The hall roared with laughter as the juggler held up a flattened hand in front of his face and looked into it as though peering into a looking glass. And then he looked behind the faux mirror and widened his eyes as he pointed a red finger at the twins, making both laugh at his antics. Finally, getting back to the task of juggling, he pointed to his sack and threw out his hands as though just discovering it after a long search. Tossing the sack open, he pitched a red ball carelessly into the air. It fell upon his head and bounced into the air. Almost simultaneously came a gold, blue, and green one. The hall resounded with clapping as the juggler settled into his practiced routine, accompanied by the heavenly sound of the lyre. Chrestien clapped loudest of all, for which she was rewarded with a comical smile from the juggler, making her laugh all the harder.
Weston thought mayhap his wife's smile was capturing more attention than the juggler’s performance.
His point was proven when the juggler himself stopped juggling abruptly and let every ball fall to the wooden floor with a loud thump, each thud exaggerated by a loud strum of the lyre as the juggler feigned being love-struck. Another ball came down upon his head, earning another round of laughter, and Chrestien clapped louder.
Why this petty juggler should irritate him so, he couldn’t fathom. But Weston was indeed irritated. He masked it well enough, drowning out Chrestien’s enthusiastic clapping with his own thunderous applause.
Meekly, as though he knew that what he was about to do might be misinterpreted, the juggler picked up two of his painted balls, the gold and green ones, handing the gold to Adelaine. The green he gave to Chrestien.
The twins rewarded him with a smile, and the juggler packed away his remaining balls and stepped away from the table as a team of dancers took his place.
“Oh Aleth! This is delightful!” Chrestien exclaimed, laughing. “Papa never allowed players at Lontaine. ’Tis the first time for me to see them!”
Aleth smiled, and Adelaine whispered into his ear, then gave her husband a kiss upon his cheek. To Chrestien, he said, “They will be here throughout the week. What say ye to that, Chris?”
Chrestien beamed. “You’ve been altogether too kind, my lord!”
Weston was amazed that such a simple thing could bring his wife so much pleasure. And that alone eased his irritation, for how could he truly remain so annoyed when her smile lit the entire room. The essence of rosewater drifted to him and he longed to bury his face in her hair once more. The lavender gown she had donned somehow made her eyes appear violet and he vowed he would have a dozen lavender gowns made for her to wear.
Her skin looked like the unblemished snow of the moors, smooth and milky, without a single flaw. He’d wager that, were she not already his, every man in this hall would be vying for her hand at this very moment. And of a sudden, he was thankful that her first visit to Castle Montagneaux had been made in the guise of a man. Although, how anyone could have mistaken her for one—himself included—was beyond him.
A dark thought occurred to him suddenly and he scanned the faces in the hall. Could someone have discovered who she was? Whoever had led that ambush had come from Montagneaux, he was nearly certain.
He studied every face in the hall, to no avail. Everyone was simply enjoying themselves. Even the bold ones, who stared openly at Chrestien, were now reacting as any normal man would when caught in the act of ogling another man’s wife. They turned away in submission to his warning scowl.
The dancers moved away from the dais and the lower tables were cleared and dismantled to make room for the guests to dance. The lyre was joined by the lute and couples flocked to the dance floor.
There was yet to be one syllable uttered between him and Chrestien and he was not about to be the first to break the silence between them by asking her to dance. By God it would be broken by her, or not at all. He had not begun this feuding between them and he would not end it. He was unaccustomed to intrigues of the heart.
Adelaine elbowed her husband, urging Aleth to seek the first dance with her sister since Weston would not. Aleth turned to Weston out of respect.
Weston smiled, masking his irritation as he nodded his approval. “By all means,” he said chivalrously. But within, he seethed, far more angry at himself for not being able to end this ridiculous charade. He watched Aleth lead his wife, gracefully, amidst the other dancers, and grit his teeth. God's teeth, Aleth had his own ladywife. Surely Chrestien needed no more attention than she was receiving this eve.
