The Tenth Suitor

by Laura Strickland

  He leaned on the wall beside her. “My fool’s wisdom tells me you are not enjoying this great pageant staged for your benefit.”

  “That I am not.”

  “Yet I hear there is much gaiety and frolic yet to come—a play, and even a masked dance.”

  “Aye. Perhaps you can attend as a jester.”

  “Perhaps I will. If I do, will you dance with me?” He caught both her hands and, in true fool’s fashion, whirled her about in the cold air until her breath came fast, and she laughed aloud. Edwina could no longer hear the music from inside, but the fool hummed a tune in a deep, velvety voice. The moonlight flickered around them, striping his face in brightness and then shadow until all she could see was the laughter in his eyes. When they came to rest at last, she leaned against him.

  “You should laugh more often,” he said. “It makes you even more beautiful.” Suddenly Edwina felt breathless from more than the whirling dance. He had strong arms for a buffoon who spent his time jangling his bells.

  But she turned with a sweeping gesture. “You see all this?”

  Her father’s lands lay spread out before them, field and pasture and farmstead, all dotted with snow that glowed white beneath the moon. “This is what they have come for, not me. I am but the bargaining piece that will bring it to them.”

  “Then ’tis they are the fools.” He caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips. She felt his warm breath there an instant before the touch of his still warmer mouth. Heat seemed to travel through Edwina, from the place where their bodies met to her heart and still lower, making her shiver.

  “You are cold,” he said with compunction. “I should have thought. Allow me to take you back inside.”

  Aye, Edwina thought, she had to go and, quite truly, face the music. But even these stolen moments had served to lift her spirits.

  She smiled and curtseyed to her companion. “Thank you, Lord Fool. I feel better for the air and your nonsense.”

  “I remain at your service, my lady, always. I hope you will not hesitate to call upon me should you desire anything.”

  Edwina’s brow twitched as she once more hooked her arm through his and turned back to the doorway. Did she hear a note of suggestiveness in his voice? Surely not. ’Twas but a game he played, like any good jester, to amuse her and lift her mood.

  “And,” she asked lightly, disguising the agony of the question, “what wisdom has a fool for a woman in my precarious position? My parents expect me to choose one of those sorry lords for husband before the end of these festivities.”

  “That does seem a bit precipitous, my lady. How will you know any man’s heart well enough by then?”

  Again she gazed up into his eyes. “’Tis not about his heart.”

  “Oh, but I think it is.”

  “Then you are as foolish as I, when all this began. Can you believe I thought to find love? That hope died a swift enough death.”

  “My lady—”

  “Oh, I know I am fortunate to be given any say at all. It has been made clear to me that my father could have just pointed at one of them and required me to wed. He is a kind father and a good man. But, faith, this is scarcely better.”

  The fool ducked his head toward hers as they paused, ready to reenter the great hall. “The players, lady, say there are ten suitors, all invited by your father. Why ten?”

  “They are all known to him. Lord Giles is son to a neighbor—Father thinks it would be well if our lands were joined. And Father fought with Lord Angus’s sire in some battle, years ago.”

  “Fought?”

  “My father was many things before he built this grand holding for himself. Adventurer, sailor, even a soldier.”

  The jester’s arm twitched beneath her hand. “Definitely not Lord Angus,” he breathed.

  “I agree with you. But then, which? Edelbert is stupid, Julian has a sour nature, Cormac wishes only to play me tiresome tunes on his lute, which hurts the ear. But, Lord Fool, do you know what is worst of all?”

  “What, lady?”

  “One of those invited, a Lord Kenweth, did not even bother to show his face. So you see, in truth there are only nine lords competing for my favor.”

  “Aye, well”—the fool shook his head and his bells jingled—“a tenth suitor may yet make himself known, and be worth all the others put together.”

  “Just between you and me, Lord Fool, that is the one hope of my heart.”

