Page 2 of May Queen: May Day

“I thought I did, my lord.”

“Why are they in the courtyard? Didn’t you invite them into the great hall? They’re going to think I’m rude.”

“I wasn’t sure what to do, my lord,” said the squire, holding his palms upward and shrugging his shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night and the steward is sleeping. The floors of the great hall are covered with drunken soldiers, knights, and randy servants. I didn’t think it would be proper to bring a lady there under the circumstances.”

“Nay, of course not.” Ricard pulled a tunic over his head and shoved his feet into a pair of boots as he headed for the door.

“My lord?”

“What is it now?” growled Ricard, turning back to see his squire pointing at him and grinning.

“Your tunic is on backwards and your hair is sticking out in all directions.” With his fingers extended, Nash made circles in the air as he demonstrated what he meant.

“I don’t care,” spat Ricard, waving a dismissing hand at his squire. “Anyone who arrives in the middle of the night can’t expect me to look my best.” Ricard said the words, but didn’t mean them. He really did care what others thought about him. Probably more than he should.

He wanted to look his best no matter what hour of the day or night it was. After all, there was a lady in his courtyard, not to mention the notable baron, Lord Oswald Braxton. He quickly removed his tunic and turned it around before donning it again. Then he ran over to pick up a comb from the bedside table and straighten out his hair.

“Don’t forget your weapon belt, my lord.” Nash plucked it up and rushed over to hand it to him.

Ricard grabbed it and headed out to the courtyard. His mouth felt dry and his head pounded from the amount of whisky he’d consumed last night, making merry with his knights. Had he known he’d have visitors at this ungodly hour, he never would have celebrated his birthday with the men. It was all his brothers’ faults. Dayton and Lang were always looking for a reason to celebrate, and making Ricard do things he normally wouldn’t do. Ricard didn’t care about birthdays, and especially not his! All it did was remind him that he was another year older and still had no wife or heirs. His betrothal to Lady Gretta was supposed to fix all that but, now, he wasn’t so sure he’d be getting married after all.

It wasn’t like him to be so far in his cups. Ricard always maintained control and was usually the voice of reason. Why did he let those two fools talk him into getting soused? He would have their heads come morning.

Strapping on his sword and dagger as he walked, Ricard made his way out into the courtyard and stopped dead in his tracks. A girl sat high atop her horse, a mysterious stranger bathed in soft moonlight. Clothed in a long, hooded cape, her face stayed hidden from his view. She sat sidesaddle like a lady, with her spine straight, but her head turned downward.

“Wellington, it’s about time you rolled out of bed to greet me.”

Ricard turned to see Baron Oswald Braxton mounted atop his horse. He seemed fidgety and acted extremely impatient. Now, Ricard regretted not listening to his squire and coming out to the courtyard sooner. The last thing he wanted to do was to disappoint and displease the baron.

“Baron Braxton,” said Ricard with a respectful nod of his head. “I didn’t expect you to arrive here in the middle of the night unannounced. Had I known you were coming, I would have greeted you at the gate myself.”

“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” mumbled the tall man. He slid off his horse and headed over to clasp arms with Ricard. “Did your squire relay the message of why I’m here?”

“Aye, he did,” said Ricard, stifling a yawn, hoping the baron hadn’t noticed. His eyes wandered back to the girl. “He said you’ve brought your niece for me to marry, instead of your daughter like we’ve agreed upon.”

“Aye, that’s correct. Lady Gretta won’t be marrying you after all,” explained the baron. “Instead, I present to you my niece, Lady Flora Debenham.” He held his hand out toward the girl but she didn’t even acknowledge Ricard. “So, you see, our alliance still holds strong. Nothing has really changed. You’ll marry her now instead of my daughter.”

“Now, wait a minute,” said Ricard, trying to make sense of this situation without sounding too disrespectful toward his superior. “Something did change. Tremendously. Why would I want to marry your niece when I don’t even know her?”

“Neither do you really know Gretta,” the baron pointed out. “You only met my daughter a few times.”

True, he didn’t know her well, but Ricard had been very choosy in securing a betrothal, taking years to do it. Lady Gretta seemed to fit his requirements. “But we have an alliance.”

“Lady Flora’s mother was my half-sister,” the baron informed him, not taking no for an answer. “Edith has just passed away and the girl is now in my care.”

“I understand.” Ricard answered, not really understanding at all what any of this had to do with him. His head throbbed and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t retch at the man’s feet. “I mean no disrespect, my lord, but couldn’t this all wait until morning?”

“Nay,” snapped the baron. “I am Lady Flora’s guardian now, and I will do what I feel is best for her. She has nowhere else to go.”

“What about her father?” asked Ricard, wondering why the baron seemed so eager to unload this girl on him. “Shouldn’t he be involved in this betrothal?”

Oswald’s spine stiffened and his face became stone-like. “Nay. She doesn’t have a father.”

“Oh, so he is dead as well then?”

The baron talked to Ricard but looked in the opposite direction. “Her father didn’t have any holdings, if that’s what you are hinting at, Wellington,” continued the man. “Now, I’m putting her in your care. You will marry her instead of Gretta.”

Extremely disturbed from being woken from his sleep, not to mention feeling quite ill, Ricard had no patience for this right now. “Excuse me for speaking freely, my lord, but I’m not sure that I will marry her at all.”