"Yes, Lord Orman," Will said evenly. He was puzzled. He had the strange feeling that, in spite of his anger, Orman seemed to be almost pleading for respect and recognition.
Orman paused in his pacing and took a deep breath.
"Very well. That said, I realize it is not your fault that you fail to live up to the standards that I consider should be the norm for a jongleur. Country ditties and folk songs are all very well, but they are no substitute for the classics. The kind of simplistic doggerel you sing merely stultifies the minds of the common people. I believe it is a performer's role to lift people. To elevate their perceptions. To expose them to a greatness beyond their own limited horizons."
He stopped, looked at Will and shook his head slightly. Will was in no doubt that Orman found his potential for elevation sadly lacking. He bowed again.
"I regret that I am a simple entertainer, my lord," he said. Orman nodded sourly.
"With the emphasis on simple, I'm afraid," he said.
Head lowered, Will felt his cheeks beginning to flush. Get over it, he told himself. If you plan to be a jongleur, you have to develop a thick skin for criticism. He breathed deeply a few times, regaining control of himself. Orman watched him curiously. The barb had been intentional, Will realized. The castle lord wanted to see how he might respond.
"And yet," Orman said, in almost grudging recognition, "the instrument you play is an uncommonly good one. It's not a Gilperon, by any chance, is it?"
"It's a mandola," Will began his usual response. "It has eight strings, tuned in…" He got no further.
"I know it's a mandola, for pity's sake!" Orman interrupted him. "I was asking if it were made by Axel Gilperon, probably the kingdom's foremost luthier. I would have thought that any professional musician would have heard of him. Even you."
It was a bad slip, Will realized. He tried to cover as best he could.
"My apologies, my lord. I misheard you. My instrument was made for me by a local craftsman in the south, but he is well known for copying the style of the master. Naturally, a poor country musician like myself could never afford a real Gilperon."
He laughed in a self-deprecating way, but Orman continued to stare at him, suspicion all too evident in his gaze. There was an awkward silence, finally broken by a tapping at the door.
"What?" Orman demanded angrily, and the door opened just far enough for his secretary to peer nervously into the room.
"Your pardon, Lord Orman," he said, "but the Lady Gwendolyn of Amarle has arrived and insists on seeing you."
Orman scowled. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Xander opened the door a fraction wider, making covert gestures toward the anteroom behind him. "She's here, my lord," he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. Orman made an ill-tempered gesture, realizing that the visiting noblewoman was already in his anteroom.
"Very well, show her in," he said. He glanced at Will, who had moved toward the door. "You wait. I'm not finished with you yet."
Xander nodded gratefully and withdrew. A few seconds later, he opened the door wide and entered, standing to one side as he ushered in the new arrival.
"Lord Orman, may I present Lady Gwendolyn of Amarle." He bowed low as the lady entered the room. Blond, tall and beautiful, she was dressed in an exquisite sea-green silk gown and carried herself with the unconscious dignity and grace of a born noble. Will suppressed an exclamation of surprise.
Lady Gwendolyn of Amarle was Alyss.
21
Alyss swept toward the gray-gowned castle lord, ignoring Will. "Lord Orman," she said, "it is so good of you to shelter me for these next few weeks!" She held out her hand, palm downward, to Orman, leaving him in no doubt as to whom she considered to be more senior in rank.
Orman grudgingly bent over the hand and brushed his lips to it. "Weeks, my lady?" he said. "I thought it was a matter of a few days? A week at most?"
"But surely not!" Alyss recoiled a little at his gaucherie. "The roads to my fiance's castle are thick with snow and I have heard that there are wolves and bears in this countryside! I cannot possibly progress further until the roads clear-anxious as I am to be with my beloved Lord Farrell. Surely, Lord Orman, you would not begrudge me the hospitality promised by your poor dear father."
Orman was trapped. It was interesting, Will thought, how the noble pecking order worked. Sour and ill-mannered as he might be, and a potential murderer to boot, Orman was overwhelmed by Alyss's presumption of superior rank.
"Of course not, Lady Gwendolyn! he said. It was a mere inquiry, nothing more."
But Gwendolyn had already dismissed him and was staring at Will as if he were some kind of inferior insect.
"And whom do we have here?" she asked, arching one eyebrow.
"A jongleur, my lady, arrived only a day ago himself."
"Does this jongleur have a name?" she replied, her gaze fixing on Will. He hesitated. It was Orman's place to introduce him. Someone of common rank could not initiate a conversation with a noblewoman such as Gwendolyn. As he watched the byplay between the two, Will was immensely impressed by her ability to play the role she had taken.
"Will Barton, my lady," said Orman. By having him introduce Will to her, she had reinforced her superior rank once again. Will bowed deeply.
"At your service, my lady," he said. Alyss studied him thoughtfully, one elbow cupped in her hand while her long, elegant fingers stroked her cheek.
"Are you a skilled performer, Will Barton?"
Will glanced sidelong at Orman. "I am a simple entertainer, my lady," he said.
Orman shook his head disparagingly. "Folk songs and country ditties are his limit, I'm afraid, my lady. Hardly what you would call one of the higher rank."
"Folk songs?" Alyss said, and broke into a shrill little laugh. "What fun! Very well, jongleur, you may attend me in my suite in an hour's time. Perhaps your ditties can help me forget the misery of separation from my beloved." She glanced at Orman. "I trust you have no objection, Orman?"
Orman shrugged. "None at all, my lady," he said. "Please avail yourself of all our facilities."
Will's eyebrow shot up. So he was a "facility," was he? Fortunately, he had his expression under control again before Orman noticed. The castle lord's attention was fully occupied by Alyss, as she forged on with her superb impression of an overbearing noblewoman.
"Then perhaps you could have your kitchen deliver a light meal to my rooms as well, Orman?" she said. "I'm tired and hungry after my travels through this dismal countryside of yours. You may present your household to me tomorrow, but for the remainder of the day I prefer to rest."
Orman bowed. "Of course, my lady." Really, thought Will, there was little else he could say. He realized that Alyss was looking at him once more.
"But before I retire, there are one or two things we might discuss, Orman…" she said meaningfully, and Orman took up her cue.
He made a covert shooing gesture to Will. "Very well, Barton, you may go. We'll continue our discussion another time."
Will bowed deeply. "Lady Gwendolyn, my lord," he said, and backed toward the door. They ignored him, which was only fitting, as Orman ushered Alyss to a chair.
"Remember, jongleur," she called imperiously as Will reached the door, "my rooms in an hour. I may not be ready for you then, so you may have to wait, but be there anyway."
Will bowed again. "Of course, my lady," he said.