After setting fresh trenchers of hard bread on the tablecloth, youths served the second remove of stuffed eggs, blood sausage, and young cabbage. This time, the servants paraded a whole roasted boar around the room, to the applause of the diners. They ceremoniously set the head on the king's table, along with a generous quarter of the beast.
Retrieving his knife, Elinas carved a slab of boar and chewed on it, throwing pieces to the hounds who wrestled them under the table.
"Is your aunt Morgane really Fae? I thought these were legends." He licked the juice from his fingers. "If this is true, King Salomon has unusual alliances. Very few still believe in the power of the Ladies."
"In Bretagne, Lord King, the Goddess favors fae children with extraordinary gifts. The Ladies requested my father's services for a Beltane mating, as is customary." She watched him carefully, wondering whether he understood the ancient rituals.
"And King Salomon agreed?" The casual question gave her no clue.
"Indeed. He was quite taken with my mother and courted her for many years."
Elinas glanced at Pressine appreciatively. "I can understand why, if she looked anything like you."
"Thank you." Heat crept up her throat at the compliment. Pressine wondered whether she had been too bold in her approach. But with this man, subtle behavior would probably go unnoticed. "Father loved my mother very much, but the bishop objected."
The deep brown eyes studied her. "I see..."
"King Salomon repudiated my mother and was punished for it. His Christian bride is barren." Pressine fell silent, unwilling to reveal her own crucial role in the matter.
"Can a Fae marry a king?"
Pressine laughed at the transparent question. "Yes, my lord. It has been done many times."
She considered telling him about the curse but decided it was still too early.
More delicious dishes followed. Then dancers, jugglers, acrobats, and musicians performed. The tumult of voices in the hall grew deafening. Drinking songs and laughter now accompanied the swearing and spitting contests.
Pressine did not participate in these vulgar games and felt glad when Elinas also declined. She considered it bad manners to spit over the table like a hunter. The king cheered his favorite arm wrestlers but did not bet. As for Pressine, she ignored the public wenching that so delighted the male guests.
Elinas laughed and smiled a lot, and Pressine rejoiced at seeing him in such good spirits. Watching him drink, however, she wondered whether he planned a Beltane joining of his own. The lust in his eyes seemed to grow with each cup of mead.
The king made a show of turning the silver cup, to drink where Pressine’s lips had touched, a shameless sexual overture.
As much as it was a small victory under the circumstances, Pressine reminded herself that she had come to marry a future high king, not throw her virginity at an imbibed and barely lucid lord. She felt dizzy from the mead and hot as well. In the lewd atmosphere, she flushed under the king's piercing stare.
"Are you afraid of my knowing your thoughts, my lady?" The king raised the cup. "I could use them to my advantage." His smile, devoid of artifice, told much about his hopes.
"My thoughts are yours for the asking, Lord King." Pressine sustained his stare. "But do not summon me to your bed in honor of Beltane. As a royal princess, a maiden of the Isle, I keep my virginity for a noble husband."
"What a shame." He sounded disappointed.
Pressine tried to sound offended. "If you feel such a need, I see many willing wenches in this very hall."
Elinas laughed then set the cup down without drinking. "I have not needed a servant girl since I was sixteen, my lady. And I shall not need one tonight, or any other night."
A glance around the great hall showed that all the legitimate wives had already left. Only drunken men, concubines and serving wenches remained, some of them on the floor, moving in the flickering shadows and making unseemly noises.
Pressine needed some air. "I think it is time for me to retire, my lord."
"Then allow me to escort you to your chambers, my lady. I had enough feasting for one night." Rising on unsteady legs, Elinas offered his arm.
Pressine took it gratefully, unsure whether she could trust him to find his way through the castle grounds at night. With much dignity, Pressine followed the king, stepping over snoring barons passed out from drink, trying not to disturb fornicating dogs and other licentious couples. She tiptoed around pools of vomit, and spilled mead.
