by Barb Hendee
My father was always glad to help someone help himself.
I had my doubts, however. From what I could see, Julian had little interest in either archery or the military. He preferred playing cards with our house guards and drinking wine from our stores and talking to my sister.
I didn’t care for him, and as a result, he didn’t care for me. Julian was a man who liked to be admired.
And now, at Erik and Christophe’s welcome party, he was once again monopolizing Chloe’s time…and she was letting him. Wearing a gown of emerald green silk, she clung to his shoulder and hand, allowing him to spin her around the dance floor as if there was no place she would rather be.
No wonder my father was frowning.
“Nicole,” someone said.
Turning, I saw Christophe coming toward us, looking fine in his new blue tunic. The silver thread had been a good choice, if I did say so myself. His eyes were on me as he crossed the room, taking in my lavender dress and the waves in my hair.
After greeting my parents politely, he said to my mother, “I thank you for this fine banquet.”
As the evening meal was buffet, a number of people were already dished up and eating while watching the dancing. The food did look enticing, and I hoped to sample the roasted pheasant with plum sauce soon.
“Your safe return was a good excuse for a gathering,” she answered.
“I’ve heard you encountered no raiders,” my father said. “But were you and Erik able to reassure most of the villagers?”
“Yes,” Christophe answered. “They understand my soldiers will soon be patrolling your coast.”
This seemed to please my father, and his tight body relaxed slightly.
But then Christophe held one hand out to me. “Would you dance?”
I knew a number of dances—as Chloe and Erik had taught me—but I’d never danced in public before, and although I’d been allowed to attend this event, I wasn’t sure how far Father was willing to let me participate. Still, he could have little objection to me dancing with Christophe, who would soon be part of our family—and my brother-in-law.
Looking up at my father, I asked, “May I dance with Christophe?”
Father’s expression tightened again. He glanced over at Chloe dancing with Julian Belledini. But he answered, “Yes. Of course.”
Though he hardly sounded enthusiastic, I wasn’t about to waste this chance, and I grasped Christophe’s hand.
Without hesitation, he led me onto the dance floor.
“Do you often dance?” I asked him.
“No. Almost never.”
A new song had begun. This dance, the “Evalda,” was somewhat challenging. The tempo was quick, the turns were fast, and after every ten steps the man gripped his partner by the waist and lifted her above his head.
Still, as Christophe and I quick-stepped with the other dancers, I was not daunted. Erik had taught me the “Evalada,” and in his typical playful moods, he’d often lifted me higher than necessary. Because of this, I was accustomed to the strength in a man’s arms and hands, so now, I simply clung to Christophe and let him lead. As we rounded a turn, he gripped my waist and lifted me above his head as if I weighed nothing. With my hands on his shoulders, I laughed. I trusted him completely and knew he’d never drop me.
Once my feet touched the floor, we were off again. He was a skilled dancer, and I needed to do little more than follow his steps as fast as I could. It was exhilarating. On the tenth step, he lifted me again, and I could see that he was having fun. It was good to see him smile. Christophe seldom smiled.
When last note ended, we both laughed and clapped.
Chloe had been dancing with Julian, and although she was smiling, she looked a bit pale and breathless to me. I wondered why. Normally, Chloe could dance all night. But my worries for her vanished when I saw Erik staring at Christophe and me. His normally jovial expression was gone, and as he approached us through the crowd, he seemed almost displeased.
“Did you see me?” I asked him. “I didn’t miss a step.”
He tried to smile. “Yes, you did well…but perhaps Christophe might dance with Chloe next?”
“Of course,” I answered and then turned to Christophe. “You should ask her before the next song begins.”
“Ask me what?” Chloe said, suddenly upon us.
“To dance,” I answered.
“Perhaps later,” Christophe said. “I was hoping to continue dancing with Nicole for a while.”
“Please do,” Chloe answered. “Julian is asking the musician to play the ‘Ruodlieb,’ and I’m promised to him for the song.” She still seemed pale to me, and I wondered if she’d eaten yet.
Erik frowned, but Christophe ignored him and took my hand again. I could see that Erik thought it might be best for Christophe to dance with Chloe, but if neither of them was inclined to dance with the other, what could be done? And in truth, at least Christophe wasn’t dancing with some flirty merchant’s daughter.
He was only dancing with me. What harm could there be?
Chloe joined Julian as the first note struck.
