The Knight's Fugitive Lady. Meriel Fuller
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in the evening—I hope you will stay to watch?’
Inwardly, Isabella groaned. She had been looking forward to an early night, a night spent in a proper bed that didn’t pitch and toss and roll. But one look at Thomas’s beaming, avuncular features indicated she couldn’t disappoint him. She threw him an encouraging smile, helping herself to a slice of roast chicken.
‘Who are your commanders?’ Thomas continued conversationally, chewing on a piece of pork crackling.
‘Obviously Roger has overall command.’ She smiled briefly at her lover; his eyes flicked upwards at the mention of his name, but his face remained neutral. It wouldn’t do to display their adultery for all to see; Isabella was still married to the King of England. The public would judge her harshly if she were seen to be embarking upon an adulterous affair. ‘Hugh de Fontainbleu, Sir John of Hainault, among others.’
‘What about Belbigny?’ the Earl of Norfolk asked. ‘You do not mention him, yet I see him at the end of the table.’ He indicated the tall, dark-haired man.
‘No, no. He is here...’ the Queen paused, delicately, picking at a loose thread on her linen napkin ‘...on other business. It’s a shame, he’s a skilled commander, but unfortunately, at the moment, he has other things on his mind.’ She sighed, staring out over the bobbing heads of the crowded hall.
‘I heard what happened to his family,’ the Earl replied. ‘His father was in charge of a garrison on the border, is that right? The whole family was slaughtered in the conflict?’
‘It was worse than that. The conflict had supposedly finished and a truce had been established, but someone held a grudge against Lussac’s father, returned to the garrison with a group of soldiers and fired the whole place.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘He will travel with us; he hopes to find someone who can shed light on the identity of whoever killed his family. I don’t suppose you have heard anything?’
The Earl of Norfolk shook his head.
‘Then let’s not speak of it further. I don’t want him to hear, not a breath of it.’ Beneath Isabella’s long white fingers, the gemstones on her rings winked in the candlelight as she crumbled a bread roll to tiny bits, scattering them across her silvered plate.
Thomas studied the man at the end of the table covertly, leaning back in his chair, sipping idly from his goblet. Lussac felt the touch of his gaze and turned, pinning the Earl with his hard, dark stare. Thomas raised his goblet in salute, noting the hollowed-out eyes, the lean, ravaged features. What a waste, he thought to himself, as he switched his attentions to Isabella once more. There’s a man who suffers, tortured by what happened to his family. But what man wouldn’t suffer after what he had been through?
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