When they reached the door and stepped outside into the fresh night air, Elinas gave Pressine a reassuring smile. In the moonlight, he seemed quite sober. She understood then that he was not as drunk as he had appeared in the hall, and relief washed over her.
She smiled and took his arm. As they walked through the dark commons, Pressine felt acutely aware of his strong forearm under her fingers. When her foot buckled on a stone, his other hand came around to steady her waist and lingered there.
"Are you hurt?" He held her close, facing him.
Standing in his grip, close enough to feel his warmth, Pressine relished the proximity of his hard body. "I feel lucky to have such a strong man to keep me from harm."
Both hands on the king’s chest, she could feel the pounding of his heart, or was it hers? His linen shirt smelled like heather, and she found herself longing for his embrace. His sword hilt pushed on her thigh. Was he going to kiss her? She suddenly wished he would, and she tilted her chin to meet his eyes, lips slightly open in subtle invitation.
"I am sorry..." Releasing his grip, Elinas gave an apologetic smile. "I should have borrowed a torch from the hall." He looked away.
How she missed his eye contact.
He led Pressine around muddy ruts and rough ground, his arm supporting her waist. Allowing herself to lean upon him slightly more than needed, Pressine enjoyed the contact of his hand through the flimsy dress. She wondered whether he was shy, trying to behave as an honorable man, or still grieving.
Thus linked, they waded among the shadows. A cat meowed on a thatch roof, causing a rat to dart into a shed. Elinas didn’t flinch. He exhibited the quiet confidence of those in power, without artifice or pretense. Pressine liked his handsome frame, bright brown eyes, and the quick smile dimpling his short beard.
She had noticed his kindness during the feast, even to the hounds in the hall. Morgane often said that one could judge a man's heart from his attitude toward children, elders, servants, and animals. From what Pressine had seen so far, Elinas stood out as a very good man.
As they neared the kitchen, loud cheers of encouragement attracted Pressine’s attention. The two fires on which the meat had roasted earlier, now burned brightly. Around the largest fire, servants and cooks, as well as a few nobles too young for the feasting hall, celebrated Beltane the commoner's way.
Pressine remembered similar customs in Bretagne. "Were the fires lit according to the old ways?"
"Indeed! Lit by a druid from the friction of a fire drill." Elinas removed his arm from her waist as they joined the onlookers forming a wide circle around the largest bonfire.
The king’s shyness in front of his subjects surprised Pressine, but she liked his reserve. "Where did you find a druid? So few grace the land in this day of churches."
Elinas smiled mysteriously. "A king has means of finding people..." He cleared his throat. "The castle servants and villagers who helped at the feast will rekindle their own hearth with a brand from these fires, as they do each year."
"We still do the same in Bretagne... although the Bishop condemned the custom." Welcoming the warmth of the flames, Pressine moved closer.
An informal game had started among the gathered men. The king's wide smile told Pressine he enjoyed watching his people at play. She saw no women around the fires, only bantering young men. Scullions and cooks lucky enough to find a mate had long vanished in the shadows. The children conceived at Beltane would be born at Imbolc, as the saying went, in the heart of winter.
"I wager this one wins," the king whispered in her ear, pointing at a blond boy, about thirteen years old, well dressed, and quieter than the men.
Pressine indicated a healthy kitchen lad in his late teens who tied back long dark hair in preparation for the jump. "I bet on that one," she said softly to avoid being overheard.
The young men around the fire accompanied their own betting with rowdy cheers and comments that would make a lady blush... but Pressine had heard it all before.
As she observed the candidates removing their shoes in preparation for the jump, Pressine knew the king had picked the best boy, light, focused, and determined. "What shall we bet?"
"A king never takes gold from a lady." Elinas grinned wolfishly. One eyebrow shot up. "The most fitting wager I can think of would be a kiss. If I win, I shall request one."
So the thought had also crossed his mind! Pressine took a quick breath. Her heart beat faster. "These are very high stakes, my lord." She brought a hand to her chest, struggling to steady her breathing. "And if you lose?"
