Page 73 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Oh...Her Majesty,” she said in a lackluster manner, as though she was not thinking of her at all. Who else’s good graces would she be wanting to get into? James wondered uneasily.

They were approaching the Great Hall now, and James was surreptitiously observing her from the corner of his eye when someone crossed the corridor to stand directly in front of them. Someone large and bulky. They came up short, and James eyed the newcomer with disfavor. “Sir—” he started when Gunnilde gave a ragged gasp.

The tall, broad newcomer bowed, his expression very grave. “Lady Gunnilde,” he addressed her, quite improperly, his voice deep and his eyes riveted to her face. Gunnilde’s fingers on James’s arm instantly transformed into claws as she dug them into his sleeve.

“Your name, sir?” James demanded when neither spoke, though he had already formed a suspicion as to the newcomer’s identity.

“James,” Gunnilde said in a strained voice. “This is Sir Ned—I mean, Sir Edward Bevan of Knollesley.” She gave a feeble smile. “He is currently acting as Hal’s mentor in his training. Sir Edward,” she said, swallowing, “allow me to present my husband, Sir James Wycliffe.”

James surveyed the knight coldly. Not that he would notice, for he gave James only the shallowest of bows. James topped this by bobbing his head in scant acknowledgment, likely the rudest greeting he had ever bestowed on anyone in his life.

“My lady,” Sir Ned said raspily, two slashes of high color along his cheekbones. He raked a hand through his hair. “I wanted—that is, I hoped to have a word with you. Hal invited me to join you for supper but—”

“You must certainly join us, Sir Edward,” she assured him, in a high, artificial voice. “I assure you, we will be most offended if you do not. Is that not so, James?” she asked a trifle desperately as she turned toward him in appeal.

“Of course,” he answered, and Gunnilde smiled at him tremulously. Instead of releasing her grip of his arm, she now held on to it fast with both hands. Strangely, the clinging gesture soothed him somewhat, especially when he saw Bevan’s gaze dwell there. “You must sit at our table and welcome.”

Sir Ned’s gaze flickered back to meet his and he inclined his head. “That is generous, Wycliffe, thank you.”

James swept past him, escorting Gunnilde into the hall. It did not take him long to spot his brother-in-law, for Hal was holding forth to a table full of his cronies. Not only were Kit and Cuthbert sat in attendance, but also Hadrian Kellingford, Cosgrave, and the boy with the snub nose whose name he had forgotten, if he’d ever known it.

Grimly, James made his way past the other tables to join them. He would rather not have been besieged on all sides by noisy lads, but it seemed he had little choice in the matter. Then he noticed the sour expression on Sir Ned’s face as he lowered himself onto a bench opposite them. He was even less happy about finding himself surrounded by squires.

James’s mood brightened perceptibly, especially when the boys began accosting Bevan, and he was forced to give them his attention while James saw Gunnilde seated. Hal leaned across the table. “Where’s Neville?” he asked above the din. “Thought he’d join us here tonight.”

James threw a glance about the hall. “He must be dining with friends.”

“Maybe the Ashdowns,” suggested Kit wistfully. “I expect they lay on a pretty good supper spread. Lucky devil. He might have included us.”

“You’ve met the Ashdowns?” James asked in surprise, thinking of the elderly sisters across the corridor.

“Aye for Neville introduced us,” Cuthbert explained. “They promised to come and watch us compete in the Revels.” As both sisters were in their seventies, James was a little surprised to hear this.

“Mistress Ruth said she might lay a wager on my winning the wrestling,” Hal said with a failed attempt to look modest.

“Only after you invited her to feel your arm muscles,” Kit interjected witheringly.

James turned to Gunnilde, who sat quietly at his side. Noticing his querying look, she said, “Did you know I have not yet met the Ashdowns.” She sounded rather sad about this fact.

“I will have to introduce you,” he said, realizing he had been remiss in this quarter.

She nodded, then squared her shoulders and turned to face Sir Ned. “How are you finding your visit to court, Sir Edward?” she asked loudly, in order to make herself heard above the general din.

Bevan looked up, a hunted look on his face. “Busy,” he answered, casting a jaundiced eye over the boys laughing and jostling each other around him.

“You have found yourself much involved with the Squires’ Revels?” James asked. “Curious, I have not seen a single knight attached to their number since they arrived.” Bevan’s eyebrows snapped together, and he opened his mouth on some swift rejoinder when Gunnilde forestalled him.

“Yes, I must agree, husband,” she said swiftly. “They have all been running riot for the past week. Indeed, James was forced to step in and break up a scuffle that broke out here the other day. It was all very shocking and no knights in sight to restore order.”

Bevan had the grace to look discomforted. “I, uh, have had...some other business to attend to.” He coughed. “Some trifling ailment to contend with, nothing serious, but I will own it has preoccupied me of late.” James wondered that he should look so bashful about it. Mayhap it was something embarrassing that no knight would wish to own to. Like a bunion from wearing too-tight shoes.

“Is that why that witch has been visiting you in your rooms?” Cuthbert asked with interest. The boys promptly all stopped talking and turned to look at Bevan, who turned quite red.

“She has only visited me here once!” he snapped. “Besides, it’s none of your damned business, Ames!” Cuthbert shrugged, having apparently taken no offence. The other boys scuffed their feet and shot surreptitious looks at each other, whispering behind their hands. Cosgrave gave a suppressed snort of laughter and almost got shoved off the bench. James affected not to notice their horseplay.

“I trust your friend’s health continues to improve,” Gunnilde said politely after the heavy pause. Sir Ned looked blank. “We heard that Sir James Attley broke his arm.”

“Oh, Attley. I’m not so sure. I had the strangest letter from him yest’reen. I’m wondering if he might have been in the grip of a fever when he wrote it.”