Tori Phillips (19 page)

Both women by the fire looked up at him and smiled as he approached them. Leaning over the back of the settle, Guy kissed his father’s sister on the cheek. Then he nodded to Celeste, hoping his profound joy at her recovery wasn’t too apparent on his face. It would not be right if she knew how much he had worried and prayed for her good health. He wanted to kiss the faint pink roses that bloomed under her skin and brush his lips over each of those velvet-violet eyes. The urge to pick Celeste up and swing her around the room was so great, Guy had to stuff his hands deep inside his wide sleeves to keep from grabbing her around the waist.

Lady Mary patted Guy’s shoulder with all the warmth of her affectionate heart. Then she looked from one to the other of her visitors, with an undisguised twinkle of excitement in her blue eyes. “Now, what am I to do with the two of you? You, Guy, are as skinny as that foolish donkey of yours. And, Lady Celeste, you are almost as thin.”

Guy caught Celeste’s gaze. He winked at her before he realized what he had done. She blinked with surprise, then, when Lady Mary wasn’t looking, winked back. Guy suppressed a natural chuckle. The minx was too adorable by half. Fortunately, his aunt had not noticed the exchange, and she continued pursuing her line of thought. Guy knew from experience that Lady Mary would worry her subject to death like a badger.

“I have instructed Mistress Kate to see that the kitchen does its best for you. You must eat, both of you. Advent is only a few weeks away, and you need the strength of good meat before the season of fasting. Guy, I am surprised. I have never known you to refuse one of my dinners.” She turned to Celeste. “Both he and his brother Brandon were always hearty trenchermen. Many a time they have stopped here on their way to or from the court and proceeded to eat us out of house and home.”

“Oh, la, la!” Celeste cocked her head at Guy, her eyes wide open with apparent innocence.

He sat down by the hearth and tossed another log on the fire, then busied himself with the poker. Though she hid it well, Guy detected Celeste’s mounting interest in his past life—the life he had sworn away forever. If it had not been for the seriousness of her illness, he would have bypassed Cranston Hall without either his aunt or Celeste being the wiser. He stabbed the poker deep into the glowing coals.

Every time he recalled that hellish ride to the safety of his aunt’s home, he shivered. Thank the good Lord, Gaston’s horse possessed a great heart. After the first five miles, Guy had left Pierre trailing far behind him. Twenty-three miles through the rain and later sleet, Black Devil’s hooves had pounded the rocky ground. All that time, Celeste had lain still in his arms, like one dead. By the time they finally arrived at Cranston Hall, Guy had feared he had killed her. No penance on earth would have soothed his soul for that. Guy struck the log so hard with the poker, a shower of sparks rose up the flue.

“Guy, stop your woolgathering. I pray you, give me your attention. We must devise ways to entertain Lady Celeste while she is my guest. And mark me, nephew, I shall not have you forever on your knees in my chapel.” Lady Mary arched one brow at him. “You were never loath to be entertained before.”

Guy stared down at his red, chapped toes, still primly shod in his worn sandals. When he first donned the simple garments of the Franciscans, the weather had been warm, with spring breezes followed by the summer’s sun. Guy had forgotten how very chill and raw the winters could be. He realized now that he must learn to ignore the numbing cold. Discomfort was part of the life he had chosen. On the other hand, this fire did feel uncommonly good on his bare, near-frozen feet.

“So, I pray you, tell me, what shall we do to while away the hours?” Lady Mary had finally finished her soliloquy. The Cavendish family height, and her finely chiseled features, belied Lady Mary’s high spirits and love of play, which bubbled just beneath her serene exterior.

“I like to play cards ver-rey much,” Celeste suggested.

Guy glanced quickly up at her. By the rood, Celeste would win every last farthing of his aunt’s housekeeping money! Celeste saw his look. A smile hovered at the corners of her lips, and then she flashed him another wink. Guy got up from his place on the floor and crossed behind the settle—away from the little temptress. He really should return to the chapel—the frigid chapel—and pray for the safety of his vocation.

One of the pages knocked on the door and announced dinner.

