Fay laughed, swiping at her eyes. “Yes. Don’t scare me anymore. I mean it. You can’t keep getting sick like this.”
“I promise I’m not doing it to inconvenience you,” Anne said. She grimaced at the cold lamb chop, but picked it up with her fingers and tore off a hunk with her teeth.
“I believe you, but it’s an inconvenience all the same. If going down to greet Lord Drayton makes you worse, I’ll really never forgive you.”
Anne leaned back and patted her stomach with her bony hand. “I’m not lying this time. It tasted terrible, but I honestly feel a bit stronger. I’ll greet him in the courtyard and then spend the rest of the evening sitting. I should be all right.”
“Maybe Gunther can carry you,” Marjorie suggested as she laid out Anne’s clothes. “Down the stairs, at least,” she added at Anne’s horrified look.
“Yes, down the stairs,” Fay said, clapping her hands. “I’ll go find him right now and we’ll be back by the time you’re ready.” She worked up her best glare, refusing to back down as Anne shook her head. “Don’t be so prideful, Anne. It’s not a good look on you.”
Before her sister’s hurt look at that comment sunk in, she took off to find Gunther, who she’d mostly seen in the stables working alongside Catherine’s husband. He was a mountain of a man and she’d seen him hoist a fully grown sheep without a grunt of exertion. He’d be able to easily get Anne down a few flights of stairs.
By the time she found him, it was too late. Lord Drayton was already at the gates. Fay almost didn’t send him up in hopes that Anne wouldn’t find out about it and Marjorie could keep her in her room. But Anne would find out about it and try coming down without help. She knew Marjorie wouldn’t be able to stop her. As annoying as that girl could be sometimes, well, most of the time, she loved and respected Anne too much to go against her direct orders, even if it meant saving her life.
She quickly instructed Gunther in what he had to do, and then hurried to the courtyard. She craned her neck and found her father hurrying toward her, his eyes glinting with excitement, but also a bit of trepidation. How important was this Lord Drayton to make the powerful Sir Walter discomposed? Now she really wished he hadn’t arrived so early, and that she’d gone up with Gunther so she and Anne could arrive at the same time.
She almost fled, but her father took her hand and smiled at her. Expectantly? Or was she reading into things now? The men cranked the gates and she squeezed his hand.
“I won’t let you down, Father,” she said, thinking it was a very Anne thing to say, but also meaning it with all her heart.
She closed her eyes and made a wish that Lord Drayton would be the one. For the first time, she wondered what would happen if she could fall in love and did break the curse. Happily ever afters for everyone? God, she hoped so.
“I know you won’t, child,” Sir Walter said. He nodded toward the gate, raising his eyebrows. “Now, I haven’t seen a procession like that in a while. Impressive.”
The first horseman trotted through carrying a long pole with a waving banner that she could only assume had Lord Drayton’s coat of arms on it. It was whipping around too much for her to make it out, but then she noticed all the men had colorful vests on over their armor. Emblazoned in the middle of each vest were two rearing horses with what looked like flames for their manes and tails.
Several of these knights passed by them, and the workers and pages hurried to help their horses along toward the stables. Behind them, several young men, older pages or young squires, she imagined, walked in two neat rows, also carrying banners. Two trumpeters followed, mercifully not trumpeting, and then in the middle of several marching knights in full armor rode a lone man. He himself was in gleaming armor without a nick or dent on it, and he waved at Sir Walter as he entered the gate.
“Is that him?” Fay asked.
“That’s him,” Sir Walter answered. “A bit of a peacock, but he does need to travel well-protected, I suppose.”
“On our land?” she asked.
They were all very well fitted out, as if they were going to or coming from a battle. She remembered when Sir Tristan had arrived, he actually had been coming from a battle. He was filthy and crusted with blood. These men were pristine, as if they’d all had a bath minutes before.
“They want to make a good impression,” Sir Walter said. “Nothing wrong with that. Just because they’re not coming from one today, doesn’t mean they haven’t seen their fair share of battles, my dear.”
