by Linda Madl
It was deception, true, but it was deception of the noblest kind. Thankfully, she reached her bedchamber before the tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. If this was what she wanted, then why couldn't she stop weeping?
* * * *
REGINALD AND LEANDRA stood before the doors of Tremelyn's great hall, waiting to make their formal entrance. The earl took her cold hand in his warm one and gazed straight into her eyes, his well-meaning sincerity obvious. “You look beautiful, my dear."
"Thank you, my lord.” Leandra smiled demurely. He lied so nobly. What a gallant lord he was. How fortunate she was to be marrying a man who could look at her puffy face and speak such an untruth with so much caring.
Brenna had blurted out how ghastly she looked as they dressed. Sure enough, Leandra's polished metal mirror had reflected eyes swollen and red from shedding tears she didn't understand. She had never really regained her color since the day Garrett threw the phial into the stream, the day she had accepted their destiny to love from afar. Poor Lord Reginald. He had never seen her at her best. She hoped she'd be able to make that up to him soon. She touched the phial tucked in the cuff of her gold damask surcoat to reassure herself.
Brenna scurried to Leandra's side and began to tug at the hem of the gold-colored garment. “Indeed, Lord Reginald,” she said. “Doesn't this surcoat bring out the whiteness of Leandra's skin? Smile, cousin,” she hissed. “This banquet is in your honor."
"I am smiling,” Leandra said, annoyed with Brenna's fussing.
"Smile wider,” Brenna demanded, and gave Leandra's gown an emphatic tug.
Obligingly, she formed her lips into what she was certain was a parody of a smile. She held it successfully until she saw Garrett approaching them. He strode down the passage, handsome and elegant in a stylish, short blue velvet jacket and blue hose.
Her fake smile fell away, discouraged by his frown. Yet she was unable to take her eyes from his fine length of leg. He had held her between those strong thighs once. Sweet Mother, the man still set her insides aflutter every time she saw him.
She turned away. Please don't let my thoughts show on my face, she prayed silently.
"Bernay, so here you are, to be Lady Brenna's partner for the banquet.” Reginald stepped forward to welcome his knight with a clap on the back.
"What?” Brenna's mouth fell slack in surprise.
"I asked Sir Garrett to be your dinner partner, my dear,” Reginald said. “After all, he was my representative and your escort. I thought it only fitting."
"Of course, how thoughtful, my lord,” Leandra said to fill the silence that followed Reginald's words. For once her cousin seemed at a loss for words. Brenna snapped her gaping mouth shut and stared up at Garrett. Color drained from her face.
"Shall we enter the hall, then?” Reginald offered his arm to Leandra.
She nodded, her cheeks already aching from the artificial smile she had forced to return to her lips. The blue-liveried pages swung open the doors, and the Earl of Tremelyn, with his betrothed, her cousin, and his favorite knight, entered the great hall of the castle, accompanied by a trumpet fanfare.
Roses and lilies littered the rush-strewn floor. Leandra and Reginald greeted the guests, nobles, and vassals with smiles. From the beams overhead silk banners fluttered, shiny and rich in the glow of a galaxy of candles. Splendid new tapestries hung along the walls.
The lavishness of the decorations touched her heart. Reginald offered an opulent show—for his sake, of course, but for hers as well.
The prenuptial banquet went smoothly; the food was abundant and sumptuous, the entertainment boisterous and amusing.
Leandra smiled on, the expression less forced until Brenna started to shout at the entertainers. The jugglers delighted her, as did a sword dance and play about St. George and the dragon. Her cheers echoed from the rafters when the venerable physician brought the play's champion back to life with a magic spell. Brenna always delighted in spells.
So excited was Brenna that Leandra feared her cousin would embarrass them all by climbing over the table to join the mummers. But Lord Reginald took her cousin's enthusiasm without upset, laughing with her and calling the mummers to the table. He requested a repeat of the dance and an explanation of their tricks.
To Leandra's relief, the earl turned to her, smiling. “'Tis refreshing to have ladies at the head table again and youth to liven the company."
"I am glad you are pleased, my lord,” she said, grateful once more for his good humor and noting his patience with Brenna.
