Alinor (RC2) by Gellis Roberta

Author:Gellis, Roberta [Gellis, Roberta]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Erotica, Historical, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Ellora's Cave
Published: 2011-02-04T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The habit of Alinor’s servants was to carry out their mistress’s orders as quickly as was humanly possible. Although she was not so unreasonable as to punish a man for bad weather, neither was it wise for a messenger of hers to sit down beside a river and wait for a flood to subside. Thus the trusty man that carried her letters and Ian’s found King John at La Rochelle, where he was making preparations to return to England. It was a great relief to the messenger not to have to pursue the king, for John, when he was not sunk into lethargy, moved from place to place almost as swiftly as his mother had done. Moreover, the messenger’s task was essentially over. Fortunately for him, in the city of La Rochelle full court protocol obtained, and this protocol forbade the direct approach of so insignificant a servant to the king, except in a dire emergency. Alinor’s man had only to see the court official Ian had designated and deliver the letters to him.

Ian had taken a good deal of pleasure in deciding to whom to deliver the letters. There were so many of the king’s favorites he disliked, and John was notoriously unrestrained in his behavior toward the bearer of ill tidings. The first idea had been to let Fulk or Henry carry his own rejection, but Ian reluctantly had to abandon that notion. Neither of those gentlemen was above lifting the seals with a hot knife, murdering the messenger and destroying the letters, so that Alinor’s seeming refusal to reply to the king’s orders would make the marriage seem an act of defiance. Not that most of the other gentlemen of the court were above lifting a seal, Ian told Alinor wryly. It was just that no other would think the danger of discovery worthwhile when the letter did not concern him.

Having given the matter some careful thought, Ian grinned wickedly and bid Alinor’s man to deliver his burden to Hugh of Neville.

“From whom?” that gentleman asked disdainfully, not reaching a hand for the proffered packet but signing a servant to take it.

“From Alinor, Lady of Roselynde,” the man-at-arms repeated, bowing low and humbly, “and from Ian, Lord de Vipont.”

His accent was uncouth; his clothes were mudsplashed, salt rimed, and sweat stained; he smelled to high heaven. He knew he was offending the great lord, but his instructions had been clear, and he was obeying them.

Neville frowned as he turned the packet over in his hands and looked at the seal. He was not the man to do even a friend a favor if it would not benefit him, and he certainly had no intention of accepting for delivery to the king anything that would upset John’s temper. It was not that John was ill-humored at this time. In fact, he was particularly cheerful, as if he anticipated some pleasant event, and, of course, the queen was breeding, at long last. Neville, however, knew the king well enough not to depend on that.

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