Page 45 of No Place in Time

Cecily.

“Loose!”

The air filled with arrows rising together, like dark wings flying upward, then dropping hard to their marks.

26

CECILY

1298

“Lady Cecily.” Julian greeted her with a wide smile as he took her hand. “I had hoped you would come.”

His eyes were bright, a little too bright, she thought. She had heard rumors of late nights and long revelries at Veyron Hall. But his manner was warm and his attention seemed genuine, so she smiled back despite herself.

She followed him into the hall. What she saw made her smile fade.

The feast had tipped past celebration into uninhibited gaiety. The noise was too loud, the laughter was too sharp, the air was too thick with the scent of spiced wine and ale.

Servants moved quickly between the tables, eyes downcast as they gathered untouched food and mopped spilled drinks.

Cecily saw one reveler lurch to his feet and stumble. He caught the edge of the table, sending cups and trenchers clattering to the floor before falling himself. The retching that followed halted the music, but it resumed as soon as a servant hurried forward with a cloth while another man laughed and thumped the drunkard’s back.

She wished her uncle were with her, but he had felt unwell and had encouraged her to attend the feast on her own. She was beginning to regret it.

The musicians played on.

Cecily kept her posture straight, her hands folded, her eyes on her trencher. At Malethurst, feasts meant music and conversation and her father’s steady presence at the head of the table. This was something else entirely: a bawdy song raised by a group of knights with lyrics that made her color rise, a lord at the main table with his hand high on a woman’s thigh—a woman not his wife. Too much wine and too much ale.

Despite herself, she raised her eyes and caught glimpses.

Julian sat at the center, his face becoming more flushed as the evening wore on, his goblet never empty for long. He laughed too easily, leaning insolently into those around him.

At his shoulder stood Benedict, the favorite.

Cecily had heard the rumors. Benedict, a man without land or lineage, was now Master of the Household, and he moved through the hall with an authority that eclipsed his station. He gave instructions that were obeyed at once, his hand resting on Julian’s chair as though he, not Julian, were the true master of Veyron Hall.

Now Benedict bent close, murmuring something that made Julian bark a laugh and clap him on the shoulder, almost upsetting his balance.

At the far side of the hall, a woman rose from her seat as if to leave. Benedict was there at once, his hand light on her elbow as he steered her toward a dark passage instead.

Isabel gave a small gasp, her eyes growing wide.

“That is Sir Aldric’s wife,” Isabel said under her breath.

Cecily watched the woman vanish into the dark with Benedict. No one intervened. A few men glanced over, then turned back to their cups with knowing smiles on their faces. Someone shouted for more wine.

“How can he be so brazen?” Isabel whispered.

Cecily did not answer. She looked away.

Julian waved his hand, and the musicians struck up another tune, faster, louder. The hall blurred into motion and sound. Laughter rose again, accompanied by vulgar language.

Julian shoved himself to his feet and moved toward Cecily and Isabel. He swayed, laughing as Benedict, now returned from his tryst, steadied him with an arm across his back.

“Dance,” Julian called to Cecily and Isabel, loud enough for the hall to hear. “Come. Dance for us, both of you.”

Before Cecily could speak, Benedict smiled.