The Snow White Bride

by Claire Delacroix

  She stared at his upturned palm, then squared her shoulders and met his gaze steadily. Her chin lifted, as if she would challenge him—and truly, she did. She looked as regal as a queen and as indomitable as a warrior and Alexander was utterly charmed. “I daresay your price would be higher than a mere smile if you succeed.”

  “I desire no more than to see you smile,” he insisted. “If I win, that sight will be reward enough. Your wealthy man has not granted you much in truth, if he has not made you merry.”

  Eleanor did not comment upon that. “You will not touch me.”

  “I would offer you aid in walking so that you do not slip,” he said with some annoyance. “Whether you take my arm or not is your choice, as is that of a hot meal, a cup of wine, and a warm pallet this night.”

  Eleanor took a quick breath, then put her hand in his. Her hand was small and cold, and Alexander’s urge to gather her close was nigh overwhelming. He restrained himself, though, and merely tucked her hand into his elbow. He turned immediately back toward the keep, concern for her welfare lending speed to his steps. “Be warned, fair Eleanor, that I do not intend to fail.”

  “You put more stake upon this than a smile would merit.”

  He placed his hand over his heart, knowing she would think he made a jest, but there was truth in his words. “I stake all upon it. If I cannot coax your smile this night, then I have lost far more than I have gained this past year.” He winked at her, noting her surprise at his manner. “And truly, if you chose to surrender more than a smile to me in my triumph, I would not protest overmuch.”

  She snorted, though a reluctant twinkle lit her eye. “No woman could be as charmed with you as you are with yourself.”

  “Let us see if we can amend that situation,” he said with newfound resolve, and he was nigh certain that she fought against her answering smile.

  * * * * *

  It must be exhaustion at root, Eleanor decided.

  That could be the sole reason she had succumbed to Alexander’s plea. She did not change her mind upon a whim, not she, much less because of a man’s attempt to persuade her to do so.

  After all, she did not believe that Alexander possessed any allure. Eleanor stole a sidelong glance and corrected herself.

  Perhaps he had a small increment of allure.

  She liked how tall Alexander was, how determined he was, how resoundingly he laughed. She liked his wit and his whimsy; she liked how his eyes sparkled. She liked that he had already noted her aversion to a man’s touch, however casual it might be; she liked better that he acted upon that observation and did not touch her.

  And she had been charmed by his rueful acknowledgment of his lack of coin, for he had dismissed the matter instead of turning an expectant eye upon her. Eleanor had been persuaded then that Alexander knew nothing of her true identity, that he knew even less of the fortune she could bring to a spouse, and her fears had faded. He had not seen her as the solution to his woes, and that had proved to be seductive indeed.

  What was even more astonishing was the fact that Alexander thought she had allure.

  That was novel in Eleanor’s experience. No man had ever looked at her without seeing the fortune she could bring him, no man had ever courted her favor for its own merit. Certainly no one had sought only her smile.

  Eleanor had wondered, as they bantered, what it would be like to be the sole focus of this handsome and charming man.

  Perhaps curiosity was as much the root of her choice as exhaustion, for Eleanor had decided then to indulge herself. She had borne much in her days and she would undoubtedly endure much more. But on this one night, she would be as carefree as her host. She would let him try to coax her smile, as if neither of them had any matter more pressing before them than his whimsical quest.

  The warmth of the hall embraced them when they crossed the threshold, and the golden light was the most welcoming Eleanor had ever seen. She could smell the roasted meat and the beeswax candles and the press of several hundred people. The music was joyous and loud, the laughter raucous.

  Indeed, a cheer rent the hall when Alexander was spied and he winked for Eleanor, then bowed deeply to his guests. Clearly, the wine was finding favor, for many in the hall applauded him with gusto.

  “Did you leave a morsel for me?” he demanded in mock indignation, and a fulsome wench at the closest table held up her own trencher for him.

  “The meat is toothsome, my lord,” she said, boldly smiling at him. Eleanor did not doubt that she offered a good deal more than the meat piled on her bread.

