In fact, this visit wasn’t going at all how Myles had planned. Or rather, not planned, exactly. He had assumed he would arrive, sign the contract, be his usual charming self and captivate Sir Wilfrid’s niece with very little effort. Instead, Lady Giselle was being positively hostile and Sir Wilfrid evasive.
Perhaps he had been a little arrogant and had bragged a bit, he admitted to himself. Why not, when he was clearly the best man in the hall and what he said was nothing less than the truth? Certainly Sir George de Gramercie was no match for him, in anything.
Myles regarded the red berries nestled against the dark green, thorny holly leaves laid on the cloth before him. The red reminded him of Giselle, both her gown and her lips, which he could easily imagine kissing. But like the holly leaves, she seemed to have some very sharp edges.
Then he considered his sudden, improbable resort to announcing his own worth to Giselle, all because she made him feel less sure of himself than he had in years. When she had looked at him with such stern disapproval, he had felt as he had when he was a child and his father had told him he would never be the equal of his brothers. And that he would never amount to anything much at all.
But Sir Wilfrid didn’t think that. Indeed, Myles had thought Sir Wilfrid’s agreement to the marriage had meant that he had finally gained all the approval he would ever need.
Unfortunately, that had changed once he had met Giselle. She was an intelligent woman, capable and clever—and apparently she didn’t like him. Yet he would be an excellent choice for her as husband; anyone of any sense should recognize that. Why wouldn’t she? Was there some lack in him that she could see?
Myles frowned darkly. No, surely not. Perhaps there was another man in her life. Not Sir George—somebody else. Somebody she might have met at the castle where she was fostered, perhaps.
Myles immediately turned to Sir Wilfrid. “Your niece has done an admirable job preparing for the feast, and the accommodations for myself and my knights are most excellent. You must be very proud of her.”
“Yes, Sir Myles, yes, I am. She’s a lovely girl and as smart as they come,” her uncle replied, his words ever so slightly slurred.
“She must have had very good teachers.”
“She’s been fostered with Lady Katherine DuMonde these past ten years. A most exceptional widow!” Sir Wilfrid raised his goblet in salute, spilling only a little wine. “Strict, of course, Lady Katherine, very strict, but you can see it hasn’t harmed Giselle. Girls can never have too much discipline, you know. Spare the rod and spoil the child, eh, Sir Myles?”
“I believe my father would concur with you on that point,” Myles agreed, the chill of his reply quite lost on Sir Wilfrid. “Does Lady Katherine have any children of her own?”
“Not a one, poor thing.”
“No sons?”
“More’s the pity!” Sir Wilfrid answered with a chuckle. “They would have been fine soldiers. Disciplined from the cradle!” he said, flourishing his goblet like a flag of battle. “In the womb!”
Sir Myles smiled and joined companionably in his host’s laughter, putting away all thoughts of his father’s harsh punishments and wondering where else Lady Giselle might have met a young man.
Then he caught sight of Giselle making her way out of the hall toward the kitchen, and decided it really didn’t matter. He wanted a woman with a considerable dowry, he wanted an alliance with Sir Wilfrid, and he wanted an intelligent woman to share his bed and bear his children. Lady Giselle was exactly what he required in a wife.
If there was someone else in her heart, Myles would simply have to see to it that the fellow was soon forgotten.
Chapter Three
Sir Myles was standing right behind her, just slightly to her left. Worse, Giselle could feel his gaze on her throughout the long Christmas mass, making it very difficult to concentrate on Father Paul’s Latin or appreciate the beauty of the novices’ chants as they filled the chapel.
She would have had difficulty anyway, for her mind was more than half-occupied with the business of the holy day. Already today there had been a crisis: an unforeseen shortage of hay. The head groom had appeared at her door at first light, anxious and apologetic. She had ordered him to dispatch three carts to outlying farms to make up the shortfall before telling him such a thing mustn’t happen again. She wasn’t as harsh as she might have been, given the situation and the early hour, for it was obvious he had not told her uncle. For that, she could be a little magnanimous.