* * * *
GARRETT FROWNED INTO his goblet and drained the last of the spiced wine. All evening he'd been spying on Leandra, waiting to see her attempt to slip the potion into Lord Reginald's cup. No doubt she would do it tonight, just before the wedding. Tomorrow there would be no time before the ceremony, and he doubted she would trust the deed to a servant—or to Brenna.
Brusquely he motioned for the page to refill his cup and everyone's at the table. He thanked the page and looked about the hall, noting that Wystan had a maid by his side, the daughter of an older knight. Not a bad match, he thought.
Indifferently, he leaned forward to look across Brenna at Leandra, who sat between her cousin and Lord Reginald. As he stared, Leandra bent over her trencher and stared back, unblinking and unembarrassed. There was no mistaking the challenge in her eyes. He sat back, faced forward and sipped his wine. What moment of distraction would she choose to slip the potion to Reginald?
And after she acted, what would he say?
Some puppeteers jogged into the center of the hall and set their stage in place. Garrett found himself caught up in the humor of the puppets’ antics, but he didn't forget to give Leandra a sidelong look from time to time.
Soon the entire crowd was laughing, hands pressed against their sides and tears of merriment streaming down their faces. But Leandra's smile remained fixed, almost stoic.
When the puppet stage disappeared in pieces, a fire-eating sword swallower entered, twirling blades aflame. Garrett noted that Leandra lost interest in the amusements and began to stare down into her cup. The acrobats flipped and tumbled around the fire eater. But Leandra studied her goblet as if it held some special fascination.
Then a jester, clad in red and yellow, added to the confusion, capering around the room, ringing his bells and mocking the guests at each table.
Brenna jumped up from her seat. “Sir Jester, come bless the bride and bridegroom,” she called, unladylike, across the great hall.
Garrett cringed, taking pity on whatever man wed Leandra's cousin. ‘Twould need to be a courageous soul who had no fear of finding himself and his lady the center of attention.
The jester waved his bell-adorned scepter and loped across the hall to the head table.
The clown bowed to Brenna, to all at the table, and irreverently began to chant nonsense that sounded something like a Latin liturgy in a voice resembling a priest's. Then he shook his scepter, bells tinkling, and waved it over Leandra and Reginald's heads. Guests applauded. Reginald grinned at Leandra. She returned his smile with a forced expression.
Next, to Garrett's horror, the jester began to do the same over Brenna and him. He jumped to his feet in protest, nearly knocking over the table to fend aside the jester's scepter.
Brenna had gone still and silent.
Thwarted, the jester cackled and danced away. Garrett settled into his chair again. When he looked back to Leandra and Reginald, the earl was laughing with Brenna at the jester's hasty retreat.
Leandra was tucking the phial back into her sleeve.
Swearing under his breath, Garrett almost jumped from his chair again. In that moment of distraction—when he and Reginald watched the jester—she had slipped Reginald the potion. Did he reveal her to Reginald? Did he do the truthful, loyal thing and call to light Leandra's deception?
Garrett rubbed his hand across his brow. ‘Twas his sworn duty to say something. But to do so endangered her happiness. What purpos
e did that serve?
His heart pounded against his ribs as he turned to Leandra to see whether she had drunk from her own goblet yet. Her hands remained in her lap. He must decide. In a moment, it would be too late.
Leandra gazed at him with a defiant eye. She waited. Then, as he watched, the earl turned away to speak to the vassal seated on his other side. She took out the silver phial once more and emptied the last drops into Brenna's goblet.
Garrett's heart stopped, terrified to even contemplate the glimmer of hope that shimmered before him.
"What are you doing?” Brenna hissed. Swiftly she exchanged her goblet for her cousin's.
Leandra switched them back. With a frown, Brenna shoved the goblet away and folded her hands on the table.
"To the fertility of the bride and bridegroom,” the jester shouted, gamboling by and grabbing Brenna's cup. He held the shining goblet high before the crowd.
The guests roared approval.
"Indeed,” agreed Reginald, raising his cup.
Garrett, Brenna, and Leandra stared in open-mouthed horror as the two men lifted their goblets high.