“But not Lord Drayton,” she said, feeling stubborn. She knew she needed to knock it off but she couldn’t help comparing him to Sir Tristan, and she wanted him to come up short.
“Lord Drayton serves the crown his own way,” her father said, starting to sound annoyed with her. “His army is larger than mine.”
She wanted to say she’d bet it wasn’t better, though, but knew her father had had enough of her impertinence. She needed to keep an open mind and heart for him, herself, and the entire castle population.
A few of his own men helped him dismount and he made his way to their side. She knew Anne would spit that she’d miss the introduction and craned her neck to get her first good glimpse of Lord Drayton now that he was off his horse. He was tall, she could tell that from where she stood, still ten yards away. His squire helped him remove his helmet and, as she was mentally snorting that he’d even worn a helmet so close to the castle, her derision was quickly cut short by his good looks.
He tossed his wild mane of blond hair and hurried forward. “Sir Walter, it’s an honor to see you again,” he said, bowing. He smiled deprecatingly and motioned toward his entourage. “I apologize for all that. We heard gossip in Cambrey Village that there might be some leftover marauders from that unfortunate attack on Dernier Keep, and thought it wise to make a good impression if they decided to try anything.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” her father boomed.
“Still, it’s terribly cumbersome,” Lord Drayton said, glancing at her with a twinkle in his eyes. She could tell from where she stood that they were green. Not blue, not gorgeous, deep sky blue, but she found she didn’t want to look away. “And the men don’t mind it,” Lord Drayton continued, seeming determined to make them understand he wasn’t the peacock they’d already decided he was. “Been too peaceful for too long, I daresay.”
Her father laughed and agreed, but Fay itched to remind them of the siege at Dernier Keep he’d only just mentioned. The men exchanged a couple more words of small talk while she checked him out. The blond hair was nice, and his face had everything in the right spots. With a mental sigh, she had to admit to herself he was very handsome. He was probably subjectively more handsome than Sir Tristan, considering Lord Drayton had clearly never had his nose broken. And from what she heard, he seemed nice enough. Not a bit of grumpiness, though he’d been riding all day. Oh, crap, she was finally being introduced.
Do not blow it, she ordered herself.
“My lovely younger daughter, Fay,” her father said. “My eldest is—oh, there she is now.”
Fay swiveled around to see Anne hobbling toward them the best she could with Marjorie a step behind her, in case she toppled. Anne probably thought in her own mind that she was fooling everyone. The stubborn thing both enraged her and broke her heart.
“My apologies,” Anne said, catching up to them. Fay took her arm as casually as she could, feeling most of Anne’s slight weight lean on her as she did.
“Certainly not,” Lord Drayton said, smiling hugely. “It’s all true then, Sir Walter,” he said. “You do have the most beautiful daughters in the kingdom.”
She swore she heard Anne gag, but it might have been from overexerting herself. She curtseyed and offered her hand to him, which he took, bowing. Fay followed suit, proud of herself for doing everything right so far.
Sir Walter and Lord Drayton exchanged a few more thoughts about daughters, the condition of the roads, and the mild weather, before Sir Walter hustled him toward the entra
nce.
Batty scurried up to them and told them she’d managed to ready the chamber, looking as if she’d been through a hurricane.
“Is it the same one Sir Tristan used?” Fay asked.
“It’s the larger one in the west wing, above the great hall fireplace,” Batty said. “It’s our finest one.”
Fay scowled and Anne pinched her. “Snap out of it, Fay. We need to make sure everything is in order. Batty, you’ve done well with the chamber, but what of supper? What were we planning, do you know? Whatever it is, it can’t be enough for everyone. And goodness, he’ll probably want a bath. It’s such a long journey to us. I can’t believe they got here an entire day early.”
Anne’s tirade winded her and she leaned on Marjorie. Fay stopped hearing anything after the mention of the bath.
“I can’t do it,” she said, backing away and shaking her head. “I won’t assist him with his bath.”
