his conscience was p.r.i.c.ked. He knew he had made it practically impossible for Aubery to refuse the offer. Guilt-stricken, he added, "If you are absolutely opposed to marrying again, Aubery, just say so. You must not feel obliged to agree because of the money."

Without answering, Aubery took the letters. He turned away, as if to get better light, but he really wanted to hide his confusion. The suggestion that he should take a second wife had caught him with all his defenses concentrated on another object, so that his reaction was one of perfect honesty. He felt a surge of eagerness mixed with apprehension. He had been very happy in his marriage at first, disappointment had followed. It was impossible not to want to renew the pleasures and also to wonder if stale dissatisfaction would again spoil his love.

Having got that far, Aubery was horrified. How could he be so unfaithful, so forgetful of poor Matilda? Even if it was not all his fault that he found her so dull, he had not been as kind as he should have been during her short life. Perhaps, then, it was not right that he should marry so soon, less than a year after her death. He would have to refuse. But a different sense of obligation came to his rescue. Refusal would cost his stepfather one thousand marks. That was far too high a price for William to pay just because he wished to honor Matilda's memory. He could honor it even if he did marry. There was no rule that said a man must love his wife. If he did his duty to her, that was all that could be asked of him.

Without really having looked at more than the first few lines of Raymond's letter, Aubery lifted his head. "There is no need for me to bother with the details. There is no question that I must marry again if Marlowe is to come to me. I must try to breed up sons to hold the lands after me. Now or later cannot matter, and the sooner the better if I want sons."

"Aubery, for G.o.d's sake-" William began, but then he stopped abruptly, remembering that Aubery's first marriage had been for love, and had been a disaster in his opinion. Just because William himself had loved the right woman and had had to wait twenty years for her was no reason to urge Aubery to refuse Fenice. Very likely Alys knew better than Aubery who would make him happy. Alys was a very sensible woman.

And, almost like an echo of his thoughts, Aubery said, "I am not discontent, William. Nor did I mean to sound ungracious. I believe, like you, that Alys is too fond of me to choose a woman who would not be a good wife. I am sure this girl- Fenice, did you say her name was?-will suit me very well."

Chapter Seven.

In Bordeaux, Alys's revelation of the marriage plans came as much less of a shock to Fenice than William's had been to Aubery. In fact, Fenice had been restraining herself with some difficulty from asking whether her stepmother had given any more thought to her second marriage. It was, after all, a matter of great importance to her. Fenice knew a bad marriage could cost a woman her life. But she also knew perfectly well she would have nothing to fear from any man her father and stepmother chose for her. She was secure in the knowledge that they wished her well.

Alys was not deliberately keeping Fenice in suspense. She was too busy at first with the problems of moving her entire household and solving all the little difficulties that had arisen in Blancheforte during her absence to give what she felt would be enough uninterrupted time for so serious a discussion. But finally, by the end of May, everything was running smoothly. Alys chose a day when Raymond had gone south to Benquel to talk to the Comte de Marsan, because she knew that in his presence Fenice would be too shy to ask questions freely.

She and Fenice had been out in the garden, examining the young plants and enjoying the delightful spring weather. At a distance, the children were playing under the watchful eyes of their nursemaids. Alys seated herself beside a bush of early-blooming roses and beckoned Fenice to join her on the bench.

"Do you remember," she asked, "when you told me that you hated Fuveau? Do you feel differently now, my dear?"

"No," Fenice replied immediately. "I mean, I do remember, and I-I cannot find any comfort while I am in Fuveau. Is that wrong?"

"No, of course not. One cannot help how one feels. Of course, if there were no other way, you would have to grow accustomed, and you would. But your father and I never meant for you to be tormented." And she went on to explain her father's desire to settle Marlowe on her stepbrother Aubery and the notion of the exchange of estates, ending, "Would you be afraid to go so far away as England? Your papa does not wish you to agree if you feel any doubts, and he is much afraid that you will feel we wish to be rid of you, which is not true at all. I hope you know we both love you very much, Fenice, and we will miss you very much, too, but this seemed so satisfactory a solution to many problems that-"

"I am not afraid," Fenice said, so eager that she interrupted. "Will I be able to visit at Marlowe? And stay with Sir William and Lady Elizabeth?"

