Joust of Hearts Page 12

  “My lord, it seems we will have to address this subject another time. Melisande and I have much to attend to before the masque.” Without another word, Helena swept from the room and escorted them to Melisande’s chamber. She instructed that the maid help Melisande into her gown, and also what to do with Lady Dupree’s hair.

  Helena had the Queen’s lady braid and coil Melisande’s hair so that it did not show under the short length of gold mesh attached to her headpiece. When Helena finally departed, the woman proceeded to fuss over every other detail until Melisande had a mind to run mad over the anticipation of it all.

  Melisande sat impatiently at the ready. Just when she could no longer stand the wait, Lord and Lady Bergavny ventured into her room. “I understand that Helena is also responsible for your costume.”

  “Indeed. She has been most kind.” Relieved at their visit, Melisande stood and turned in a circle to show off Helena’s accomplishment.

  He held out his hands to Melisande and declared, “You look like divinity ensconced in gold, my dear,” he said as she placed her hands into his elderly ones.

  “Gramercy, Lord Bergavny,” Melisande said as she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

  “Let us be off. I am famished!” Helena hurried them along.

  * * * *

  The great hall was alive with what seemed to Melisande over a hundred voices, each trying to speak over the music. When her eyes drank in the wondrous colors and textures of the courtiers’ costumes, the whole picture felt like a living, breathing dream. Lord and Lady Bergavny were announced at the entrance to the room, as was Lady Dupree. One of the King’s personal valets led them to the high table.

  Everyone in the hall stood when King Henry, as a rather wealthy Robin Hood, and Queen Elizabeth, as a bejeweled Maid Marian, entered and took their seats. Then, without delay, steaming food was brought to the tables and course after course was put in front of the guests. Meats, from salted boar’s head to oxtail, fowl from game hens to swan, shellfish and sugared mackerel, and cheeses that Melisande had never seen before served carved into various shapes. Different kinds of bread for dipping in rich sauces, or to be used for trenchers, and the malmsey flowing generously. Melisande’s goblet was refilled many times.

  She had wanted to taste everything even though the first course had been sufficient. When the desserts were presented and she had finished only half of her fruit tart with the thick honey glaze, Melisande could stand it no longer and pushed her chair away from the table. As she excused herself and began to stand, Corin was instantly at her side.

  “Oh, good eventide to you, Corin.” She reached out and gratefully took his strong arm, as she felt as if she fought for balance in a small boat on a stormy day. “I was just on my way out to the gardens for some fresh air, and here you are!” she said, her words slightly slurred, as if her tongue and lips weren’t in agreeance with each other.

  She smiled, thinking her belly must have been sloshing out loud with food and drink.

  “May I escort you, Lady Dupree?”

  “’Twould seem that we are in fact at that point already, Corin,” she said with a slight giggle, then sobered immediately. “But really, I insist you call me Melisande.”

  “If you wish it,” he replied.

  As he led the way toward the doors, Melisande leaned most of her weight on him, confident in the fact that he was more than able to take it. Poor Corin nearly had to steer her as they went along—she could feel his grip tighten and loosen as she wove her way across the empty path. But, somehow, it didn’t bother her in the least.

  They walked into the courtyard of rosebushes, young willows and hedgerows that were themselves shaped like short-walled mazes, and stopped in front of a bench.

  Corin broke the momentary silence. “Your headpiece is most fashionable for this masquerade, Melisande.”

  “Oh.” She reached up. “You may have it then.” Melisande began tugging at it, trying to remove it.

  “Nay, forsooth, there is no need to disassemble your lovely costume, I was but admiring the originality of the combination of the hat and mask.”

  “’Twas Helena’s idea. She created the mask and attached it to the band of fur.” An unladylike hiccup escaped from Melisande. She grinned and covered her mouth briefly. “Pardon me,” she murmured daintily.

  “Truly, there is naught to excuse.” Corin took her by the wrists and turned her so they were facing each other. With his voice lowered he enquired, “Tell me. Who is Helena?” His question sounded like a statement, as he flashed her one of his heavenly smiles.

