It looked like most of Longbourne was already down at the maypole; he’d taken far too long getting ready. But they weren’t likely to start without him. He hurried through the woods anyway, arriving just as Trey and Blythe were approaching from a different direction.
“Ben,” Blythe said, “do you think it’s time?”
“Looks like near everyone’s here,” he said.
“Then will you start things off?” she said, grasping Trey’s arm with her free hand. Trey looked down at her with such love in his eyes that Ben felt a little embarrassed at having seen it.
“Give me a minute,” he said, and moved off into the crowd. Some of them had begun to turn and whisper that the bride and groom were there, but Ben took a little time to find what he judged was the center of the crowd. Then he tilted his head back and sent up a pure, high note that echoed through the woods before drifting away over the lake. Another voice joined his, then another, and soon the entire crowd had added their voices to the chord.
Ben shivered, though he didn’t let it touch his voice and ruin the effect. He knew where he was when he was singing, even if it was just tuning like this. Years of training, of practicing—his mother had been furious when he’d made it clear he intended to be a blacksmith. She’d only agreed to apprentice him because his uncle had insisted he have a job that would support him if the singing didn’t work out. She’d thought it was a betrayal of everything she’d sacrificed to get him the best instructors, especially when his voice changed and the sweet boy’s soprano had turned into a magnificent tenor that could command an audience. Ben had never wanted to sing for anyone but himself—and now, for her.
He released the note—only fifteen seconds, he could sustain it for longer if he had to, but there was no call for opera here in the mountains—and listened with pleasure as the chord died away. He moved to the side with the rest of the witnesses and was barely able, from his position, to see Trey and Blythe walking down the aisle formed by the division of the crowd. He didn’t really mind. It was her he wanted to see, but the crowd was packed tightly enough that he couldn’t see more than a few paces away. He could hear Mister Bradford speaking the words of the marriage oath and wondered what she made of it all. Were marriage ceremonies the same in Aurilien? Did she feel like a stranger, here in Longbourne, despite the many friends she’d made?
His nervousness was returning. How would she react to his offering? Maybe he was being stupid. They were friends, after all; maybe he should leave it at that. Suppose she was embarrassed, or disdainful—no, that wasn’t in her character either. But there were so many ways this could go wrong. No, he told himself, you’re not a coward, even if you can’t bring yourself to talk to her, and this might be the only chance you get. And suppose she can someday feel for you what you feel for her? It’s worth the risk.
The crowd cheered, startling him; he’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t heard the last words of the ceremony. People surged forward to congratulate the bride and groom, but Ben stayed put, looking around for a glimpse of her. She had to be here somewhere.
Then he saw her, and his breath caught. She stood in profile to him, unsmiling, her head tilted to listen to something Mistress Weaver was saying. Her hair, which she always wore braided, tonight fell in loose waves nearly to her waist, light against the dark green of her dress. Lainie, he thought—he dared call her that only in the privacy of his thoughts. She was so beautiful, moved with such grace, that he almost changed his mind right there. But he wasn’t a coward, and tonight he’d tell her how he felt as only he could.
She vanished into the crowd, and he began moving forward, though he knew he likely wouldn’t see her again until the crowd thinned out a bit. So he went to congratulate Trey and Blythe, who looked radiantly happy, then made his way to the review stand and sat down, waiting for the rest of his sextet to appear. They were good singers, maybe not his caliber, but able to blend well and all of them loving music as much as he did, which mattered more than skill to him.
“You sure you’re up for this? That note sounded a little flat,” Ed said, taking a seat next to Ben.
“You only think that because you’re tone deaf,” Ben retorted with a grin.
“Both of you wish you had my pipes,” said Mickey. He had a deep bass voice that could rumble as low as Ben’s could soar high. “Thin and pissy, that’s how you sound.”
“Sounds like a challenge,” Ben said. “Who can drown out the other.”