She didn’t care how selfish it made her seem or if Sir Walter disowned her. She couldn’t do it, not after everything she’d been through with Sir Tristan. She knew she was overreacting. After all, what had she been through with Tristan? An awkward encounter, an apology, and a few nice kisses out by the stream? It certainly wasn’t anything the bards would write a sonnet about. Still, the thought of seeing another man naked so soon was just too much for her. She couldn’t believe she was from more than six hundred years ahead of them and she was the one being squeamish about seeing a naked man. She knew she had to give Lord Drayton a fighting chance in order to break the curse, and starting out on such a foot wasn’t going to help at all.
“I can’t,” she repeated pathetically.
Anne sighed. “No, you can’t and you won’t. And in the condition I’m in right now, I’d probably fall into the bath as well—”
“Traitor!” Fay said, giving Batty a wounded look.
“It wasn’t my fault, she’s like a ghost. She already knew and tricked me into confirming it.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Anne interrupted, looking more amused now than anything. Fay could swear Anne was trying not to burst into laughter at her. At least she didn’t know all of it or she wouldn’t be laughing one bit. “As much as I hate to admit, we just aren’t the same without mother here. Father doesn’t seem to mind or at least doesn’t notice how lacking we are, so we must hope that our guests don’t mind or notice either. We can send a few lads to assist with the bath or else he can get one of his own servants to do it.” Anne swiped the loose hairs away from her brow, a sheen of sweat glistening despite the cool weather. “I don’t care anymore.”
Anne hobbled off, Marjorie hurrying after her. Fay heard her order Marjorie to check on the kitchen and report back to her, so she hadn’t totally given their hospitality up as a lost cause. Fay turned to Batty and gave her a dirty look.
“I swear, I didn’t tell her,” she whined.
“It’s not you I’m irritated with, it’s me. Why do I have to be such a disappointment? I should just stiffen my spine and do my duties as acting lady of the house.” She kicked at the dirt like a sullen child. “I wish Anne would just get better already.”
Batty stifled a sob and grabbed her hand. “She will. She always does. And you’re not a disappointment. I hear your father bragging about you all the time.”
“All the time?”
“Some of the time,” Batty amended with a sniffle. “Let’s go see what we can do to help. Staying busy always makes me feel better when I’m sad.”
“Let’s get good and busy, then,” Fay said. “Because I’m good and sad.”
Chapter 13
Fay punched the air ten times in rapid succession, then dropped to the ground and did a few pushups. The stone floor was hard and cold and she longed for a yoga mat, but ignored the discomfort. She popped back up and did jumping jacks. Her chemise clung to her skin as she worked up a sweat, trying to clear her mind by exhausting her body. She jogged around the big room, sure she’d have shin splints the next day from the absolute lack of support in her thin slippers. She flung herself at the high bed like someone in an action film, kicking the mattress, then resumed her jumping jacks.
She didn’t miss action films, since she had the knight fights to watch out Anne’s window, and she had enough gossip from Batty and Catherine to keep her from missing evening drama shows, but what she did miss was music. Yes, there was the lovely stuff that went on during supper entertainments. Lutes, lyres, tambors and the like. The singing was nice, too, and some of the songs were actually interesting and funny. She’d find herself leaning over the table, trying to catch all the bawdy lyrics over the laughter of everyone at the lower tables.
She missed rocking workout music, the fast and pumping songs the gym played. Now she hummed breathily to herself as she jumped around, still not able to empty her mind. More pushups, then.
Lord Drayton turned out to be charming and engaging. There hadn’t been a dull moment at the supper table in the three nights since he’d arrived. He’d been solicitous, too, always asking after her health and inquiring if she needed anything any time he saw her during the day. She found it endearing, albeit slightly annoying.
And that was why she was air punching the hell out of her chamber. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Lord Drayton. In fact, everything was right. He didn’t have a bit of the gruffness that Sir Tristan had. She dropped and ruthlessly forced herself to do more pushups. She had to stop comparing him to Tristan.