He risked another glance at his wife, and a growl nearly burst from his chest. She and Aleth were laughing—no doubt she was amused that he sat alone. He turned away from the dance floor, oblivious to Adelaine’s staring, until he saw her gleaming white teeth, and then he realized she was watching him while he watched his wife.
Was she laughing at him as well?
Did she suspect he was angry?
He looked away momentarily to wipe the scowl from his face and then returned his gaze to the Lady Adelaine. Two could play at this game, he decided, offering Adelaine his arm. “Would you care to dance, my lady?”
Adelaine smiled sweetly. “Oh, nay, my lord, but you have my gratitude. You see... I’ve somehow twisted my ankle. But Aleth will not keep Chrestien long,” she promised.
Weston gave her a frown for her reply.
“But my lord,” she ventured. “I must say that I am quite indebted to you for bringing my sister to Montagneaux. I have missed her sorely. We’ve never been apart, you know,” she said. “Until now.”
Weston forced a smile.
“She is enjoying herself so much! Do you not agree? She has never seen the likes of this before. Of course, neither had I, until I wed my lord.”
“So I heard,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Adelaine’s gaze returned to the dance floor and she smiled slightly. “She looks so lovely in that dress... and dances so divinely. Do you not agree, my lord?”
“Ravishing,” he said, but he made it a point to inspect her from her identical feet to the top of her identical head, for he thought it rather vainglorious that she should be complimenting her exact twin and wanted her to know it.
Realizing that she had essentially complimented herself, Lady Adelaine's cheeks bloomed with color.
At long last, Aleth returned Chrestien to the table. Adelaine stood within seconds of their arrival.
“You look pale,” Aleth said, immediately at his wife's side.
“I am fine, husband. ’Tis only that I have need of fresh air.” She turned to smile sweetly at Weston. “If my lord Weston would part with my sister for but a few more moments.”
“Of course,” Weston said through clenched teeth.
Three female players had gathered onto the floor and Weston turned to them as he said, “Indeed, ’twould give Aleth and I a chance to... talk.”
“Indeed it would.” Aleth said with a grin as he sat to enjoy the dancers as well. That was the way Adelaine and Chrestien left them—staring wide-eyed at the scantily clad women who were writhing like vipers before them. However, the instant she and Adelaine turned their backs to him, Weston’s gaze returned to his wife, and he stared until the sisters disappeared through the door.
A familiar face stood and followed them out, and Weston nudged Aleth’s arm, pointing out the man before he disappeared through the huge oaken doors. “Who is that?”
“Their father’s squire.”
Weston nodded. He had not recognized him, for he’d not seen Aubert since the day he’d returned them all to Lontaine—not to mention the fact that he had been a bit worse for the wear. But all at once he was plagued with a barrage of unpleasant memories: Aubert defending Chrestien in the woods, risking his life to do so. Aubert lying next to Chrestien in the tent—Chrestien lying next to Aubert in the cart, showering him with caresses. “Aubert is it?” he muttered to himself.
Out in the courtyard, Adelaine giggled excitedly. “I do believe ’tis working, Chrestien! You should have seen him watc
hing you while you danced! I thought his eyes would pop from their sockets. I do so hope he will forgive me, for I know I sorely tried his nerves.”
“Do not fret, Adelaine. The Silver Wolf is more a pup. I no longer even believe the things I once heard spoken of him,” Chrestien confessed. “He has done aught but the noble thing since I first laid eyes upon him.”
“If he is a pup, 'tis only because you have tamed him. You must trust me. That man is capable of everything said of him and more!”
Chrestien slid her sister a questioning glance. “What is it you know that I don't?”
“Suffice to say that I would prefer to be on his good side.”
Footsteps suddenly sounded behind them. Chrestien swung about, expecting to find her husband following behind her. “Aubert!” She threw herself into her dear friend’s arms.
