The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(29)
Avelina thought of how the real Lady Dorothea would react to this situation. She would be outraged—if she actually was not pregnant with Sir Dietric’s child. But instead of feeling outraged, Avelina had the strangest feeling of regret that Lord Thornbeck would think even for one moment that she had been with a knight named Sir Dietric and was carrying his child. She couldn’t bear to think she had disappointed him.
“Rumors often get started with a half-truth,” he said. “Or a misunderstanding.”
Was he thinking of the rumors that the Earl of Plimmwald had spread to the king himself about Lord Thornbeck murdering his brother?
“Of course. Very true.” She should have told him she was in love with a knight, since that would have at least kept him from ever choosing her. But again, she could not bear to have him thinking ill of her. Besides, she was too afraid he would send her home in disgrace, and then Lord Plimmwald would certainly not reward her.
“Come.” He held his arm out to her. “I shall escort you to the Great Hall before someone comes looking for us.”
Her hands still shook a little from the shock of Lord Thornbeck asking her about Lady Dorothea’s secret baby. But at least Fronicka did not realize Avelina was her maidservant in disguise. Lord Thornbeck seemed to believe Avelina and to believe that Fronicka’s damning information about her was untrue. All was well as she managed to breathe evenly entering the Great Hall with the margrave. All the guests were already seated and talking amongst themselves.
Fronicka sat at the right of the head of the table, the place where she could best command the margrave’s attention. All the places at that end of the table were taken. There was nowhere left for Avelina except at the other end of the table—which suited Avelina quite well, since Lady Magdalen and the Duke of Wolfberg were sitting there. The other ladies didn’t seem to realize who the Duke of Wolfberg was—that he was a wealthy man with a higher rank even than Lord Thornbeck.
Avelina was not surprised that Lord Thornbeck began walking her toward that end. He halted beside Lady Magdalen, allowing Avelina to sit next to her. But then he sat at the very end of the table, with Avelina to his right and the Duke of Wolfberg to his left.
Everyone else turned, with a few gasps, to stare at the margrave.
“I hope my guests do not mind,” he said, “but I shall sit at this end of the table tonight.”
A murmur went through the room. Avelina did not dare look down the table at Fronicka, but she could well imagine that lady’s face turning red.
A servant came and filled Lord Thornbeck’s and Avelina’s goblets. The margrave stood and raised his goblet. “I wish to drink to the health of the noble ladies here tonight who have graciously come to Thornbeck Castle. I pray you all enjoy yourselves while you are here, and God will show me which worthy lady among you should be my bride.”
Everyone smiled their approval of his words and they all drank, including Avelina. God, show him that Magdalen is the worthiest of all.
At least now he might see Fronicka as a mean-spirited person who spread untrue rumors.
The young squires served the food and the margrave talked to the Duke of Wolfberg about his uncle, who had taken over after the young duke’s father died.
Magdalen leaned over and whispered, “Fronicka looks like she swallowed a burning Yule log.”
Avelina laughed out loud but quickly covered her mouth and stifled the sound.
“Perhaps you should sleep in my room tonight,” Magdalen whispered. “She may have one of her servants put a few snakes and spiders in your bed.”
“I shall push some heavy trunks and chairs in front of all doorways so no one can get in.”
When Avelina’s stomach settled enough that she could eat, the food was as delicious as always. She was reminded of Irma’s blissful moans the night before when speaking of the sweet fruit puddings she had eaten with the other servants in the kitchen. Truly, the margrave’s cooks had a gift for mixing just the right amount of spices and other ingredients into their dishes.
“Are you enjoying the story of The Song of Roland?” Lord Thornbeck suddenly asked her, his gaze on her instead of the Duke of Wolfberg, who was now talking to Magdalen.
She swallowed her bite of roasted pig. “I like it very much. I shall return it to your library tomorrow, since I finished it already.”
No one else seemed to be listening, as those near enough to hear were having their own conversations.
“Tell me about one of your stories.”
“Are you sure you want to hear about my stories? I think you would find them silly.”
“I already know your views on love and marriage. Do you think you will surprise me with your stories?” He lifted a brow at her.
“No, probably not.” She couldn’t help but smile.
His brown eyes focused intently on her and glimmered in the light of the dozens of candles around the room. Birds’ wings fluttered in her stomach. Not scowling, his features relaxed, brought out the square masculinity of his chin and the short stubble on his jaw. But it was the thought of him wanting to know about her stories that made her stomach tumble inside her.
“The story I am writing now is about a . . . a servant girl who falls in love with a wealthy merchant’s son.” They leaned toward each other to catch the sound of the other’s voice in the noisy Great Hall.
“What happens next?”