  Chapter Three

  “Out of my way, buffoon!” Lord Julian of Grimsby aimed a kick at Thorstan’s legs, and Thorstan hopped aside nimbly in order to avoid it. The man’s disagreeable expression, which seemed firmly entrenched, had only worsened this early morning, no doubt abetted by too much mead and ale taken last night.

  Thorstan smiled to himself as he surveyed the hall where, in true Fool fashion, he had slept among the ashes. At least he had kept warm, which seemed more than could be said for the gathered lords who now flapped their arms and swilled mugs of spiced cider to chase the chill.

  Edwina’s father, Cedric Armstrong, strode into the room looking bright as the cold morning and fresh as a bruise after a brawl, and gazed round at the company. Thorstan marveled that the man could not see what a pack of laggards they were.

  And what would Cedric say if he knew he harbored a former mercenary among these suitors? Edwina said her father was a self-made man who had fought in past battles, but Thorstan doubted he had ever made his way in the world by hiring his sword.

  Yet that life had lent Thorstan many things: courage, unstinting determination, a will to survive, and a tongue that could coax most anything out of anyone, including this ridiculous suit he wore, persuaded from the man he had met at the local tavern—a traveling jester who told Thorstan all about this entertainment meant to decide Edwina’s future. A judicious payment in coin had sent the fellow happily on his way.

  Aye, luck had been on Thorstan’s side—almost as if he were destined to be here. His hand crept to the leather pouch beneath his colorful tunic, wherein lay the invitation conned off the tenth suitor. He had crossed paths with Kenweth, a local lord already known to Thorstan as an empty-headed, useless product of inbreeding, on his way hence. It had not been difficult to persuade Kenweth that Edwina’s father had called off the competition, and send the idiot back home. At least he had been able to spare Edwina one lame suitor for her hand.

  And at the moment he ached to rid her of a second by pulling the dagger secreted in his boot and slitting the arrogant Julian’s throat for him. Worst of the lot, he was. No doubt he beat his hounds.

  To make matters still more unpleasant, the lout had brought his father, some past acquaintance of Master Armstrong’s and every bit as off-putting as the son. Having booted Thorstan aside, they now stood with their heads together and ignored him as if he did not exist.

  “Well, boy,” said the senior, “you had better surpass yourself in the hunt today and impress Cedric. You certainly have not succeeded in impressing his daughter.”

  “Empty-headed cow,” Julian muttered just loud enough for Thorstan to hear. “She would not know a worthy man if she cradled him between her legs.”

  “Which is precisely where you need to be,” the father returned swiftly. “Do you not want your sons to inherit all this? There is enormous wealth to be had, so do not act the fool.”

  Upon the word, he cocked an eye at Thorstan, who pretended great interest in dusting the ash from his bells.

  “I vow, Julian, we cannot afford to bungle this. It should be no challenge for you—these other suitors are a sorry lot.”

  No argument there.

  “If you cannot best this batch of louts, I will disown you.”

  “The chit will scarcely look at me,” Julian protested.

  “Try smiling at her once or twice. Or at least kill this legendary boar today. That will win her father to our side.”

  A servant bearing a tray of steaming mugs approached the two men and effectively ended their conversation
.

  Cedric began to describe the morning’s hunt, and the suitors gathered around him like so many hounds. Thorstan found himself hoping it would be a long morning’s chase—for while they remained out of the way, surely Edwina would require amusement.

  He turned to the troupe of players, only just arising from their makeshift beds against one wall. Their leader, a man he had heard called Alfred, seemed a fair sort, and perhaps Thorstan could use that to his advantage.

  He gamboled over, jingling his bells for good effect.

  Alfred rolled a bloodshot eye at him. “You must be a fool indeed, my man, to be so sprightly at this hour. I confess my own spirits will not rise before a draught of ale passes these lips.”

  “Every morning is a good morning when one possesses an empty head,” Thorstan quipped.

  “I doubt very much that is true. I need my wits about me at all times, but I shall let it pass.”

  “Your troupe is not a large one, my lord.” Thorstan eyed the players, who appeared a motley group indeed, just arisen, and out of costume.

