by Jackie Ivie
Ida and Cassandra had worked almost non-stop. Every lantern and candelabra had been lit, the fire stoked. First they’d covered Cassandra’s body with oil before scraping off any body hair using a sharp obsidian knife. That was followed by a fine-sand scrub. Next had been her bath. Emin had brought in a tub. He’d then delivered buckets of heated water, filling the chamber with moist steam. The water had been perfumed with Cyprinum, a mix of cardamom, cinnamon, and myrrh, adding aromatic essence to the steam. Once she’d dried, the same fragrance had scented the oils that were massaged into her skin. A lighter version of the same oil was then laboriously rubbed through her hair, coating nearly every strand. Ida had then worked her hair into dozens of tight braids while it was damp, before stoking the fire and setting Cassandra in front of it. The woman had then spent a good portion of the afternoon intermittently fanning Cassandra with a large ostrich fan to make certain the braids would be dry in time.
Ramhurst clan had a color scheme. They wore a plaide of gray and white with smaller bands of black and vivid blue through it. Emin had been given swatches of colors that Rhoenne wanted Cassandra to wear. That was no hardship. She had several dresses and kirtles in those colors.
Cassandra had mixed talc and a tiny drop of oil into kohl for her eyes. Ida had emphatically shaken her head, so Cassandra hadn’t used much. A slight dusting on her lids, a dark line about each eye. Ida worried for no reason. Cosmetic enhancement was one thing Cassandra had been taught to do with precision. Ida’s expression when she’d finished was all the proof needed. The maid not only smiled and nodded, she clapped her hands. Red wine was mixed into a tiny drop of whipped oil. Cassandra spread it on her lips for color and moistness. And then she was ready to dress.
Almost reverently, Ida helped her don each garment. They’d chosen a pure white linen smock for her under-garment. Her hose were pulled into place next. This pair was woven of gray-shaded silk and fastened just above the knee using black ribbon garters. Over that she wore a kirtle of ice-blue silk with silver embroidered bodice and hem. The same metallic thread decorated the edges of the elbow-length sleeves. Her sleeveless overdress was fashioned in heavy silk, dyed an intense blue shade. The neckline dipped beneath her breasts putting the silver embroidered kirtle bodice on display. Silver-edged, black ribbon cord laced her dress beneath her bosom, cinching the waist. Lastly, she wore the silver girdle, fastened low on her hips to define more of her shape.
Then Ida turned to her hair. Every braid was unfastened carefully, and finger-combed, leaving the ripples intact. The mass was then pulled back from her face with more silver-edged, black ribbon. Ends of that were arranged through her tresses. Then Ida brought out the matching silver lattice headdress. The headdress covered Cassandra’s forehead and crown of her head. An attached gossamer gray-colored veil fell down her back. The veil did little to conceal her hair, and it fell short of her waist, leaving the ends of her hair displayed. There were blue silk slippers with leather soles for her feet, and she was ready. Ida walked slowly around her twice. She smiled and nodded as though pleased. Cassandra’s reflection in the large polished silver mirror mounted on the wall seemed to agree.
She struggled for a calm her entire body belied. She wanted to look serene. Confident. It was such a difficult task when inside she was jumble of anticipation. Alight with excitement. Jittery with eagerness.
They had just finished when Emin warned her of Rhoenne’s imminent arrival. He gave her a quick glance, and then that big swift smile of approval. Her heart instantly ratcheted to a faster beat. Her hands grew icy, her breathing quick and shallow. Her throat went dry. She had never been so excited in her life. Nor as frightened. Vastly thrilled, and yet scared at the same time.
She so hoped he’d be pleased.
She heard Rhoenne’s deep voice first. Emin’s reply. Rhoenne’s words to his men. And her heart kicked into an even faster, stronger rhythm.
“Emin? Is she ready?”
“Yes Excellency. Her Highness waits within.”
“Gentlemen? Wait here.”
Emin opened the door. Rhoenne took two steps into the room before looking toward her. He stopped dead. His jaw dropped. So did hers. His was especially easy to note...because he’d shaved.
Oh, sweet heaven!
Cassandra tried to force her mouth closed. When that didn’t work, she lifted a hand to her lips to hide behind. She’d thought him handsome before. There were no words. The man was beyond swoon-worthy. Especially since he’d pulled his hair back into a queue and shaved, revealing a thickly muscled neck, extremely chiseled jaw, and full lips. Their outfits were a perfect match, as well. He wore a large-sleeved tunic of pure white. Atop that was a sleeveless silk blue jerkin, laced together with silver-and-black striped cord. A silver embossed belt rode his hips. He had a short sword strapped to one side. Two knives tucked into the front of his belt. Gray trousers covered lengthy, muscled legs. There was no escaping the fact that Rhoenne Ramhurst was a physically perfect specimen. Masculine. Virile. His attire clung to every bit of him as if to showcase it.
He crossed the distance between them with a few strides. Then just stood above her, breathing hard enough it ruffled the veil atop her head.
“You are...pleased?” she asked, addressing the cord laced across his chest.
