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Page 444
fever of joy, Alinor would not blame him for keeping his secret. Joy heals all. Dinner hour passed, but neither of them moved. Hunger did not touch them. Slowly, the long evening of late August darkened into twilight.
Just before full dark, the latch on the door made a little sound. Ian's head snapped around; he got to his feet with his hand on his sword hilt. The form that crept fearfully in at the door was no threat, at least no physical threat.
"Lady Alinor?"
"I am here," Alinor replied. "Who is it?"
"Lady Elizabeth."
Alinor sat up. Lady Elizabeth was one of the queen's attendant women. She had been a minor heiress, and John had given her in marriage to his stupid, gross bastard son, partly because it was a cheap way to provide for the boy and partly because he wanted to enjoy the girl himself. The virtual loss of her property and the total loss of her virtue had in no way embittered Lady Elizabeth, who took the king between her legs as merrily as she took any other man who offered. She was not particularly attractive, except for her unfailing good nature and, according to repute, her equally unfailing lust and inventiveness in sex play. It was said, laughingly, that she even serviced her husband with perfect good humor, although she was not quite sure which one he was.
Lady Elizabeth's morality was her own affair, and Alinor had nothing against her. She was no cause for jealousy. Elizabeth might cast longing glances at Ian, but certainly she was no temptation to him. Alinor had very little contact with her. Because she had no regular duties about the queen, Alinor came only when she was specifically summoned, on those occasions when Isabella felt in the mood for Alinor's wit and tales of traveling in strange lands.
"I am very sorry," Alinor said unsteadily, "I cannot go to the queen now. IPlease tell her I am ill."
There could be no other reason for Lady Elizabeth to seek her out, Alinor thought, but the young woman shook her head. Alinor could barely make out the gesture.

 
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