Fenice's youth had been filled with tales of life at Marlowe and the goodness and wisdom of Lady Elizabeth and Sir William. Far too clever to speak to Lord Alphonse and Lady Jeannette of the way things were done in her home in contrast to practices in Tour Dur, which in those early years had seemed far inferior to Alys, Alys had unburdened her heart to Fenice and Enid. Thus, to Fenice, Marlowe and England had the l.u.s.ter of the Promised Land, and Sir William and Lady Elizabeth were only just less wonderful than the saints in their mercy and kindness.

Alys, of course, was quite unaware of the impact her homesickness and longing for her father and stepmother had made upon Fenice's impressionable mind. She was rather surprised at Fenice's excitement, but she a.s.sumed it was a result of her desire to be as far away as humanly possible from the place where she had been so unhappy. England, in its northwestern comer of the world, was, indeed, almost as far as one could get from Provence, unless one traveled to the distant barbarian lands of the East. As a result, she answered Fenice without questioning her eagerness, explaining that she would most likely live much of the time at Marlowe and why. Then, suddenly, she began to laugh.

"You seem more interested in my father and stepmother than in your future husband," Alys remarked.

Fenice blushed and dropped her eyes. After the first weeks of their marriage, Delmar had become such a nonent.i.ty that Fenice now had unconsciously concentrated her attention on her prospective father- and mother-by-marriage. Fortunately, the blush gave Alys the wrong message. She interpreted it to mean that Fenice had been too shy to ask, and she laughed.

"Oh, he is a man any woman would be proud to marry, fine in person as well as in character. He is big and very strong, as tall as your papa or a little taller and heavier. Not fat, I do not mean that, but with bigger, stronger bones. Perhaps he will look a little strange to you, my love, for at home most men are dark, and Aubery is as fair as I, with blue eyes. A very handsome man, truly, and not scarred in the face, at least he was not when last I saw him."

"I would not care about that," Fenice whispered, but her eyes were alight. Since Lady Alys had come into her life, she had thought blondness the ultimate peak of personal beauty.

Alys sighed faintly, hoping first that Fenice's quick denial would never be put to the test and then, because Aubery was a devil for fighting, that love would come and be strong enough to blind her stepdaughter to any deformity battle could effect. But it was useless to speak of such matters beyond the little warning she had already given.

"No," Alys agreed, "I am sure you would be loving and loyal to any man who deserved it, and Aubery will, I am sure, for he is a good person, perfectly honest and trustworthy." Then she began to laugh. "But he is by no means perfect. If he agrees, you will have to learn how to manage a man who is determined to rule the roost and is stubborn as a mule. But then, you will know what to do, for in many ways he is much like your papa-" She hesitated, seeing that all the color had drained from Fenice's face. "My love," she cried, "I did not mean to frighten you. Aubery is as kind as he can be-"

"You said if he agrees," Fenice said in a constricted voice. "Do you think he will not take me because of my...my mother?"

"Oh Fenice, my Fenice, no!" Alys exclaimed. "I do a.s.sure you such a thing would never enter Aubery's head. You are your father's daughter, of the blood of the Comte d'Aix. I have raised you and educated you. That is quite enough. Do you not realize that you are the only one who even thinks of this thing? Now that you have reminded me, I realize your papa did not even mention it in his letter, not because he wished to conceal the fact, but because it was so unimportant he forgot it."

"Then why-" Fenice's voice quavered and she stopped.

"There are a number of reasons-real reasons," Alys pointed out. "One is that Aubery may be reluctant to take a wife from Provence who has been raised according to different manners and customs. He might feel that it would be a trouble to him to teach you English ways. For, you know, if he should be away as well as my papa and Lady Elizabeth, which might not be uncommon, you would be responsible for Marlowe, and perhaps Ilmer and Hurley and even Ardley, too."

"I can speak a little English," Fenice said tentatively. "Do you think that would help?"

"It will certainly help if you do go to England, but where in the world did you learn it?"

