Chapter Two
“… Lo, there did I see my destiny when I gazed across the room on that fateful night….”
The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara
“Did you ever imagine what Adonis must look like?”
Alys was lying horizontal on the great bed that she shared with her sister.
She was half-dressed for the evening meal, most of her time having been spent in the land of silly daydreams. Sheridan had been attempting to hurry her up for the better part of two hours.
But Alys moved, as always, on her own time.
“No,” Sheridan was gazing into a polished bronze mirror that was strategically affixed to the chamber wall. “I have not imagined that. And you should not waste your time. You must finish dressing or I swear that I will leave without you. The bishop will be here at any moment.”
Alys turned to watch her sister as she pulled a bonecomb through her silky dark-blond tresses.
Sheridan’s hair was thick and straight, while Alys had more natural curl than she could handle.
Still, Sheridan was able to roll her hair with strips of cloth at night, resulting in cascades of curls for the following day.
In a world where beauty was judged on natural attributes, Sheridan often felt inadequate as far as her hair was concerned.
But she did possess the loveliness of face and figure so as not to feel completely unattractive.
Alys never thought her sister was unattractive.
In fact, she was proud and jealous of her beauty at the same time.
She finally decided to push herself off the bed and go in search of her hose, which could take some time to locate.
She was a messy girl and her clothes were generally strewn all over the room.
“Surely my savior has the face meant for Adonis, do not you think?” Alys bent over when she came across her shoe. “Did you not notice how handsome he was?”
Sheridan was in the process of pulling the front section of her hair back and securing it with an enormous comb in the shape of a butterfly. “I noticed how big he was, to be certain. The man was three times your size.”
“But he was beautiful,” Alys sighed.
Sheridan had not given him a second thought, but she did seem to recall unnaturally clear blue eyes and a square, firm jaw. Upon deeper reflection, she supposed he had been rather handsome in a rugged sort of way.
“I presume so. I did not give much notice.”
Alys found her hose. “Do you suppose he will be at the feast tonight?”
“If he is one of John’s vassals, I am sure he will be.”
That prompted Alys to move faster. She yanked on her hose, affixed the garters, and put on her shoes. Then she snatched the comb that Sheridan had been using and began furiously brushing her hair.
Sheridan frowned at her sister’s pushy demeanor. Fortunately, she had finished securing her own hair and moved aside so that Alys could have full control of the mirror. She went to the wardrobe to collect her slippers.
“Good Lord,” she grunted as she bent over for the shoes. “She cinched my corset far too tightly.”
“Who?”
“The maid.”
“Oh.” Alys had brushed her hair so roughly that it was turning into a giant frizzy ball of red hair. She smoothed her hands over it furiously. “Look, now. What do I do?”
Sheridan went to her rescue. They had been through this routine before, too many times.
She put beeswax and a slight amount of oil on her hands and smoothed them over her sister’s hair, again and again.
Most of the strands tamed, but some clung to her as if alive.
It was like trying to tame a wild beast.
“If he is there tonight, do not make a fool of yourself,” she muttered as she smoothed Alys’ hair. “You already thanked him. There is no need to throw yourself at his feet.”
Alys was appalled. “I would do no such thing.”
Sheridan worked the oil into the ends of the hair until it was absorbed. “I know you far too well, baby sister. What have I told you before? You must be cool and pleasant. ’Twill make you more appealing than if you lay at his feet like a door mat.”
Alys made a face, rolling her eyes. Then she yelped as her sister pulled a single, painful strand. “I am sure he will want to dine with me if he is there, do not you think?”
It was Sheridan’s turn to make a face. Alys never listened to reason, from anyone.
Finished with the hair-salvage, she fastened a delicate black hairnet over Alys’ head to compliment the red dress with black accents that she was wearing.
When all was said and done, Alys’ wild mane was nicely contained.
“There,” Sheridan said. “Now you look presentable. Have the maid beat the wrinkles from the dress before we leave.”
