“He gave you the title because you deserved it,” Gareth said. “You do not have to justify his decision to anyone. I have watched you do that for months and you must stop. All of this belongs to you now and you have done a remarkable job with it. The Trilaterals castles are well-organized and efficient, and you have brought law and order into Wales with your assumption of Wybren. The Welsh will see that soon enough. They will see that your presence here is a benefit and that your heart is true. Hopefully before they try to overrun us.”
He said the last sentence with some humor and Kevin smiled weakly. But he was uncomfortable with Gareth’s praise for many reasons, but mostly because he had always been a follower – sworn to William Marshal, or the de Lohr brothers, or to his brother. He’d never really had a command of his own until his brother made him the garrison commander of the Trilaterals castles. Trelystan, Hyssington, and Caradoc Castles had been his domain until Sean had given them to him. Now, they all belonged to Kevin and as Gareth said, even after all of these months, Kevin was still in disbelief.
But his focus, for the moment, was on Wybren.
“Hopefully,” he agreed, focusing on Gareth’s comment. “But I hesitate to move more men into Wales for fear the Welsh will think I am bolstering my army for some kind of military move. If they see me doing that, they will fear the worst and that will cause them to build their armies because they think I am going to attack them. Even so, I think we should start moving more men into Wales, gradually. You are right about overrunning us – I would be surprised if they did not try it at some point, soon.”
Both Gareth and Bannon nodded, in full agreement, but something near the hearth had Cal’s attention. He had been leaning back in his chair, one foot up on the table, but he spied something that made him sit up so fast that he splashed his ale on Bannon’s leg.
An angel had just made an appearance.
“So many men, Megsy!”
“I see them.”
“Saesneg men!”
“Courage, merch. This is for your father, after all.”
Perhaps it was for her father, but that knowledge didn’t make Juliandra feel any less sick to her stomach.
The hall of Wybren was a vast place, with a steeply pitched roof and heavy wooden beams in the rafters. There were holes in the eaves to let the smoke evacuate from the enormous firepit in the center of the hall, one so big that a man could easily fall into it and there would be no hope. Big logs were propped up on top of one another, giving off a flame that was as tall as a man and then some. The hall was smoky, crowded, and warm.
And they were expecting Juliandra to sing.
Da, I hope you appreciate this!
The plan was to get close to Kevin de Lara. She’d spent the afternoon discussing the situation with Megsy and they had come to the conclusion that if she sang well enough, and presented a pretty enough picture, the Lord of Wybren might very well want to meet her.
That was the hope, anyway.
But that feat would take a good deal of courage, courage that Juliandra had been trying to summon for the better part of the afternoon. She simply wasn’t accustomed to singing in front of a crowd, so this was as fearful an experience as she could imagine. She had always been inordinately shy when it came to performing, not even singing in front of the priests at the parish she attended. She simply wasn’t an exhibitionist.
But now, she was going to have to be.
The moment she emerged from the servant’s alcove in the corner of the hall, it seemed to her that all eyes immediately turned in her direction. She was wearing a scarlet damask dress that was bright enough to catch the eye, even in dim light. It was her finest, because she had been certain that if she dressed well, the Lord of Wybren would want to meet with her. She had hoped to overwhelm him with her appearance, but she hadn’t made it that far thanks to the sentries at the gatehouse.
But she’d found another way.
Come what may, she was going to have a conversation with Kevin de Lara that night and as she stood at the edge of the room, with all eyes upon her, she knew it was time to act.
If she could only stop her knees from knocking.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she headed into the room.
Juliandra kept her eyes on the hearth as her destination, the big and flaming pit in the center of the room. She would sing from there and, hopefully, everyone would hear her, for although her voice was very angelic, it was not very loud. As she neared the pit, she noticed a soldier sitting at the end of the table that had a lute in his hand.
She paused next to him.
“May I borrow your instrument?” she asked. “I did not bring my own. I will take very good care of it, I promise.”
The soldier was so busy staring at her beauty that he was dumbfounded by her question. It took him to a moment to realize what she had asked, and he quickly handed over his instrument, which was surprisingly well made. Juliandra took it with thanks and continue the last few steps to the fire.
Unfortunately, as she came to a halt, she happened to look at the room and realized just how many men were there. Saesneg men. Her fear surged but she fought it, quickly focusing on the instrument in her hands. She had to force herself to pretend that she was in her bedchamber at home, playing only for herself. She wasn’t entirely sure that she could pretend, however, considering the buzz of conversation in the hall.
She was surrounded by curious and enemy eyes.
In truth, it was impossible to pretend that she was alone, but as she began to tune the instrument, she glanced up to the eastern wall of the hall and noticed a beautiful tapestry hanging there, covering some lancet windows to keep out the night’s chill.
The tapestry depicted a woman with long blonde hair astride a white horse, riding through a grove of what looked like apple trees. There were various people around, colorfully dressed, and at the far end of the tapestry was a man in armor, his arms outstretched to her. It was a romantic piece of artwork and as she finished tuning the lute, she found herself focusing on the tapestry. It was much easier to focus on the romantic scene and sing to it than sing to a roomful of English soldiers.
The music began.
Juliandra was quite adept at playing musical instruments, and the soldier’s lute was no exception. She had skilled fingers and she took her attention from the tapestry for a few moments, watching her fingers as she played the unfamiliar instrument to ensure her fingers hit the right place on the strings. The moment the music began, the room grew still as the soldiers waited for the entertainment to come.
Juliandra continued to play the lute for a few moments as she struggled to summon the rest of her courage. When she felt strong enough, she lifted her head, looked at the tapestry, and began to sing.
“In the beauty of the spring,
He came to sing,
Upon a white horse he rode.
His crest was strong,
His features bold,
And his hair of fine and spun gold.
His hair of fine and spun gold.”
She felt rather relieved to have gotten the first part of the song out of the way without giving in to her fear and picked up the second verse with more confidence.
“In the beauty of the spring,
What pleasure he did bring,
Speaking of a love foretold.
You see, said he, love is like the spring,
Beauty that never grows old.
’Tis beauty that never grows old.”