On the other hand, she had no similar feeling to spare for Sir Myles. Why did he hover about her like a bee after honey? What did he hope to accomplish? Couldn’t he see she had enough to do without his bothersome presence?
Why hadn’t he spoken to her? What would she say to him if he did?
When at last the mass ended, she turned, ready to be barely polite to Sir Myles, and saw that he was already halfway to the door of the chapel. Then he stopped to speak with Lady Alice, who visibly preened under his gaze.
Perhaps he should ask to marry her, Giselle thought as she hurried past them. After all, Alice had nothing better to do with her time than find men amusing and interesting and attractive, much good may it do her.
Giselle just hoped Sir Myles stayed away from her the rest of the day, for tonight was the great feast of Christmas Day, and all her efforts today must go to making that a success.
He did not stay away. Nor did he speak to her. Instead, he had the most disconcerting way of appearing when she least expected him, and then going away without one word to her, as if he was some sort of spy, or guard.
He came to the kitchen when she was finalizing the order of dishes for the feast, ostensibly for a bit of bread because Lady Alice wanted to feed the ducks on the moat.
He entered the stables to see his stallion when she was determining that the appropriate amount of hay had arrived.
He was playing quoits in the courtyard when she was scurrying from storehouse to storehouse making sure they had plenty of wine and fruit.
He sauntered through the hall as she was supervising the arrangement of the trestle tables.
He was laughing with Sir Wilfrid when she hurried past the solar on her way to her room to dress for the feast.
In short, he was everywhere, and never once said so much as “Happy Christmas.”
Which she knew shouldn’t trouble her. It wouldn’t have, except that she was chatelaine here, and his silence made her fear she had been too obviously rude last night. Perhaps he had told Sir Wilfrid of her discourtesy, but then her uncle would have summoned her to his solar immediately.
That did not happen, and the important feast passed so uneventfully, Giselle felt something akin to disappointment, which naturally had nothing to do with the fact that she had seated Sir Myles to her uncle’s right, while she was to Sir Wilfrid’s left. After all, she had no wish to be chastised for not listening again, and if Sir Myles made no effort to communicate with her, that was surely a relief.
Just as she was relieved to leave the high table as soon as the final course of fruit was served, for she had to attend to the wassail. It was her duty to make sure that the steaming bowls containing the hot, spiced brews were delivered to the appropriate tables. For the nobles, the beverage was made of wine, with the costliest spices and best apples. For those below the salt, the baked apples floated in ale. The servants’ wassail was made of cider.
There followed the necessary and appropriate rounds of toasts, and then the tables were removed to make way for the jugglers and acrobats Giselle had hired for this evening’s entertainment. They were very diverting, especially since she didn’t have to worry about Sir Myles. He was ensconced on the far side of the hall with several other young noblemen.
Over all, Giselle was pleased by the success of the Christmas feast, and if she was at all piqued by Sir Myles’s behavior, she could take comfort in his apparent disinterest in Lady Elizabeth and Lady Alice.
Although why his neglect of other ladies shoul
d comfort her, she didn’t care to consider.
The next day, Giselle feared that there would be a repetition of Sir Myles’s odd behavior, and she spent the whole morning in tense anticipation only to learn that he, along with several knights, had decided to ride out that day.
This was good news, she told herself, for that meant no troublesome interference in her duties and, indeed, the rest of the day passed quickly enough.
Just before going to her bedchamber to dress for this evening’s feast, however, Giselle did make one change in her plans. Since she had seen nothing of the irritating Sir Myles all day, she supposed she would be able to tolerate his presence beside her at the high table tonight, and informed the servants accordingly.
