Midnight Magic by Shari Anton Page A

All of the household knights had now sworn allegiance to Alberic and were allowed their weapons and the freedom of the castle. And tonight the villages’ officials, the bailiffs and reeves, had been summoned to sup with their lord.
    If not for the arrow Alberic had stuck in the pillar yesterday, one could hardly tell anything had changed from when Sir Hugh de Leon was lord. However, the arrow reminded all that not everyone was at peace with the change of lordship, and Gwendolyn was content to leave the arrow there to keep the memory alive.
    Alberic came down the stairs, his expression puzzled when he spotted her. Odell took up his post behind the dais to watch for trouble.
    Though it damn near killed her, she smiled sweetly when Alberic sat down next to her in her father’s chair.
    He smelled of soap, his facial hair freshly scraped with nary a nick on his rugged jaw. His dark blond hair was neatly combed. A new tunic of deep blue linen fitted him perfectly across his broad shoulders, the color striking against the sun-touched hue of his skin and the green of his eyes.
    She hadn’t been this close to him since the night of the vigil and had forgotten about those tingles of awareness she’d felt when first meeting him. She used the precious seconds during the priest’s recital of grace to suppress the tingling’s renewal.
    “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this eve, my lady? Is Emma ill?”
    Even the deep rumble of his voice affected her more profoundly when this close. She commanded her pulse to slow and the fluttering in her stomach to cease.
    Alberic might be a handsome devil, possessed of an enticing appeal, but she must consider him a sheep to be shorn. Except she’d never wielded the heavy, sharp shears. She would have to be careful, remain in command.
    “Nay. We decided to allow all to have peace at their meal, so Emma sups with Nicole in our bedchamber. Wine, Sir Alberic?” Gwendolyn picked up the flagon and filled his goblet. “Cook tells me you requested dove. A fine choice.”
    He raised a questioning eyebrow. “A compliment, too? How intriguing.”
    Her false smile slipped a bit.
    “I endeavor to put my troubles aside for an hour or two. Is that wrong of me?”
    “Not at all, my lady.” He raised a hand, signaling the servants to begin hauling platters of food to the tables. “If a peaceful, pleasant meal keeps the smile on your face, then I shall endeavor to aid you.”
    He poured her wine, a dark, musky-scented red from Burgundy, then lifted his goblet toward her.
    “Shall we drink to continued peace at Camelen?”
    A sentiment she approved. No matter what the future brought, she wished Camelen peace. God’s truth, she would miss her home and all the people in it when she left. In danger of becoming maudlin, she raised her goblet. “To Camelen.”
    The wine went down smoothly and tasted different. Her surprise must have shown.
    “Like it?” he asked.
    “I do. A new cask?”
    “Nay. I merely asked the butler to add sugar and clove to that served at high table. I like my wine sweeter than most.”
    So he’d inspected the cellar, too. His cellar now. But she could hardly fault him for the change; the wine did taste better, more palatable.
    For their first course he chose almond fish stew for their bowls, and figs stuffed with eggs and bits of baked salmon for their trenchers.
    She’d never been fond of figs, so she used her eating knife to cut her portion into tiny pieces she could swallow whole and wash down with wine.
    “A pretty knife,” he commented.
    “Did you not notice Emma’s? They match. Nicole’s, too.”
    “Nicole’s, too, hmmm?”
    She probably shouldn’t have reminded him that Nicole yet retained her eating knife. At least the girl no longer had the dagger. Alberic did.
    “I meant to ask if you objected to our hanging Father’s and William’s swords and daggers in their place of honor. ’Tis tradition.”
    He glanced around the hall at the various