“Not now, boys,” said Dave, the other baritone. “Time enough for that at Wintersmeet. Tonight’s for the newlyweds.”
And for me, Ben thought.
“Yes, ma,” said Ed, mock-scowling.
Ben stood. “There’s Lewis and Barnabas,” he said. “Happen we should warm up a little.” He was already warmed up, but nerves were making his voice shaky. He swallowed and scanned the crowd. There she was, sitting off to one side with Maida Handly and Jack Taylor. She looked lost. He caught her eye briefly and passed on. He’d have her attention soon enough, if he did this right.
“Ready,” Dave said. “What’ll it be, fellows?”
Ben swallowed again. “It’s a wedding,” he said casually. “Let’s do ‘Merry Be.’”
“Good enough for starters,” Ed agreed.
The six men arranged themselves on the stand, Ben a step above the rest. This was it. He looked back at her, caught her eye. She smiled a little, and he felt his heart beat faster. He thought she looked sad—why sad at a wedding? Let’s see if we can change that.
He lifted his head and let out the clear, pure note that the others harmonized around, his eyes never leaving hers. She sat up straighter, clearly surprised, and he smiled a little, opened his mouth wider, and let the words and the melody flow out of him in the effortless way that only came from hours of dedicated practice.
It was a song he knew well, so he barely had to pay attention to the words. Hear me, he thought, willing her to understand. Hear what I’m saying. I want you, Lainie. I want your eyes to look at me with love. I want to take your hand in mine and walk with you. I want to put my arms around you and let your head rest on my shoulder. I want to kiss those lips that smile so easily. I love you. Hear me.
He knew the moment she realized he was singing for her alone. Her mouth fell open a bit, her eyes went wide, and she glanced to either side as if wondering whether he really did mean her. Then her mouth closed, and she leaned forward to rest her arms on the table, as intent on him as he was on her. The stunned look never left her face. He poured his whole heart into his song, wondering briefly if anyone else realized what was happening, that he was courting her under everyone’s eyes, and didn’t care if they did.
The song came to an end. He held her eyes for a few seconds longer. Hear me. Then he turned away and said, “Wonder if we’ve made any more matches with that song.”
The other men laughed. “Could give a man ideas, certain sure,” Dave rumbled.
“Well, let’s do ‘Lightly Falls the Rain’ next and let ‘em cool down a bit,” Ed said. “And I think Mary and Elana want a turn.”
“Sounds good,” Ben said, and shook his hands out. He hadn’t realized he’d had them clenched the whole time. He didn’t look at her again. He’d declared himself; now to give her time to think about it, decide what she’d do. And then he’d ask her to dance.
He sang a few more songs, then yielded the stand to the players and went to get something to eat. The chicken looked good but greasy; not a good choice for a man who intended to court a woman. He settled on ham and took his plate to the far side of the clearing from her. She was practicing a dance with Liam and doing it so awkwardly his heart nearly burst from his chest with love. Next dance, he promised himself, or the next one. Soon.
But dance after dance passed, and she never was without a partner, and the longer he waited the harder it was for him to rise from his seat and approach her. He started to feel anxious, then despairing. All that effort, and he couldn’t bring himself to just talk t
o her. They were friends, she wouldn’t be cruel to him, there was no reason he shouldn’t approach her. Later, when she runs out of partners, he told himself, but he knew his justifications were going to lose him what he wanted most.
Finally, he saw her laughingly turn down a partner and return to a seat set somewhat back from where the dancers spun and promenaded, and found himself on his feet and circling the clearing before his brain could stop him. As he neared her, he saw that she had her eyes closed and was rubbing one bare foot, her shoe kicked off on the ground in front of her. “Will you dance with me?” he said, and winced at how abrupt it sounded.
Her eyes flew open and she jumped a little. “The next dance hasn’t started yet,” she said. She didn’t look embarrassed, or shy, and he realized he hadn’t thought about what to say next.
“Well, seeing as how you were so popular,” he said, “I thought I should ask before someone else swooped down on you.”
