few
days, she found in the occasion an opportunity to vent some of her
simmering anger.
“Stop this at once!” With her hands still on
her hips she advanced into the hall and planted herself squarely
between Eustace and Braedon. “I will not permit personal quarrels
to disturb my father's plans for the entertainment of our guests.
Lord Phelan, your son is disgracefully drunk. I am sure you recall
it is not the first time I have seen him in this condition. You
will kindly follow Sir Braedon's suggestion and take Eustace to
your room at once and keep him there until he is sober again.
Perhaps Lord Achard will agree to assist you.”
“It will be my great honor to obey your
commands, my lady,” Achard said so promptly that Catherine sent a
sharp look in his direction. He smiled and nodded at her,
presenting the very picture of a guest who wanted to be helpful in
ending an unpleasant situation.
“You interfering bitch!” Eustace shouted at
Catherine.
She ignored Eustace and looked straight into
Phelan's eyes.
“That was a deadly insult,” she said quietly.
“Shall I tell my father of it?”
“No.” Phelan responded at once. “I apologize
for my son's unseemly behavior, and for his slighting words to you.
As you, yourself, have said, he is out of his wits from too much
wine.”
“I never said he was out of his wits,”
Catherine stated very firmly. “I said he is disgracefully drunk.
There is a difference, Lord Phelan, which I am sure you perceive as
clearly as I do.”
Phelan looked as if he wanted to hit her, or
perhaps he was merely trying to think of an insult to add to the
one Eustace had uttered. Catherine faced him without fear, knowing
from past experience that Phelan was a bully who would change his
tactics as soon as he saw a chance to advance his own
ambitions.
“Well, sir, shall I report this incident to
my father?” Catherine asked, tapping one foot with impatience. “I
warn you, he will be greatly angered by what Eustace has said to
me.” She was not surprised when Achard intervened.
“Sir Eustace, allow me to assist you,” Achard
said in a cajoling way. “How often it happens that bright sunlight
and an overly warm day combined with a heavy meal will make a man
ill. I am certain a bit of rest will restore you. Just put your arm
across my shoulders and lean on me. You see, here is the entry
hall. I'll help you up the stairs. Be careful, they are steep.”
Catherine spared only a quick look at the
departing Achard and Eustace, with Phelan climbing the stairs
behind them. She motioned to Aldis, who came to her at once.
“My dear, are you all right?” Aldis asked,
keeping her voice soft while she looked hard at Catherine. “I think
I have some idea how difficult it must be for you to face down
Eustace after what he did to you last winter.”
In fact, Catherine was trembling inside,
though she refused to let anyone, even Aldis, see how upset she
really was. She sought refuge in her familiar duties as
chatelaine.
“Will you please direct the servants in
clearing away this mess?” she asked her cousin, indicating the
overturned furniture and the dishes scattered about. Raising her
voice, she added, “The rest of you, kindly go about your business.
Just remember that neither my father nor I will permit another
quarrel such as you have witnessed here.” Seeing the guests and
men-at-arms beginning to disperse, she spun around to give her full
attention to Braedon.
“You,” she said, stabbing a finger at him,
“come with me.”
She led him to the stillroom, which was the
nearest place she could think of where they could have a private
conversation. Braedon looked around the room, sniffing
appreciatively at the bunches of dried herbs that Catherine kept
there. Sunlight beaming through the open window glimmered on his
dark hair and touched the humorous lines that marked the corners of
his eyes.
“This is a pleasant room,” he said. He
touched a pile of neatly folded linen
days, she found in the occasion an opportunity to vent some of her
simmering anger.
“Stop this at once!” With her hands still on
her hips she advanced into the hall and planted herself squarely
between Eustace and Braedon. “I will not permit personal quarrels
to disturb my father's plans for the entertainment of our guests.
Lord Phelan, your son is disgracefully drunk. I am sure you recall
it is not the first time I have seen him in this condition. You
will kindly follow Sir Braedon's suggestion and take Eustace to
your room at once and keep him there until he is sober again.
Perhaps Lord Achard will agree to assist you.”
“It will be my great honor to obey your
commands, my lady,” Achard said so promptly that Catherine sent a
sharp look in his direction. He smiled and nodded at her,
presenting the very picture of a guest who wanted to be helpful in
ending an unpleasant situation.
“You interfering bitch!” Eustace shouted at
Catherine.
She ignored Eustace and looked straight into
Phelan's eyes.
“That was a deadly insult,” she said quietly.
“Shall I tell my father of it?”
“No.” Phelan responded at once. “I apologize
for my son's unseemly behavior, and for his slighting words to you.
As you, yourself, have said, he is out of his wits from too much
wine.”
“I never said he was out of his wits,”
Catherine stated very firmly. “I said he is disgracefully drunk.
There is a difference, Lord Phelan, which I am sure you perceive as
clearly as I do.”
Phelan looked as if he wanted to hit her, or
perhaps he was merely trying to think of an insult to add to the
one Eustace had uttered. Catherine faced him without fear, knowing
from past experience that Phelan was a bully who would change his
tactics as soon as he saw a chance to advance his own
ambitions.
“Well, sir, shall I report this incident to
my father?” Catherine asked, tapping one foot with impatience. “I
warn you, he will be greatly angered by what Eustace has said to
me.” She was not surprised when Achard intervened.
“Sir Eustace, allow me to assist you,” Achard
said in a cajoling way. “How often it happens that bright sunlight
and an overly warm day combined with a heavy meal will make a man
ill. I am certain a bit of rest will restore you. Just put your arm
across my shoulders and lean on me. You see, here is the entry
hall. I'll help you up the stairs. Be careful, they are steep.”
Catherine spared only a quick look at the
departing Achard and Eustace, with Phelan climbing the stairs
behind them. She motioned to Aldis, who came to her at once.
“My dear, are you all right?” Aldis asked,
keeping her voice soft while she looked hard at Catherine. “I think
I have some idea how difficult it must be for you to face down
Eustace after what he did to you last winter.”
In fact, Catherine was trembling inside,
though she refused to let anyone, even Aldis, see how upset she
really was. She sought refuge in her familiar duties as
chatelaine.
“Will you please direct the servants in
clearing away this mess?” she asked her cousin, indicating the
overturned furniture and the dishes scattered about. Raising her
voice, she added, “The rest of you, kindly go about your business.
Just remember that neither my father nor I will permit another
quarrel such as you have witnessed here.” Seeing the guests and
men-at-arms beginning to disperse, she spun around to give her full
attention to Braedon.
“You,” she said, stabbing a finger at him,
“come with me.”
She led him to the stillroom, which was the
nearest place she could think of where they could have a private
conversation. Braedon looked around the room, sniffing
appreciatively at the bunches of dried herbs that Catherine kept
there. Sunlight beaming through the open window glimmered on his
dark hair and touched the humorous lines that marked the corners of
his eyes.
“This is a pleasant room,” he said. He
touched a pile of neatly folded linen
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