At His Command-Historical Romance Version by Ruth Kaufman Page A

foreign to her it could just as well be another country as the king’s castle. No longer did she have the responsibility or authority she so appreciated. Instead, she was at the mercy of another, and expected to meekly do as ordered. A prisoner, albeit in an appealing, large cell.
    At least Nicholas had said he’d come to her if needed. She didn’t want to need him in that way.
    She looked at Ginelle and Robert, who seemed as uncomfortable as she. Well, at least these two are left to me.
    As Ginelle unpacked, Amice inspected her new chambers. A tiny sitting room led to a chamber with a bed wider and larger than her own, hung with cream wool curtains heavily embroidered with colorful leaves and flowers. Several tall windows overlooked a manicured courtyard, beyond which she could see a knot garden and a forest. She looked forward to walking the grounds, one thing to take pleasure in, at least. The windows’ red glass borders lent the room a rosy glow in the afternoon sun. A tiny maid’s room completed the quarters.
    Where was Robert to sleep? She’d worry about that later. She needed to wash away the dust of the road, refresh after her journey and prepare for her dinner with the king.
    “Ginelle, please find someone to fetch water for a bath.” She opened a chest and took out a comb.
    “But my lady, whom shall I ask?” Ginelle too seemed at a loss.
    Amice snapped the comb in two. “If I knew, I’d have told you.”
    “I wish we were at home!”
    “I’m sorry, Ginelle.” Amice knew she’d need more control over her emotions. She took a deep breath, then let it out. “I wish we were home, too.”
    Ginelle, wringing her hands, stepped cautiously into the corridor.
    A page leaned on the wall across from their door.
    “My lady wishes a bath,” Ginelle began nervously.
    “It shall be brought shortly.” The page hurried away.
    “Why couldn’t Nicholas—someone—have told us how things are done here,” Amice muttered while arranging gowns on the bed. “What am I to wear? Ginelle, see if you can find someone else to ask what one wears to meals.”
    Nicholas hadn’t included attire in his rendition of court life. She should’ve asked, either on the road or at home while there was time to have new gowns sewn, if needed. She’d been too busy worrying. Too busy resisting the idea of going to court in the first place. Too busy taking pleasure in Nicholas’s company.
    Ginelle left Amice to ponder her gowns.
    “I asked another page, who sent for a maid,” she reported.
    A few moments later, a knock sounded. Ginelle opened the door.
    “My lady, I am Adele. I was told you’re interested in the fashions of the day. Here, fine ladies such as yourself prefer bright, cheery colors,” the young, fresh-faced maid said. “If I may, I’ll help you select a gown.”
    Amice nodded her acceptance and gratefully accepted the bright blue silk overdress and low-cut kirtle the woman handed her. “Thank you.”
    The maid curtseyed and departed.
    Wearing the blue silk and her favorite amethysts, Amice was pacing furiously in the sitting room, heels clicking on the wood floors, when Lucan returned to escort her to dinner. They wove through corridor after corridor, her nerves tightening like balled yarn as the sound of many people talking in unison grew louder and louder. What was everyone doing?
    She’d envisioned an intimate dinner with the king and queen. Obviously there were many more guests than she’d expected.
    At last they reached a wide doorway. Amice took in the scene before her, surprise and confusion knotting her stomach. Everyone stood, heads bowed, in the midst of a rather extended grace.
    The page began making his way through the great hall, so vast it dwarfed Castle Rising’s. Long tables ran the length of the room, with a raised table across the back. To the right, a fireplace as tall as she barely contained a huge blaze, though it was warm outside and in. Finely woven tapestries of knights in battle