Like battle action—when a split-second becomes an endless moment—the candlelight glinted off the two silver cups.
The rings on Reginald's hand sparkled. The jester's bells jingled as the two men tipped their heads back. The love potion-laced wine rolled toward the brim, toward their lips.
Garrett didn't even want to imagine what Vivian's elixir would do when shared by the jester and Lord Reginald.
But it was Brenna who moved first. She snatched the goblet from the jester. Drops of wine sloshed onto the white tablecloth. “That's mine, you fool,” she snapped.
Garrett saw his opportunity. He jumped to his feet and raised his own goblet high over the table so that all could see him. He wondered why he had not seen the sense in this sooner. His voice boomed throughout the hall. “A toast to the health and happiness of the Earl and the next Countess of Tremelyn."
Brenna looked down at her wine and hesitated. At a gesture from Leandra, a page hastily handed a goblet of wine to the bewildered jester.
"Drink, Brenna,” Garrett growled. “Drink."
"But—” Brenna protested.
"Drink, Brenna.” Leandra raised her cup. Garrett saw loving compassion and iron will play across Leandra's face. She leaned toward her cousin to speak low and quiet. “Or pack your things for Lyonesse."
Wavering, Brenna glanced at her cousin, then at the smiling earl. “Oh, rot me. Why not?” She lifted the cup to her lips. “To the next Countess of Tremelyn."
In the great hall the entire company—even the sullen-faced Brenna—drained their goblets in tribute to the earl, his betrothed, and the coming nuptials.
When the dancing began, Brenna tapped her toes and drummed her fingers on the table. Reginald seemed unable to keep his eyes from straying toward the dark-haired maid.
She, aware of his admiration, fluttered her eyelashes at him. Garrett had seldom witnessed such a blatant flirtation.
But he suffered no outrage. Promptly Reginald politely asked Leandra permission to dance with her cousin. With the first genuine smile Garrett had seen on Leandra's face in days, she assented.
Brenna simpered at Reginald's invitation but accepted with a giggle and more eyelash fluttering.
As the pair moved onto the dance floor, Reginald put a hand on Garrett's shoulder. “Thank you for the toast. ‘Twas a noble salute."
Garrett leaned toward the earl. His conscience still troubled him, and he knew he must say something. “My lord, I think you should know—"
"I know enough, Garrett,” the earl said with a wink of his eye. “The ladies of Lyonesse weave quite a spell, do they not?"
Brenna drew the laughing Earl of Tremelyn out onto the dance floor.
Garrett stared after them, wondering how much Reginald knew or thought he knew. With a shrug he gave up and looked to Leandra.
"You are not angry?” she asked, her hand still on her goblet. “I betrayed your lord."
"No, I am not angry,” he whispered, his heart so full of relief and love for her that his voice nearly failed. He reached across Brenna's empty chair for her hand. “I only hope that the potion works as well for them as we believed it worked for us."
Then she did truly smile, a brilliant, beaming expression with happiness shining in her eyes. At last she reached for the hand Garrett offered. They linked little fingers—like true lovers.
* * * *
"SIR GARRETT, I WISH to have a word alone with my betrothed.” A frown crinkled Reginald's brow as he gazed upon Leandra and Garrett at the table.
The matins bells could be heard tolling from the cathedral. The dancing was over, and the great hall had emptied except for a few revelers who remained by the fire to drink.
Garrett exchanged an apprehensive glance with Leandra.
Then he protested. “My lord, perhaps it is I who should speak—"
"No, Garrett, this is between Leandra and me,” Reginald said. “See Lady Brenna to her chamber."
Brenna pouted. “Do I have to go with him, Reginald?"
"Only for now, my dearest.” Reginald took her hand and gave it a light, apologetic kiss. “We will meet again soon."
Brenna blushed and giggled, then rose to obey.
Leandra saw the question in Garrett's eyes this time. Is this the potion's doing? Leandra gave a little shrug. Do you wish my company? Leandra shook her head.
Brenna bade all good night.
