Dreamspell by Tamara Leigh Page B

she advanced. “I suppose you know Wynland has taken Joan and gone in search of his nephews?”
    Jaspar’s disposition soured further. “Though I warned him the wench lies with the tongue of a snake, he would not be turned from his course.”
    Wench. . . Kennedy didn’t like that word.
    Jaspar sighed. “I will have to deal with the trollop when she comes skulking back.”
    From wench to trollop. “What makes you think she’s lying?”
    The woman stroked her bird. “Likely, she fancies Lord Wynland, as does many a woman.”
    Not this one.
    “’Tis curious that he attracts them so.” Jaspar slid her gaze to Kennedy. “He is hardly handsome, is he? I wonder that any woman would welcome his embrace.”
    Looks aren’t everything , Kennedy silently defended him, surprising herself.
    Watchful, Jaspar said, “I pity the woman who must take him to husband.”
    A lie if ever Kennedy had heard one. From the body language that fairly shouted from this woman, she would not only welcome Wynland’s embrace but pity herself if another were to “take him to husband.”
    The lady puffed her chest with new breath. “Enough, though. Let us speak of you, Lady Lark.”
    Not a good topic. “After that horrendous ride, I’d like to clean up and rest.”
    Jaspar put a hand on her arm. “Once your chamber has been made ready, you may do so.”
    “No need to put yourself out for me. Whatever you have will work fine.”
    “Nay, Lady Lark, ‘twould be remiss of me to not provide for a friend of the king.”
    She was as suspicious of Kennedy as Lady Aveline had been. “Really, I don’t mind—”
    “Surely you can spare me a few minutes?”
    Kennedy swallowed her sigh. “All right.”
    “Now, with regards to your gown. . .”
    Not where Kennedy wanted to go. “Is your bird blind?”
    Jaspar frowned. “He is a hawk and, nay, he is not blind. Why do you ask?”
    “The thing over his head.”
    “’Tis a hood.” She laughed. “I am surprised, Lady Lark. Know you naught of hawking?”
    “I’ve led a rather sheltered life.” Or had . It was a long way from the grits and gravy of North Carolina to the grit and grime of Los Angeles.
    Jaspar’s gaze reflected her deepening suspicion, and suddenly the topic of Kennedy’s clothing didn’t sound as bad.
    “About my gown,” she said.
    The woman clung to her misgivings a moment longer, then took the bait. “Lord Wynland said it does not fit well, that you have. . .” She smiled faintly. “. . .added weight.”
    Kennedy clucked her tongue. “It’s all that fancy food they serve at court.”
    The woman smoothed a hand across her eighteen-inch waist. “I fear none of my gowns will fit you.”
    “Then I’ll have to make do with what I have.”
    “My maid, Esther, is a large woman, though mayhap not as large as you. She may have a gown you can borrow.”
    Never had Kennedy been called a “large” woman. She was no waif—at least, not in this dream—but one hundred thirty five pounds on a five foot eight frame was nothing to fuss about. In fact, she would give anything to be this weight again when she awoke.
    “Are you not warm, Lady Lark?”
    So much that the gown and hair at the back of her neck clung. However, as much as she wanted to throw off the cape, not only would her snug outfit elevate the woman’s suspicions, it would invite further insult. “Actually, I’m chilled.”
    “You must be ailing.” Jaspar turned so abruptly her pet flapped its wings. “Come, let us draw near the fire.”
    Kicking herself all the way, Kennedy followed her to the hearth where the woman passed her hawk onto a perch and lowered into the largest of three chairs.
    As Kennedy settled onto the chair beside hers, Sir Leonel entered the hall.
    “Leonel, dear,” Lady Jaspar said, “join us.”
    “All is well, ladies?” He halted alongside the fireplace and raised a booted foot to the hearth.
    “Quite,” Jaspar said.
    Kennedy felt perspiration trickle down her back.
    “You are