Aubert lifted her up, swinging her about exuberantly.
“I thought never to see you again!” Chrestien said, kissing him firmly upon the cheek. “I’ve missed you so,” she confessed.
“And I have missed ye, minx! They tell me you’ve gone and wed Henry’s Wolf?”
Chrestien smiled wanly. “Aye, though ’twas not my choice to do so—or his—but I have indeed.”
“Are ye not pleased? My mother said ye loved the brute?”
“Sweet Mary! Janelle cannot know what is in my heart!”
Aubert chuckled knowingly. “Ye know my mother, Chrestien. If she’s got it in her mind that ye love the knave... whether ye agree or not, you’d better say ye do.”
Chrestien gave him a lopsided grin and hugged him again. “How I’ve missed you,” she said again.
“So you’ve said, minx, but I cannot see where you’ve withered away for the pining.”
Aubert took both Adelaine and Chrestien by the hand, bringing them both forward to lock them both in one monstrous hug. “If your father could only see ye both now,” he said with a grin. “I’ve never seen either of ye look so lovely!”
“Oh!” Remembering something she’d meant to show Chrestien earlier in the day, Adelaine broke away, motioning for both Chrestien and Aubert to follow. “Come, there is something I wish to show you.”
They came upon a small enclosed garden, well lit with at least a dozen pitch torches. When Chrestien saw the exact duplicate of the rose arbor at Lontaine, she nearly swooned with joy. “However did you manage?”
“Aleth is very, very good to me, Chrestien. I needed but tell him how much that arbor meant to me—to us, and he had his men build it and then moved the roses from the herb garden. Flora, the cook, nearly had a fit from what Janelle tells me, for she uses the roses in her salves—and as a garnish for her dishes. But she’s welcome to snip them from here.”
“’Tis beautiful, Adelaine! And, oh! You have the snow-white rose I favor so much!”
“This,” Aubert said, “is where I must take my leave.” He smiled and gave them each a peck on the cheek before leaving.
Adelaine’s smile widened as she peered at his retreating form. “He could never stomach women's chatter,” she said. “Anyway, look, there is even a tiny replica of this rose. Come,” she said, taking Chrestien’s hand and leading her to another small raised garden where she plucked the tiniest white rose.
“Oh, Adelaine… ’tis like naught I’ve ever seen before. It is so tiny!” Chrestien stared as though mesmerized by the dwarf bloom. Taking it from Adelaine’s hand, she put the tiny blossom to her nose, breathing deeply of its scent. “How did you happen upon such a curiosity?”
“It was a gift,” she said, pleased that Chrestien was so awed by it. “From Aleth’s brother. I believe he acquired the rose while on crusade. He brought it home to present to his mistress, but, alas, she left him for another, so Rolfe gave it to me as a wedding gift. And he has another,” Adelaine said, watching Chrestien. “A crimson one. He has promised it to me. When he brings it, I shall give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would take a cutting from it first, if you would not mind overmuch.”
“Of course I would not mind!” Adelaine and her kind heart never ceased to amaze Chrestien. “Where is this Rolfe?” she asked absently, admiring the miniature rose.
“He left shortly after Janelle and Aubert arrived as there was a matter in Caen he had need to attend. You shall meet him when he returns,” she promised. “And then I will give you the rose.”
Chapter Thirteen
Turning from the window, Chrestien spied the dress that Adelaine removed from her coffer—two actually, both a deep emerald color with underdresses of fine ivory silk. One was already lying upon the bed. “How many sets of dresses do you have? I have never seen so much finery in all my life!”
Adelaine blushed. “’Twas how I appeased myself when first I came to Montagneaux. I missed you so.”
Chrestien understood, for she too had known the same pain of loss while they were newly parted.
“They are yours to keep when you leave,” Adelaine said, handing one to her.
“You are much too good to me.” Chrestien smiled, spoiling the reproach. She took the dress and hugged her newest acquisition happily. “Think Weston will be pleased with this one?”
