Page 122 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“What in the world has happened?” Gunnilde cried. When a sulky silence met her words, she turned to her brother. “Hal?”

Hal drew himself up. “Not a word will pass my lips. I would sooner die than repeat such foul—”

“Sir Symond insulted Mistress Culmington within Hal’s hearing,” Cuthbert interjected.

“I said naught that was not true!” Sir Symond spat out contemptuously.

“By gods I’ll—!” James and Neville tightened their grip of her flailing brother.

“Calm down, Payne!” Lord Vawdrey said sharply. “That’s quite enough!”

“Let me through!” the imperious voice of the Queen cut through the crowd. “If there should be an arbiter in this matter, it should be myself!” However, it seemed the guards were not amenable to this, much to the Queen’s chagrin. Her angry voice could be heard muttering in the background.

Lord Vawdrey was speaking to Sir Symond in low tones, and whatever he was saying made the knight’s face pale, then flame again. “Wycliffe?” Earl Vawdrey shouted. “Do you have that young brother-in-law of yours under control?”

“We have him, my lord,” James responded grimly. Gunnilde breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Very well, then, I think apologies are in order. Sir Symond, you will start. First to your hostess.”

Sir Symond shot a look of furious resentment in her direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Wycliffe, Sir James,” he muttered sullenly. “For bringing disquiet into your halls.”

“And what of—?” Hal started but was duly jolted and elbowed by his captors.

“Quiet, you fool!” Kit seethed. “D’you want to be slung out on your ear?”

“And now you will apologize for the misunderstanding, Chevenix,” Vawdrey continued in freezing tones. “As an honorable member of the King’s guard, it is inconceivable that Sir Symond could have insulted one of the Queen’s ladies thus. Therefore, he must have been misunderstood in this matter. Is that not so, Sir Symond?”

Sir Symond clenched his fists. His lip was swollen and bleeding, and his eyes bloodshot with fury. For a handsome man, the expression on his face could only be described as ugly. “I misspoke,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I intended no insult to the lady.”

“Handsomely said,” Lord Vawdrey lied. “Lady Wycliffe, do you accept this apology?”

Gunnilde cleared her throat. “Right gladly,” she responded.

Vawdrey nodded. “And now, Payne, your response?”

Now it was James’s turn to whisper furiously in Hal’s ear. “Well, but— But what I say is this— Oh, well, if you insist” were Hal’s huffed responses. He lifted his voice. “I accept that I must have misheard Sir Symond,” Hal conceded with ill grace. “But if I ever hear—” Cuthbert stamped on Hal’s foot. “Ow!”

“Most handsomely accepted,” Lord Vawdrey said before Hal could recover. “And now, I believe the prince’s guards must volunteer to escort Sir Symond to the tower to take up immediate duties there for the next five days. Alas, they are short of hands at present.”

“Do as he says,” the prince’s voice rang out. “I will remain here with Lord Vawdrey.”

After some muttering, the guards appeared on either side of Sir Symond, who shot a murderous look in Lord Vawdrey’s direction before being marched away.

“Dear me,” said Viscount Bardulf, appearing at Gunnilde’s side. “I was not expecting this gathering to be quite so lively. I know you promised to entertain us, my dear Lady Wycliffe, but this is almost too much.”

The double doors closed behind the guard’s ringing footsteps and the room broke out in a babble of confusion.

40

The last of the notes died away and James lowered his shawm. He did not particularly care to perform in public but had filled in at the last minute when Wilford had failed to show. The silence of the room did not bother him, only Gunnilde’s reaction, so his eyes sought her out at once. She was sat on the edge of her seat, hands clasped together, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Was that good or bad? James was not sure, but he wanted to find out. He was already halfway across the room to her when the applause burst out, loud and jarring, jolting him out of his abstraction. Suddenly, everyone was standing up. Where was Gunnilde? She had been sitting front and center, but now the Queen was standing in front of her, impeding his view.

“Sir James!” the Queen hailed him insistently. “But this was masterly! Quite masterly! I must hear your firsthand account of such a remarkable work.”

James frowned, peering around her. Ah, there was his wife! But who was that she embracing? A tall dark figure wearing a close-fitting cap. Belatedly, he realized it was Mistress Bartree, and relaxed.

“Sir James?” Queen Armenal prompted him sharply. She had sat back on the bench and was patting the spot beside her. “You must give me the benefit of your conversation for a while,” she said ingratiatingly and smiled at him. “I am sure your wife can spare you.”