Suzanne Robinson Read Online Free Page A

his company by the Clare. When they saw him, they wouldn’t rest until they got the story of the mishap from him. What was he going to say—that a peasant maid had tossed him in a mud puddle?
    “Unruly witch,” he muttered.
    He wiped his face and started trudging toward Saracen. Then he heard his name called. It was Arthur, and he heard Lucien as well. He was late and they’d come looking for him. Mounting Saracen, he turned the destrier toward the stream, but before he could go far, his young cousin, Arthur Strange, trotted out of the woods to meet him. He was wide of shoulder like Gray, quiet, and often wore a lost expression gained from having Edmund Strange for an older brother. Unlike Gray, he possessed hair that was more blond than silver. Arthur pulled up, stared, then covered his mouth.
    Another young man joined him—Lucien, who was French. Gray scowled and stabbed glances at the newcomer. He was older than Arthur and thus had more mastery. His features settled into frozen gravity. He walked his destrier over to Gray. Lean, with hair of deep rich brown and eyes the blue-gray color of a rain-filled cloud. His irreverence and impiety often shocked more staid English knights.
    “Messire.”
Lucien’s solemn expression didn’t waver, nor did the dancing merriment in his eyes.
“Pauvre messire
. What has happened? Did you purpose to take a mudbath to make yourself more beauteous than you already are for this momentous tournament? I assure you.
Ce n’est pas nécessaire. Tu es de Valence le Beau.”
    “Lucien, go to the devil.”
    “Perhaps first,
messire
, we should go to the stream and watch you bathe.”
    Having lost almost her entire supply of herbs, Juliana had returned home early. She’d created a stir along the way, with villagers and travelers alike staring at her mud-caked self. Her remedy had been to fix her gaze straight ahead and glower into the distance. Back at Wellesbrooke her parents had been in the midst of greeting the Earl of Uvedale, legal guardian of Yolande. Father had shot her a look of such outrage that she’d ducked into the crowds traversing the bailey until the guest had been conducted into the New Hall.
    She had stolen back into the keep and up to her room. There she gave instructions that more agrimony be delivered to Jacoba’s mother at Vyne Hill. Then she bathed, using twice the usual amount of water to get rid of all the mud. Now she was ignoring Alice’s questions as she had been since setting out on the return journey.
    “Beg pardon, mistress,” the maid said as she helped Juliana into another old kirtle, undertunic, and overgown. “You know how awful I am at riding. But I’ll make it right, I will. You’ll see. I’ll have them herbs potted again by tomorrow. But how in God’s name did you come to fall in the mud like that?”
    Juliana was combing her wet hair. She was still so furious she expected steam to come out her ears. “I met a beast. A great, arrogant Viking beast riding on a black monster.”
    Alice, whose imagination was peopled with ghosts, unicorns,griffins, and other fantastic creatures, widened her eyes.
    “A beast? What manner of beast?”
    Dropping her comb, Juliana began to tie the side lacings of her overgown. “Another of those foul, prideful rooster knights come to tournament, no doubt. The knave is probably one of those younger sons who go from one to the other unseating their betters, taking their horses and armor and holding them for ransom. Bloated with conceit, he was.” Her eyes narrowed as she remembered him straddling her and laughing down at her. “But I have no doubt he’ll meet his match at Wellesbrooke.”
    Alice stared at her mistress for a moment, then began to shake her head vigorously. “Oh, no. Oh, no, mistress. Please, not this time. There are too many knights and barons about. Think of the risk.”
    Juliana spared not a glance at the maid as she walked to an alcove in which was set a window with a pointed arch. The