“In good time!” Lady Mary nodded with approval. She held out her hand for Guy to assist her to her feet. “And I shall seat you both, one on each side of me, and watch you like a mother hawk to make sure you fledglings eat every morsel. Or there shall be no tansy cake for your sweet tooth, Guy.” Lady Mary whisked the lap robe off Celeste, then confided to her guest in a low, teasing voice, “Guy dotes upon tansy cake, especially with peppermint cream on top.”

“Mais oui?
Then I must have this cake, too.” Celeste held out her hand as Guy attempted to sweep past her. “Brother Guy, will you escort me?”

Trapped! And the slyboots knew it. Guy touched her hand. Her long, slim fingers closed around his, sending jolting shocks, like summer lightning, coursing up his arm.

“And perhaps the peppermint cream will make you smile again for me,
n’est-ce pas?”
she murmured in French as they went out the door behind Lady Mary.

Like a fish caught in a weir net, Guy ceased his inner struggle. He wondered how long Aunt Mary planned to keep them in too-comfortable Cranston Hall. The aroma of roasted venison filled the air as they descended the broad stairs. Guy’s stomach rumbled with anticipation. Whatever the length of their stay, he knew it was going to be too long for the good of his vocation—and too short for the growing love in his heart.

As Guy had known she would, Aunt Mary filled the following fortnight with a variety of pastimes, games of chance, music, dancing and food. As Celeste grew stronger, she willingly joined in the merriment and bloomed under his aunt’s care. Gaston and the men-at-arms spent their days hunting in the estate’s forests and their nights singing, dicing, and amusing the maids of the household. Despite his best intentions to the contrary, Guy found himself enjoying Aunt Mary’s milder pursuits, such as the nightly game of cards after supper. He told himself he played only to keep Celeste from bagging all the silver plate, but the truth, when he admitted it to himself in the cold darkness of the chapel, was that he looked forward to his hours in Celeste’s company.

Because she was forced to speak English to Aunt Mary, Celeste’s knowledge of the language grew. At least she was no longer calling anyone a “peench-’potted raw-beet sucker.” Guy discovered that he missed hearing her say that particular phrase. As the perfect guest, Celeste happily fell in with whatever plan Aunt Mary suggested, be it learning the steps to a new galliard or devising a masque with the village children.

This last project, entitled
The Wedding of the King and Queen of the Faeries
, kept the entire household, including a reluctant and still-silent Guy, busy for several days, as everyone made costumes and practiced the little ones in their parts. When the six-year-old lad portraying King Oberon balked at kissing his five-year-old Queen Mab, Lady Mary immediately enlisted Guy’s aid.

“By my troth, Guy, don’t behave like such a lackwit!” chided Aunt Mary while Celeste, several serving maids and most of the village children looked on with amused interest. “I am sure young Ned here will do it right well, if you would just show him how easily ’tis done. ’Tis not as if you’ve never kissed a maid or two yourself, you know.”

Guy felt the beginnings of a blush, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, since shouting down the rafters was forbidden to him.

“Oui
, Brother Guy, show us how this kissing is done,” added Celeste with a devilish gleam in the depths of her amethyst eyes.

Aye, you raven-haired witch, I’d teach you all you’d ever need to know about kissing.

Appalled at his unexpected lustful thought, Guy sank to his knees in front of the winsome blond faerie queen and quickly kissed her cheek. The rest of the children shrieked with laughter, while Ned tried to dig his toe into the wooden floor of the hall.

“See, Ned? ’Tis as easy as falling off a log,” Aunt Mary cooed encouragingly.

Ned shook his head and kept digging with his toe.

Aunt Mary continued to reason with the embarrassed faerie king. “But, sweet poppet, the groom always kisses his bride.”

Guy couldn’t help feeling extremely sorry for the lad. He could remember a time when he hadn’t liked to kiss girls, either.

Celeste challenged him in a slightly mocking tone. “If you are a champion at kissing, Brother Guy, per’aps you show Ned again?”

Guy groaned inwardly. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to see Celeste grinning at his discomfort. Ned cast a beseeching look at him, that reminded the monk-to-be of a cornered rabbit. On the other hand, Guy knew that once his aunt set her mind to something, nothing short of an earthquake could dislodge her.

Guy took the little girl by the hand, swept a courtly bow and kissed it. He arched his eyebrow at the boy. The faerie queen fidgeted. Ned stopped digging his toe into the floor. Guy took the boy’s hand and placed the girl’s in it. The other children erupted with mirth.