Quite pleased with her ability to rise above the petty annoyance occasioned by Sir Myles’s conduct, Giselle entered her bedchamber and saw that Mary had laid out her favorite gown. It was made of deep blue wool, an indigo like the sky at sunset, and trimmed with bands of silver embroidery. She was to wear a scarf in matching blue with a silver circlet over her unbound hair.
She noticed, beside the gown, a painted wooden box the width and length of her hand. Curious, she picked it up and opened it.
Inside was the most hideous scarf Giselle had ever seen, in a shade of green that was akin to squashed peas. With an expression of distaste, Giselle gingerly removed it. The pity was, it was very fine silk, yet she could think of no color that would look more horrible on her.
She drew the scarf over her head and went to the looking glass, to see that she was absolutely right.
From whom had this gift come? Her uncle? He would never think of finery such as this, thank the Lord! Sir Myles? It had to be Sir Myles.
Naturally a suitor would give the object of his affection a gift for each of the twelve days of Christmas. This would be the first.
She sighed heavily at the realization that she would undoubtedly receive eleven more such gifts, and she had thought Sir Myles a man of some taste! His own clothes were well chosen to accentuate his looks and his build.
Of course, he had not seen her when he had selected this gift.
But he had seen her before he gave it. Surely he would have realized...
What did it matter what he realized? The scarf did not suit. Nor did she appreciate his recent possessive behavior. He had no right to watch over her every move, as if they were already married. Therefore, she would thank him as etiquette demanded, but only so far as etiquette demanded.
With that decision in mind, she put the scarf back into its box and secreted it away in her clothes chest. She had no wish to make explanations to Mary, who arrived moments later to help her mistress dress.
As she entered the hall and checked to make certain everything had been properly prepared, Giselle couldn’t help noticing Sir Myles, standing near the hearth, his broad-shouldered back to her. Indeed, he would have been hard to miss, for with his thick, wavy hair brushing his shoulders, well-fitting black tunic that reached to the top of his soft black leather boots, his narrow waist encircled with a belt of golden rings and his stance of easy, almost feline grace, there was not his equal in the hall.
No doubt he was quite aware of his personal attributes and thought those alone sufficient to make her feel flattered by his presence, or upset when he had chosen to go riding. He had probably been spoiled and complimented all his life.
Perhaps he could not be expected to comprehend her reluctance to marry.
Once he noticed Giselle, he immediately excused himself and strolled toward her. Then she saw a slight frown crease his brow and his full lips register what could have been disappointment.
Regardless of its ugliness, she might have worn the scarf, she thought with genuine remorse.
Before he reached her, her uncle and Father Paul bustled into the hall. Sir Myles hurried to stand at the table beside her, directed there by one of the servants. He said not one word of greeting to her.
Trying not to feel ashamed of her ungrateful thoughts, Giselle told herself she should be more concerned that everything be served at the proper time in the proper order and that all be cooked to perfection than giving and receiving greetings.
They ate in grim silence, until Giselle decided she had better say her thanks and be done with it. “Sir Myles,” she said quietly when the second course of fish arrived, “I found a gift in my bedchamber today. Was it from you?” He gave her a wry smile and she was forced to admit to his handsome charm.
“Yes, it was from me. I trust you are not in the habit of receiving gifts from unknown men?”
“No, I’m not. Thank you.” There. That duty was finished.
Myles turned his attention back to the perfectly cooked fish before him.
I suppose I should be glad she deigned to acknowledge my gift, he thought discontentedly, more aware than ever of her beauty. She looked like a goddess in that blue gown, and whatever dismay he had felt upon first noticing she wasn’t wearing his gift had quickly disappeared upon realizing that the dark blue suited her to perfection.
Just as yesterday he had realized that he had never known a more competent woman. Giselle seemed to be everywhere, personally making sure that all was well in hand.
As his gaze roved over the assembled guests in the hall, he knew there was not another candidate for his wife who was so fitting as Lady Giselle, quite apart from the matter of her sizeable dowry and her uncle’s influence at court.