Adelaine gazed at her adoringly. “How can he not be? You will be stunning in that.”
“You realize he has not spoken a single word to me—nor even looked at me—in nigh three days? He comes to bed late and leaves before I wake.”
“I have watched him, Chrestien. When he believes you see him not, he gazes at you with sheep’s eyes. He does want you. But he is overly stubborn—much more than I anticipated—and sister dear, I never thought to meet anyone more stubborn than you.”
Chrestien frowned. “Do you think me stubborn?”
“Forsooth! 'Tis a silly question if ever I have heard one, but I’d have you promise me one thing... does he not give in today, you must go to him. It pains me to see you unhappy and someone must provide the olive branch.”
It should be him, Chrestien thought, but ceded, “Very well.”
Adelaine smiled brilliantly. “Now, go dress yourself. Aubert awaits us in the bailey with our mounts.”
* * *
Weston watched as the vision before him grew in clarity.
From the arched entrance of the great hall came his wife and her sister. In twin emerald gowns with white velvet mantles, they waltzed into the courtyard. Were it not for the smoldering eyes, he would not have known one from the other for their hair was covered by a capuchon of white velvet—but the eyes told all.
As they approached, Weston stepped forward and took Adelaine’s hand, kissing it nobly as he told her. “You look lovely, demoiselle.” Adelaine bowed her head.
Forcing a smile, his wife turned away to mount her horse, and before Weston could move to help her, Aubert rushed to her side and Weston grunted his displeasure. God's breath, if he thought he was going along with them, he need think again. “Aubert,” he said, “I’ll be needing you to remain here with me,” he said irascibly.
Although he seemed puzzled, Aubert didn’t argue. He acknowledged Weston’s request with a tip of his head and came to Weston’s side to watch the sisters ride from the gate. The two were followed by five of Aleth’s burly guards.
Weston eyed the lad, noting with some annoyance that the youth kept his attention upon his wife until she was no longer within sight. Once they were gone, he clapped Aubert none too gently upon the back. “Aleth tells me you are looking to find a home for your skills and I am needing a squire. Are you willing?”
“But I thought you had one, my lord?”
“Nay. Guy is Michel’s man and we’ve shared him long enough. Mine was lost to me at Tinchebrai,” Weston explained.
A moment of silence ensued as both men weighed their losses. Tinchebrai had irrevocably changed their lives forever. Weston knew it would be difficult for Aubert to embrace this offer eagerly, for to do so meant that he would forsake his long-time loyalties. However, having him near would please his wife and he would see her smi
le, in spite of the fact that Aubert's solicitousness annoyed him.
“It would please me,” he coaxed. “My captain would be happy to have Guy returned to him. Besides, Chrestien would be eased by your presence. So what say you?”
The two shared a long look and Aubert ceded at last, “I would be honored, my lord.”
“Very good. There is one thing I’d have you do for me, Aubert.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Weston eyed him pointedly. “Stay away from my wife.”
The look of surprise on the lad's face was as unexpected as his defiant body language. He squared his shoulders, ready to do battle. “I cannot, my lord! Chrestien is my sister!”
“Your sister?” The surprise in Weston's voice must have come across as a challenge, for the lad lifted his chin and it was then that Weston recognized the resemblance in their countenances.
“I have proof,” the lad said. “If ye would care to confirm it.”
“I would, indeed,” Weston told him, although he truly didn't need it. Suddenly, so much made sense. A sense of relief eased the tension from his limbs.
For proof, Aubert led him to an old serving woman, whose teeth clattered as she disclosed everything. “Aye, my son is Gilbert de Lontaine’s offspring... though Gilbert never openly acknowledged it.”
Weston furrowed his brow as he took in the maid’s confession, but he said not a word, letting her continue.
“Consider it, my lord, he made a warrior of a servant’s son. Does that not prove the truth of what I say?”
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