  Melisande, high from the effects of the rich food and wine, and his devastating looks not helping in the least, slid her hands up his chest, around his neck and pulled him down, slowly moving in for a kiss. “Why, Lady Bergavny, of course,” she said on tiptoe and against his lips.

  Corin did not respond to her answer but, she noticed, he was quite pleased to oblige her action.

  At once she broke away from the kiss and marveled at her surroundings. Sighing a long and audible sigh, she said, “’Tis a most beautiful spot. Gardens and courtyards of late have been magical places for me.” Melisande looked into his eyes and added, “What of your experiences, Corin?” She found her own boldness startling, but felt she had hidden this new revelation well.

  “Magical. Now there is an interesting word, love. Any place you venture to can be made magical, providing there are the right circumstances,” he said matter-of-factly, in that smooth, rich voice of his, all the while lowering them to a seated position upon a bench.

  “What do you mean, for example?” she asked and moved closer to him, her thigh brushing against his.

  He grinned. “Well, for instance, I could take you to the wall, walk up on the battlements under a full moon, and kiss you senseless.”

  Melisande sighed again and leaned her head on his thickly muscled upper arm. “Do go on.”

  He regarded her for a moment then continued. “I could take you to the royal stables, and toss you around in the hay like a common servant girl.”

  “Corin! You would not do such a thing!” she scolded with a smile, which she knew completely negated her reprimand.

  “Mayhaps if you gave me the chance,” he replied in a hushed voice, his grin blossoming to a full smile.

  “For shame!” She slapped him playfully on the chest. Corin caught her hand and kissed each finger.

  “Now tell me, what would you really do?” she purred.

  He gazed out into the night sky. “After you have your bath, I will brush out your hair in front of the hearth until it is dry. Then I will carry you—”

  Melisande pulled her hand from his grip, placing her finger over his lips. “Shhh… Listen, Corin. The rounds have begun.”

  “That is neither here nor there. Come now, let me—”

  “Oh, but it is. I promised you the first dance!”

  “’Tis unnecessary to—”

  “Nay, I must keep my word. My honor is at stake.” She nodded once to show her sincerity. “You understand, do you not?” She was unwilling to give him the opportunity to reply. Instead, she jumped up and pulled him off the bench and toward the sound of the music.

  He mumbled to himself, something about two flagons of wine, but she dismissed it.

  Now in the light of the torches and candles about the room, Melisande had a chance to really see Corin’s costume for the first time. He wore bright blue from his pointed shoes to the feather in his cap. On all of his fingers he had rings of gold with sapphire stones of different shapes and sizes. No outfit he could come up with could take away from his handsome features, Melisande thought dreamily.

  There were more attendants dancing than had been at supper. The costumes that the guests wore were rich in color as well as cost. Mock kings and queens, jesters, beasts, bandits and more were on the dance floor.

  Melisande let the music take her away, body and soul. The turning and swirling currents of air felt cool against her skin. One dancing par
tner after another she teased and flirted with. She could not understand why she felt so deliciously free this eve, but it was so lovely to be so, she didn’t care. Nor did it bother her that, for whatever reason, her steps felt less graceful than usual.

  One of the costumed men she danced with, a Norseman of old, addressed her just above a whisper as they danced. “Be careful, little star, or you shall outshine the Queen herself.” And he stepped away, leaving her with the next partner and her jaw hanging open in bewilderment.

  It took a moment for his words to seep into Melisande’s mind, and she blinked a few times at the tingling sensation he had caused. Melisande missed a few steps as a result of the expanding distance between them, and the mock king she was now dancing with asked if she needed assistance.

  “Nay, all is well, sire,” Melisande said to the man and smiled sweetly from under her mask.

  Thinking that the song was more than half over, Melisande fretted over the fact that she and the Norseman might not cross again within the dance, for he was most intriguing. She searched for him across the crowded room and found him gazing in her direction, or so it seemed—his face was mostly concealed by the mask of cloth he wore, which protruded from beneath his hammered metal helmet.

