Jeremiah shook his head sardonically. “All right, it's your funeral.”
Patrick smiled. “Thanks, I owe you one.”
“Damn right you do.”
#
Patrick waited for the Avangarde patrol to pass the Hall gate, then he left his cover in the bushes and slipped into the courtyard. He stepped into the shadows and calculated his next move. The main doorway was across from him, but he knew that a nun sat inside all hours of the day. He moved to the side of the building and searched for the window he needed, using information gleaned from Sir Jon the Informant (what they were calling him now).
Patrick found the correct window, and to his delight, plenty of ivy grew thick and high on the wall.
“Call me unromantic...no romantic bone in my body...” he mumbled as he climbed. He reached the window and grabbed onto the sill and pulled himself up. A momentary doubt surfaced―he hoped this was the correct room, or else he was going to have a hard time explaining himself. He landed gently on the floor and concealed himself behind the curtain, and waited.
#
He didn't have to wait long. The Lady Katherina entered the room, went to her bureau and stood before her mirror. She removed a pin from her almost-white hair and started to unravel the plaits.
Patrick moved out from the curtain and stood silently, grinning. A few moments passed before she noticed the knight in the mirror, leaning against her windowsill. Her hands froze for a beat, then continued undoing their plait.
“You are just in time,” she said with an almost undistinguishable smile.
“Oh? For what?”
“Come here,” she said.
Patrick came up behind her. “Yes?”
“Help me unravel hair. I must brush before I go to bed.”
Patrick did as ordered, slipping his fingers through her cold, smooth braids.
“You've done this before?” She sounded surprised.
“I have mother and sister,” he replied, mimicking her accent.
“You have poem?”
“Not a very long one, a little one,” he replied.
Katherina gestured impatiently for him to commence. He cleared his throat and said:
There was a king of incredible self
who had gold and gems.
Beyond imagination was his wealth.
His kingdom rich,
his land expansive,
and he had powers with which
he could cause the winds to sing him praise,
float the moon across the sky,
or cause the stars to shine in the days.
And with a mere thought
he could cause the sun to rise at his command,
but it was all for naught,
for he had no subjects in his land.
And his brother's daughter he wishes to marry,
in this sometimes land of snow,
but her mother is wary
and the snow princess must go.
She lands in Greensprings,
where she is safe,
and there she sings.
Katherina was silent for a moment, then grabbed a hairbrush and moved to the other side of the bed.
“No, no, no,” she said. “Typical, typical.” She pulled the brush hurriedly through her hair.
Patrick crossed his arms and frowned. “Just what do you expect? What do you want?”
She shrugged. “Spontaneous. Something not fabricated.”
Patrick nodded. He came forward and leaned on the bed post before her. “I see, you want of the moment. Like your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes. How they are like the color of a magical lake where the fairy princesses dwell. Where they wait for the handsome mortals to come and drink so that they may seduce them to the bottom of the cold waters. But only to find that it is they who are seduced by the handsome men, and must choose between their fairy world or the mortality they must have in order to love their would-be victims.”
Katherina’s lips parted and she was speechless. Patrick stepped up next to her and stroked her cheek.
“Or your skin,” he continued.
“My skin?”
“Yes. How it is like moonbeam. How it enchants all who gaze upon it and ever afterward cannot step outdoors and lay eyes on that celestial body in the sky, and not be reminded of you and not be rid of the memory until it wanes away like love dying.”
Katherina stood with her head to one side, gazing upon Patrick as if seeing him for the first time—truly seeing him.
“Your smile is poetry as well,” he continued. “It lights up a room like sunshine after a cold night.”
Some of the glamour left her eyes. “You lie,” she said. “It is a big hideous thing anchored on either side by holes.”
Patrick shook his head, admiring the corners of her mouth as if they were the most fascinating of gems. “Dimples are nothing to be ashamed of. It merely means you were kissed by angels as a baby.”
She abruptly turned to hide the color rising in her face, and resumed combing her hair.
Patrick came closer and whispered near her ear, gently touching the curve of her hips. “They say the universe is shaped like this, like a woman’s hips, from whence life comes.”
Katherina swallowed hard. She was swaying where she stood. Patrick moved to her hair and caressed it. Undone it was much, much longer and thicker than he had imagined. He started to say something, but then there were footsteps in the corridor.
#
Mother Superior entered the room. She looked from side to side as if expecting to catch a prowler in the act. She saw only the Lady Katherina lying in the bed, which was piled high with blankets and pillows. She leaned against the pillows as she read from a small Bible by candlelight.
“Mother Superior! Can I help you?” Katherina asked.
Mother Superior came forward, a forced smile on her face. She may have been comely to look upon once, but now she was the epitome of sternness. “No child, I just thought that I heard voices coming from your room. Possibly a masculine voice involved, and as you know, that is explicitly against policy.”
Katherina feigned shock. “Mother, you offend me. Do I seem the rule breaking sort?”
Mother Superior opened her hands. “You are the headstrong sort, and I am entrusted to enforce the policies in this Hall.” She prowled the chamber, closing the window shutters, looking behind the curtains. “Nothing personal, child, I must suspect everyone and everything.” She opened the closet to find only clothes and slippers.