Elinas looked away. "Then you can set your price, or decide to kiss me or not, depending on how you feel."
Barefoot, the kitchen lad took off at a run. Building up speed, he jumped flawlessly above the flames. Everyone in the circle cheered and applauded. Pressine wondered what she should do if she won the bet. Although she burned for a kiss, it might be wiser to tantalize Elinas a while longer. Realizing she found the king extremely attractive, she did not trust herself to remain cool-headed if the kiss grew passionate.
The younger boy then went to the starting line. Taking one look at Elinas, he ordered the servants to add more logs to the blaze. As they did, sparks crackled, smoke hissed, and the flames leapt five feet in the air.
Pressine watched in fascination, holding her breath, wandering what prompted the boy to act so recklessly. Around the fire, the young men hushed. Elinas turned pale and stared in silence, taut as a bow.
After a last glance at the king, the boy sprinted then jumped without hesitation, clearing the top of the flames and landing safely on the other side. With a smile of triumph, the boy faced Elinas then turned away to receive the delirious praises of the small crowd.
A tear welled in the corner of the king's eye, as he bit his upper lip then smiled.
Surprised by such a display of emotion, Pressine asked, "You know him?"
"Conan." Elinas stated proudly. "My second son. He reminds me so much of his mother."
"A brave boy, determined to impress his father." Pressine wondered whether the tear had been for the son or for the mother.
Elinas sighed. "The dear child just won my bet." He offered his arm to lead her away. "Lady Pressine, you owe me a kiss."
Pressine tensed, unsure how to react.
Visibly enjoying her confusion, Elinas smiled. "But this is neither the place nor the time."
Relieved, Pressine accepted the offered arm and they walked away.
"Whenever I request my due, however, I expect you to oblige gracefully." Elinas chuckled. "I used to jump over Bel's fires, as a young man."
Remembering Dewain’s comment about last year, Pressine pictured Elinas jumping the flames. "I wager you still can, my lord."
"Perhaps." Amusement twinkled in his dark eyes. "But I am not drunk enough to try it tonight. Besides, it would be undignified for a king to flop into the flames and singe his britches in front of his vassals."
Pressine joined in his laughter. The stone bench under the great oak looked inviting, but Elinas walked right past it. In the past few hours, Pressine had come to think of him as her future husband, discovering with delight that she truly liked the man. But would Elinas agree to marry her? And how long would he wait before claiming the kiss?
Chapter Six
Back in his chambers, Elinas paced, unable to escape the heat of his rushing blood. The thought of Pressine in the queen's chambers kept him wide awake. How could she have turned his feelings around so fast? He had laughed more tonight than in many months. He probably made a fool of himself, betting a kiss he did not dare claim afterwards.
Not for the first time, Elinas cursed his impulsive nature. Pressine was too young for him, yet her intelligence and maturity went far beyond her years. She had a smart head on her pretty shoulders, and even a sound insight into politics. What a queen she would make some day!
But not for him.
His happy years had come and gone. In these troubled times, he needed to keep his kingdom safe from the Vikings. But tonight, he just could not get his mind to focus, no matter how hard he tried.
Catching sight of a blue bundle on a chair, Elinas stopped pacing to caress the silky fabric. He lifted the bundle and sat on the bed. When he loosened the knot, a whiff of lily of the valley evoked the image of Pressine, rising nude in the spring that morning. He banished the thought. These were his departed queen's precious things.
How carefully each object had been wrapped into the folds, as if not to be damaged or hurt in any way. One by one, a silver mirror, a tortoise comb, a hairbrush of boar bristles emerged from the blue silk. As Elinas fondled them with infinite tenderness, his mind rushed back to the sorrowful time of his queen's passing.
Between convulsions and ravings, in a rare moment of lucidity, she had called him.
"After I am gone, I want you to go on living," she had said with a strained smile. "Promise me to love again and share the goodness of your soul with another woman who can make you happy."
