Arissa
was climbing out of her bath, fully intent on defending Penelope from her
tactless sister. "You should not have been spying on them! I am going to
tell mother!"
"But
he put his mouth on her breasts," Regine insisted to her sister, as if the
intimate action was a great mystery. "I want to know what it feels like,
too. Penelope, was it wonderful? From the noise you were making, I couldn't
tell."
Arissa's
eyes widened; she did not dare look at Penelope. Swallowing hard, she gave her
sister a shove toward the door. "Leave us, Regine. I shall not hear such
slanderous lies."
"They're
not lies!" Regine insisted, nearly slipping on a puddle of water.
"What's wrong, Riss? Why are you angry?"
Arissa
gave her sister another push, completely ignorant of her slick, naked body.
"Out, out!"
Frustrated
and puzzled, Regine quit the room in a huff. Embarrassed on behalf of her
sister's mouth and her friend's invaded privacy, she turned hesitantly to
Penelope.
"I
am sorry, Pen," she said softly. "You know she’s.... well, she simply
doesn't see anything wrong with what she does sometimes."
Penelope
was staring at the floor. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to meet Arissa's
gaze. "I suppose I should not be ashamed, truly. After all, Daniel and I
plan on marrying. Someday."
Emma
was still on her knees by the tub of cooling water. Her soft blue eyes were
wide. "Did he really touch you.... there?"
Penelope
looked to the younger girl as Arissa gathered a coarse towel and began to dry
herself. "Aye, he did," she swallowed again. "I know that I should
not have let him, but...."
"You
do not have to explain yourself to us, Pen," Arissa cut her short, forcing
her embarrassed friend focus on the duty of drying her raven locks. "We
know that you and Daniel love each other."
Penelope
vigorously toweled Arissa's hair. "Certainly, I love him. I know he loves
me, too, although he’s never truly told me."
"Have
you done anything else?" Emma asked, her voice small.
Penelope's
movements slowed. "I have not lost my maidenhood, if that's what you
mean."
Arissa
cast Emma a quelling look. Fortunately, Emma understood the implication and let
the subject go. But she was still terribly curious and, in a sense, awed.
Penelope was entering into the mysterious world of adult lust and she, too, wanted
to know what it was like.
Richmond's
voice suddenly drifted in from the bailey, wafting through the lancet windows
of the bower and penetrating the oiled cloth curtains. Arissa heard his voice
and found herself staring at the covered windows even as Penelope directed her
to sit by the weak flame of the hearth.
Hearing
his voice reminded her of the previous day, the first day in months that they
had seen one another. Memories of his arms around her as she cried, of his
hands in her hair, filled her full of warm and giddy thoughts. And the way he
had gazed into her eyes before Mossy interrupted them had been nothing short of
astounding. If she did not know better, she would have sworn he wanted to kiss
her. Or mayhap she had merely hoped their wants were the same.
Arissa
was barely aware of Penelope's ministrations as the young woman combed the
drying black locks, moving woodenly when Emma secured her new surcoat. Her
thoughts were focused on Richmond as she gazed at her reflection in the
polished glass mirror, unnoticing of the delightful cleavage the dress managed
to display. With her narrow waist and link belt, her breasts appeared even
larger than their natural state and she took a second glance, forgetting
Richmond for the moment as she tried to lessen the impact of her deliciously
full assets.
Arissa
did not like the attention they drew from men and women alike. She had
developed at an early age, beginning her menses before most girls even knew
what the cycle meant. One morning she had awoken to the largest breasts she had
ever seen; or, at least, she thought it was somewhat of an overnight
occurrence. She remembered crying into her mother's arms with embarrassment
when she had overheard one of the serving wenches commenting on her ripe
figure.
She
never saw the serving wench again after that day. Rumor had it that the woman
had been discharged and sent on her way. She had no way of knowing that
Richmond had ordered the offending woman thrashed within an inch of her life
and cast to the elements. A cruel punishment indeed, but there was nothing the
Guardian would not do for his charge.
Penelope
fussed at her friend as she tugged at the magnificent surcoat, finally giving
up and moving to style the raven-hued hair. As Arissa attempted to minimize her
delicious assets, Penelope gathered the front of her hair and secured it within
a silver clip at the back of her skull. Ebony tendrils of silken hair curled delicately
about her face, framing her porcelain features.
But
Arissa did not notice that, either. She was still fidgeting with the dress. "I
look like I am harboring two overgrown melons underneath my surcoat," she
complained.
Penelope
and Emma passed a critical eye over their friend. "Riss, if I were
fortunate enough to possess a figure like you, I would display it often enough
to offend God himself,” Penelope’s voice was laced with envy. “Why must you act
as if is a curse?"
Arissa
ceased struggling against breasts that simply were not going to shrink. She
stared at herself. "I am too short. I look like a troll."
Emma
shook her head and turned away. "You look like a goddess," she moved
for the door and summoned the serving wenches to take the copper tub away. When
the women busied themselves with emptying the water and mopping up the floor,
Emma turned to find Arissa and Penelope still gazing at Arissa's reflection.
Emma
put her hands on her hips. "Riss, you are perfect. You are breasts are round
and ripe, your waist tiny, and you are legs are shapely and beautiful. How can
you see any differently?"
Arissa
turned away from the mirror. "I just do, I guess. I am certainly not
fishing for compliments from the two of you. What do I care what you magpies
think?"
Outside,
more shouts abound, announcing the approach of the first caravan of guests. One
of the serving women had brought forth a bowl of porridge and a chunk of bread,
but Arissa was too nervous to think of food. Her guests were arriving, people
she was expected to greet, and her stomach was jumping madly.
