A Midsummer Knight's Kiss

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  Rowenna made her way to the meeting chamber that had been set aside for women to make adjustments to their outfits. The chamber was full of women, young and old, busy smoothing their hair, rebraiding ribbons, adjusting petticoats. Rowenna paused in the doorway, nerves rearing up as she gazed on the faces of women who had rebuffed her family in the past. It shouldn’t matter to her that the noble wives and daughters ignored her. She had told Robbie the truth when she said that court life looked dull. She didn’t crave their company, but walking in and standing alone was daunting and each rejection reminded her of the frustration her father tried to hide that he could only climb so high.

  She almost turned and left, but then spotted one or two women who she could speak with, confident they would not snub her. She caught the eye of a spice merchant’s wife and curtsied, receiving a cheery nod of the head in return. Her confidence fortified, she passed her cloak to an attendant and began to lace her bodice tighter. Despite her promise to her father—and she really did intend to make sure she did nothing to ruin her name—she wasn’t going to keep her gown as loose as she had tied it before leaving the house when she could draw the waist in to emphasise her figure.

  Her eye fell on two faces she had briefly seen sitting with Sir John’s wife on the stands. Lady Isobel’s attendants were sitting on low stools at the furthest end of a long table with refreshments on it. Rowenna moved closer, wondering which one of them was Robbie’s love. They were discussing the knights, listing names Rowenna had seen on the board of victory and dividing them into those worthy of notice and those not. Rowenna took a honey cake and nibbled it while she listened, faintly bored.

  ‘I shall kiss Lord Dunhelm’s squire if he asks me to,’ said the girl with crinkly red hair.

  ‘Amy, you wouldn’t!’ the other said coldly. ‘Then I shall dance with the Earl himself!’

  ‘Will you dance with Master Danby if he asks you?’ asked Amy.

  Rowenna jerked her head up, interested now. She finished the cake and licked her fingers. So this was Mary. Rowenna examined her closely. She had a straight nose and bright blue eyes, and was small and slender. Her hair was golden and fell from a silver coif down the back of her pale blue cote-hardie. To Rowenna’s eyes the colour was too bright to be natural.

  ‘There are lots of handsome knights I might dance with,’ Mary said primly, waving a heavily ringed hand. ‘Why should I content myself with someone who is still a squire, however handsome he is?’

  ‘Master Danby won’t be a squire forever. He will be knighted before too long I expect,’ Amy pointed out, quite reasonably in Rowenna’s opinion. Rowenna decided she liked Amy better. What a pity Robbie hadn’t fallen in love with her, if he must love anyone beside Rowenna.

  ‘True. He dances well from what I’ve seen and he is very handsome,’ Mary said wistfully.

  Rowenna found herself nodding in agreement. She stopped and sipped her drink, which turned out to be a sickly nectar made of wine and honey. It was far too spice laden for her liking.

  ‘He will inherit a title, too, won’t he?’ Amy said. ‘A baronage, I believe.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Mary’s face brightened, then dropped into a pout. ‘But he has illegitimate connections, I believe. The uncle I saw.’

  Amy waved a hand. ‘I doubt he has much to do with them. Any time the subject of bastardy is raised he goes so stiff and quiet. He looked furious when they interrupted Sir John’s party at the tournament.’

  Rowenna froze. Robbie had always assured her it didn’t matter, but now she thought of it, he did become more solemn when she mentioned it. Did he secretly despise Hal’s state and by definition her own? She felt sick at the thought.

  Mary smoothed her skirts. ‘Whether or not he disapproves of his relatives, I’m not sure Master Danby’s father is rich enough to please my uncle. Uncle John insists I marry well.’

  Though it pained Rowenna to admit it, Mary had a point. Rowenna’s father had worked for years so that she had a handsome dowry to take to any man who could see past the fact he was marrying into illegitimacy and common birth. For the first time she saw Roger as slightly shiftless—content to live in peace on the moors. He had ensured Robbie would inherit a respectable but small property and an even smaller fortune, but did nothing to draw attention to himself or his son.