With a violent shake of the head, Elinas had refused to even consider it. "I could never love another."
But the dying queen had pleaded, "How can a king rule justly when his mind is hindered by grief?"
To give her some peace, Elinas had promised, believing he could not keep the oath.
Only now, he understood the wisdom of his departed wife. She had known him well. Had she seen through the pain into the future? Had she chosen a woman to ease his suffering? Elinas smiled sadly.
"Whatever happens, I will always love you," he whispered, as the beloved features faded from his mind. He kissed the silver mirror. "Farewell, my Queen."
Wrapping everything back into the bundle, he tucked it away inside his favorite coffer. He would pass it on to his daughter when she came of age. Elinas realized that his grief would eventually take flight, like his queen's ashes scattered by the wind at her balefire. With time, he hoped his pain would dull to a familiar ache.
How could he be so blind to the natural course of life? Didn't spring always follow winter? He sighed, parting the drapes to look through the open window. Across the courtyard, Pressine's shutters stood open. A lamp burned brightly on the windowsill. An invitation?
Elinas remembered how Pressine had looked him in the eyes when he caught her from falling, how her breasts had heaved against his chest, how her lips had parted. Had she expected a kiss, then? He remembered the warmth of her skin through the sheer fabric of her gown and wondered how she felt about him.
But Elinas knew how to find out.
If Pressine made his heart sing, what kept him from going to her? He was king after all, and she had wagered freely. Letting the drapes fall into place, he straightened his clothes and smoothed back his hair. Resolutely, he walked out, determined to claim his kiss.
* * *
Pressine ran her fingers over the fine blade, torn between performing the binding spell and letting nature take its course. What if Elinas did not intend to marry her? She tossed the bejeweled scabbard on the bed. He had played with her feelings all night but never bared his soul.
Could she risk failing the Goddess for a matter of simple vanity? Or rather did she fear to discover that her personal charms could not sway a grieving king? How much time did she have before Elinas sent her packing, or went riding against the Scots or the Angles? Border raids always multiplied in fair weather.
And the Goddess demanded prompt results.
Pressine sat on the bed and retrieved the king’s sword. For only through the chan
nel of a Lady's magic could Elinas become the instrument of the Goddess, the high king of Alba. She must enchant the blade now, and bind the king's soul. Too bad. She would regret never knowing the depth of his noble heart.
At a slight noise, Pressine turned to behold Elinas two paces away, hands clasped behind his back. He watched her intently.
Her heart raced. "You startled me. How did you get into my chambers?"
"Never mind that. What are you doing with my sword?" Elinas asked in a tone of curiosity rather than anger.
Pressine fumbled to close the silk ties of her open nightgown. "Admiring a fine blade, my lord."
The king laughed. "And this morning I thought you just liked the precious scabbard. How foolish of me."
As he stepped closer, Pressine instinctively moved back, shoving the sword protectively behind her. "Is it customary for a king to visit a maiden unannounced, when all the servants are abed?"
Elinas grinned. The clear brown eyes twinkled above the dark beard as he looked her up and down. "A king does whatever he pleases on his domain. Besides, I came to collect a wager."
At the request, Pressine flushed from head to toe, acutely aware of her nakedness under the silk gown. As she took another step backward, the bedpost stopped her retreat. The king advanced like a hungry wolf, eyes riveted on his prey.
One of the king's large hands came around her back while the other plucked the sword and threw it on the bed, then he lifted her chin. When she met his eyes, Pressine realized she may not have the strength or the will to refuse him anything. Not tonight, not ever.
Elinas gazed into her soul. Pressine's heart pounded like hammer on anvil. Pulsing heat consumed her flesh where their bodies pressed together. Time stood still as his lips parted and covered hers softly. Pressine enjoyed the prickly beard, the soft, wanton lips, the caressing tongue. Her mind swirled, focusing on the kiss. Touching his mind, she realized Elinas drank life itself from her mouth, his hunger more frantic with each breathless draft.
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