  Alexander leaned closer, making a show of examining the meat. “Is this the venison, Anna?”

  “In pepper sauce, my lord,” the wench agreed. “Spicy yet savory all the same. It lingers upon the tongue with a delightful heat.”

  Eleanor nigh choked upon the woman’s audacity, but Alexander chose a morsel with solemnity. She noted that he picked the finest piece on the trencher. She had only a heartbeat to consider the poor measure of his manners before he pivoted and held the meat before her own lips.

  “My lady fair?” he murmured, inviting her to partake of the bite.

  Eleanor momentarily did not know what to do. It was beyond intimate for a man to feed a woman, and for him to do so in such a crowded hall when every eye was upon them shocked her to her marrow. She liked that the wench was so displeased by the failure of her ploy, and she knew her manners well enough to know that she should accept his gift. All the same, she did not wish to show herself as common as the woman who had offered the meat in the first place.

  Her tutors had not prepared her for this moment, to be sure.

  It was the daring glimmer in Alexander’s blue eyes that resolved her dilemma. He thought she would decline, and that was sufficient for Eleanor.

  After all, she had argued that she was a courtesan. And she had decided to indulge herself this night.

  “I thank you, my lord,” she murmured, letting her expression show pleasure, though she did not smile. She took the meat from his fingertips in one languorous bite, holding his gaze. She ensured that her tongue caressed his flesh when she claimed the last measure of gravy from his knuckle. She chewed it slowly, rolling the meat around in her mouth, then ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.

  Alexander swallowed visibly.

  “Delicious!” she said, lowering her voice to a purr. “It must have been a most robust buck.”

  “And have you a taste for such virile beasts?” he asked, his eyes dancing.

  “On occasion, I have found them amusing,” she allowed. “Indeed, I find my appetite for such virile meat mustered with that morsel.”

  “Then we must hasten to the board,” Alexander said, smiling so that the bold wench could not be insulted, then sweeping Eleanor to the high table. “You tempt me apurpose,” he muttered.

  “While you did not intend to tempt me?” Eleanor whispered, then preceded him to the high table. “I am a courtesan, as you were warned. I know no other game.”

  A spark lit in Alexander’s eyes then, one so filled with mischief that Eleanor’s heart skipped. “Is that the truth of it?” he mused in an undertone. “How would a man make a courtesan smile, without some intimate tickle abed? I shall have to ponder the matter.”

  Eleanor did not doubt that he would do more than ponder it Indeed, she felt a tingle of anticipation, for she could not guess what he might do.

  His sisters nudged each other, probably thinking that their scheme held promise once again. Eleanor did not tell them otherwise. She was introduced to all of them formally—Madeline, Vivienne, Annelise, Isabella, and Elizabeth—then to Rhys and Erik, the spouses of Madeline and Vivienne, respectively. Two young girls, the daughters of Erik from his first marriage, peeked around Vivienne’s skirts as they were introduced. They were Megan and Astrid, though Eleanor was not certain which was which, and they looked to be thrilled with the promise of the feast.

  She let Alexander seat her upon his left hand, not caring what any pe
rson in his hall thought of that, and accepted the goblet of wine that he filled with his own hand.

  He touched his cup to hers, some wickedness making his eyes dance anew, then raised his voice. “To laughter,” he cried, and sipped of his cup’s contents.

  Eleanor drank the toast with caution, assuming the wine would be passing fair at best; then her eyes widened. It was a fine French wine, much to her astonishment, one that would have earned praise in a king’s hall.

  “You smiled!” Alexander whispered in triumph.

  “For the wine, not for you,” she said, sobering immediately. “Your quest is not fulfilled, sir.”

  “That is not fair,” he argued so good-naturedly that she knew he was not truly offended. “I will not be bested by a mere beverage!”

  “This wine has a considerable charm,” Eleanor admitted, then sipped of it again.

  “You have scarce seen the full measure of mine,” he retorted, and she stifled the urge to chuckle.

  But she could not let a man with such cursed confidence win his way as readily as that.

