Chapter Three #2
But Arissa did not notice that, either. She was still fidgeting with the dress. “I look like I am harboring two overgrown melons underneath my surcoat,” she complained.
Penelope and Emma passed a critical eye over their friend. “Riss, if I were fortunate enough to possess a figure like you, I would display it often enough to offend God himself,” Penelope’s voice was laced with envy. “Why must you act as if it is a curse?”
Arissa ceased struggling against breasts that simply were not going to shrink. She stared at herself. “I am too short. I look like a troll.”
Emma shook her head and turned away. “You look like a goddess,” she moved for the door and summoned the serving wenches to take the copper tub away.
When the women busied themselves with emptying the water and mopping up the floor, Emma turned to find Arissa and Penelope still gazing at Arissa’s reflection.
Emma put her hands on her hips. “Riss, you are perfect. Your breasts are round and ripe, your waist tiny, and your legs are shapely and beautiful. How can you see any differently?”
Arissa turned away from the mirror. “I just do, I guess. I am certainly not fishing for compliments from the two of you. What do I care what you magpies think?”
Outside, more shouts abound, announcing the approach of the first caravan of guests.
One of the serving women had brought forth a bowl of porridge and a chunk of bread, but Arissa was too nervous to think of food.
Her guests were arriving, people she was expected to greet, and her stomach was jumping madly.
“I must go,” she smoothed at her surcoat again. “Father demands that I greet my company. Are you sure I look presentable?”
Penelope and Emma smiled at her. “Beautiful, Riss. Men will be falling all over themselves in their attempt to capture your attention,” Emma said truthfully.
Arissa dared a small smile, quitting the room with her friends in tow.
She was growing more excited with the prospect of her special day, thrilled to be mingling with people she hadn’t seen in months.
The list of events that would comprise the day before the grand celebration that eve was enough activities to fill an entire week.
As Penelope and Emma left her to go and change into their own appropriate garments, Arissa descended the stairs alone.
So she presented a beautiful picture, did she?
Strange, she never considered herself beautiful.
But if her friends’ words were truthful, if the men in attendance really would be trampling themselves in order to gain her attention, they were in for a rude awakening.
There was only one man whose attentions she yearned for. She wondered if Richmond would think she looked beautiful, too.
*
The first of December had dawned amazingly bright and, in spite of the cool temperatures, promised to be a delightful day.
A chill wind whipped the Lambourn banners in to a frenzy, blue and gold flapping madly on the battlements.
Lambourn soldiers, their mail cleaned and their blue tunics fresh, paced their posts in vigilant preparation for the day.
Richmond was pleased with the organized uniformity.
His own men, one hundred elite guards he had arrived with yesterday, were patrolling the woods and surrounding areas for thieves and bandits as the great houses of Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Dorset, Hampshire and Wiltshire arrived for a very special gala.
Even though it was a one-day event, Richmond knew, most likely, that Lambourn could expect a keep-full of houseguests for three or four days.
Clad in polished armor and Henry’s Leopards of England tunic, he made his rounds with Carlton to make sure posts were set and the sentries were vigilant.
“God has blessed my lady with a beautiful day for her birthday celebration,” Carlton said, inhaling an unusually warm breath of December air. “I cannot remember when we have had such pleasant winter weather.”
“Hold your tongue, Carlton. You shall jinx the day.”
The knight laughed softly as they passed a clutter of old weapons and crates that Richmond immediately ordered removed.
Obedient soldiers rushed to carry out the order as the two warriors made their way across the bailey en route to the stables, intent to make sure the stable master was well prepared for the onslaught of fine chargers and wagons.
William and Bartholomew exited the castle as the knights were crossing the courtyard, finely dressed in embroidered tunics with Lambourn’s lion crest. William greeted Richmond amiably, nary a mention of the previous night when Bartholomew had nearly ended his foolish life.
His son, however, refused to meet Richmond’s eye, a strong indication that he was still feeling a major degree of embarrassment.