  Robbie seemed content with that himself, content to fire arrows at silly straw targets, but not joust, and to be Sir John’s Squire of the Body, not his personal squire. He did nothing to draw attention to himself where an ambitious young nobleman might seek to have his face and name known around the kingdom. And now he had decided he was in love with this woman who mocked him behind his back!

  Deep in thought, she took another cup and reached for the flagon of water to dilute it.

  ‘Well, it isn’t your uncle Master Danby has to please tonight.’ Amy laughed. ‘You make no commitment by dancing with Master Danby unless you choose to do so. He’s probably too honourable to even try to kiss you.’

  Rowenna drank her nectar in one gulp. Robbie had come very close to kissing her on the lips and she wondered if he would have carried it through if she had not pulled away at the last moment. Her face grew hot. How could he love someone as unkind and superior as Mary? And if Mary, with her jewels and ambition, was the sort of woman he wanted, why would he ever consider marrying a bastard’s daughter?

  ‘That settles it—I shall dance with him and I shall get him to kiss me, too,’ Mary said. ‘But he’ll have to manage to ask me first. He speaks so poorly. Truly I could grow fond of him, but it makes my head ache listening to him. Who w-w-would w-w-want a husband who couldn’t s-s-say his w-w-wife’s n-n-name?’

  Rowenna’s fist clenched at hearing such cruel words from the woman Robbie adored. Almost physical pain gripped her stomach. Mary could not know Robbie in the slightest if she was mocking the one thing that had the power to hurt him more than any other.

  Mary was in peals of laughter now. ‘His mother has the most exquisite sapphires I’ve ever seen that would match my eyes perfectly. Perhaps I could endure listening to him trying to talk to me in return for those.’

  This woman did not deserve sapphires. She did not deserve Robbie. She didn’t even deserve a lowly gong-farmer. She deserved...

  Rowenna realised she was gripping the handle of the water flagon tightly. She grinned. Mary deserved a soaking.

  Rowenna put the flagon carefully back on the very edge of the table and drained her second cup of wine. She moved away, then returned to the far side of the table, selected a third cup and leaned over the table precariously.

  ‘Excuse me, is there water in that flagon?’ she asked Mary.

  Mary turned to see who had addressed her, just as Rowenna contrived to knock her hand against the flagon and send it spilling over. Water poured across the table, over the edge, and down the side of Mary’s gown. Mary jumped to her feet with a shriek, ignoring the effusive apologies that Rowenna uttered.

  ‘Can someone bring a cloth?’ Rowenna called out.

  A servant and other women crowded round to help. Mary gave Rowenna a look that was pure poison and rushed to the fireside, spreading the folds of her gown out in her hands. Rowenna righted the empty flagon, finished her third drink and left the room with the air of a king leading his army home from victory. Mary had been swifter to her feet than Rowenna had expected and most of the water had missed, but with any luck Mary would spend enough time drying herself that she would be absent for long enough that Rowenna could speak to Robbie.

  She sighed in exasperation. How blindly in love was Robbie if he thought that woman was the best he had ever met?

  ‘He needs his head boxed, not sympathetic hints,’ she muttered, stalking away.

  The centre of the Great Hall was filled with dancers now, their feet causing the scent of thyme and meadowsweet to rise from the rush floors. Beeswax candles in the sconces along the
walls gave a soft light and sweet smell to the high-ceilinged room. A fire was blazing in the great fireplace at the furthest end of the room, taking the chill off the stone walls, but adding to the overpowering mixture of fragrances. Rowenna’s head spun a little and she leaned against the wall, her anger at Mary’s unkindness searing her heart.

  ‘Do you need assistance?’ A voice in her ear made her start. She turned to face a young blond man who was staring down at her with concern on his face.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. She needed to think, more than anything. Somehow she would have to tell Robbie what she had overheard and he would be devastated. A small, selfish part of her whispered she might be the one to console him as well as bearing the unhappy news. This man couldn’t help with that.