With interest, Leandra watched Reginald's gaze follow Brenna as Garrett led her away. At the door of the great hall her cousin turned and gave the earl a fingery wave.
"She is a lovely child, your cousin, Brenna,” Reginald murmured, returning the wave with a bemused smile, completely unembarrassed about the absurdity of a fifty-year-old earl wiggling his fingers in the air. “So spontaneous. So free. I'm glad you brought her along."
"I'm pleased that you enjoy her company.” Leandra clasped her hands nervously in her lap, less certain than he about the wisdom of her actions. From the day she had obtained the potion, she had been prepared to deceive Reginald. Had he seen her pour the potion into his cup? Then she should be prepared to suffer the consequences.
The door closed behind Garrett and Brenna.
"My lord, you wished a word with me."
"Yes.” Reginald cleared his throat and tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “I'm not a young man, you know. But I'm still vital. I still have my wits about me and most of my teeth,” he added.
Puzzled, she agreed. “Indeed, my lord. You are fit and handsome."
He paid no heed to her flattery. “From the beginning, your father and I were concerned with the alliance of Lyonesse and Tremelyn. I assumed you understood all of this. Of course, I didn't know of Brenna then."
"Yes, of course,” she said. “The alliance is my concern also."
"And you consented to this marriage willingly?"
"Yes, I consider our betrothal a great honor and—"
"But your attraction for Sir Garrett has been clear from the first day you arrived."
Before she could reply, Reginald went on. “You smile only when he hovers over you. As for Garrett, he can hardly keep himself from your side when the two of you are in the same room."
She gulped. She knew she had risked herself, Lyonesse, and even Brenna, when she poured the potion, but she'd wished to avoid danger to Garrett. “Sir Garrett is a loyal knight. He has never—"
"He's behaved honorably, I know. Any other man I would suspect of seduction. This attraction between you two hasn't been so obvious that there is talk ... yet.” Reginald regarded her intently, as though he intended to let no gesture, no blink of the eye go unnoticed.
The guilt of pouring the potion into his cup overwhelmed her, and she had to look away.
"Tell me, honestly, have you had a change of heart?"
"My lord, nothing has been more important to me than winning your affection,” she
began, choosing her words carefully. “But..."
"Out with it, Leandra. Do you favor Garrett? Tell me yes, so that I may be free to pursue your cousin."
Her mouth snapped shut as she stared at the earl. He stared back at her. No spell clouded his dark eyes. He knew she and Garrett loved each other. Had he known all along? His eyes were keen, and filled with complete understanding. Indeed, the man had his wits about him. A new kind of affection for Reginald began to grow in her heart.
"I hope I do not offend you with that confession, Leandra. But it's been clear to me from the beginning that Garrett had already won your heart. ‘Tis my regret. But I'm to blame. What folly to send a man like him to you."
A half smile came to her lips, and embarrassment burned her cheeks. “'Twas no folly, my lord."
"No? I thought so. You do favor Garrett. So that leaves only one thing to settle."
"And that is?” Dare she hope that he would free her from her vows?
He twisted the oaken ring on his finger. “Will you allow me to keep the ring as a token of Lyonesse's and Tremelyn's alliance? Marriage with Brenna will seal it, of course. Do you think your father will consent?"
Suddenly Reginald leaned close and confided, “My first envoy informed me that you know your father's mind well. Your word is as good as his."
"True. Are you asking for Brenna's hand in marriage?"
"Indeed, I am, Leandra."
"Then I consent,” she said. “On behalf of my father. He would do nothing to stand in the way of his niece's happiness or that of a beloved ally."
"Excellent. Good.” Reginald sat back in his chair and waxed thoughtful. “Strange, is it not, how the heart defies the worldly powers? It has no respect for vows or titles, for money or age."
"Or hair color, either,” she added, thinking of Garrett's preference for dark hair.
A look of bewilderment crossed Reginald's face. “Probably not hair color, either."
He raised a hand to give her a comradely slap on the back, then apparently thought better of it. “Sir Garrett will be speaking to you soon. Or he will when I finish with him.
"Tomorrow we will celebrate a double wedding. What do you think your cousin, Lady Brenna, will say to that?"