Page 19 of Lord of the Forest

Of course, with his well-honed hearing, Lancelot missed not a word of the lady’s whispered pronouncement. Let her think what she liked—he’d not remain here long. Having seen Clemence safely home, he could leave.

But now the dogs knew his scent and could track him to his forest home. A pox on it! He must remain here for the time being, and do whatever was needful to remove these people’s suspicions.

Dame Fitzpayne tapped her daughter on the elbow. “I suggest you go aloft. Mayhap Master Lancelot should go above, too. I’ll have Cissy fetch out one of your father’s old shirts, and we’ll see if we can’t find some better hose for your new friend. Will the gentleman be staying the night, Husband? I can get Cissy to make up a bed for him. And what about you, Kester?”

Bed. Lancelot could just about picture what a bed looked like. In truth, he would relish a rest now, as was his wont. But he’d need to be back before nightfall so he could check his traps. If a stranger found an animal in them, he’d be deprived of his dinner.

While the maid was summoned, and more pleasantries exchanged that had naught to do with him, Lancelot surveyed his surroundings.

So many objects! Why did people need all these things—were they essential to existence? Carved and shaped pieces of wood, likenesses of persons in peculiar clothing on the wall, patterned fabric on the walls as well. Almost every surface he looked at was decorated, every object changed from its natural state. Why did mankind have to interfere with everything, bend it to his will, and adapt it to his taste? It was a mystery.

He heard his name being called. Gazing up, he saw Clemence, looking down at him from behind a wooden balustrade. When he gave no response, she said, “Come upstairs, Lancelot, to refresh yourself while everything is arranged. I’ll show you to your room.”

Keen to be close to the only thing that made any sense to him—Clemence—he strode across the floor, climbed onto a large coffer, and swung himself up the complex structure of carved wooden posts so he could reach her.

His feat was greeted by a series of gasps from below.

Clemence looked stunned for a moment, then gurgled with laughter. “Oh, Lancelot, have you forgotten how to use the stairs?”

He looked at her, then at the puzzled faces beneath him. He’d erred again, curse it! But no matter—whatever mistakes he made here threatened no one. They’d just have to get used to him.

He tilted his head to one side. “My method is faster.” Saluting Sir Kester and the Fitzpaynes, he followed in Clemence’s footsteps, mounting the next flight of stairs in the usual fashion.

She chuckled as she opened the door for him. Another young woman, less richly attired than Clemence, curtseyed and melted away into the depths of the house. He would have to explore the building thoroughly before he could relax his vigilance—he needed to be sure he was safe.

“Why do you laugh?”

“Forgive me, Lancelot, but you’re so unpredictable. You’re the most entertaining man I’ve ever met in my life.”

“By entertaining, you mean foolish.”

“Nay, indeed.” She stood back, encouraging him to enter the chamber. It seemed most odd, stepping into a space so regimented and confined. He must try and think of it as the cloven oak—then he’d find it easier to accustom himself to it. He strode to the window, eager to enjoy the light.

And gave his nose a resounding blow on something he’d not expected to be solid.

“You need to open the window before you look out. Must I teach you everything?”

Rubbing his nose, he stepped back and observed as Clemence manipulated a strip of dark metal attached to the window frame. Suddenly, the space was empty, and he felt a gentle breeze on his face.

“Glass. I remember now. I shall not make that mistake again—pain is a great teacher.”

She didn’t laugh at that, to his relief. He stared at her, drinking in, once more, the sight of her entrancing face with its elfin chin, framed by those straw-colored curls. Reaching a hand to her, he captured her cheek—and for a magical moment, she turned her face into his palm and closed her eyes. Then she backed away, alarm filling her face.

He’d frightened her. Nay, disgusted her. He must curb his desire to touch her—clearly, it was not considered acceptable behavior. Gloomily, he returned to the window and inhaled several hearty breaths.

“Look, here are some clothes for you.” Her voice was bright but brittle. “I’ll take your old ones, and have them washed and mend them if you wish it.”

“I should be glad of that.” Though he gazed through the window, he saw nothing beyond it, only the image of the woman with her cheek cradled in his hand.

“I’ll leave you to dress, shall I?” She sounded uncertain. “There’s water in the bowl, so you may wash before you come down for dinner. But there’s plenty of time before that. Rest awhile, if you want, for I have no doubt my parents will interrogate me for some time before we’re all allowed to break bread together.”

“I would have you take me around the house. I need to know where I am.”

“Of course. Soon. I need to refresh myself first. Please don’t climb out the window, or up the canopy on the bed. There’s a pot beneath it, should you need to… well, I’m sure you’ll remember what it is when you see it.”

“I am remembering things, Clemence. Yet, ’tis a lot to understand all at one time, so forgive me my trespasses. I mean no harm by them.”

Her grey eyes were serious. “And I mean no scorn by laughing at you, believe me. Now, I must go. Anon.”