Fenice smiled. "Enid and I used to correct Arnald's French. It was so terrible, and most of the men were afraid to tell him. In exchange, he taught us English." She giggled. "I am afraid, I used to...to listen to you and Papa."

"Oh, you bad girl!" Alys laughed. "You must have heard the most unsuitable things."

But the smile had already faded from Fenice's lips. "You still say if so it cannot be only my foreignness."

"True, but the other reasons have nothing to do with you at all. I told you Aubery had been married before. I have no idea what effect that marriage had upon him. He may be determined for one reason or another not to marry again."

Fenice nodded acceptance, but her disappointment was palpable. Alys was sorry she had brought up the subject. Now she knew she should not have said anything until she was certain the arrangement had been approved, but that news might well have come in person with Aubery. She had been unaware of how Fenice felt about England, and she had wanted the girl to have a chance to say she did not want to be sent so far away, or even that she had changed her mind about wis.h.i.+ng to be remarried so soon. And no matter what she said, Alys thought exasperatedly, Fenice would somehow twist the matter to be a reflection on her serf blood.

Then what she had said about Aubery's marriage recurred to Alys's mind. She had spoken in those vague terms because she had not wanted to suggest that Aubery had been unhappy with his first wife and to implant the notion in Fenice that he would be unkind to his second wife. But what if Aubery had not been unhappy? After all, he had married Matilda for love, perhaps he had remained blind to her faults. She was good and sweet-tempered, even if she was a fool.

And Matilda had been dead only a little longer than Delmar. If Aubery was fool enough to be mourning that pretty, hen-witted creature, it might take him some time to warm up to Fenice. In that case, Fenice would be certain he was contemptuous of her, as that cur Delmar had been, and the marriage would be ruined. Fenice would creep about like a little sad mouse, and Aubery would never see the wit and the warmth that were so endearing but only showed when Fenice felt secure.

d.a.m.n the girl, her mother was of no significance to anyone but her. And if one were to talk of bad blood, Aubery's was worse than Fenice's, with Mauger for a father. Lucie might have been lowborn, but she was not a thief and a murderer. Alys's lips parted to tell Fenice about Aubery's own blotted background, but she could not. It might do more harm than good by making Fenice suspicious or afraid. And, in any case, it would not be fair to Aubery, who had suffered enough for his father's sins. There had to be another way... And then Alys almost laughed at herself.

"Fenice," she said, "you will destroy yourself with this stupid notion of yours. For that reason, and for that reason only, not because anyone in the world will care but you-"

"Lady Emilie cared," Fenice interrupted bitterly.

"Oh, you stupid child," Alys cried, "have you not seen the truth yet? Lady Emilie did not care a pin for your mother's blood. If she did, she could have spoken to your father and opposed the marriage. That was only a device she used to turn your weak, silly husband against you. All Lady Emilie desired was to hold her son in her hand, and he was too stupid to see it. If your blood had been as pure and high as that of King Louis, she would have found some other black fault in you to hold up before her son's eyes."

Fenice gaped at her stepmother. Because of her overwhelming feeling of inferiority, it had never occurred to her that there might be hidden causes for Lady Emilie's actions.

Seeing Fenice's reaction, Alys drove her point home. "I cannot imagine how so clever a girl as you are could be so deceived. If Lady Emilie had been truly ashamed, she would have done all in her power to hide your taint of base blood, not sown knowledge of it broadcast among the servants. What she wanted was to reduce you to nothing so that you could not seize the reins of Fuveau, which was your right."

"But I would not!" Fenice exclaimed. "Delmar and I never thought of such a thing. We would have-"

"That is all dead and gone." Alys cut her off impatiently. "Unless it has changed your mind about Fuveau?"

Fenice's only reply to that was a slight shudder, and Alys went on, "Now listen to me closely, Fenice. I want you to hear with your heart and your head as well as with your ears. I have known Aubery of Ilmer since he and I were both small children. He is also my stepbrother. More important, he is as dear to me as a real brother, and I am dear to him and he trusts me. I would not cheat Aubery nor do anything to hurt him or make him unhappy for any profit, save, perhaps, the life of your father or my children. Do you believe that?"

