Great Protector (25 page)

It
was a comment more than a question. Obediently, he rose to his full height and
Arissa couldn't take her eyes off him. Casting her a bold wink, he stepped around
his chair and moved off the dais. Just as he was passing in front of the table
en route to the orchestra, he came to an abrupt, if not disbelieving, halt.
Arissa tore her eyes off of him long enough to glance to the source of his
focus.

Bartholomew
was moving into the room, clad in yards and yards of white fabric that had been
dirtied with soot or some other sort of blackness. His face was painted white
and dark circles ringed his faded blue eyes. Beside her, she heard her father
groan.

"Good
Christ, now what?" he said miserably, motioning to Richmond standing on
the other side of the table. "Get him out of here, Richmond. I shall not
have him spoiling the celebration."

Richmond
stepped in Bartholomew's direction, but Arissa leapt to her feet and held out a
quelling hand. "No, Richmond, leave him alone. He’s about to perform a
special skit in honor of my birthday."

Richmond
halted his forward momentum, his gaze moving between Arissa and her father.
William focused on his daughter. "What sort of skit? Did he tell
you?"

"Of
course not, father. It is a surprise."

William
cast a long glance at his son, who was currently taking position by the
elaborate hearth. He shook his head slowly. "He looks as if he’s just
survived a bout with the plague. What sort of performance could he be planning
with that costume?"

Lady
Maude stood up on the other side of her husband. "If it is honor of his
sister's birthday, then we will all sit and enjoy it. No matter what it
is," she regained her seat, waving a stern hand to Richmond. "Return
to your seat, Richmond."

Richmond
obeyed. As soon as he pulled his chair up to the table, Arissa wound her warm
fingers around his hand. Under the table, he clutched her tightly.

The
crowd saw that Bartholomew was about to speak and a hush settled over the
smoke-hazed room. Bartholomew faced his sister, his parents, and raised his arm
in simulation of a Roman salute.

"Greetings,
friends, guests, relatives, honored nobles. In tribute to my sister's most
monumental day of birth, I have prepared a prolific Greek prose that, in
itself, hinges the meaning of life," he focused on his sister
dramatically. "For you, my dear sister. Congratulations that you have
achieved this day:

'Abhorred
Styx, the flood of deadly hate,

 Sad
Acheron of sorrow black and deep;

 Cocytus
named of lamentation loud

 Heard
on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon

 Whose
waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.'"

The
prose was delivered with great flourish, gloom-and-doom that would be better
suited for a funeral than a birthday celebration. William put his face in his
hand and shook his head with disbelief while the rest of the hall was deadly
silent, listening with intense concern and puzzlement.

"He’s
praising her by reciting a poem about the River Styx?" Gavan was suddenly
crouched by Richmond's left hand. Two seats down, Daniel and Penelope sat with
open mouths as Bartholomew raised his voice with great theatrical control.
Regine, loitering at the end of the table, watched her sister and Richmond
closely for their reaction.

Richmond
kept his gaze straight ahead, on Bartholomew. "Hardly appropriate."
Beside him, Arissa hushed them both sternly.

Bartholomew
took a dramatic pause, propping his foot on a chair and pretending to pilot a
boat as one does when crossing water, by using a pole and pushing it across the
bottom.

"
'Far off from these slow and silent stream.

  
Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls

  
Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks

  
Forthwith his former state and being forgets,

  
Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.'"

He
suddenly bowed with great embellishment before any applause was attempted. As
he took his third bow, the stunned audience began to clap weakly for a
performance that was obviously concluded.

Bartholomew
soaked up the timid adoration like a sponge. As if he had just completed the
greatest performance of his life, he thanked the crowd graciously, working his
way toward the dais, shaking hands and kissing women’s' palms as he went on his
way. He knew, without question, that he was the greatest actor in all the
civilized world. Soon enough, all of England would realize it as well.

The
applause was already dying out as Richmond and Gavan watched him approach.
"God's Teeth," Gavan muttered, rising from his crouch. "Of all
the...."

Arissa
shot him a nasty look, giving her brother a loud standing ovation as he
approached. Gavan bit his tongue and removed himself from the dais lest Arissa
physically attack him for his opinion. Richmond, however, was not so fortunate.

"That
was by far the most unsuitable act...."

Arissa
turned to him before he could finish his sentence. "If you say one
negative word to him, Richmond le Bec, I shall have your head. Do you
understand me?"

Richmond
glanced at William, his back turned against his daughter and the great knight
as he conversed softly with his wife. And Richmond had little doubt regarding
the subject. Turning his gaze to Arissa once again, he nodded once in
resignation. "Perfectly, kitten."

Pleased
with his submission, Arissa returned her focus to her brother as he came upon
the table. His smile was bright as he took both of Arissa's hands into his own,
kissing them loudly.

"For
you, my darling Riss," he said happily. "Are you pleased?"

She
nodded vigorously. "It was wonderful, Bart, simply wonderful. Thank you so
much for a most memorable gift."

His
smile threatened to divide his face in half. He glanced at Richmond, waiting
expectantly for the same words of praise. Richmond cocked a stubborn eyebrow
until Arissa stepped on his foot. It was not a painful action, but he took the
hint nonetheless. It would please Arissa and, therefore, he would perjure
himself.

"Most
accomplished, Bart," he mumbled.

Bartholomew
bowed courteously in thanks. "I am glad you are pleased. I have saved
several others for later this eve when everyone grows tired of dancing."