  * * * * *

  The woman would have him believe her to be a courtesan. The very notion was absurd, given her reluctance to be touched, but Alexander was prepared to agree with it, if it meant the lady would remain in his hall for this evening.

  It did not, however, preclude his teasing her over the matter.

  “Is it true,” he asked when venison was promptly laid upon the trencher they would share, “that a woman of pleasure oft feeds her patron his every morsel with her fingertips?” He held another piece of meat for Eleanor, ensuring that it did not drip upon her garb.

  This bite she accepted more hastily, granting him a warning glance. “There are those who do, or so I hear. My own favor is for my own spoon.” She lifted another piece of meat with that utensil, but Alexander bent and ate it himself, before she realized his intent. She was delightfully startled, her ruddy lips rounding in a circle of astonishment.

  He claimed her spoon and laid it out of her reach, along with his own. “I confess to preferring fingertips. Will you not see my own hunger sated?” He looked pointedly to the trencher before them.

  Eleanor grasped the largest piece of meat between finger and thumb, and offered it to him. Alexander made to bite it, but she pushed it all between his lips. “That will ensure your silence for a few moments,” she said, her tone surprisingly teasing. She ate then at leisure while he fought to chew his way through the piece of meat.

  His sisters smirked on either side.

  “You have a drop of wine upon your lip,” he murmured to Eleanor when he could do so, though in truth she did not. Eleanor licked her lips hastily, the sight of the tip of her tongue sending a spark through Alexander.

  “The other side,” he lied, wanting only to see her repeat her gesture. She did so, then met his gaze again.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head with solemnity. “You missed it. A bit more to your right.” She ducked her head this time and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

  “It proves to be elusive, indeed,” he said softly. “Let me do you this courtesy.” Before she could argue the matter, he slid his own fingertip across her bottom lip. He began at one corner of her mouth, holding her gaze all the while, then eased his finger to the other corner with excruciating slowness.

  The ruby fullness of her lip tugged beneath his fingertip, its softness tempting him to linger. Eleanor stared at him, her eyes wide, and did not seem to breathe. Alexander was tempted to kiss her, though guessed that she feared he would do as much.

  And that would certainly not prompt her smile.

  Instead, he licked his own fingertip, as if savoring the drop of wine he had claimed from her lip. “Sweet,” he said, then arched a brow, “though it might seem tart when it first falls upon the tongue. An unobservant man might miss its value.”

  Eleanor flushed, her face turning absolutely crimson, then looked down at her side of their trencher. She ate half-a-dozen pieces of meat so quickly that she could not have tasted them and Alexander sipped his wine, knowing that she was not so immune to him as she would prefer he believe.

  Still, he had to make her smile.

  On impulse, he decided just how the deed might be done.

  * * * * *

  Alexander stood and clapped his hands, mercifully turning his gaze away from Eleanor. She had wondered whether it had been prudent to wish for his attention, after he had fixed it so resolutely upon her. The man was discomfiting, to be certain, and she was flustered.

  Yet curiously, she felt more alive than she had in years. Every fiber of her being tingled. She was aware of the muscled heat of his thigh so close to her own, the low rumble of his voice even when he spoke to others, and she swore she could feel his very gaze land upon her.

  The man roused unwelcome questions in her thoughts—or perhaps he roused only one. Was it possible that there was more pleasure to be found abed than she had experienced? It was not hard to believe as much, and Eleanor found herself possessed of an uncommon passion to know the truth. She did not doubt that the man by her side would be delighted to exhaust her curiosity.

  How would Alexander beguile a woman abed? The very notion lit an unfamiliar fire deep within Eleanor. She watched his hands, lean and strong and tanned, and her mouth went dry at the thought of them upon her flesh. His touch was gentle, she knew as much already, and he was observant beyond men she had known. But doubtless, there would be little difference between him and the others in the end, little difference once his lust was sated, little difference once she failed him in some expectation.

  Meanwhile, the hall fell silent at Alexander’s summons and every eye fixed upon him. He smiled at the company and spoke so that his words carried across the hall. “Again I welcome you to my board, and I hope that you have eaten heartily this night.”