The little maid they had brought with them from their home at Lansdown Castle was in the larger antechamber airing out the heavy cloaks her mistresses would wear.
The woman came when Alys beckoned, bearing the large paddle made from water reeds normally used to beat bed linens and rugs.
The red-haired sister put her arms up and the servant girl went to work, smacking out the wrinkles from the linen that had formed when Alys had lain all over the bed during her daydreams.
With Alys finished, Sheridan returned to her final touches so that she would be presentable before the finest courtiers in England.
It was, in truth, intimidating. She gazed at herself in the mirror, assessing her reflection; she wore a gown of iridescent green, like the color of the sea on a warm summer day.
The sleeves were long with trailing cuffs, the neckline daringly low, and the bodice tapered at the waist to emphasize her slender torso.
A lovely necklace of rough-cut emeralds finished the look.
As she inspected her face, she noticed that her lips were chapped again.
She had to constantly rub a solution of beeswax and salve on them to keep them from cracking and bleeding.
On special occasions, she added a touch of ocher to the mix and turned her lips a delightful shade of red.
It was perhaps a bit much, and a little daring, but she liked the result when she was brave enough to do it.
Tonight, she decided, was just such a night.
She wasn’t aware that Alys was also watching her as she went through her closing preparations.
Alys’ blue eyes grazed her sister, from head to toe, wishing yet again that she had been blessed with even half the beauty her sister had.
Though their facial features were similar, Sheridan’s were refined and delicate and Alys’ tended to be broader.
Sheridan had lovely white teeth, with slightly protruding canines, that added charm and character to her beautiful smile.
Alys had slightly protruding front teeth that made her look like a rabbit.
Sheridan also had a slender neck and shapely shoulders, whereas Alys’ neck was a bit thick.
In fact, her entire body was a bit thick; not fat, but full.
Sheridan had a trim waist made even more slender with the corset, which only made her breasts appear rounder and firmer.
Alys often wished she had been born in Sheridan’s figure. Perhaps it would have made a difference with the men she had fallen in love with. Perhaps they would have stayed. But she wasn’t bitter, strangely enough. It was simply something she lived with.
A knock on the door sent their hearts racing with excitement.
The little maid flew into the antechamber and opened the door for Jocelin, Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury.
A rotund man who had been close friends with their father, Jocelin had taken it upon himself to assume the paternal role for the girls when their father passed away suddenly the year before.
Lillian, their mother, had not fared well with the death of her husband and the family had been in emotional need.
Jocelin had stepped in, not only for the family’s requirements, but also as a promise to Henry St. James.
The men had been united in their alliance against the oppressive monarchy that had driven a bitter wedge through the heart of the country.
Henry’s death was unfortunate, as there was still much to accomplish in that arena and Jocelin knew they were well on their way.
Tonight, the first festival feast of the year would be an excellent opportunity to assess the growing opposition and reaffirm alliances.
The king, allies and enemies alike would be in attendance and Jocelin was eager to gauge the playing field.
Unfortunately, the notion was on Sheridan’s mind as well.
He knew the moment he looked into her angelic face that she was thinking the same thing he was.
Henry St. James had no sons, and Sheridan had been inevitably directed into the role.
She was the eldest child, intelligent and wise, and like her father in every way.
She would have made a fine son and heir, and Henry had raised her as if she had been male.
Truth be known, part of the reason Jocelin had assumed Henry’s mantel to keep Sheridan out of trouble.
As Lady Bath’s daughter, she wielded the power of an important earldom and in these days of political upheaval, wise council was needed more than ever.
“Greetings, ladies,” Jocelin said in his great booming voice. “How lovely you look this eve.”
Alys grinned and spun about to display herself. Sheridan shrugged off the comment and accepted her cloak from the maid.
“I am told de Warenne is on his way to London,” she said. “He was an old friend of my father’s. When he arrives, I should like to see him.”