  Her fears were confirmed as the circular was at an end, and Melisande was ever so curious as to who this Norseman was. She started toward him, but of a sudden, the floor slanted, more so than it had been. It reeled and spun her off balance. Melisande reached for a bench by the door to the courtyard and held fast, but, alas, the entire room began to tilt wildly. She was instantly swept up by two strong arms and, just as her vision faded to black, she saw her Norseman hovering over her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Melisande awoke and found herself in a dark corner of a hallway adjacent to the courtyard, still in the arms of the Norseman. She started to speak. “How long have I been—?”

  “Not long, little star. You know, one must be careful with the King’s wine, for this will be the result when one overindulges.”

  She protested. “I did not overindulge—” Melisande had to hold her hand to her forehead as her own words assaulted her frail condition.

  “Had you more than two tankards full?” he asked, rather amused, as if already knowing the answer.

  “For your own knowledge I had…” She paused trying to recall. “Ohhhhhh…” she groaned. “I remember not.”

  “Therein lies your answer.” he replied insolently, as if she were a child.

  This must look to him as if I am the town drunkard. Impatient to change the subject of her irresponsibility, her mind rushed to find a topic. “Why do you call me ‘little star’?”

  “Because you remind me of a star that has fallen from the night sky.”

  Melisande felt the heat in her cheeks and was thankful for her mask.

  “What is your name?” Melisande asked.

  “’Tis not necessary to know by what name I am called, for I am only passing through, just as you are,” the Norseman replied mysteriously.

  “But, how will I know you once we part company?”

  “You may know me by my kiss.”

  “Mayhaps it is you who made a meal of the King’s wine, or do you not recall? I have not kissed you,” she announced with no small amount of choleric.

  He nodded and exhaled in what seemed to be near surrender. “Very well, then. We shall wait here until you resolve to take a kiss from my lips.”

  The thought of kissing him, with his velvety voice, did fascinate her, but could she be so bold as to cast aside the fact that she had exchanged but a handful of words with this man? The scenario was awfully familiar. However, she could not place it, so she pushed the thought aside.

  “I could not kiss you, what would you think of me?” she asked as she tried to shrug out of his heavy arms, which immediately strengthened their hold upon her.

  “I wonder…” the Norseman thought out loud and glanced over his shoulder. “How long until the sun rises?” He looked back at Melisande. “With a lovely lady such as yourself in my arms, I may be persuaded to have the patience of Job.”

  “Oh, very well.” Melisande didn’t care to waste time arguing with him. She placed her hands on the sides of his face, pulled him down to her, and pressed her mouth to his.

  After a moment, he began to participate, deepening the kiss. The Norseman pulled her body tightly against his and his tongue parted her lips.

  The kiss was not as foreign as she had thought it would be, and the manner in which he kissed her was not what she had expected of a Norseman. His lips played upon hers like flower petals meeting in a strong breeze. Melisande surrendered to her swimming senses, to which she was becoming accustomed since she’d finished supper, and thought herself a common trollop for her actions. Nonetheless, she could find no motivation and therefore made no effort to change the wanton way in which she was behaving.

  The Norseman responded by lowering them to their knees. “Melisande,” he whispered against her lips.

  “Melisande?” The call had come at the exact same time from somewhere in the garden.

  At the sound of the intruder’s voice, the Norseman’s head came up. He uttered a curse and something else Melisande did not hear.

  After a moment she realized who had called her and she drew in a sharp breath. “’Tis Corin!” Melisande whispered in alarm.

  “Corin? Who is Corin?”

  Her words rushed forth in panic. “Shhh… Do not speak so loudly! I pray thee, you must go.”

  The Norseman helped her to her feet. “This Corin is most likely not worthy of you.”

  “Melisande… Are you about?” Corin called from the opposite end of the garden.

