Page 55 of Lord of the Forest

How embarrassing. “How does he look at me?”

“As a pauper gazes at a fresh-baked pie. Hungrily. Ah, is that a smile I see? Good.”

“There is so much that could go wrong, ere we be wed.”

“I know how you feel.” Her mother settled beside her on the bed and plucked at a loose thread on the counterpane. “Think you he will make you happy? You seemed to be so dead set against marriage before.”

“I was.” A sigh escaped her. “After Simeon’s death, I thought the pain would be too much for me to dare love again. It happens when you least expect it, doesn’t it?”

“Mayhap. My marriage to your father was planned, but I already liked him, and soon learned to love him. But you, Clemence—you’re special. We should have known the man you set your heart on would be out-of-the-ordinary. But I must ask you—what of your ambition? Will Lancelot allow you to go to court? I cannot see him wanting to attend himself. As his story becomes more widely known, he’ll be notorious as the man who lost his memory and thought climbing up the outside of the stairs was a good idea.”

Clemence had wondered about that herself. “I don’t want the other courtiers to point at him and whisper behind their hands.”

Her mother chuckled. “I’m sure he’ll deal with them summarily if they do that. I’ll wager he can trade blow for blow with any man, and always prevail.”

Except when attacked from behind. She swallowed hard and hoped her mother wouldn’t see the tremor in her fingers.

“The queen may not appreciate fighting amongst her courtiers.”

“Or she might find it amusing.”

Clemence struggled to picture Lancelot, dressed in court finery, with gartered stockings, rosettes to his shoes, a ruff, and a high-crowned hat. Nay. It was impossible.

“I may have to abandon that hope. But if he has Emborough, I’ll have plenty to keep me occupied. A house not lived in for three years, and stripped of its decorations, will need work, and we’ll have to find servants to staff it.”

“And don’t forget the demands of your husband and the raising of children.”

She felt the warmth drain from her body. She had to marry him now, whatever happened, in case she was with child. Should anything occur to prevent their marriage, the consequences for her would be bitter, indeed.

Her mother glanced through the leaded panes. “Two horsemen have just arrived. We’re not expecting visitors, are we?”

Clemence wasn’t prepared for the invisible hand that squeezed at her heart. Lancelot? It had to be. But who was the other? She pressed her face against the window pane, then leaped up, cantered down the stairs, reached the door well in advance of the astonished maid, Cissy, and flung it open.

“Lancelot!” She was about to throw herself into his arms when she recognized the man standing behind him.

Walter de Glanville.

Both men bowed—Lancelot with a hearty flourish, Walter, mockingly.

“Is your father at home?”

Why did Lancelot look so solemn? After so many long days apart, she’d hoped for joy, but his expression was grave, his jaw tight.

“Aye. Cissy, pray, call Master Fitzpayne.” She shot Lancelot a questioning look, her heart beating at a furious pace, but he lifted a hand slightly, signaling her to wait.

Great heavens, what could have gone wrong, that Walter de Glanville was now free?

“God give you good day, sir.” Her father’s welcome was jovial, but his face changed when he saw Lancelot’s companion. “What do you here, sirrah? You ought to know you are no longer welcome in my house.”

“How little mercy you have in you,” Walter replied. “I’m accused of nothing more than theft at present and expect to refute all charges. As to your daughter, I would not take her now—she is tainted.”

Clemence saw her father glance at the sword-rack and quickly grasped his elbow. There’d be no blood spilled at Clairbourne Manor this day, if she could prevent it.

“Sir, forgive me.” Lancelot addressed her father. “I would have private speech with your daughter if I may. I’d be grateful if you could keep Master Walter here occupied. Nay, there’ll be no need for weapons. He has no knife or sword and is duty-bound to try nothing dishonorable. Is that not so, Stepbrother?”

Walter wrinkled his nose. “It is, though it galls me to say so. But the truth will come out, and it will be you once more behind bars, not me.”

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at Clemence. “As you can see, matters have not improved between my stepbrother and me. With your permission?” He held out his hand to her. After the briefest pause, her father nodded and ushered Walter into the parlor, calling for refreshment.