  “Winter is not a good time for travel, and some of my members decided to lay over with family. They will rejoin me come spring. But I assure you we will put on a fine performance tonight.”

  Thorstan sidled closer and spread a hand on his own chest. “This fool has always longed to play a part in some pageant. You will have a spot for me this evening, no?”

  “Perhaps, but you have not been trained. Can you sing?”

  “Tolerably well. But surely that is the part of the troubadours.”

  “At the end of tonight’s production, we will be wassailers heralding the season.”

  “Might you afford me a costume that I may dress up?” And get near Edwina.

  Alfred eyed him frankly. “Well, perhaps. You are a bit tall for what I have in mind, but that may make it all the more amusing. If you think you’ve the brains in that head to remember a few lines, I can give you those as well.”

  Hand to chest, Thorstan made a sweeping bow. “Just try me.”

  ****

  “Not gone hunting with your host of swains, my lady?”

  Edwina turned her head at the words and felt her heart lift. The jester stood beside her wearing those ridiculous bells on his hat and a smile in his eyes.

  Her lips curled with genuine gladness. “Nay, Sir Fool. I do not enjoy hunting, save in the case that someone should arm the deer and boars.”

  “The bores who lately left here were armed,” he jibed. “You have not eaten your breakfast. Is my lady not hungry?”

  “She is not. Your lady finds she has absolutely no appetite.”

  “Perhaps if I capered a bit for her pleasure?”

  At the word pleasure Edwina’s gaze flew to his. Her sole encounter with that, in the past fortnight, had been in his arms beneath the moonlight. She wondered suddenly how it would feel to kiss him.

  Now who is the fool?

  “Sit here with me, my lord, and share my repast,” she invited on impulse. He seemed to entice her into improper behavior.

  He took the place beside her, stretched a hand to her plate, and helped himself to a tidbit of roasted fowl. Edwina watched his lips in fascination.

  “You must take care, my lady, or you will waste away to naught.”

  “And you must take care, Lord Fool—you have ashes in your hair.” Without thinking she reached out and brushed the gray dust from the thick bangs that fringed his arched brows. “Anyway, according to my erstwhile suitors, I am a ‘hefty cow’ and could only benefit from a spot of starvation. Oh, do not look so shocked; I have excellent hearing and have caught what they say.”

  “If I look shocked, my lady, ’tis merely because I cannot imagine anyone speaking such a rampant untruth.”

  “You are a gallant fool.”

  “And you are perfection.”

  He seized her hand and, as he had last night, raised it to those lips she so wished to touch. They felt as warm and supple as she remembered, when pressed to her palm.

  She freed her fingers even as a shiver of delight traveled down her spine. “You overstep yourself, Lord Fool. Have you a name?”

  “Surely I do. Most of us are given one at birth.”

  Edwina found herself smiling widely. “But were you born, or did you hatch from a cuckoo’s egg?”

  “Hatched, most certainly. And when I did, the mother bird called me Thorstan. I pray you, keep the name close to your heart.”

  What a curious thing to say, Edwina thought. But the idea of sharing a secret with him—even one so inconsequential—appealed to her. She felt her heart rise still higher.

  “And how does a man raised in a cuckoo’s nest come to a life’s work as a jester?” Edwina let her gaze drift over him, measuring. He was set up far better than most of her suitors, with broad shoulders beneath the absurd coat, a good breadth of chest as well, and hands that, she now noticed, bore scars and calluses like those of a fighting man or a laborer.

  “My story, lady, is a long and tangled one. I would not trouble you with it.”

  “Not so long, surely.” He could not be above five-and-twenty. Yet a sober look had come to those brown eyes that usually danced with laughter. He harbored travail somewhere beneath all that brightness; she would not press him to speak of it.

  “I, on the other hand,” she told him, reaching for a morsel of food after all and letting her fingers brush his, “have been woefully overindulged. Being the only surviving child of a wealthy man has its benefits, and trials.”

