Chapter 12 #2
A long blast from the horn shook the room, announcing the meal.
Relieved to be getting on with things, Claire stood, a tug on her hair reminding her to be careful because of the wreath.
She touched it to make sure it was straight, then went to where Renald waited to lead her to their two chairs at the center of the high table.
Slightly tussled from his time with the boys, he looked younger. Not at all like a hard-bitten warrior. In fact, there was a glow to him that seemed to leap the room and surge into her. The giant turned the whole world upside down.
He moved swiftly to her, taking her hands. “Are you all right?”
“Of course!” But Claire had to hold on to his hands as if he were her only chance of keeping balance. “It’s the wine.”
She knew it wasn’t though. She was falling in love with her husband-to-be, and it staggered her. It was too new, too raw. This wasn’t what she had expected of this day.
He led her to her chair and seated her. “Some food will help.”
She doubted it.
His raised hand brought Thomas for the hand washing. Claire thought her brother seemed a little more relaxed. Many of the younger guests were friends of his, and with Renald being so admired, perhaps Thomas was warming, too.
She prayed for it. That would be one thing less to worry her to death.
Surely it was no bad thing to love her husband. And yet, it made her feel strange. Precarious. As if she teetered on a slippery rock in the middle of a raging river.
Around the hall, everyone was settling into places and the racket was simmering down into conversation. The music could finally be heard. When her brother had finished attending to their washing, Renald said, “Thank you, Thomas. Now, you may go and enjoy the feast with your friends.”
Claire could see a faint desire to glower fight with genuine pleasure within her brother. Pleasure won. “Thank you, my lord!” And he was off to a far corner of the hall where the younger guests were doubtless up to all kinds of mischief.
“Thank you,” Claire said, even though it made the rock wobble.
“I’ve let Josce off his duties, too.” He turned to her. “It gives me an excuse to serve you myself.” It was the sort of thing a newly betrothed man was supposed to say, but Claire wished he wouldn’t. Not now. She was trying so hard to keep her balance.
The servants entered with platters of food, and Claire focused on the practical, both keeping an eye out for problems, and looking forward to soaking up some of the wine with food.
When a suckling pig lying whole on a bed of cress was placed before her, however, she said, “Oh, poor piglet!”
Renald immediately gestured the dish away, but she grabbed his arm. “I would like some, my lord.”
Then she froze, seared by the feel of his skin beneath her hand.
Rich muscles crisp with dark hair stung her palm, made her head swim.
She carefully took her hand away. “You might as well know the worst, my lord,” she said lightly, taking a swig of wine before realizing that wasn’t wise.
“I lack a sensitive soul, and I love suckling pig.”
His dark eyes crinkled. “If that is the worst, then I am a very fortunate man.” He selected a piece of the tender meat and put it to her lips. “Let not their sacrifice be in vain.”
She took it, blushing, heated in strange places. When she licked away cherry sauce, even having to use a finger to scoop a drip from her chin, his eyes seemed to watch everything she did.
The rock trembled beneath her feet and she knew she couldn’t stay out of the torrent for long.
As custom dictated, she chose a piece and fed it to him, aware without looking that everyone was watching.
Watching as he caught her wrist and held her there so he could lick sauce from her fingers.
Only she could know, however, that he let his teeth catch her for a moment.
Only she could know the effect that had.
Then she realized from the look in his eyes that he knew.
The moment passed. He waved the delicacy on to other guests, and served her and himself with chicken.
Claire settled to eating as the safest option available to her.
If this was love, if it wasn’t wine-madness, then she’d settle to it.
It would become more comfortable in time. Less aching. Less dizzying.
She chatted to the earl, who was seated on her other side, grateful for calmer waters, even if he did seem rather sour about this whole event. It was nothing he said. Just his expression.
A flash from her left made her glance over to where Renald was raising his cup to drink. It was that goblet again.
He caught her eye. “My lady, what distresses you?” Abruptly, he was in warrior mode again, seeking out danger.
“The cup. It was my father’s.”
He glanced at the goblet with a frown. “Everything here was. Why does this bother you?”
Fearing his anger, she still told the truth. “It was a gift from the king.”
“Ah. And it hurts to see me using it?”
“Perhaps because it’s never been used. It arrived after … after King Henry seized the throne.”
“Was chosen king,” he corrected coolly.
She bit her lip. She’d not intended to stir that pot. “My father never used it. He kept it as ornament.”
