Chapter Four #2
There was roast beef, pies with more meat and carrots and apples, stuffed eggs, a variety of breads, and little puddings with honey and butter drizzled on them.
They ended up standing at the table and just eating off it rather than grabbing food and going somewhere to share the bounty.
Christin was fond of the stuffed eggs while Alexander tore off big hunks of the beef.
For every egg she ate, she downed a big swallow of that strong, terrible ale.
“Now that I know you are not angry with me,” she said, mouth full, “will you tell me of Alexander the Great?”
He had to swallow the massive bite in his mouth before he could speak. “Who has called me that?”
“No one. Just me. But based upon your reputation, I am quite certain it is the truth.”
He smirked. “Very funny,” he said. “What do you wish to know?”
Christin took another bite of her egg as she gazed up at him quite openly. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “where were you born?”
“At a place called Ashdown,” he said. “It is my family’s home.”
“Where is it?”
“Near Warminster,” he said. “My family is a very old one. We were here before the Normans came but I had a very wise ancestor who married his daughter to a Norman lord, so we were able to keep our lands and our homes.”
Christin was listening with great interest. “Does your family still live at Ashdown?”
“Indeed. My father does, anyway.”
“No brothers?”
Alexander nodded. “I had two,” he said. “They were both killed on Richard’s Crusade.”
“I see,” she said, sympathy in her expression. “I am sorry if it is painful to speak of them. I did not mean to bring up sad memories.”
He looked at her, warmth glimmering in his dark eyes.
“You did not,” he said. “It is no longer painful to speak of them, though the sorrow for their passing is still there. It will always be there. My father entrusted me to take care of my brothers and I failed, so I have not been home in many years.”
There was a hint of something darker, sadder, in that comment, but Christin wasn’t sure she should ask him any further questions about his family since it seemed to be a brittle subject.
“I could not imagine staying away from Lioncross Abbey,” she said, drinking her ale. “I was born there, along with all of my siblings. My mother’s family has lived there for centuries. They, too, are of Saxon blood.”
“What is the family name?”
“Barringdon.”
Alexander shoved more beef into his mouth. “I have met your mother,” he said. “A beautiful woman. It is clear where you get your beauty.”
So he was back to more flattery. Christin wasn’t sure how to react and she could feel the familiar flush creep into her cheeks.
She simply wasn’t used to being paid a compliment and she abhorred the games of flirtation that men and women played.
She’d witnessed enough of that at Thunderbey Castle, and at Norwich Castle, and she’d always ignored it.
Any man who tried to flatter her was either verbally speared or disregarded.
But she couldn’t manage to do either with Alexander.
All she could do was change the subject.
Again.
“My father fought with King Richard, too,” she said. “Did you know my father in The Levant?”
Alexander nodded. “The Lion’s Claw?” he said, speaking the nickname that Christopher had earned those years ago. “He was the king’s champion. I have never seen a fiercer man, although your uncle was fairly fierce himself.”
“That was so long ago,” she said. “Well before I was born. You must have been very young.”
He snorted. “I was,” he said. “I had barely seen twenty years, but youth did not make me inexperienced. I had a great deal of experience even before I went to The Levant.”
“Why?”
“Because I served John Marshal back then, who was William Marshal’s older brother,” he said. “I fostered at Marlborough Castle, a holding of the elder Marshal. When he was killed, I swore fealty to the king and went to The Levant.”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “If you were barely twenty years when you went to The Levant, that was almost twenty years ago,” she said. “That makes you…”
“Old,” he cut her off, grinning.
“And you have never married?”
His smile faded. “Nay,” he said. “I have never had the time.”
“Will you inherit Ashdown?”
“Someday.”
“Then you should have an heir,” she said firmly, looking around at all of the women with flowers in their hair. “I shall help you find a wife. Every man wants an heir.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss this subject, mostly because the only woman he was attracted to was standing next to him and he barely knew her. He didn’t want to embarrass himself by saying the wrong things. To avoid that problem altogether, he simply shook his head.
“Thank you, but that is not necessary,” he said. “When the time is right, I shall find my own wife.”
