Chapter Fifty
‘My Lords, ladies and gentlemen! For tonight we are all lords, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we are all kings and queens. Tonight, the social norms are overturned and chaos reigns! For tonight is Twelfth Night, when anything and everything goes – so let the revelry and feasting begin!’ The Lord of Misrule raised his tankard high and cheers rang to the rafters of the banqueting hall at Ravendale.
He was actually one of the guides, dressed in a jester’s outfit with a curly crown and strange beaked mask.
Lara had spent most of the day supervising the removal of the Christmas decorations from the castle, because centuries-old tradition had deemed it bad luck to leave them up – the irony.
Although the rest of the rooms were back to their pre-festive Christmas state, the entrance hall and banqueting hall had been left with their greenery and Christmas tree intact.
There was no way that the decorations would be down by midnight but they’d just have to risk it.
The thought reminded her of the next day, when she was planning to come clean about the chalice.
She swiped a glass of mead from a tray and took a large gulp, pushing the inevitable aside and preparing to do as the Lord of Misrule had commanded: feast and revel.
She tried to work out who was behind the dazzling cast of characters packing into the great hall.
There were jesters and harlequins, three Henry VIIIs, various cavaliers and Regency ladies, someone in a bear costume – they’d never keep that on all night.
Lots of people complimented her on her costume, which had been delivered two days previously by Tessa.
It had fitted her perfectly and she’d hardly been able to recognise herself in the mirror.
Jazz bounded up. ‘You look gorgeous! Guinevere?’
‘Close. The Lady of Shalott. You look amazing too.’
‘Do you like it? Luke loves it too, but he feels OTT in his outfit, which is why he’s gone to find a very large tankard of mead.’
‘Nothing is OTT at a Twelfth Night Ball. OTT is the whole idea. Wow. Is that Carlos?’
Lara had to look hard at the man in a long curly wig who had just made an entrance into the banqueting hall on the arm of a tall character carrying a basket of oranges.
‘I think Carlos has come as Charles II …’ Lara said. ‘And that must be his partner dressed as Nell Gwynne.’
‘I’d no idea …’ Jazz said.
‘Nor me. I had no idea he was gay either.’
‘I’d kill for his coat,’ Jazz said, and both she and Lara gawped as Carlos strolled past them in his coral silk frock coat, breeches, and fancy shoes. He tipped his hat and Lara raised her glass. ‘Bravo!’
‘I love Nell’s dress,’ Jazz said, admiring the elaborate low-cut silk gown.
‘I think that’s actually Neil …’ Jazz whispered. ‘I recognise him now. He’s a sous-chef in the kitchens.’
Feathers fluttered and tiaras shimmered as Carlos and Neil were soon lost in a sea of admirers.
‘Where’s Flynn?’ Jazz asked.
‘Getting into his costume. He didn’t want me to help. Said he wanted to surprise me.’
‘Can he manage – with his knee, I mean?’
‘I’ve no idea … but I can’t wait to find out.’
Luke returned, dressed as the Green Man. ‘I feel like a right tit.’
Lara stifled a giggle. ‘I think you look magnificent.’
Jazz snorted her drink.
They chatted for a few minutes – as much as you could chat amid the rising hubbub and the music from the medieval musicians – when Jazz pointed towards the door. ‘Is that Flynn?’
Jazz stood on tiptoes, pointing in the direction of the rear of the banqueting hall, where Lara could just make out a tall figure in a tricorn.
The inner fireworks exploded again. Flynn looked every inch the swaggering highwayman and she could hardly wait to explore what was under the top coat and breeches.
‘Yes. I think it is …’
‘See you later,’ Jazz said, with a smirk. ‘I want to join in the medieval dancing and I want you to show us how to do it.’
Lara made her way towards the corner of the hall, weaving past knights in armour, Elizabeth I, plus Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Flynn lingered in the archway, obviously struggling to hobble through the throngs with his crutches.
Finally, with many apologies for squeezing past people, Lara made it to the corner where Flynn waited at the rear of the hall – in the very spot where he’d made his dramatic entrance on a wild and stormy Halloween. She’d been lost for words then, and she was again now.
‘Wow. Wow.’ He blew out a breath. ‘You look absolutely incredible. Like a princess.’
Lara was aware that the green velvet dress, fit for the medieval noblewoman she was, skimmed every curve of her body.
She’d been taken aback when she’d first tried it on; it was so unlike her usual uniform of jeans and a fleece – but also stunned that she could look so regal.
Flynn’s reaction, his eyes practically devouring her, made her tingle all over.
‘I’m meant to be the Lady of Shalott. She was in love with Sir Lancelot but it didn’t end well.’
‘Really?’ He pulled her closer to him. ‘Let’s make sure our story does, then.’ He kissed her.
‘You don’t look so bad yourself. Very rakish. Very disreputable.’
Flynn laughed. ‘Two people have already asked if I’ve come as Long John Silver. All I need is a parrot on my shoulder. But, wow, I can’t get over that dress on you – or you in the dress. I mean, I love everything you wear and everything you don’t …’
Heat rushed to her cheeks and her décolletage – and there was a lot of décolletage on show, thanks to the low-cut design of the dress. Her hand went to her breastbone, fingers touching the cool stones of the necklace Flynn had given her for Christmas.
‘The necklace looks great, by the way. Is it OK?’
‘It’s perfect. The colours are beautiful, almost as if you knew what I was going to wear.’
‘I didn’t. You kept it a secret. I just got lucky.’ His gaze raked over her again, seeming to leave a trail of heat. ‘In every way.’
Lara thought of leaning in for another kiss when the clang of a gong interrupted them.
‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention as we welcome your hosts for the ball, Henry and Fiona, the Earl and Countess of Penhaligon.’
Leaning on Lara’s arm, Flynn moved forward so they could see the arrival of Henry and Fiona. There were cheers and applause as they walked in dressed as characters that Lara and most of the staff would recognise instantly.
‘Who are they?’ Flynn whispered to Lara.
‘The first earl and his lady.’
Behind them, a man dressed as a page carried a red tasselled cushion. Lara recognised him as one of the security team, although it was a stretch to see him in medieval livery in place of his high-vis and uniform.
Lara stifled a shriek of horror and squeezed Flynn’s hand so tightly, he let out an ‘Oof. What’s the matter?’
‘Th-that. That blue box on the cushion. It’s the chalice!’