"I
must go," she smoothed at her surcoat again. "Father demands that I
greet my company. Are you sure I look presentable?"
Penelope
and Emma smiled at her. "Beautiful, Riss. Men will be falling all over
themselves in their attempt to capture your attention," Emma said
truthfully.
Arissa
dared a small smile, quitting the room with her friends in tow. She was growing
more excited with the prospect of her special day, thrilled to be mingling with
people she hadn't seen in months. The list of events that would comprise the
day before the grand celebration that eve was enough activities to fill an
entire week.
As
Penelope and Emma left her to go and change into their own appropriate
garments, Arissa descended the stairs alone. So she presented a beautiful
picture, did she? Strange, she never considered herself beautiful. But if her
friends' words were truthful, if the men in attendance really would be
trampling themselves in order to gain her attention, they were in for a rude
awakening.
There
was only one man whose attentions she yearned for. She wondered if Richmond
would think she looked beautiful, too.
***
The
first of December had dawned amazingly bright and, in spite of the cool
temperatures, promised to be a delightful day. A chill wind whipped the
Lambourn banners in to a frenzy, blue and gold flapping madly on the
battlements. Lambourn soldiers, their mail cleaned and their blue tunics fresh,
paced their posts in vigilant preparation for the day.
Richmond
was pleased with the organized uniformity. His own men, one hundred elite guard
he had arrived with yesterday, were patrolling the woods and surrounding areas
for thieves and bandits as the great houses of Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Dorset,
Hampshire and Wiltshire arrived for a very special gala. Even though it was a
one-day event, Richmond knew, most likely, that Lambourn could expect a
keep-f of houseguests for three or four days.
Clad
in polished armor and Henry's leopards of England tunic, he made his rounds
with Carlton to make sure posts were set and the sentries were vigilant.
"God
has blessed my lady with a beautiful day for her birthday celebration,"
Carlton said, inhaling an unusually warm breath of December air. "I cannot
remember when we have had such pleasant winter weather."
"Hold
your tongue, Carlton. You shall jinx the day."
The
knight laughed softly as they passed a clutter of old weapons and crates that
Richmond immediately ordered removed. Obedient soldiers rushed to carry out the
order as the two warriors made their way across the bailey en route to the
stables, intent to make sure the stable master was well prepared for the
onslaught of fine chargers and wagons.
William
and Bartholomew exited the castle as the knights were crossing the courtyard,
finely dressed in embroidered tunics with the Lambourn's lion crest. William
greeted Richmond amiably, nary a mention of the previous night when Bartholomew
had nearly ended his foolish life. His son, however, refused to meet Richmond's
eye, a strong indication that he was still feeling a major degree of
embarrassment.
Richmond
knew it was more than likely that Lambourn's heir was angry with the older
knight for ending his performance prematurely. Bartholomew was as sensitive as
a woman at times, adding dimension and mystery to his already bizarre
character. If he was not venting Greek tragedies, he was weeping like a jilted
lover. More than once his father had threatened to end his peculiar torment permanently.
But
Richmond had little time to dwell on the eccentricities of human nature. He
responded to both men with his usual emotionless salutation, politely listening
to William's prattle when there were a thousand other duties he was required to
attend. The longer William spoke, the more impatient Richmond became and just
as he moved to excuse himself, the sentries on the battlements sounded the
onset of a series of shouts.
Richmond
was mercifully released from William's boorish presence as he jogged across the
dusty courtyard, taking the ladder to the battlements effortlessly. High atop
the wall, he gazed out over the still December landscape and immediately his
hawk-sharp eyes envisioned the party advancing from a distance.
"De
Rydal," he muttered, turning to the nearest soldier. "Tell the earl
that the House of de Rydal approaches."
The
soldier shuffled off, leaving Richmond and a few other guards leaning over the parapet,
gazing onto the horizon.
"How
in the hell can he see who it is?" one of the guards muttered, expressing
his disbelief to another. "They've got to be a mile away."
Richmond
heard the comment and it nearly made him smile. But not quite. He cast an
arrogant, all-knowing glance at the group of men.
"I
do not need to see the party to know who approaches." He pushed past the
men, moving for the ladder.
"You
do not?" the soldier repeated, mystified. "But how do you know,
m'lord?"
Richmond
paused on the top rung, gazing into a host of curious faces. "I know
everything."
They
believed him.
William
and Bartholomew were in the same spot where Richmond had left them. Carlton and
Daniel were at the portcullis, ordering the ancient grill raised for the
incoming party. Richmond could hear the metal groaning as he moved toward the
earl and his son, hoping the earl would not force him to play co-host to a
throng of silly nobles.
He
would organize William's men. He would see to the security of the celebration.
He would even attend the gala when he would much rather be alone, tending his
own interests. But he would not perform as the perfect, congenial host. He
simply was not comfortable in a group of people much less willing to take
charge of the festivities.
Making
his way to William, he prayed the man would not expect him to take control of
the reveling throng. Even though William knew well of Richmond's reserved
nature, somehow he would conveniently forget and demand le Bec into the
diplomatic corp. And Richmond was not sure how, exactly, he could gracefully
decline.
Most
likely, the only logical solution was to decline the offer before it was
issued. After all, there was so much going on this day that required constant
supervision; there would be wrestling matches for betting pleasure near the
stables that had to be supervised, and there was to be an archery competition
later in the afternoon that required the same attention. Richmond's own men
were pledged in a Stick and Ball match against William's men-at-arms, a bout
that promised to be lively. That, too, needed to be finalized.