After a moment, Renald picked up her silver cup and replaced it with the gold and jeweled one. “It is yours. A betrothal gift. Do with it as you wish.”
Am I allowed to crush it, she wondered, or throw it into the forge? She wouldn’t do that anyway. She, like her father, was incapable of destroying a piece of art. Tracing the inscription, she said, “Thank you.”
“What does it say?”
“To the lord of paradise from the king of angels.”
His brows rose. “A strange message.”
“Henry Beauclerk always called Summerbourne a little bit of heaven, a paradise on earth.”
“I can understand that,” he said, eyes warm upon her. “But the king of angels?”
She smiled, though she knew it carried sadness. “It was a joke between them. They were friends, you know. Once.”
“Yes,” he said, quite gently. “I know. So, what was this joke?”
She traced the golden rim. “Do you know the story of Pope Gregory and the English slaves?”
A server came by and Renald placed honeyed rabbit before her. “Tell me.”
She realized she’d hardly touched the chicken and made herself eat. “Pope Gregory saw some slaves in Rome. This was hundreds of years ago, when the Romans kept slaves. He was much struck by their beauty, being unused to such fair skin—”
“And golden hair,” he said, admiring hers. “And eyes,” he added, looking into hers, “blue as the summer sky. I can imagine just how he felt.”
Claire had to work to swallow a mouthful of meat.
“So”—she managed to go on—”Pope Gregory said, ‘What people are these?’ And the slave-dealer replied, “Angles.” But the pope said, ‘Non Angli sed angeli.’ Not Angles, but angels.
So my father teased Prince Henry that he wanted to be the king of angels—”
She broke off, reminded of what Henry Beauclerk had done to become the king of angels, and that he’d done nothing to help the lord of paradise. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with her father’s death to shadow this day, and yet it seemed it could not be avoided.
She saw Renald frown, but not at her. He was frowning at the Earl of Salisbury.
“Salisbury suggested that I use it,” he said.
Claire glanced at her godfather, who was talking to her mother on his other side. “He would know of it. I’d think he’d also know—”
“That it isn’t a comfortable thing. Interesting, isn’t it?”
Something in the air, a dark danger, made her try to explain. “He was one of the leaders of the recent rebellion.”
“I know.”
She supposed he would. And she supposed it wasn’t the best thing to remind a king’s man about.
He shrugged and the frown changed to a smile. “We will not speak of rebellion today—rebellion of any kind.” He looked into her eyes. “I command you, my lady, feed me.”
Claire stared, suddenly breathless. “And if I refuse, my lord?”
“I shall be forced to punish you.”
She cocked her head, strangely unafraid. “How?”
“With kisses.”
She giggled. She heard herself. It was definitely a giggle. “Kisses, my lord? For some women that would be enticement to riotous behavior.”
“Indeed?” His hand curled slowly, shiveringly, hot and rough around her neck. “And you, my lady? Are you rebellious?”
The wine answered, not her. “Riotously so.”
She was slammed against his body and kissed. No teasing kiss this, but one of fire. Here, before everyone in the hall, her mouth learned his heat, his taste, and her body felt his intense fire.
Dimly Claire heard drums. After a moment, mouth still in spicy capture, she realized it was the guests pounding the tables and stamping the floor. As the kiss went on, they began to whoop, laugh, scream …
Or was that just the clamor in her dizzy head? She might struggle if she had a bone left in her body.
Might …
Her arms were around him, her whole self entangled with him and his clever, demanding, conquering mouth.
He released her slowly, lingeringly, dark eyes passionate now, passionate and possessive. “Well, you riotous wench, are you subdued? Will you feed me?”
The hall fell silent, listening. Challenged in turn, Claire spoke for their audience. “That depends where your hunger lies, my lord.”
“Oh-ho-ho!” everyone shouted in unison.
“And if it’s not in my stomach, lady?”
“Then you’ll have to wait for the wedding.” The women cheered.
“And when will that be?”
Claire looked around the grinning hall, enjoying herself splendidly. “Oh, I think a year or so.”
Laughs from the women, groans from the men.
He seized her hand and kissed her fingers, each separate one. “Have pity, sweet lady. I’ll starve to death.”
Playing for her audience, Claire looked him over. “You could lose some fat, I think.”
He smiled into her eyes. “Starve me that way, Claire, and I might lose it where you’ll least approve.”
The hall rocked with laughter, hoots, and applause.