She knew Tristan and his men had squashed the attempt to take his keep. Yet, he hadn’t returned. She didn’t know enough about what people did in this day and age, so she wasn’t certain if she should be disappointed that he hadn’t sent her a message. She only knew she was disappointed. It was a day’s ride with a party of twenty men. A single rider on a fast horse could have gotten there sooner. But perhaps it wasn’t proper. It wasn’t especially proper to be kissing out behind the inner wall, either, but he’d had no problem doing that.
“You have to stop thinking about Tristan,” she huffed, punctuating each word with a vicious air punch. “Start thinking about Lord Drayton.”
She laughed, realizing she didn’t know the man’s first name. Or his last name for that matter, since she was fairly certain Drayton was the name of his property. Finally worn out, but never having found a moment of mental peace, she sank to the hard floor, panting and thirsty.
She also missed bottled water. And margaritas. And tea. If she had a chance to go back for one thing, she didn’t think it would be penicillin. She was positive she’d bring a giant crate full of different teas. She’d be a hero and then the bards would write their sonnets.
There was nothing in her room but the pitcher Batty brought every morning so she could rinse her hands and face. She was too sweaty to get dressed and if she rang for Batty, she’d have to answer to why she was so sweaty. Her poor, dear maid would probably panic and bundle her into bed, hollering for the physician. With a sour look, she chugged what was left in the pitcher and then slowly paced the room, still desperate for that bit of mental clarity.
After she dried off and got herself dressed again, she decided to find Batty or Catherine and see if she could make herself useful. She peeked in on Anne, who sat hunched over some stitching, her weaving loom abandoned. Fay frowned, realizing she hadn’t seen Anne doing her tapestries in weeks.
“Stuck on a color?” she asked, entering the room and running her fingers along the taut strands.
Anne’s initial look of concern that Fay was touching her precious loom quickly faded and she shrugged. “Lost interest, I suppose. It may remain unfinished.”
“It’s too pretty to remain unfinished. I want it for my room,” Fay said, hoping that would get her back to it.
The more she thought about it, the more Anne seemed disinterested in everything. Well, besides hounding everyone to keep the castle in order. But her personal interests had fallen to the wayside. Every day, Fay sat with her and goaded her into eating, refusing to leave
her side until she’d downed what Fay considered a reasonable amount of calories.
“Is that so?” Anne asked, looking at the tapestry with the uncalled for contempt most artists always seemed to have for their work. “If you say so, then I’ll work on it a bit now, I suppose.”
“Good. Then I’ll go help out with chores.”
“You help out a lot more than you used to,” Anne said with a smile. “I’m not complaining, but I hope it’s not because I’ve been so lacking lately.”
Fay was surprised to hear her predecessors had been lazy layabouts, and she shook her head. No wonder they’d all failed. They sat around moping and complaining in their depressing instruction book that had very little instruction at all. She’d given the horrid thing another quick look the night before. Something about a tournament had looked interesting, but a lot of it was scratched out so thoroughly she couldn’t make most of it out, even after holding the page up to a candle. After two pages, she’d got angry and put it away. She refused to write in it, no matter if something utterly staggering occurred. If she did, it would be as good as admitting she was expecting there to be someone after her. As far as she was concerned it was no better than a suicide note.
“It’s not at all because of that. I’ve just grown up, I suppose,” Fay said, dropping a kiss onto Anne’s brow, pleased it wasn’t hot or clammy.
She spent the rest of the afternoon helping with laundry. She was only allowed to hang it, as Catherine refused to let her put her hands in the water. She’d held up her own red, raw hands as evidence, citing it was no look for a lady to sport. She enjoyed the brisk winds as she shook and smoothed and hung up the linens, listening to stories from the village that had come with the peddler that morning. Apparently, Catherine’s uncle was having an affair with the mayor’s wife. While she was ashamed of him and feared he’d end up sorely punished, she couldn’t stand the mayor, and felt he deserved it. And there’d been a fire at the gristmill, but no one had been hurt … Fay found herself drifting in and out of the stories and, after a few hours, found herself exhausted and a little dizzy.
Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 11