  ‘Forgive my impudence for approaching you, but you look a little lost,’ he said, smiling. ‘My name is Master Hugone.’

  That name was familiar. This was Sir John’s other squire. Robbie’s friend. She could talk to him safely.

  ‘I’m Rowenna.’ She fanned her neck with her hand. ‘It’s much hotter in here than I was expecting. I’m looking for my cousin, but I can’t see him. I’m a little thirsty, too.’

  ‘A lady without a drink is a sorry sight,’ Master Hugone said. ‘A lady without a partner even more so. May I accompany you to the table to find a cup of wine and then, if you are feeling better, we might dance?’

  Rowenna smiled uncertainly. She had to find Robbie and tell him what Mary had said as soon as possible, but there was no sign of him anywhere. It was overpoweringly hot and she was thirsty and the sticky wine had done nothing to quench her thirst. A drink would help clear her thoughts and get her temper back under control. Her father had said to be careful of feckless men but she could trust Robbie’s friend.

  Rowenna took Master Hugone’s arm and walked to the refreshment table. She accepted a cup of thin wine that was much more refreshing than the sickly nectar provided to the women. Master Hugone gave her a wide smile as she drank deeply.

  ‘You really were thirsty! I believe you could match me cup for cup.’

  Rowenna beamed back. ‘I don’t intend to try doing that!’

  ‘Very wise. But perhaps the dance I mentioned?’

  He left the question hanging, but held out a hand and raised an eyebrow invitingly. Rowenna smiled. Robbie hadn’t told her his friend was so charming, or so blond and handsome. She looked across the room at the couples dancing and thought how many of them might reject her company. She would have too few dances and Robbie was not apparently here. There was no reason not to dance with Master Hugone while she waited for him to arrive.

  What harm could that do after all?

  * * *

  Robbie was mildly surprised that the unrest had not stopped the celebrations from going ahead. Even though the riot has seemingly been suppressed, the city rumbled with discontent. Three days ago this building had closed the doors and barred them to keep rioters from breaking them down. Now they were wide open. To men of his supposed status, at least.

  Hearing the sounds of laughter and music coming from within the Common Hall, he almost turned away at the door. He would dearly have liked to spend a quiet night sitting somewhere peaceful rather than surrounded by merrymaking. He unbuckled his cloak, noting how his ribs and belly muscles protested where they had been elbowed roughly the day before, compounding the bruising from his bout with the swords during the bohort. He made his way into the hall, but did not feel like dancing immediately so made his way to the benches at the back of the room and watched.

  Mary was dancing with Lord Dunhelm, her head high and back straight. Every move was graceful and a studied perfection of the form she had learned. She wore pale blue that rippled like waves. Her beautiful face was serene and if she was aware of the attention her movements were drawing, she gave no sign. Robbie’s heart thudded and he wished he had plucked up the courage to approach her himself.

  He let his attention wander from one side of the hall to the other, idly observing the couples. He recognised Cecil in the most distant line partnered with a short, shapely woman dressed in wine-coloured silk with a sheen to it that caught the light when her skirts swayed. Her hair was captured in fine ribbons of gold at each side of her head, looped up to reveal a slender neck and pinned beneath a gold caul at the back that glinted in the candlelight.

  As Robbie watched, Cecil’s hand slipped from her shoulder down the curve of her spine and his fingers spread wide over her buttocks to draw her close. Robbie grimaced, seeing his rival chancing his luck so blatantly in public. They skipped a measure towards the far wall, then Cecil turned and spun his partner around. For the first time Robbie saw the woman’s face and the sight made him sit bolt upright and almost spill his wine.

  The woman dancing so intimately in the arms of Cecil was Rowenna.

  Robbie’s scalp prickled. The smile fell from his face. Rowenna had her back against Cecil’s chest now, leaning her body against his as he held her left arm outwards and rested his cheek against hers. Robbie glared in outrage at the hand that Cecil still had on Rowenna’s waist. It was part of the dance, but he did not have to hold her so close and it was not necessary for the fingertips that were curved over her hip bone to caress her waist quite so intimately. A waist so shapely cried out to be caressed, though.