This dance was not quite so fast, and more couples joined us on the floor. Once again, I just held Christophe’s strong hand and let him sweep me around. It was great fun, and I loved the flowing movements and the joy of dancing in unison with others all around us. One song soon blended into the next…and the next.
After the fifth song, he asked me, “Are you thirsty.”
I nodded. “Yes, and perhaps hungry too. Have you eaten?”
“Not much.”
He offered me his arm, and I took it with both hands so he could lead me through the crowded room for a table laden with food. With his free hand, he reached down and pinched off a bite of roasted pheasant.
“Here,” he said, feeding it to me.
He took a bite for himself, and then fed me part of a peach tart. After this, he poured a goblet of wine.
When he held it to my mouth, though, I hesitated. Normally, I did not drink wine, and I wasn’t sure what Father would think, so I glanced over to where my parents had been standing.
My father stood staring at us with eyes as hard as ice, and I realized among the crowd near the table, I was still clinging to Christophe’s arm. With heat rising to my face, I felt that somehow, I’d done something wrong. My father strode toward us with the same hard expression, and I took my hands from Christophe’s arm.
“Nicole,” my father said as soon as he was close enough to be heard. “It’s getting late. It’s time you went to bed.”
Christophe had not seen him coming and turned quickly, his features tensing with anger. “It’s early yet,” he said carefully.
My father ignored him. “To bed, Nicole. Now.”
“Yes, Father.”
Christophe’s jaw muscle twitched, but he said nothing.
Feeling like a chastised child, I hurried for the door.
* * * *
Long after our maid, Jenny, had unlaced my gown, seen me into bed, and then left the room, I lay awake, covered by a quilt, wondering what I had done to anger my father so.
What harm could there be in my dancing with Christophe and eating a bit of pheasant and peach tart? And yet, Father had treated me as if I’d behaved badly, as if I’d behaved disgracefully. Chloe might love a party with dancing, but I loved my family, and I’d never attend a dance again if such an event would cause Father to see me as a disgrace.
Unbidden, two tears slipped down my cheeks. Perhaps tomorrow, I might speak to my mother and see if she could enlighten me about my father’s censure. This thought gave me some comfort, and I finally closed my eyes, drifting off to sleep.
I don’t remember any dreams, but at what seemed much later, I was awakened by a strange sound, like that of someone gagging.
Sitting up, I realized the so
und was coming from the adjoining room. The gagging was accompanied by the sound of choking, and I jumped from my bed, running across my room and jerking open the door that separated my room from Chloe’s.
There, my sister was on her knees, still in her beautiful emerald silk gown, retching violently into a basin on the floor.
“Chloe!”
Running to her, I knelt and held her hair back. She was nearly weeping from distress, and she couldn’t seem to stop retching even after there was no food left to come up.
Finally, her body began to calm.
“Oh, Chloe,” I said. “You are so ill. I’ll run and get Mother.”
Our mother was a healer, a skilled practitioner in herbal arts.
But Chloe grabbed my arm, clutching me fiercely. “No!”
Taken aback, I stared into her pale face.
“Please don’t,” she said more calmly. “I had too much wine to drink at the banquet, and if Father finds out, he’ll be displeased.”
She’d drunk too much wine? Her concern made sense to me, but I was still worried for her health. “Are you sure? Mother wouldn’t say anything to Father, and she might be able to give you something to settle your stomach.”
Chloe still gripped my arm but less tightly now. “I am sure. Just get me out of this gown and help me to clean up the mess. I’ll be fine.”
Nodding, I moved around to the back of her and unlaced her gown. As she slipped out of the gown, I carried the basin out into the hallway, peering right and left. No one was up, so I took the basin outside and disposed of its contents at the base of a tree.
Hurrying back to Chloe’s room, I found her in bed, still pale, but looking otherwise recovered.
“Nicole,” she said, “will you swear to keep this between us?”
“Yes. I swear.”
Of course I would keep her secret. We were sisters, and sisters kept each other’s secrets.
About the Author
Barb Hendee has published twenty-one highly popular fantasy novels, including the New York Times bestselling Noble Dead Saga, co-authored with JC Hendee, and the newer Mist-Torn Witches series, which she penned alone. All twenty-one books are still in print. She maintains a devoted following, has had books on the extended New York Times list and the USA Today Top 150 Books, and is constantly writing and developing new ideas.