“Well, I assure you there is no man, unless you count God.”
Mother Superior smiled and stood by the bed. I suppose you are right. I shall be going now. She turned to leave, then suddenly bent over and looked underneath the bed―and found nothing. Katherina giggled.
“Good night, child.”
“Good night, Mother Superior.”
The old woman left. Moments later Patrick’s head rose from the covers next to Katherina's body.
“That woman definitely takes her duties much too seriously,” he said.
Katherina slapped Patrick's head gently. “You were breathing much too heavily on my thigh...and you need to shave.”
“Sorry,” he said. He rolled over next to her and put his hands behind his head. Had someone told him six months ago that he would be in a young Lady Guest's bed like this he wouldn't have believed it. Her bed smelled like her perfume.
Katherina asked, “Why are you here?”
Patrick shrugged. “Why didn't you give me away?”
It was her turn to shrug. An awkward moment of silence passed. She sighed. “What are we doing?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, we better know, before something goes wrong.”
Patrick frowned. “Like what?”
“Like hurt feeling, because we did not talk.” Patrick drew in a deep breath. What indeed was he doing? Katherina had drawn a line in the sand before him―daring him to do this―and he cros
sed it. He didn't stop to think why, just wanted to prove himself and massage his pride. She had angered him. He fully intended on not letting what had happened so many times in the past with so many people happen again.
“I don't even know how long I will be here. As soon as I know it is safe to go home, I will. As soon as uncle is disposed,” Katherina said.
“When will that be?” Patrick inquired.
“Soon,” she replied, though not very convincingly.
Patrick mulled it over more. If he could prepare himself for what he felt was the inevitable, then he knew it wouldn't hurt as much as it did with David of York, Christianne Morneau, Jason...so many. He had the advantage in this situation because this time he could see it all coming. Patrick smiled confidently.
“There will be no hurt feelings,” he said, moving to the edge of the bed.
“Oh, and why not?”
“Because there is nothing particularly special going to happen between us. We are only going to be friends. If we can do this, than nothing bad will happen, right?”
She moved to his side on the edge of the bed. Her face was now close to his. Patrick could feel her breath on his lips, and feel the warmth of her leg pressed against his.
“Right,” she replied. She seemed surprised to have a man this close to her. “Only friend, what could go bad? It is better this way.”
Patrick toyed with the leather-bound Bible on the bed. The fact that she had such a fine treasure showed that she indeed was royalty from somewhere. “We still can be special friends, though,” he pointed out. “There is no reason why we can't share secrets and whatnot.”
“You mean like telling me about servant girl?” she asked coyly.
Patrick frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, the French servant girl... Ay-me,” Katherina taunted.
“That is nothing. Nothing has, or will ever happen with her.”
Katherina didn't seem to believe him, but he decided not to pursue the matter. He jumped from the bed and moved toward the window. He felt that he was pushing his luck by spending so much time here. “I should be going, and we really shouldn't make a habit out of meeting like this,” he said.
Katherina nodded. “Shall we have breakfast together in dining hall?”
Patrick stuck his legs out the window. “Yes, I'd like that.” He started to lower himself.
“Tomorrow then,” she said, walking toward the window to see him out.
Before dropping out of sight, he asked, “Friends?”
Katherina leaned forward, quickly kissing him on the forehead. “Special friend.”
When he landed on the ground and sneaked off the grounds, he couldn't help but to feel happy. Happy that he had been in command of the situation, averted another possible tragedy, and still managed to make a friend in the process.
#
For days afterwards he avoided Katherina. He didn't know exactly why. Perhaps he didn't want to ruin the memory of the other evening by finding that she had thought nothing of it. Maybe he was afraid he would start enjoying her company too much. Whatever the case, she didn’t fail to notice it. She tried several times to recruit him to chaperone appointments, but he politely declined, citing that he had other duties.
One evening in the dining hall, the Irishman hurried to take a seat among the Avangarde before Katherina could enter the room and ask him to dine with her.
“Patrick!” Sir Waylan greeted him. “You dance with Jon, you wrestle with Willy in his bed, now you are avoiding beautiful woman. We're starting to worry about you.”
Patrick shrugged it off. “She is hardly a woman. Really no more than a girl. I'm only doing the right thing.”
Waylan gave him a sarcastic salute.
Katherina entered the hall alone. She had no lady-in-waiting, and rarely did she dine with other Lady Guests. Patrick never noticed who she had dined with before. He was only now realizing what a loner she was. It wasn't surprising; she was more headstrong and mature than the rest of the girls. In her own right, she didn't quite fit in either.
Sir Geoffrey materialized at her side. Patrick could not hear the conversation from across the room, but imagined the crimson-caped Geoffrey inviting her to dine with him. Her physical language at first said no, but then she laid eyes on the Irishman. Suddenly, she smiled to Geoffrey and followed him to his seat. She stuck her tongue out at Patrick. He smiled and crossed his eyes at her.
If she enjoys the company of the likes of Geoffrey, then I certainly am doing the right thing, he thought.