“Ma foi!”
Celeste rounded on the rest of the cast with a colorful blend of French and English. “You little black beetles! One day ver-rey soon, you will not be able to stop the kissing of each other,
oui?
Then who will have the last laugh, eh? I tell you—
moi!
”

Not a child moved or twittered as Celeste trained her attention upon the wilting groom. “And you! You are the king,
n’est-ce pas?
And the king is ver-rey brave. He is not afraid of the kiss,
non!
He is the best kisser in all of faerieland. So now, you kiss the queen, and then we all have the sweetmeats to eat.
C’est bon, n’est-ce pas?”

Ned considered his options, and then, like a hawk swooping on the wing, he pecked the queen’s cheek. “There, so please you!” the lad chirped.

“Bravo!” Celeste hugged both children, while Lady Mary beamed her pleasure. Over Ned’s curly locks, Celeste winked at Guy.

Why do you have to learn so quickly that which makes you all the more desirable, Lissa?
Guy trembled as if caught by a fever.

While Celeste and his aunt conducted the children to the kitchen for the promised treats, Guy fled to the chapel. There he spent several hours freezing while he tried to sort out the confusing turmoil within his heart. When Guy emerged, stiff from kneeling on the stone floor, the solution to his dilemma still eluded him.

The masque, held in the hall on the following Sunday afternoon for the entertainment of the household and the surrounding community, proved an overwhelming success. Young Ned kissed his bride with a resounding smack, which elicited a burst of applause. The little choir sang with sweet enchantment, the dancers did not trip over their flowing costumes. The refreshment tables, presided over by Mistress Kate, were quickly cleared of their bounty. Gaston and the other Frenchmen enjoyed the attentions of the maids and the wine Lady Mary brought up from the cellars. Everyone deemed the day a success—except Celeste.

Just after the wedding scene, Guy saw her face crumple. Hiding behind her handkerchief, Celeste slipped out of the hall. Fearing that she might be ill again, Guy followed and found her crying softly in the upstairs gallery. Quietly shutting the door behind him, he crossed to where she sat huddled on the window seat. Celeste looked up just as he knelt beside her.

“Pardonnez-moi,
Brother Guy, I didn’t mean to break the good cheer.” She dabbed her eyes with a corner of the handkerchief.

Are you ill?
Guy wrote on the slate.

Celeste shook her head.
“Non
.
Oui
—I do not know. Pray excuse me. It will pass.”

She didn’t look well, Guy thought as Celeste chewed her trembling lower lip. She looked as if she had seen a demon. Knowing he shouldn’t, he took her hand in his. As if she were drowning, she gripped his fingers tightly.

“Forgive me,” she said in answer to the surprise in his eyes. “I am acting like a silly goose.”

Guy took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, forcing her to look at him. Sweet Saint Anne, how he wanted to kiss her tears away!

“It is nothing—only a child’s play—and yet...”

Guy waited as patiently as he could. He realized that she was deathly afraid of something, which surprised him. Not once during their time together had Lissa shown anything but good humor and courage in the face of all her adversities. What had the masquing done to frighten her so? Did Lissa really believe in the faerie folk?

“I will tell you, Brother Guy, but you must promise, on your honor as a man of God, to keep my secret.” Her eyes sought his and held them in her thrall.

Guy wanted to bolt from the room. He couldn’t hear Lissa’s confession. It would be a sacrilege. Yet she needed comfort and had turned to him. What was he supposed to do? He bowed his head over her hand, which still gripped his.

“The play reminded me of my duty—of my marriage to Walter Ormond,” she began, speaking as if from a far distance. “And I must confess to you, Brother Guy, I am sore afraid of this wedding.”

Guy glanced up at her. Had she heard of Ormond’s pox?

“That is...” She ran her tongue across her lips. “Of the wedding night. Just before we left the priory, Aunt Marguerite told me that I must submit to my husband in all things—even my body.”

Guy began to understand. The old woman must have terrified Lissa with some sort of old wives’ tale. Considering Ormond’s case, no villainy could be underestimated. Guy squeezed her hand.

“She said that he...he would strip me n-naked.” Tears began to gather in her eyes, though Celeste fought them back.

“And that he would...that...”