Joust of Hearts (16 page)

“What is your name?” Melisande asked.

“’Tis not necessary to know by what name I am called, for I am only passing through, just as you are,” the Norseman replied mysteriously.

“But, how will I know you once we part company?”

“You may know me by my kiss.”

“Mayhaps it is you who made a meal of the King’s wine, or do you not recall? I have not kissed you,” she announced with no small amount of choleric.

He nodded and exhaled in what seemed to be near surrender. “Very well, then. We shall wait here until you resolve to take a kiss from my lips.”

The thought of kissing him, with his velvety voice,
did
fascinate her, but could she be so bold as to cast aside the fact that she had exchanged but a handful of words with this man? The scenario was awfully familiar. However, she could not place it, so she pushed the thought aside.

“I could not kiss you, what would you think of me?” she asked as she tried to shrug out of his heavy arms, which immediately strengthened their hold upon her.

“I wonder…” the Norseman thought out loud and glanced over his shoulder. “How long until the sun rises?” He looked back at Melisande. “With a lovely lady such as yourself in my arms, I may be persuaded to have the patience of Job.”

“Oh, very well.” Melisande didn’t care to waste time arguing with him. She placed her hands on the sides of his face, pulled him down to her, and pressed her mouth to his.

After a moment, he began to participate, deepening the kiss. The Norseman pulled her body tightly against his and his tongue parted her lips.

The kiss was not as foreign as she had thought it would be, and the manner in which he kissed her was not what she had expected of a Norseman. His lips played upon hers like flower petals meeting in a strong breeze. Melisande surrendered to her swimming senses, to which she was becoming accustomed since she’d finished supper, and thought herself a common trollop for her actions. Nonetheless, she could find no motivation and therefore made no effort to change the wanton way in which she was behaving.

The Norseman responded by lowering them to their knees. “Melisande,” he whispered against her lips.

“Melisande?” The call had come at the exact same time from somewhere in the garden.

At the sound of the intruder’s voice, the Norseman’s head came up. He uttered a curse and something else Melisande did not hear.

After a moment she realized who had called her and she drew in a sharp breath. “’Tis Corin!” Melisande whispered in alarm.

“Corin? Who is
Corin
?”

Her words rushed forth in panic. “Shhh… Do not speak so loudly! I pray thee, you must go.”

The Norseman helped her to her feet. “This
Corin
is most likely not worthy of you.”

“Melisande… Are you about?” Corin called from the opposite end of the garden.

“Corin is a gentleman and you should not judge someone whom you do not know,” she scolded the nosy Norseman.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, gaining her complete attention. “Of this I do know— We shall meet again and you will not be thus attentive to this
Corin,
nor seek his attentions.”

Melisande folded her arms across her chest in defiance. “Rather sure of yourself, are you not?” she demanded.

“Aye. As sure as the kiss we just shared.” He took her by the hands, lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Farewell, little star.” The Norseman turned and disappeared into the shadows of the courtyard.

“Melisande…” She heard Corin call as she smoothed out the front of her gown with her hands—the hands that just moments ago had been held and tenderly kissed by the mysterious man. Melisande clutched them together as if to remember his touch. Everything still seemed to be full of cobwebs, her head, her vision…

Unsteadily, she started toward the center of the courtyard. Her stomach made a horrendous gurgle and her fists flew to her belly. Quite a ways down the yard Corin stood with his back to her. Melisande whispered a plea to her Savior that Corin did not hear her traitorous insides. She quickly tiptoed across the pliant grass and stood in front of the doorway to the ballroom, the queasiness inciting her mouth to water and a sheen of sweat causing her mask to stick to her forehead.

“Corin, why are you wandering about in the night air?” Melisande asked innocently, trying to disregard her unwell state.

“Oh, there you are, Melisande. Where have you been?” He started toward her.

Melisande’s mind raced for an excuse. “Umm… Well, what are
you
doing out here?”

“I-I was looking for you.”