"Yes," Fenice said. She did believe it.

"I swear to you that Aubery is not blood proud. He would not care who your mother is. I swear it. However, you have proved yourself such a fool, allowing yourself to be made sick by your own imaginings, that I have decided to keep the matter of your birth a secret if no one makes inquiry."

"Oh, Lady Alys," Fenice whispered, trembling, "I do not think that is fair."

"You do not think at all, you silly chit," Alys snapped. "If Aubery inquires about your mother before contract is made, we must tell him the truth, and he can then decide for himself whether it matters. If he does not inquire, that is proof already that he does not care. Is this not true?"

Fenice hesitated, uncomfortable at the idea of concealment and deception, but the Promised Land beckoned, a haven where her life would be like a clean parchment on which only her own deeds could be written. It was true that not many, even in Provence, knew about her mother. Lady Jeannette had never allowed her or Enid to be seen by n.o.ble guests. It was only after Lady Alys's coming that they had been brought forth, and they had been introduced only as Raymond's daughters. Perhaps Lady Jeannette had told a few, but Fenice doubted it. She and her sister were not important enough to be mentioned.

Furthermore, England was very far away from Provence, and there was little contact. Of course, Lord Alphonse was half brother to Queen Eleanor of England, but it was inconceivable that he should bother to write to her about baseborn granddaughters. So, if Lady Alys and her father did not mention her mother, no one in England would ever know.

"Fenice, answer me. Is it not true that if Aubery does not inquire about your mother, the matter cannot be of significance to him?"

"Yes, I think so," Fenice admitted, and then brought forth another fear. "But Delmar did not care at first, and later-"

"Delmar was a weak-minded idiot who was still taking suck from his mother," Alys sneered, and then she touched Fenice gently. "I deeply regret, my love that I did not see that before we entrusted you to him and that you have suffered so much for my lack of perception. But you need fear no such thing with Aubery. He is a man, and a strong one. Your trouble with him will be that he has too fixed a mind, not one that wavers. He is a lunatic on the subject of honor and honesty, and when he promises to honor and cherish you, you will be honored and cherished, whether you like it or not."

Despite her anxiety, Fenice could not help giggling. "I do not think that so horrible a fate," she said.

Alys smiled also. "Well, it depends on what form the cheris.h.i.+ng takes. I remember when Aubery suddenly discovered that girls were different from boys and were supposed to be frail. I had to b.l.o.o.d.y his nose before he would agree-"

"b.l.o.o.d.y his nose?" Fenice echoed with horror.

"Oh, you need not be afraid that Aubery is weaker than I," Alys a.s.sured her, mistaking the cause of her stepdaughter's reaction. "He is a big, strong fellow and always was. The only reason I was able to hit him in the nose was that fixed idea I mentioned that girls were weak. He made no effort to protect himself, and I got in a really good shot."

"But, Lady Alys," Fenice interposed gently, laughing now that she had recovered from the initial shock of hearing that Alys had physically attacked a man, "I do not think that is the wisest method of proving a point."

"Well, we were very young," Alys said, laughing also. "I had not yet discovered less direct methods of persuasion. But you are quite right. I suspect that bang on the nose was one of the reasons that Aubery did not wish to marry me, which was just as well because I did not wish to marry him, either. We were too close, too like brother and sister. And, you know, I do not think I ever really did get that idea of women being frail out of Aubery's head. He did not hit me back-and if I had succeeded in changing his mind, he should have-" She stopped abruptly and shook her head. "Now you have got me telling tales of my misspent youth, and we have something far more important to do."

Fenice tensed, and Alys laid a hand over hers, which had clasped nervously. "The matter of your birth is your father's concern, not yours. Is this not also true, Fenice?"

"Yes." On that score Fenice was not doubtful. Whatever her father chose to take unto himself, Fenice yielded without a struggle, and this she yielded with infinite relief.

"Very well, then. Unless your father or I release you, I am going to take an oath from you never-except to save your life-to reveal your mother's name, place, or birth. Here is my cross. Lay your hand thereon, Fenice, and swear."

Fenice's hand trembled toward the cross Lady Alys held toward her and then stopped midair. "But what am I to say if...if someone asks?"

