His Lady's Ransom. Merline Lovelace
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drifted into her circle—nay, blundered into her circle, for with those huge feet, the lad would never drift—she’d heard much of this esteemed older brother. She had a vague memory of meeting him once, long ago, when she’d wed her first lord. She’d been too young and too nervous to remember much of the crowd of knights and ladies who attended the festivities. But if she could not recall Ian de Burgh in any detail, there were many women here at Kenilworth who could. Since her return to court, Madeline had heard more than one lady sighing over the earl’s beguiling blue eyes and lazy smile. From their tittering, giggling comments about his person, Madeline had formed a mental image of a peacock on the strut.
At length Will elbowed his way back into the circle surrounding her. Madeline looked up, and her gaze locked with a pair of midnight blue eyes, startling in a face so tanned by sun and wind. A shock of sheer awareness darted down her spine.
This was no puffed-up courtier, impressed by the power and authority of his huge estates.
This was a man in his prime, a knight honed to a muscled leanness by vigorous activity, and tougher by far than his tawny-haired, chiseled handsomeness would suggest.
Madeline swallowed. Having twice been wed, she was yet a stranger to the feeling that suddenly coursed through her at the sight of this tall, broad-shouldered man.
“I would present my brother, Lord Ian,” Will said eagerly. “He’s professed himself most anxious to meet you.”
“Indeed, my lady, after hearing Will’s flowing verses, I could scarce wait to meet the object of his poetry.”
Recovering her poise, Madeline threw the youth a look of mock dismay. “Oh, no, Sir William! You’ve not subjected your brother to those verses!”
“Indeed he has,” de Burgh drawled. “All of them. Several times over.”
To her surprise, Madeline felt a flush rising above the square cut bodice of her gown. By the holy Virgin, she hadn’t blushed in years. But for some reason the thought of the earl reading those outrageous descriptions of her face and form disconcerted her.
Undaunted by their disparagement of his compositions, Will gave a cheerful grin. “My verses will improve with practice.”
“I hope so,” his brother interjected smoothly, “else the lady will not allow you to continue to pay homage at her skirts.”
Madeline’s eyes flashed up to meet the earl’s. Was she the only one who heard the soft warning in his words? Or sensed intimidation in the way his hand closed over her upper arm, to ease her away from the rest of the group?
Apparently so. When he suggested casually that he wished to further her acquaintance where there was less noise, Will nodded in acquiescence, and the rest of her circle stood aside. The conversation behind her picked up with barely a pause as Madeline found herself heading toward a nearby alcove.
She fought a ripple of annoyance at the way the man detached her from her friends with such effortless skill. She wasn’t used to being led away without being consulted as to her own wishes in the matter. She wasn’t used to being led at all. Tugging her arm from his firm hold, she turned to face Ian. Madeline allowed no trace of her irritation at his high-handed manners to show in her voice, or in the half smile she sent him.
“I gather you wish to speak with me privately because you’re concerned about your brother’s choice of an objet d’amour.”
His sun-bleached brows rose. She’d taken him aback, Madeline saw with some satisfaction. She suspected it wasn’t often that anyone did so.
“You believe in plain speaking, I see,” he commented after a moment.
“Yes, I do. It saves much time and misunderstanding. And spares me unsubtle warnings such as you issued just now.”
After a brief hesitation, he made a slight bow. “My pardon, Lady Madeline. I hadn’t realized I was being so clumsy in my address.”
He leaned back against the stone wall, his arms folded, and ran his eyes slowly over her face. At his appraising look, Madeline fought the flush that threatened to stain her bosom once again.
“’Tis one of the things I like most in your brother,” she said with faint challenge. “He is refreshingly open and honest.”
“Aye, he is that. And as yet untainted by the ways of the court.”
“You fear I will be the one to taint him?”
“This is plain speaking indeed,” the earl murmured, straightening.
“I’m neither stupid nor a timid maiden, my lord. I know well what is said of me. And I know, as well, that Will’s family is concerned for him. Or so I’ve been advised by half a dozen of the older tabbies at court,” she finished dryly.
To Madeline’s surprise, his blue eyes lightened with rueful laughter. For the first time, she witnessed the beguiling charm the other ladies of the courts had tittered about whenever Ian de Burgh’s name was mentioned.
“’Twould appear my lady mother is most industrious in her correspondence.”
Madeline’s own lips curved in instinctive response to the smile creasing his lean cheeks. “And you, my lord? Do you share your mother’s concerns?”
“I? I begin to share my brother’s interest.”
His soft, slow drawl raised ripples of pleasure all along Madeline’s nerves. When the man chose to be charming, he did so with a vengeance, she thought somewhat breathlessly. That particular combination of gleaming eyes and crooked grin was enough to make any woman’s breath catch in her throat. She ran her tongue across suddenly dry lips and sought for something to say.
“Your pardon, my lord, my lady.”
She turned to see one of the household pages standing just beyond the alcove. The golden lion, symbol of the house of Plantagenet, shone on the boy’s red tunic.
“They’re laying the boards and will soon begin to serve. Lord John sent me to escort you to your seat, my lady.”
“Aye, I’ll be with you shortly.”
Madeline turned back to finish her conversation with the earl. She had yet to assure him that he need not worry about Will. The boy’s adoration amused her, but she’d been in the world enough to know how to let down a young knight without shattering either his pride or his illusions.
The earl’s closed expression stopped the words in her mouth. No trace of either laughter or friendliness lingered in his eyes. Confused, Madeline stared up at his tanned face.
He bent at the waist in a bow so shallow it was more insult than salute. “Don’t let me keep you from a royal summons, madame.”
His cold tone sent a spear of regret through her so swift and sharp she had to bite back a small gasp. So he, like all the others, disparaged her friendship with John. This knight, whose reputation with women was common knowledge, dared scorn her.
Madeline knew well the rumors that flitted through the court about her, skittering here and there through the castle halls like old rushes stirred by the drafts that swept the winding corridors. ‘Twas widely believed that the king’s son took her to mistress. If John led her in the dance, heads would bow and whispers pass from mouth to mouth. If she danced with another knight, knowing eyes would flash the message that she sought another husband to wear the cuckold’s horns while she dallied with the king’s son. After all, she’d held the man enthralled since childhood and through two marriages.
Normally Madeline dismissed the whispers with the ease of long practice. The look in de Burgh’s eyes, however, pricked at her pride.
Lifting her chin, she nodded coolly. “Aye, I must not keep the prince waiting.”
Allowing none of her inner turmoil to show in her face, Madeline followed the page through the throng filling Kenilworth’s vast hall and took her seat at the high table beside the man who was youngest son to