  “I can well imagine: a soft bed every night, plenty to eat, and lovely gowns to enhance your beauty. ’Tis a heavy burden to bear.”

  “Aye, and ’twas not meant to be this way, Sir Fool. I once had a brother strong and true. He fell while practicing at arms and broke his neck two years ago. I was but seventeen.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” The note of teasing in Thorstan’s voice died. He reached out and touched her hand. “It is a very great loss.”

  “It is.” On impulse she turned her fingers and clasped his tight. A whisper of that same pleasurable warmth kicked through her. “So now I must make an impossible choice among these men my father has invited. My parents expect a Christmas wedding.”

  His eyes widened. “But Christmas is a mere few days away.”

  “I know that, Sir Fool,” she sighed. “I know it well.”

  Chapter Four

  “Now, this promises to be enjoyable,” Gertrude said as she settled back beside Edwina at the head table. “I do love a good pageant.”

  So did Edwina, usually. Now, too much noise, commotion, and fanfare threatened to overwhelm her. The feast just past, rich beyond measure, had left a slightly queasy sensation in her stomach, and she had a desperate feeling in her heart—one that bade her flee.

  But she could not flee and sat pinned like the poor birds the hunters had brought back this afternoon. On her left sat Gertrude with Gertrude’s husband, Marcus, beside her. On Edwina’s right her father boomed with good humor and laughter, despite the fact that no one had brought down the coveted boar this day. Beyond Edwina’s father, her mother glowed with anticipation.

  At least someone found enjoyment in all this.

  Below the head table the floor had been cleared for the players. Edwina did not know how she would sit still throughout. And to make matters worse she could not locate the fool. She liked to rest her gaze upon him—it made her feel better, somehow—but he had disappeared even as the tables were pushed aside.

  Perhaps he had gone out into the moonlight. Oh, how she wished she were there with him. But she had no hope of escape now. The head of the troupe bowed to her, and all eyes turned her way.

  “A Christmas pageant, my lady, for your entertainment.”

  And once underway, it did prove amusing, with a full measure of the absurd nonsense that delighted Edwina’s heart. A beggar there was, who went from house to house seeking Christmas alms and singing for his ale, becoming more drunk as he went and
acquiring a train of others, all in foolish costumes—a priest, a fine lady, a wolf, a tavern wench, a leper, even a haystack.

  The fool would have enjoyed it all. Edwina looked for him again, to no avail.

  Laughter rang through the hall when the beggar—who turned out to be no beggar at all—kissed the tavern wench, who was taller than he and whose yellow wig hung well over her face. At the end, they all stood together to sing:

  Here we come a-wassailing

  Among the leaves so green,

  Here we come a-wand’ring

  So fair to be seen.

  Love and joy come to you,

  And to you your wassail, too…

  And then they were winding through the hall in a great line, picking up members of their audience as they went and singing all the while. The revelers, all well-plied with their host’s mead, proved nothing loath, and soon the hall seethed with song and merriment.

  By the time the train wound its way to the head table and one of the players reached out for Edwina, her father just nodded, well pleased. Edwina found herself drawn up by the tavern wench, who wheedled in a high screech, “My lady, come!”

  She half saw her parents join the train behind her, and then she became lost amid the voices, laughter, and confusion, her only anchor the tavern wench’s hand. Dancing broke out as the troubadours took up the tune. She found herself in the tavern wench’s arms.

  And held far too close.

  Who was he? Not a woman, certainly—he stood much too tall, and anyway, everyone knew men always played the women’s parts. But the yellow strings of false hair hung in his face and she could not see his eyes.

  He leaned still closer and spoke in her ear. “Ah, now you are having fun.”

  The fool. Edwina’s heart lurched and bounded disconcertingly. So he had been hiding in plain sight.

  He bent so near she felt his breath tickle her skin before he said, “Come outside with me.”

  She should not. She truly should not, but she remembered the warmth of his arms and the magic of the moonlight. Agonized, she returned, “Someone will see.”