She laughed, and it made his heart once again speed up. “It was a little like being dived on by predatory birds,” she said, then looked away. “I didn’t realize how many friends I had,” she added, looking back at him, and there was something in her eyes he didn’t know how to answer.
The music changed, and Ben said, “Do you know this dance?”
She shook her head, hesitated, then extended her hand to him. “Teach me?”
She had long, elegant fingers, a craftswoman’s hands, and for half a second he considered not taking her hand in his rough one. Then his fingers closed around hers, and she smiled, and he nearly forgot why he was there, because he was holding her hand and she was smiling at him and he wanted that moment to go on forever.
He led her back a ways and arranged her arms, took her hands in his, and guided her through the steps. It was clear from the start that she was an experienced dancer, even if she’d never danced this one before; she picked up the steps immediately, and he led her to join the other dancers. She stumbled once or twice, and kept looking at her feet, and he couldn’t understand why because she certainly knew what she was doing, and it wasn’t until the dance was nearly over that she looked at him and he realized she was blushing. Blushing as if she were as sensitive to his nearness as he was to hers.
His hand tightened on hers as the music came to an end, and they stopped in the middle of the clearing, under the tent of lights she’d invented, and just gazed at each other. She took a step closer, her lips parting to say something, and Blythe Bradford called out, “Teach us one of your dances, Lainie!”
She blinked and stepped away from him, but didn’t let go of his hand. “One of my dances?” she said.
“A dance from the city!” Blythe called out, laughing. “I want my wedding to be on the front edge of fashion!”
She looked at him as if undecided. Then she said, “Will you dance with me again?”
Ben nodded. He would dance with her forever if she’d let him.
She smiled, and ran off to talk to the players, then came back and said loudly, “It’s a simple one-two-three beat. Men lead, ladies follow. Watch us.” With no hesitation, she took Ben’s hand in hers and with her other hand drew his free arm around her waist. She put her hand on his shoulder and raised their clasped hands high. “Just follow me for a bit, and you’ll get it. It’s not hard.” The music began, and she drew him into the dance, just the two of them in the center of the clearing. Ben felt his face begin to flush. He was never comfortable being the center of attention, even when he was singing, and all of them watching him dance with her…
Then he registered how close she was, how her hair smelled clean and bright like fresh spring air, felt her hand on his shoulder and his arm around her waist, and he barely realized when she handed off the lead to him. She was looking at him, wordless, and he tightened his grip around her waist and felt her step closer to him. All around them, other couples joined in, but he was only aware of them dimly, as vague shapes in some distant dream realm. She was in his arms, she was looking at him as if she wanted to ask him something, and suddenly he was overwhelmed by it all, as if he’d been offered his heart’s desire and was afraid to accept it. It seemed too good to be real.
The music stopped, and they just stood there together for a moment. Then she released his hand, and he stepped away from her. He’d gotten what he wanted and he didn’t know what to do with it. He bobbed his head to her and walked away, through the crowd and into the woods, and when he was far enough away that the music and the laughter were too faint to be distinguishable as anything but a hum, he stopped and leaned against the nearest tree. He wanted to kick himself. Why had he just walked away from her? That look in her eyes…she knew how he felt, and it looked as if she was trying to decide how she felt about him. And he’d just walked away like a fool. Who knew what she thought now? That he was toying with her? That it was all a mistake?
He groaned and banged his head gently against the tree trunk, then walked the rest of the way to Longbourne. Safely in his house, he sat on the couch and cursed himself. He would never have another chance with her. He needed to go back and explain, not that he understood himself. He needed to just say it to her, to have the courage for once to speak to her instead of standing there like a moon-witted fool.
