“I am Chandra de Avenell. My father, Lord Richard, is one of your marcher barons. His castle is known as Croyland.”
“Sir Jerval is a lucky man,” Eleanor said, smiling. “Come, my lord, have we not heard tell of Chandra de Avenell?”
“My daughter-in-law,” Lady Avicia said to everyone’s astonishment, “has long been known for her beauty.”
“I can certainly see why,” Eleanor said. “Do you not remember, my lord? Your father approved their marriage not long ago.”
“Aye,” Edward said slowly. “I remember you well now, my lady. Lord Graelam de Moreton, as I recall, approached my uncle about wedding you.” He turned to Jerval, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You beat out a fine warrior, Jerval, and stole yourself a prize.”
It was on the tip of Chandra’s tongue to inform the prince that it was Graelam who had nearly done the stealing, but Eleanor said suddenly, “A French minstrel, Henri, visited the court last year. He sang about you, Chandra, your beauty and your warrior deeds.”
“This lovely girl a warrior?” Edward gave a great belly laugh.
CHAPTER 21
“She is now more a wife,” Jerval said smoothly, taking Chandra’s hand in his. “As for Graelam de Moreton—that, sire, is a long story. Perhaps late one night when we are deep into my father’s fine wine from Aquitaine, I will tell you of it.”
After the prince and princess were swept into the hall by Lord Hugh, Jerval turned to give orders for the prince’s vast retinue.
“Well, cousin, you must be relieved that the prince is happily wed and doesn’t have the habit of consorting with his nobles’ ladies.”
Jerval drew up at Eustace’s deep voice. “You keep high company, Eustace.” His eyes turned to his wife. “Chandra, this is Eustace de Leybrun. He was my sister Matilda’s husband.”
Chandra nodded politely at the dark man, hearing the barely veiled dislike in Jerval’s voice. He was dressed nearly as richly as the prince, his thick velvet cloak covering a surcoat of burgundy, its wide sleeves lined with miniver. He was not of Jerval’s height, but he was built like a bull, his neck thick and corded, and she could see that beneath his noble clothes, his body was hard with muscle. She guessed him to be about thirty, or perhaps older, for there were lines etched about his dark eyes and his wide mouth.
“Welcome to Camberley, sir. I understand you have been in France.”
“Aye, my lady,” Eustace said. “Had I known that my little cousin was wedding himself to such as you, I would have returned and relieved him of his bride.” His glance swept toward Jerval. “I saw de Moreton, you know, cousin. He was surly, his manner more abrupt than usual. None wanted to cross him. I had no idea that it was you who was the cause of his black humor. He said nothing to me, of course, but his squire’s tongue became loose with drink, and he spoke of his master’s defeat at Croyland, and of his shoulder wound at the hands of a gently bred lady.”
Eustace turned to Chandra and said in a soft voice that made her skin crawl, “So the victor won the prize, my lady. It is seldom that an heiress has claim to such beauty, as well as skill with a dagger. You are a prize to be treasured. Were you mine, I would hold you above all my possessions.”
Chandra had listened to him in silence. She wanted to strike him on both his ears. He hated Jerval—that was easy enough to see. It was jealousy, but no matter. Soon he would be gone again. She said, “Your compliments, Sir Eustace, ring hollow as the chapel bell. Mayhap you’d best strive for more sincerity.”
“Well met, my lady,” Eustace said. “What is this about your gentle wife being a warrior, Jerval, and hurling daggers at the greatest fighters of our land?”
“Go assist my mother,” Jerval said, and gave Chandra a light shove. She wanted to remain, to challenge Eustace, but she saw the anger in her husband, anger that was deep and abiding.
“My wife, Eustace,” he said, watching Chandra gracefully mount the staircase to the hall, “is many things. But most important, she is now a de Vernon.”
“Do not, I beg you, Jerval, challenge me for admiring your wife’s beauty. I see that you are surrounded by beauty. The fair Julianna has grown quite comely. I trust that she is still a virgin? Or did you already relieve her of that commodity?”
Jerval wanted to strike him, to break both his legs, but he couldn’t, at least not at this moment, so he ignored his words and said, “You have a new neighbor at Oldham. Sir Mark is now master there.” He saw the tightening in Eustace’s jaw and smiled.
“How generous you are toward a landless knight.” Eustace said it with a sneer, which marred his face, had he but known it.
“The de Vernon lands need proper protection from the Scots,” Jerval said smoothly, “and Sir Mark’s loyalty to the de Vernons, as well as his honor, cannot be questioned.”
Eustace shrugged. “From what I heard, Sir John kept a tight hold on Oldham. Did he have the misfortune to look lustfully at your wife?”
“Nay, he lacked the wit to see me for what I am, and he now rots in a shallow grave just beyond the keep. He betrayed us, dealt with Alan Durwald, who is also dead now. You will see Lady Faye, his widow. She has much changed since we freed her of that bastard. Let us go within. Doubtless you would like to refresh yourself.”
“What lovely rugs,” Jerval heard Princess Eleanor say to his mother as they entered the hall.
Lady Avicia beamed. “This one is from Castile, my lady, your homeland.”
“How long do you stay at Camberley, sire?” Lord Hugh asked.
Edward tossed down the rest of his wine before saying with a disarming grin, “Actually, Lord Hugh, our trip north is for two purposes, the first being to travel to Scotland to celebrate my aunt’s birthday. If it pleases you, we would be your guests for two days. My wife much enjoys the lake region, and it is always a pleasure to see my father’s faithful barons.”