William
had turned away from Maude and sat listening to the conversation. Maude had
managed to convince him to praise his son's talents and he was fully prepared
to do so. But when Bartholomew intimated that his performance was not yet
complete, he could no longer remain silent.

"This
is a party, Bart, not a theatre performance," he said sternly. "You
cannot expect people to sit still when there is music and food and
entertainment to be had. Truthfully, I do believe one dose of Greek Tragedy is
quite enough."

Arissa
turned to her father, highly aware of her brother's feelings. Bartholomew was
terribly sensitive when it came to his craft.

"I....
I think it would be wonderful, Father,” she insisted. “Mayhap Bart could grant
us another recitation later on this evening. I would certainly enjoy it, and
you saw the favorable reaction of our guests to his act."

William
cast her a droll, irritable glance. "Aye, I saw their reaction. And I
would hardly call it favorable."

"It
was grand!" Maude leapt to her son's defense. "However, I would
suggest that you change out of your costume and enjoy the evening. You are a
host and certainly not expected to entertain your guests as a common artisan.
Truthfully, dear, it is beneath your station as heir to the earldom to perform
in front of those you would preside over."

Leave
it to Maude to tactfully put an end to Bartholomew's act. His expression
dampened somewhat and he glanced at Arissa uncertainly. Seeing his indecision,
Arissa took her mother's lead.

"I
must agree with mother, Bart," she said gently. "Although your
performance was magnificent, it is quite different when you perform for the
immediate family. To display yourself for your vassals, subjecting yourself to
their review, is hardly fitting for the future earl."

Bartholomew's
gaze roved over the entire table, his eyes veiled with doubt. After a moment,
he nodded reluctantly. "If that is your wish, then I shall adhere to it. I
am sorry you feel that way."

Arissa
could see that his feelings were hurt and she’stened to assure him.
"Truly, Bart, I could listen to you all night. Please do not be
angry."

He
shook his head, his mood damp and his demeanor somber. "I am not. I
suppose I shall go and change so that I may join the festivities," he
slanted his father a cold glance. "So that I may blend in with the crowd.
That is what you want, is it not? You would have me be like all the rest so
that you are not embarrassed by your son, the eccentric."

He
moved across the room, leaving Arissa in tears. As Regine slipped after her
brother, William sighed heavily. "'Tis about time he realizes my view.
It's taken him a long time to become aware of his station in life. Mayhap now he
will even reconsider his knighthood and forget about this ridiculous thespian
art."

Arissa
turned to her father. "How can you be so heartless? Bart is a deeply
sensitive man with a good deal of intelligence and vigor. How can you quash his
spirit under your boot as one would a spider?"

"Do
not fret so, Riss," William saw her tears but, as usual, was not overly
swayed. Sometimes he was quite inept when it came to sensing the depths of the
human soul. "He’s not quashed, but merely realizing his place in the
world. He’s to be an earl, not an idiot performer with dreams of grandeur. The
sooner he come to grips with his destiny, the better for us all."

Arissa
stared at her father. He could be callous man at times, with little
understanding beyond very basic emotions. Even when it came to his own family.
He viewed the world the way he wanted to see it or not at all; all else was
scorned or ignored.

"You
hurt his feelings, Father," she said softly, knowing she might as well be
talking to a stone wall.

William
snorted, accepting another goblet of fine wine. "He will overcome his
foolish emotions. I shall not coddle my son's temperamental state as if he were
a weakling. He’s the future earl and damn well better start acting as
such."

There
was no use in speaking with the man and Arissa turned away from him. Concerned
with her brother's mental condition, she moved away from the table intent upon
seeking him. Richmond reached out and grasped her arm as she passed him by.

"Where
are you going, Riss?"

"To
find Bart," she passed an angry glance at her father. "Regine is
comforting him and so shall I. Together we will prove to him that at least two
members of his family care about his craft."

Richmond
shook his head faintly. "He’s Regine to console him for the moment. Stay
and enjoy your party and we shall seek him later."

She
pulled her arm free, hurt and angry on her brother's behalf. "I would find
him now, Richmond."

He
snatched her once more, more firmly this time. "Leave Bart to regain his
composure. For now, I feel like dancing. Will you join me, or must I seek out
another willing partner?"

She
gazed at him, her mood instantly moving from frustration to one of uncertainty.
"You.... you would dance with another?"

He
smiled, moving to take her hand. He kissed it softly before placing it on his
arm. "Perish the thought, kitten. Unless, of course, you refuse me."

She
gripped his arm tightly, her eyes bright. As much as she was concerned for her
brother's feelings, there were few things in life that took precedence over the
young man's emotions. And Richmond was one of them.

"I
would never refuse you,” she whispered.

In
spite of the fact that Richmond hadn't danced in years, he was a marvelous
dancer. He held his own quite nicely through two folkdances and one slow ballad
until Arissa had to sit down because she was beginning to breathe laboriously.
He brought her a chalice of cider, fending off two would-be dance partners who
were unfortunate to venture too close.

Arissa
watched Richmond with sparkling eyes as he intimidated the young noblemen,
giggling into her goblet when they scattered like frightened chickens. He never
had to utter more than a word or two, and his menacing glare usually precluded
even that. One look from Richmond le Bec was enough to send the fear of God
into the heartiest of men.

"Why
are you laughing?" he had knelt beside her chair, his amused gaze upon
her.

She
fought off a broad grin. "Because you are so entirely nasty. They simply
wished to dance with me, Richmond, not propose marriage."

He
looked away, his eyes roving across the moving dance floor. "They shall
not touch you. No man will, ever."