“’Twould seem you found me.” Melisande’s stomach seemed to be rebelling against her and she swallowed hard. “Corin, pray excuse me. I must have a moment.” She covered her mouth and ran behind a hedgerow.

“Too much wine, Melisande?” She heard him chuckle but was too engaged with being ill to address his boldness.

After part of her meal lay in the dirt in the most disgusting manner, looking half digested, she confessed from behind the bush, “Wine and rich food. Would you please fetch Lady Bergavny to me?”

“I shall be back before you notice I am gone.”

“Please, feel free to take your—” She retched into the bushes again before she could finish her sentence.

When Melisande had emptied her sour stomach completely, she truly hoped Corin had heard her words, feebly delivered as they were, and would take longer than he had promised. She needed to reclaim her thoughts as well as her composure.

The Norseman seemed to be a dream, but somehow he was real. His lips had felt wonderful against hers, she thought. But then there was Corin and he was
so
handsome… She came to the conclusion that she might never see the Norseman again in any case, for she was leaving on the morrow with Helena.

“Melisande, what pains you?” Helena appeared around the hedge, Corin hovering nearby.

“My stomach, ’tis all.” Embarrassed that she had consumed too much this evening, she couldn’t possibly admit it, not even to Helena. “I am starting to feel better now, thank you.”

Helena put her arm around Melisande’s shoulder. “Let us get you inside. Mr. Sinclair, if you please, take hold of Melisande’s other arm.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Once inside, Helena brought a small piece of bread left over from the meal to Melisande. “Eat this, and after a time that which ails you should settle.”

“Thank you, Helena.” Melisande took the offering but didn’t dare glance at it yet. She looked at the two people gazing down at her with concern. “There will be no need for
all
of us to miss the King’s masque. Please, go and enjoy yourselves.”

“Melisande, I fear we have not spent enough time together on this trip. In fact, I have hardly seen you this eve,” Helena offered.

“Lady Bergavny, if Melisande permits me, I shall see to her. I have attended so many of these affairs… Go and be with your lord. Melisande and I shall stay right here until the malady has passed.”

Helena hesitated but only for a moment. “Gramercy, Mr. Sinclair, that is indeed gallant of you.” She leaned down to give Melisande a reassuring hug and whispered, “If he tries to take advantage, call out.” She straightened and looked at Corin with a placid smile. “Fitzherbert and I will be naught but three paces away if you find yourselves in need of assistance.” With one more glance Melisande’s way, Helena left to rejoin her husband.

Corin bowed slightly to Helena then took a seat next to Melisande. “The lady is quite motherly where you are concerned. No offense, of course.”

“I can see no reason to take offense to your insightful assertion,” Melisande replied and added reflectively, “Helena never had children of her own.” She took a small nibble of the bread and replaced the leftover upon the table.

“You are not a child—you are very much a woman. You should have little ones of your own.” After voicing his observation, he took her by the hands and gazed into her eyes with a pleasant sort of intensity. “Melisande, I realize you and I have only known each other for a day, but I so very much enjoy your company.”

Melisande swallowed. “And I yours, Corin.” She felt the start of flutterings in her belly that had nothing to do with her upset stomach.

“Tell me, my lady, would you ever consider an engagement to a relative of the Queen?”

“Oh, Corin, you surprise me.”

“You will think on it, then?” he asked, his voice full of hope.

Melisande’s smile faded. “But I leave tomorrow for Dupree, when shall I see you? I would like to get to know you at least somewhat before I consent. I have many responsibilities at home, you see.”

Corin thought for a moment. “What if I came along—with an adequate escort, of course—to Dupree Castle? The time together would prove to be most beneficial for both of us.”

“I should ask Helena’s permission first, for I am sure she will insist that I stay one more night at Willowbrook before continuing on to Dupree.”

Corin pulled her closer. “Melisande, you must come to realize that you are now at an age where you do not have to ask for things. You must
tell
her of your plans.”

Melisande considered his words. “I believe you to be quite correct, Corin. I shall inform Helena before I retire this eve.”