"Speak the absolute truth, that you have taken an oath before G.o.d never to reveal any fact concerning your mother."

"But...but then everyone will believe that my mother was a fine lady whose honor must be guarded," Fenice whispered.

"What others choose to believe is not your business," Alys said sharply. "So long as you offer no hint one way or another and speak only the truth, you are guiltless. I command you, as you owe your duty to me for all I have given you over the years, swear."

And Fenice laid her hand on the cross and swore, her eyes filling with tears of grat.i.tude. She could not have done anything else, and even though she knew that was why Lady Alys had demanded her obedience, still all responsibility for the deception, if ever there was a deception, had been removed from her shoulders.

"Very well, Fenice," Lady Alys said seriously. "The matter is now in your father's hands. I will tell him of the oath I extracted from you, and he will decide what to do. I will let you know whether Aubery has been told or not, but you have no more to do in the matter except to put it from your mind completely."

Naturally, that was much easier said than done, but the period of doubt was short. Before the middle of June an acceptance of the offer had come, and the only questions raised were those concerning the problems of ensuring that the quittances for the various properties were legal and could not be challenged in the future by the distant heirs of those involved.

Fenice was not even mentioned in William's letter, and Aubery himself did not write, merely placing his signature below his stepfather's to show that he had read and approved what was in the letter. In private, however, Alys frowned over that. She was a bit concerned that Aubery had not come himself with the answer, as she and Raymond had expected he would, and had no questions about a future wife he had never seen. Was that a sign that he had been attached to that brainless wife and was marrying unwillingly to oblige William?

On the other hand, Alys remembered that she had written quite comprehensively about Fenice in her original letter to her father and also that Aubery hated to write. She said nothing of her doubts to Fenice, reporting only that the offer of marriage had been accepted and no question had been raised about her maternal line.

Fenice's joy was tempered by the fear that the problem had only been delayed until the actual marriage contract was written. Would her prospective husband not expect to see her mother's name inscribed thereon? When it did not appear, would he not ask? She did not dare intrude the subject into the increasingly anxious discussions that were now taking place in the family circle in Blancheforte. In fact, it was unlikely that her father had given any thought to the contract, since her marriage was a minor matter compared with the political problems in which he was involved.

When the Earl of Leicester had left Gascony for France, his opponents, who had protested loudest about his breaking the truce the king had imposed, immediately attacked and took La Reole, St. Emilion, and several smaller castles. There was, as yet, no direct threat to Bordeaux in this action, although La Reole was less than fourteen leagues distant and St. Emilion even nearer, for Bordeaux was not held by men appointed by Lord Simon, nor was it undermanned as La Reole and St. Emilion had been. However, the countryside was in turmoil, the spring planting was being destroyed by marching and foraging armies, and there was no guarantee that those who had taken King Henry's castles might not attack his city.

Worse yet, Gaston de Bearn was negotiating with the rebels, making them promises in the name of King Alfonso of Castile. Raymond felt the situation to be serious enough to send his children back to Tour Dur by s.h.i.+p. He had wanted Alys and Fenice to go also, but Alys absolutely refused. There would be time enough, she said, to leave Gascony when an attack was actually threatened. Since there was no way for the rebels to close the port, she could take s.h.i.+p at any time.

Once Alys had won her argument, Fenice's plea to stay with her stepmother had been accorded no more than a shrug and a nod of agreement. And only a week after William's letter accepting the proposed marriage, a second letter came with news that reduced the danger. William wrote that King Henry had summoned the knights who owed him military service and ordered all merchant s.h.i.+ps seized in the ports to provide transportation. As soon as the army was a.s.sembled and there was a favorable wind, the king would sail for Bordeaux to put an end to the disorders in Gascony. The remainder of the letter contained somewhat more personal news: I myself am coming, since Richard has been given joint regency of England with Queen Eleanor in Henry's absence. Thus, I will be in command of Richard's men. I am glad of it. I am sorry to say that, despite her good influence on the king, the queen is not much loved. Richard will provide an excellent balance, and it is just as well that he not appear in Gascony. The fondness with which many Gascons still regard him and the way they come to him to plead their cases with the king only arouses Henry's jealousy.