  “Corin is a gentleman and you should not judge someone whom you do not know,” she scolded the nosy Norseman.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, gaining her complete attention. “Of this I do know— We shall meet again and you will not be thus attentive to this Corin, nor seek his attentions.”

  Melisande folded her arms across her chest in defiance. “Rather sure of yourself, are you not?” she demanded.

  “Aye. As sure as the kiss we just shared.” He took her by the hands, lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

  “Farewell, little star.” The Norseman turned and disappeared into the shadows of the courtyard.

  “Melisande…” She heard Corin call as she smoothed out the front of her gown with her hands—the hands that just moments ago had been held and tenderly kissed by the mysterious man. Melisande clutched them together as if to remember his touch. Everything still seemed to be full of cobwebs, her head, her vision…

  Unsteadily, she started toward the center of the courtyard. Her stomach made a horrendous gurgle and her fists flew to her belly. Quite a ways down the yard Corin stood with his back to her. Melisande whispered a plea to her Savior that Corin did not hear her traitorous insides. She quickly tiptoed across the pliant grass and stood in front of the doorway to the ballroom, the queasiness inciting her mouth to water and a sheen of sweat causing her mask to stick to her forehead.

  “Corin, why are you wandering about in the night air?” Melisande asked innocently, trying to disregard her unwell state.

  “Oh, there you are, Melisande. Where have you been?” He started toward her.

  Melisande’s mind raced for an excuse. “Umm… Well, what are you doing out here?”

  “I-I was looking for you.”

  “’Twould seem you found me.” Melisande’s stomach seemed to be rebelling against her and she swallowed hard. “Corin, pray excuse me. I must have a moment.” She covered her mouth and ran behind a hedgerow.

  “Too much wine, Melisande?” She heard him chuckle but was too engaged with being ill to address his boldness.

  After part of her meal lay in the dirt in the most disgusting manner, looking half digested, she confessed from behind the bush, “Wine and rich food. Would you please fetch Lady Bergavny to me?”

&nbs
p; “I shall be back before you notice I am gone.”

  “Please, feel free to take your—” She retched into the bushes again before she could finish her sentence.

  When Melisande had emptied her sour stomach completely, she truly hoped Corin had heard her words, feebly delivered as they were, and would take longer than he had promised. She needed to reclaim her thoughts as well as her composure.

  The Norseman seemed to be a dream, but somehow he was real. His lips had felt wonderful against hers, she thought. But then there was Corin and he was so handsome… She came to the conclusion that she might never see the Norseman again in any case, for she was leaving on the morrow with Helena.

  “Melisande, what pains you?” Helena appeared around the hedge, Corin hovering nearby.

  “My stomach, ’tis all.” Embarrassed that she had consumed too much this evening, she couldn’t possibly admit it, not even to Helena. “I am starting to feel better now, thank you.”

  Helena put her arm around Melisande’s shoulder. “Let us get you inside. Mr. Sinclair, if you please, take hold of Melisande’s other arm.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Once inside, Helena brought a small piece of bread left over from the meal to Melisande. “Eat this, and after a time that which ails you should settle.”

  “Thank you, Helena.” Melisande took the offering but didn’t dare glance at it yet. She looked at the two people gazing down at her with concern. “There will be no need for all of us to miss the King’s masque. Please, go and enjoy yourselves.”

  “Melisande, I fear we have not spent enough time together on this trip. In fact, I have hardly seen you this eve,” Helena offered.

  “Lady Bergavny, if Melisande permits me, I shall see to her. I have attended so many of these affairs… Go and be with your lord. Melisande and I shall stay right here until the malady has passed.”

  Helena hesitated but only for a moment. “Gramercy, Mr. Sinclair, that is indeed gallant of you.” She leaned down to give Melisande a reassuring hug and whispered, “If he tries to take advantage, call out.” She straightened and looked at Corin with a placid smile. “Fitzherbert and I will be naught but three paces away if you find yourselves in need of assistance.” With one more glance Melisande’s way, Helena left to rejoin her husband.