  The company roared, more than one pair of crockery cups clunking together. There was a hoot from the back of the hall, as if some table of merry souls had imbibed overmuch; then feet were stamped.

  Alexander clapped his hands again, even as he laughed. “I shall take that as assent,” he said, though few could have heard him over the ruckus.

  He shook his head when quiet did not ensue, then let loose a piercing whistle of fearsome volume. His sisters clapped their hands over their ears and protested the noise, though the hall fell silent once more.

  Alexander bowed slightly. “Though it is clear that you all enjoy yourselves already, I would propose an entertainment this evening.” The musicians began to play a tune, but he waved them to silence. “There is a tradition common in other halls but new to our own, at least on Christmas Eve. In the past, we have saved our folly for Twelfth Night alone.”

  “Tell us your scheme!” roared some intrepid soul.

  Eleanor noted that all three of Alexander’s younger sisters looked wary. “He savors this moment overmuch,” muttered Elizabeth, the youngest. “It is a poor omen for us.”

  And truly, Alexander’s eyes danced so wickedly that even Eleanor half-feared what he would suggest. “What say you all to the appointment of a Lord of Misrule?” he cried.

  “So long as he cannot make marriages,” Isabella replied.

  Alexander feigned insult. “Do not be absurd! My sisters shall all choose their own spouses, for my lesson has been learned.”

  “Do not trust him for a moment,” Elizabeth growled, though she was ignored.

  The company bellowed approval of Alexander’s suggestion, and feet were stamped with deafening vigor.

  Alexander whistled again. “I reserve the right to appoint each person in this hall to his or her new position. We shall play our parts for all this evening, and revert to normal manners in the morning. No soul may injure another, no person may be cruel. This is folly and amusement, no more. Are we understood?” The company grunted agreement, and more than one man nodded approval of this sentiment.

  “Now we begin.” Alexander spun and surveyed the company, as mischievo
us as a pixie. “Marjorie, the ale maker, shall trade places with my sister Madeline and be Lady of Caerwyn this night.”

  An older woman with a kindly face rose to her feet, clearly embarrassed to be the focus of attention, yet excited as well. She flushed scarlet when her companions cheered. Madeline smiled and rose with grace to exchange places with the woman. Marjorie might have bowed to Madeline, but Madeline bowed first, then kissed Marjorie’s hand. The woman’s mouth fell open and she fairly gaped in delight when Madeline put her own silken veil and circlet on Marjorie’s head. Madeline then sat at the board with Marjorie’s kin as if she had been there all along.

  “Go sit in my place at the high table,” Madeline bade Marjorie when that woman hesitated. Marjorie’s eyes lit with excitement as she crossed the hall and she giggled as she fit herself into the space on the bench that Madeline had vacated. Madeline’s husband kissed Marjorie’s hand with gallantry and the woman giggled.

  “Rose, the cook’s wife, you will take the place of my sister Vivienne and be Lady of Blackleith this night,” Alexander said. Another matron fairly dashed to the high table in her enthusiasm; then Vivienne surrendered her veil and circlet in her turn. Rose sat beside Erik and spared him a coquettish glance.

  “Do not be so quick to think the lord of Blackleith will be the same man in moments as he is now,” Rose’s husband, the cook, teased, and the company laughed. That man then gave Vivienne a hearty buss on the cheek as she arrived at the place Rose had vacated. Rose appeared so indignant that the company laughed.

  “Indeed, you speak aright,” Alexander agreed. He quickly named two men to take the places of his brothers-in-law, one elderly and the other a young boy who was pushed forward by an older man.

  “The tanner and his apprentice,” Isabella confided to Eleanor.

  Alexander worked his way down the high table, replacing his siblings with peasants with such speed that the hall became chaotic. “Elizabeth will trade with the blacksmith’s eldest daughter; Annelise will trade with Ellen, the spinner; Isabella will become the shepherd’s wife. Father Malachy will trade with the miller, and Owen, the ostler, with Siobhan, the baker’s wife.”