The servants brought the food, and the hall was abuzz with the sound of conversation and dining, and Patrick had to fight hard to keep his gaze from wandering towards Katherina's table. She seemed to be having a similar difficulty―yet she went out of her way to lean closer to Geoffrey and laughed so loudly at his jokes that the entire hall could hear her.
Patrick drummed his fingers on the table. He noticed that Aimeé was near serving. He gestured for her to come near.
“Yes?” she asked, green eyes glowing.
“What is...that?” He pointed to a round, steaming, crusty shape on a platter.
“That is like a strudel, but it is full of warmed meat and vegetables. I think it comes from Flanders,” she said.
Patrick pretended great interest in the food, then gently grabbed her elbow and pulled her in closer. “And this?” he said, pointing to another plate. She leaned even closer and Patrick placed his hand in the small of her back as she described the various dishes. Her duties must have brought her close to the kitchen hearth, for in her clothes were the smells of thyme, hot butter, and rising bread. A sheen of sweat stood out on her brow and her blouse clung to her waist and shoulders.
The sound of pottery breaking rose over the din. All turned to see the Lady Katherina with hands to her mouth in a gesture of surprise. A bowl of food lay broken at her feet, and Sir Geoffrey was making a fuss: “Are you all right? That bowl shouldn't have been that close to the edge...servant girl, come here...”
Aimeé was gone, rushing over with a towel for the mess.
Patrick rolled his eyes.
The evening wore on, and before long Mark stood to make an announcement. “For our entertainment, we will have a display of dancing. Please welcome William of Monmouth, Trent of Jersey and company.”
The keep musicians carried out their instruments, followed by William, Trent and some other Guests who were dressed in bright costumes. There was applause, and the performers bowed. The musicians began to play, and the Guests moved airily about the room. Patrick had no idea that William was also a dancer. He wondered what his merchant father would think of all this.
After a while, once the rehearsed portion of the performance was finished, the dancers went into the audience and extracted more people. Before long most everyone in the hall had been conscripted into the dance. Patrick now understood why Wolfgang had gone to great lengths to train the Avangarde to dance; he didn't want his elite troops looking like oafs at a social occasion.
Katherina was indifferent to the dance. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, bobbing her foot out of time with the music. She grabbed a grape and chewed on it irritably.
Geoffrey leaned over to her and motioned to the floor where increasing numbers of people were joining the dance. Patrick drifted nearer.
Katherina looked at the knight languidly. “Geoffrey, you have something between your teeth.” She sat up and moved towards the exit while Geoffrey tried inconspicuously to see his reflection in a silver plate. She looked over her shoulder at Patrick before slipping out. He slipped out of the hall also.
He could see Katherina in the dark corridor, and when she saw him too, she picked up her dress and dashed for the stairwell. Patrick raced after her up the steps.
He ascended the dark stairway and found her up against the wall on the dim balcony above the dining hall. He went to her and tried to grab hold of her, but she pushed him away. She dashed across the balcony window t
hat momentarily illuminated her bright green dress, but then pressed herself against the next wall.
The residents of Greensprings were laughing. They twirled and swooped in a colorful mass that rose and fell like the swells of an ocean. To them, the dance occupied their senses and they may as well have been the ocean, for they flowed and pulsated as a single entity. They exchanged partners and danced with each other as water is one in a fluid body: having mass, but no true form. It was a colorful and vibrant sight.
Patrick again went to Katherina, and again she pushed on him, but this time he did not let her go. He held fast to her arms, then slipped his hands up to her wrists and pinned them against the wall above her head. He leaned his face into hers. He could feel her breath on his face, then she turned her cheek to him.
Patrick released her wrists and took a step back. She immediately reached forward and clasped her pale hands around his neck and drew him closer. He took her waist in his big hands just above the curvature of her hips, and lifted her. She wrapped her legs about his waist, and he pressed her against the wall. Their lips met fiercely.
Patrick felt as if his heart would burst. He had envisioned this moment a hundred times, but never thought that this warm moistness he now experienced would be so stirring. He felt as if he could lose himself in the sensation as he moved his hands from her waist to her legs and pressed harder into the wall. He was inadvertently bunching up her dress and he could feel the bare flesh of her legs. He thought he was going to explode.
Suddenly, Katherina grabbed either side of Patrick's face and pushed back to dislodge their embrace. She took in a breath and her mouth was wet.
“Only friend, right?” she gasped.
Patrick kissed her fiercely several more times. “Yes, only friends,” he replied between them.
She grabbed his face and pulled it harder against hers.
#
There was a marked change in Sir Gawain's behavior. He had a certain bounce to his step that had not been there before; he more often acknowledged others while passing them in the keep corridors; he was more apt to smile and make conversation; and there was a definite sense of confidence in his attitude. Not only his behavior had changed, but he was now more prone to comb his hair, which was trimmed. His clothes were pressed, his boots dusted. He seemed to enjoy the attention these changes attracted, but he did not explain the sudden difference. When others offered their theories (which were often too close to the truth), he did not go out of his way to confirm them.
Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) Page 30