“But you said yourself that you’ve not had the time,” she said, swallowing more of that strong ale. “Look around you; there are many young maidens here that I am sure would make fine wives.”
He laughed nervously, taking another gulp of that cheap ale, too, now because he needed it. He needed the fortification. She was pushing him into a corner and for a man who was always in control, always sure of everything in his life, he was feeling unsteady with the conversation.
But it wasn’t just the subject.
He went to take another drink of the ale but realized he’d drained it.
It was a very big cup. Christin had drained hers, too, and she was becoming quite animated.
And pushy. It occurred to him that the strong ale was stronger than he thought because he felt like he did when he had four or five big cups of the more refined, better processed stuff.
Giddy.
God help him, he was tipsy.
“I do not want to talk about wives,” he said. “Besides, it is unseemly for you and me to discuss such a thing. We are both unmarried. Did that not occur to you?”
She looked at him in horror. “Now you are angry with me.”
“Nay, I am not, but no more talk of wives.”
“I am sorry. I did not mean to be forward.”
He shook his head, taking the cup out of her grip and setting it on the table. Then, he took her hand and began pulling her towards the dancing, something he would not have ordinarily done had he not been feeling his drink.
“Come,” he said in a voice that could very easily be interpreted as seductive. “I wish to dance.”
But Christin dug her heels in. “But there are many other young women who would love to dance with you.”
“I do not want to dance with them.”
“But I cannot dance!”
“All young women can dance.”
“Please,” she begged. “Truly, I would look like a clod out there. I have never been able to dance. I will only shame myself and you.”
He wasn’t listening to her, smiling as he pulled her into a group that had already started to dance. “Hush,” he said quietly. “Look into my eyes; that’s right. Look right at me. Do what I say and you shall dance beautifully.”
Christin was terrified. Drunk and terrified, but thank God for the drink or else she wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.
She wanted to dance with him because she simply wanted to be near him.
All of the resistance and inhibitions she had been feeling towards him now had an outlet and she gladly let them through.
She let him put her palm up against his and pull her rather close.
“Now,” he said softly. “Take a few steps back and then a few steps towards me again. That’s right; well done, Cissy.”
Cissy. She’d never heard her name sound so sweet.
Coming from him, it sounded like the voice of angels.
At that moment, Christin let everything go so she could experience something she never really had – dancing with, and being close to, someone she was attracted to.
That had never happened before. Alexander had her dancing next to him, turning her around at the appropriate time to spin, then pulling her right back against him in beat with the music.
All the while, she began to giggle uncontrollably.
Once, she spun around and tipped over, falling into the woman next to her, who also laughed.
Fortunately, they were all laughing, and Christin went back to Alexander, who put his arm around her waist and basically walked her through every step.
She held on to him, fearful she was going to tip again, until she finally came to an unsteady halt and put her hands to her head.
“I am not usually so giddy or so clumsy,” she said. “That terrible ale has made me drunk.”
Alexander looked at her, amused. “It has,” he said. “It has made everyone else drunk, too, including me. Whatever that drink was, it is was very strong.”
“And terrible.”
“And terrible.”
“Can we dance some more, then? I fear being drunk is the only way I am brave enough to do it.”
Alexander immediately put his arm around her waist again, turning her in beat with the music.
At one point in the dance, the women broke off and went to the center of the dance area, looping arms and moving in a circle.
Alexander had to walk Christin right up to the women so she could loop her arms, but the moment the circle started to move, she lost her balance and they ended up dragging her.
Laughing hysterically, she simply lay in the dirt, staring up at the sky, as the circle moved around her.
“What’s wrong with my sister?”
Alexander turned to see Peter standing next to him, a knuckle of beef in his hand, as he peered curiously at Christin laying in the dirt. Alexander pointed at her.
“She’s drunk,” he said. “She drank that bitter ale too fast and now she cannot keep her balance.”
Once Peter realized what was going on, he started to laugh. “Good,” he said flatly. “It is good to see her loosen up. Honestly, she’s so serious all of the time. Jesus, Sherry, she’s killing men as if she were born to do it. What maiden does that? She needs to get drunk and have some fun.”