  Nor did they have to lace their fingers together in the hand they were required to hold.

  Cecil said something to her, putting his lips close to her ear, and Rowenna laughed gaily, craning her head round so that she could reply. Her lips brushed against Cecil’s jaw and Cecil grinned, before licking his lips and replying. Rowenna tossed her head with a merry laugh, causing her fine nets of gold thread to glint in the light. Cecil looked ecstatic at the effect he was having on her.

  Robbie became aware he was gripping his goblet tightly. Dancing didn’t require anyone to talk, much less to speak so intimately that they were close to kissing. He should not allow her to behave so freely with a man she barely knew, but short of striding through the crowd and separating them Robbie could do nothing. He sat and watched, seething inwardly at the sight of such shameless flirting.

  Chapter Nine

  As he watched Rowenna dancing, Robbie’s anger was replaced with grudging admiration. Rowenna was an excellent dancer, light on her feet and in perfect time with the rhythm. She was clearly enjoying herself immensely and was lost within the music and steps. Robbie smiled, despite his instinct to disapprove, envious that Rowenna could behave with a sense of abandon that he could never permit himself to indulge.

  Every move of her hand was flamboyant. Every graceful twirl of her skirt sent the fabric rippling. Her lips were parted in a wide smile and her dark eyes gleamed. She and Cecil were performing the same steps as Mary and Lord Dunhelm, but even from this distance Robbie could see the suppressed energy in Rowenna that seemed almost certain to burst out at any moment. Robbie’s feet began to tap along with the rhythm and he suppressed a treacherous and completely unexpected thought—that dancing with Rowenna looked much more fun than dancing with Mary.

  If only it had not been Cecil, with his charismatic manner, she had been bestowing her attention on. He drummed his fingers on the table and tried to convince himself that Rowenna would display the same pleasure in the dance, no matter who her partner was. It grew on him with rising outrage that he was not the only man in the room whose attention she had caught and that around the outside of the room other men besides him were watching her with interest. He had recognised since meeting her again that she had grown into a very beautiful woman and the effect had not been lost on him. Now he witnessed that the effect was equally alluring to other men and he wasn’t sure whether he liked that realisation.

  The lines of dancers threaded through each other, bringing Rowenna and Cecil closer to Robbie. Rowenna caught Robbie’s eye as she crossed behind Cecil, skirts lifted gracefully to one side. Her step
faltered for the first time and she paused. Her eyes widened as they fixed on Robbie until Cecil gently tugged her arm and she disappeared back into the dance with a laugh and not as much as a backward glance in Robbie’s direction. His stomach knotted and he sat poised on the edge of his stool, determined to be the first to reach her and ask her to accompany him in the next dance. He would advise her to behave with more caution.

  * * *

  When the music came to an end Rowenna was at the other end of the room, and before Robbie had reached her another young man was intent on claiming her attention, bowing and holding out a cup of wine, which she took with enthusiasm. Writhing in frustration, Robbie turned away and noticed Mary was curtsying farewell to Lord Dunhelm. Robbie caught himself guiltily, remembering that he had intended to ask Mary to dance. He had completely forgotten to watch her since noticing Rowenna.

  He could do nothing to prevent Rowenna disgracing herself without pulling her away and causing more of a scene, so he made his way swiftly to Mary. Remembering how speech had come so easily when he play-acted with Rowenna, he took a deep breath and, without too many hesitant words, asked Mary to dance. She gazed at him appraisingly before inclining her head in agreement.

  Mary moved elegantly, never missing a step, her head erect and her body held as rigidly as a dancing master instructing a pupil. Robbie briefly wondered if perhaps he should risk a hand on her waist as Cecil had done with Rowenna. At once his mind filled with thoughts of his cousin that he could not suppress and he almost forgot the steps. He began to scan the dancers and discovered she was not among them, but was instead sitting on a bench between Cecil and the other man, raising a goblet to her lips.

  ‘You dance well, Master Danby.’