He got as far as the edge of the woods before his courage failed him. People were starting to leave the clearing, the music had stopped, and it was too late; the shivaree was over. Too late. He turned to walk away, once again cursing himself. But when he got to his back door, it occurred to him that she might still be there. She’d have to take down the tent of lights, and that would take a while. No, you’ve lost your chance, he told himself, leave it alone. He remembered how it had felt to dance with her, his arm around her waist and her hand in his, and shivered. It wasn’t too late. He had one more chance.
He went quickly through the woods and found the clearing empty of tables and chairs and people. Empty of all but one person, that is. She was reaching up to tug at the strands of light and winding them onto a spool. She was so graceful, and so beautiful, and before he could stop himself he had crossed the clearing and was saying, “Happen you could use some help with that.”
She squeaked and dropped the spool. “I didn’t hear you coming,” she said.
“Sorry.”
She picked up the spool. “You can help by pulling those down.”
He started tugging at the strands; they came down easily, and she wound them onto her spool until it looked like a flycatcher with a hundred fireflies stuck to it. “That’s the last of it,” he eventually said, handing her the loose end. “Let me carry that for you.”
She looked down at it, then handed it over, and the two of them headed back toward town. Ben’s heart was pounding again. “What happens to it now?” he said, trying to think of something more meaningful to say.
“I’ll take out the motive forces and stow the whole thing in Aunt Weaver’s store room,” she said.
“Sounds like a lot of work.” The back of her hand brushed against his, they were that close.
“Just tedious.”
There it was again, that soft, almost imperceptible touch. “I’d help if I could,” he said, and reached out to take her hand in his. For a moment, it hung there, unresisting, and he was sure he’d made a huge mistake. Then her fingers twined themselves with his, and she squeezed his hand just a little, and he thought he might fly away, carrying her with him.
They walked in silence, Ben afraid to break whatever it was between them by speaking, but when they reached the outskirts of Longbourne, she said, “I don’t understand.”
He smiled in the darkness. “Wasted a lot of effort tonight if that’s so.”
“I mean, I don’t—I didn’t even know you were interested in me.”
“Never knew what to say.” He gripped her hand a little tighter. “And you always had so many other men after you.”
He heard her take a quick breath. “They weren’t…it didn’t mean anything, just…it was just being fri
endly. Having fun.”
The happiness he was floating on burned a little brighter. She wasn’t attached to any of them. “I couldn’t compete with them on their ground,” he said. “So I figured out a way to compete on mine.”
He turned his head to look at her and found her smiling at him. “It worked,” she said, and a smile spread across his lips, a real smile, not the fleeting half-smiles that were all he’d ever managed in her presence before.
They passed between Mistress Weaver’s sheds and came to the back door of the house. She turned to face him and held out her hand for the spool. They would say goodnight, and maybe in the morning all this would be like a dream, and she wouldn’t look at him this way ever again. The thought was unbearable. So he put the spool on the ground behind him, and said, “Just one thing, Miss Bricker. I’d like to kiss you, if you don’t mind.”
Her eyes were dark smudges in the light of the half-moon. She nodded, silently, and Ben stepped forward and brushed his lips against hers. It was extraordinary, sweet and tender and the most beautiful feeling he’d ever had, and he wished he dared kiss her again, but maybe this one kiss was all he needed.
He took a step back, and she made a noise that sounded like a protest, put her arms around his neck, and drew him close to kiss him again. It startled him so much that he froze, briefly, then he came to his senses and put his arms around her waist and kissed her as he’d never kissed anyone in his life. She was warm and alive in his arms, her body pressed against his, responding to his kiss with a passion that set him afire with longing. Everything else fell away, the moon and the sheds and the weeds dying at the edge of the yard; his whole world was narrowed down to this beautiful woman who was kissing him as if nothing else mattered.
Some unspoken signal made them separate, and she took half a step away from him, not breaking the circle of his arms, and looked at him with an expression unreadable in the low light. He raised his hand and caressed her cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “Miss Bricker—”
She smiled, and put her finger to his lips to stop his words. “After that,” she said in amusement, “I think you are allowed to call me Lainie.”
Tales of the Crown Page 35