He commanded himself not to make too much of Giselle’s current behavior toward him. Of course she would be unused to gifts from men who were not her relatives. That would explain her blunt thanks.
He slid her a sidelong glance. How pretty she was, with that thin, transparent scarf hiding, yet not hiding, the curve of her soft cheek and the luscious redness of her lips.
The green of the scarf he had given her would surely make her pale skin look sallow.
Oh well. No matter. His other gifts were not scarves, and surely they would meet with a better reply.
Therefore, he would cease to concern himself with her previous response.
Besides, despite her manner when they were seated beside each other, Giselle had not been able to ignore him yesterday, try as she might.
Oh, no, my fine lady, he thought with more equanimity, the battle is just begun. And tonight, when I take your hand in a round dance, I will ever so gently caress it, giving you a promise of other delights to come.
If Giselle was disappointed that Sir Myles didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her at all throughout the meal, it wasn’t obvious. Instead, she watched the occupants of the hall carefully, noting what dishes seemed to be the most appealing, and if there was any strain among the different guests. Fortunately, it seemed that the Christmas season mellowed everyone.
Giselle wished she could leave the high table, where her uncle and Sir Myles seemed intent upon discussing the state of game in the country to the exclusion of all other topics, and join the other guests.
Soon enough, however, the musicians once again took their places, and at a nod from Giselle, the servants began removing the tables. Giselle rose, intending to see to the distribution of the remains of the feast to the poor of the village, when Sir Myles laid a detaining hand on her arm.
She looked at him with some surprise and could not resist saying, “I thought you had forgotten my existence, sir.”
His slow, seductive smile made her warm in spite of her best efforts to remain unmoved. “Oh, I most certainly have not, my lady. May I have the honor of leading you in the first carole of the evening?”
Giselle wanted to refuse. She had things to do. She didn’t want to dance. Not with him. Not in a circle holding on to the hand that was touching hers so lightly, and that was so hard to ignore.
However, she didn’t have time to answer, because he immediately clasped her hand tighter and led her to the now empty space in the middle of the hall.
Giselle told herself there was nothing she could do now, not without makin
g a spectacle of herself, especially as others hurried to join the dance.
“Your gown is very becoming,” Sir Myles remarked, in a whisper only she could hear, as the musicians tuned their instruments and the dancers formed a circle. “And I quite like your hair that way. I can hardly wait to see it loose about your body. In our bed.”
Giselle flushed hotly and opened her mouth to admonish him for his bold, impertinent remark when the dance began.
The carole was a complicated one, with steps from side to side, and forward and back, ending with all the dancers going around the circle at a breathtaking rush. Because Giselle had not danced very often, she was forced to concentrate on the steps so that she wouldn’t falter. This was, of course, far better than looking at Sir Myles’s fine profile, or enjoying the sensation of his admiring smile.
Sir Myles wasn’t even winded as they came to a halt, while she was panting as if she had run from the hall to the chapel and back again. He bowed politely. “I thank you, my lady.”
“I...I have to go,” Giselle said, trying desperately to control her breathing, as well as the rest of her traitorous body, which felt so warm under his approving regard.
“Yes, I know,” he said understandingly. “You have many duties to attend to.”
That said, he bowed once more and sauntered away, toward Elizabeth Cowton.
Giselle sucked in her breath, told herself she didn’t care who else he danced with, and hurried off to the kitchen, where Mary and several kitchen boys were awaiting her.
She took her cloak from Mary’s arms and put it on, then ordered the boys to bring the baskets of foodstuffs not consumed that night and follow her. She led them out into the cold, silent night. The stones in the courtyard were white with frost and slippery, and she reminded the boys to take heed. Icicles hung from the roofs of the buildings like long, white fingers. Overhead, the sky was clear, and the millions of stars shone brilliantly. The moon was nearly full, lending plenty of light to this pleasant, if chilly, task.
The Knights of Christmas Page 13