“You will not regret this, Melisande, I promise. There are some matters I must attend to before the morrow. And… I know Henry and Elizabeth will be very pleased to hear of our plans.” Corin kissed both of Melisande’s hands then left the room.

Melisande felt considerably better. She thought to wander over to Helena and let the good news slip out. Despite the bravery she was displaying, she still could not bring herself to
tell
Helena that she was bringing a man home with her. At least not yet.

Corin climbed into a wagon driven by one of his trusted men and minutes later they pulled out of the gates of Windsor.

At a dark crossroad just outside of London, two men on horseback waited for Corin. He didn’t care that he should have been there at least four hours earlier. After all, they were hired by the Sinclairs and were paid to do what they were told.

As the conveyance pulled up, Corin moved aside the small curtain to speak to the men. “What kept you? ’Tis cold and we have ridden long and hard for a message only to return immediately—”

“Cease your prattle, or would you rather waste time chatting about court?” Corin snapped at the brigand.

“What is your word, Sinclair?” the other man demanded impatiently.

“With this final move, we’ll be able to declare ‘checkmate’. Dupree is all but in our hands. The lady suspects nothing. She is ignorant of our plans and is falling for me quite as I hoped she would.” The end of his statement was delivered with a smug grin he couldn’t stem. His brother, Jeremy, had muscle and men behind him. Corin had his looks, which had gotten him everywhere he’d wanted to be at court.

“Sounds to me that you have a soft spot for her,” jeered the first man.

“Evan, the spot I have for her is far from soft. But you would not know about that sort of thing, now, would you?” Corin slashed back at him.

“Do not allow your rutting to ruin our plans, Sinclair.” His voice rose, coupled with no small amount of insolence.

The second man, who was older than Evan, interrupted their banter. “Both of you, shut your mouths. I am sick of your bickering every time we encounter one another. Next time I come alone,” he said pointedly to Evan.

“There will be no next time,” Corin barked at the oafs. “In two days, I will be arriving at Dupree Castle. And that, my
friends
,” he said sardonically, “is the message you are to take back with you. Drive on.”

“Wait, Sinclair, Evan is right.” The other man delayed Corin’s departure. “Do not bed the wench too soon and disrupt our carefully laid plans. Timing will be essential.”

“What I do with the girl is my concern, not yours nor those of our Yorkist allies. I want this to go just as smoothly as Jeremy does, if not more so. Now, tend to your business and relay my message to him,” Corin said and settled back upon his seat. “Drive!” he commanded.

Once returned to the great hall, Corin mingled among the guests, for this would be his last night at court.
For now
, he mused to himself.

* * * *

A young man, masquerading as a court jester, made his way through the crowd of guests as a particularly interesting statement caught his attention.

“I plan to marry Lady Melisande Dupree before the week is out,” a man dressed as a peacock bragged to another gentleman dressed as a Celt.

The jester stopped dead in his tracks, took a few inconspicuous steps toward the conversation and tilted his head to improve his chances of hearing every word.

“Have you informed your brother of this?” the Celt asked.

“I have just sent word for Jeremy and his men to meet me at Dupree for an
informal celebration
two nights hence,” the peacock assured the Celt, laughing. “Indeed, it will be a celebration for the vanquisher. However, who knows how the conquered will label it?”

The Celt chuckled. “This should be an easy siege for the Sinclairs. After what happened on Frederick Chancery’s grounds, you are due for a bit of good luck.”

The boasting peacock gave the Celt a look of displeasure regarding his last comment and took him by the fabric of his crude costume. He spoke in hushed but gruff tones through clenched teeth. “The house of York
will
sit on the throne of England and will become more powerful than the ancient Roman Empire ever dreamed.” He shoved the offending man away, stormed across the crowded room and up the winding stone stairs.

The jester pushed through the dancers, upsetting people in the way of his speedy departure. A few men shouted at him to watch his steps and everyone stopped in the middle of what they were doing, whether it was dancing or conversing, to glare at the jester, but he ignored them.

From where she stood conversing with the Bergavnys, Melisande observed a familiar-looking jester hastily cross the main floor and burst out of the doors to the garden.