Aubery is summoned, too, by his overlord, Hereford. Hearing of Aubery's connection with you through his application to marry, the earl desires him to travel ahead of the army to get what information you can give him and what, with your help, he can see and hear for himself. Being constable of the army, Hereford has reason to be concerned, but he cannot come himself.

I, too, would like to come ahead of the army, so that we can settle our private business. Although Elizabeth will not be able to be present, I would like to be at Aubery's wedding. In my opinion it should take place as soon as we can arrange the legal matters. Fenice, I suppose, would prefer to be married where you can support her rather than in England among strangers.

William and Aubery arrived at Blancheforte around the middle of July. Alys had been worried for weeks that the s.h.i.+p on which Aubery and her father had traveled had foundered. It turned out that they had come near it, having had a foul trip, more than a week longer than usual and sailing against contrary winds all the way. In fact, one of the first items of news that William gave Raymond after Alys's ecstatic greeting and her forcible insistence that he and Aubery bathe and change into clean, comfortable garments before any talk of any kind, was that Henry and his army were still at Portsmouth waiting for the wind to change.

"Mmmph," Raymond muttered, the indeterminate sound through folded lips indicating his indecision. Was it better to pa.s.s this information to the council of Bordeaux, where it would certainly be welcome, but from whence it would most certainly be pa.s.sed to the rebels at La Reole and St. Emilion, or allow Henry's arrival, which could not be much longer delayed, to come as a surprise? Completely absorbed in this question, Raymond had no eyes for his daughter, who had been summoned to the hall by Alys, nor for Aubery, who was staring at Fenice with no expression at all on his face.

Since his acceptance of Raymond's proposal, Aubery had managed not to think about Fenice at all. The idea of a second marriage raised violently conflicting emotions and made him uncomfortable. Then he had been fully involved in the hectic activity of making ready to leave England. He had had several discussions with William about the forms of the quittances, the disposition of Marlowe in the marriage contract, and the allowance to be made to Fenice from Marlowe's revenues. But not once had Fenice herself been mentioned.

Aubery had forgotten that Alys's letter contained a description of his bride-to-be, and even if he had remembered, he would have been too embarra.s.sed to ask to see the letter again. He would also have felt it to be wrong, a violation of his mourning for Matilda. Thus, Aubery had no preconception, or, if he had any, it was a very slight feeling that Fenice must be unattractive. The way William had said Alys waxed lyrical over her stepdaughter's perfections, and the additional comment that there was some reason neither Alys nor Raymond made plain for wanting the girl out of Provence and Gascony, had settled into his mind as a very vague picture of a plain girl, good, clever, and obedient-the perfect wife.

What was now before him was a beauty with a smooth, creamy skin that cried out to be tasted, brilliant eyes, a full, rich, red mouth, and what must be, from the way the gold net that held it bulged, a magnificent mane of dark hair. If a fault could be found in her, it was that the skin was a trifle too pale. Aubery flushed slightly himself when he realized she was staring at him with an intensity equal to his own. That bold look gave him a mild shock.

Fenice, of course, had no intention of being bold. She was merely regarding Aubery with great curiosity and trust, since Alys had a.s.sured her of his goodness and kindness. She was not at all surprised at his appearance, Alys had given her an accurate enough description, but she thought him far more handsome than Alys had implied. She was, in fact, entranced by his blond hair and fair skin. Aubery was the first man she had seen with such coloring, and Fenice thought he looked like an angel.

Properly, of course, Raymond should have presented Fenice to her future husband. But having cast a single glance at her husband and father, who were moving toward a secluded corner to talk, Alys decided that no good would come of attempting to draw their attention from public to private business. Alys also noted that Aubery's eyes had remained fixed on Fenice as if he were unaware that the other men had moved away.

Alys was no stickler for forms, and she believed in striking while the iron was hot. Taking Fenice by the hand, she led her a few steps forward and said, "You know each other by repute, I am sure, but to remove all doubt let me present Lady Fenice. And this, of course, is Sir Aubery of Ilmer, my love."