Richmond knew it was more than likely that Lambourn’s heir was angry with the older knight for ending his performance prematurely.
Bartholomew was as sensitive as a woman at times, adding dimension and mystery to his already bizarre character.
If he was not venting Greek tragedies, he was weeping like a jilted lover.
More than once his father had threatened to end his peculiar torment permanently.
But Richmond had little time to dwell on the eccentricities of human nature.
He responded to both men with his usual emotionless salutation, politely listening to William’s prattle when there were a thousand other duties he was required to attend.
The longer William spoke, the more impatient Richmond became and just as he moved to excuse himself, the sentries on the battlements sounded the onset of a series of shouts.
Richmond was mercifully released from William’s boorish presence as he jogged across the dusty courtyard, taking the ladder to the battlements effortlessly.
High atop the wall, he gazed out over the still December landscape and immediately his hawk-sharp eyes envisioned the party advancing from a distance.
“De Rydal,” he muttered, turning to the nearest soldier. “Tell the earl that the House of de Rydal approaches.”
The soldier shuffled off, leaving Richmond and a few other guards leaning over the parapet, gazing onto the horizon.
“How in the hell can he see who it is?” one of the guards muttered, expressing his disbelief to another. “They’ve got to be a mile away.”
Richmond heard the comment and it nearly made him smile. But not quite. He cast an arrogant, all-knowing glance at the group of men.
“I do not need to see the party to know who approaches.” He pushed past the men, moving for the ladder.
“You do not?” the soldier repeated, mystified. “But how do you know, m’lord?”
Richmond paused on the top rung, gazing into a host of curious faces. “I know everything.”
They believed him.
William and Bartholomew were in the same spot where Richmond had left them.
Carlton and Daniel were at the portcullis, ordering the ancient grill raised for the incoming party.
Richmond could hear the metal groaning as he moved toward the earl and his son, hoping the earl would not force him to play co-host to a throng of silly nobles.
He would organize William’s men. He would see to the security of the celebration.
He would even attend the gala when he would much rather be alone, tending his own interests.
But he would not perform as the perfect, congenial host. He simply was not comfortable in a group of people much less willing to take charge of the festivities.
Making his way to William, he prayed the man would not expect him to take control of the reveling throng.
Even though William knew well of Richmond’s reserved nature, somehow he would conveniently forget and demand le Bec into the diplomatic corp.
And Richmond was not sure how, exactly, he could gracefully decline.
Most likely, the only logical solution was to decline the offer before it was issued.
After all, there was so much going on this day that required constant supervision; there would be wrestling matches for betting pleasure near the stables that had to be supervised, and there was to be an archery competition later in the afternoon that required the same attention.
Richmond’s own men were pledged in a Stick and Ball match against William’s men-at-arms, a bout that promised to be lively. That, too, needed to be finalized.
He opened his mouth as he approached the earl, determined to get in the first word. But it was not fast enough.
“Richmond, I have a request of you,” William said in his usual aggressive manner, watching the portcullis come to a grinding halt. “Lady Maude and I….”
Richmond stepped all over his words. “I cannot tend your guests, William. I have quite a number of duties of my own. You are well aware that I am not the diplomatic sort.”
William raised his eyebrows. “I was not going to ask you to entertain my guests. God’s Teeth, man, a corpse would have better manners hosting a crowd.
I was simply going to ask that you escort Arissa this day.
I realize you have a good many duties, assisting Carlton and Daniel with the day’s events, but I do not want Arissa without a knightly escort. Will you do this?”
Would he escort Arissa though her day, tracking her every move, listening to her laughter and drawing strength from the sound of her voice? His sharp manner abruptly subsided. “I have always been my lady’s shadow,” he said after a moment, his voice soft. “’Tis unnecessary to make such a request.”
William cocked an eyebrow, somewhat amused.
“Yet I make it all the same. I know how consumed you can be when it comes to sports and games, and with most of the family preoccupied with our visitors, I did not wish for Arissa’s safety to suffer.
Leave the games to one of your officers.
I have made a far more important request of you. ”