He didn’t answer. She dared a glance upward, gasped, and looked down again. His eyes were hooded. His lips pursed. His jaw set so tightly, a nerve jutted from the back of one cheek. He didn’t look angry. She was afraid to decipher what his expression signified. It was enough that it sent a lightning charge rocketing right through her. She trembled in place. Locked her knees. And somehow kept from falling.
“I did na’ think it possible,” he finally remarked.
“My lord?” Cassandra asked.
“For you to get...any more beautiful.”
There was a distinct pause in the middle of his words. Ida gave a rapturous sigh. Cassandra ducked her head, smiled widely, and suffered through a series of blushes that sent heat all the way to her hairline. She hadn’t tinted her cheeks with the red wine mixture. It wasn’t needed.
“Turn around. Please? Don’t turn back until I say. Fair?”
“My lord?” Cassandra repeated.
“I am going to bring my Honor Guard in to meet you.” His voice was filled with merriment. “And I think this may be one of – if not the - most enjoyable moment of my adult life. You ready?”
Cassandra pivoted to face the fireplace. She heard the door open.
“Gentlemen? Please. Come in. I have someone for you to meet.”
This was scary and exciting. She heard the sound of boots. Clanking of metallic objects. Some of the candles flared and wavered before remaining lit.
“Ramhurst. Is na’ this a bit dramatic?” She recognized Henry’s voice.
“Oh. Aye. It is. Most definitely.” Rhoenne’s voice was filled with merriment. “Gentlemen. May I present the lady Cassandra? Cassandra? Please. Turn around.”
She did, lifting her eyes to find Rhoenne first. And then she looked at the assemblage of men. There were five of them, all smaller than Rhoenne. All dressed in the same color scheme, although their attire and accessories varied. Most were shaved, and all stared wide-eyed, and open-mouthed. Choking, gasping, and a cut-off oath sounded. An older man with gray-streaked brown hair stumbled back two steps and stared. He was scholarly looking, with pleasant features. She pegged him as Henry. Two fellows dropped to a knee. A gangly one that had to be Euan dropped to both knees, his mouth open and gaping as he looked up at her.
“Well, gentlemen?” Rhoenne voice was loud. “Did I lie?”
Henry shook his head as if to clear it, then physically turned to address Rhoenne. “You need much better words, my laird,” he remarked, almost beneath his breath.
Rhoenne snickered. Cassandra wasn’t the only one staring before he sobered. He was still amused, however. It sounded in his voice.
“Cassandra? May I first introduce Henry FitzHugh, command
er of my Honor Guard? Henry? The lady Cassandra.”
Henry turned back to her, met her eyes for a moment, bowed his head, and then went down onto a knee before her. Cassandra’s eyes widened.
“This is Iain Montvale, and his cousin, Graham, also of Montvale.”
Rhoenne went to put his hands on the shoulders of the two men who’d already kneeled. One was blond. The other had reddish brown hair. The blond wasn’t shaved, and his beard had been fashioned to a point. It was a definite red-orange color, like sunset hues on the Egyptian desert.
“This is my cousin, Grant. Grant? The lady Cassandra.”
Grant was large. He had dark hair. He might have had blue eyes, but he didn’t look at her long enough to verify it. But there any resemblance ended. He nodded, bowed his head, and also went down onto a knee.
“And this lad...is Euan FitzHugh.”
Rhoenne stepped to stand behind the gangly one she’d already pegged. Rhoenne patted the smaller man’s shoulder. He had a definite grin on his face as he met her gaze over the five bowed heads.
“My men are swearing fealty, Cassandra. A vow to protect and honor you. I did not expect this. Nor did I require it.”
She nodded. Intercepted a few peeks from the men. More than one reddened as their glances caught hers, before quickly moved away. She’d never experienced anything like this. Her heart was pounding. Warmth infused everything. The entire chamber felt abuzz with it.
“Rise gentlemen. We have an audience to attend. Surely you do na’ wish to be late.”
The men stood. Rearranged weaponry. Several cleared throats.
“I need a swift dram from my sporran,” one of them muttered.
“If we had a sporran,” another one remarked.
“I only hope I don’t run into a wall,” Euan said.
Chapter Seventeen
They progressed down massive halls and through seemingly endless corridors, passing tapestry after tapestry, going beneath arch after arch. The thump of boot heels on stone, the slightest swish of her leather slipper soles, and an occasional rustle of weaponry were the only sounds heard. Cassandra kept her right hand atop Rhoenne’s forearm. Her fingers tingled at the contact. She should have had trouble keeping up. She didn’t. She practically floated.
They neared a mass of humanity. The halls opened up, became a huge space crafted of stone with large pillars that supported the numerous vaults of the ceiling. Lit candles in globes dotted chandeliers hung to just above Rhoenne’s head height. If he’d been any taller, he’d have to dodge them.
It felt odd without Emin, but he’d been assigned to guard Ida and the chamber. Cassandra hadn’t known until then that Rhoenne had turned his room into a treasury, stashing ducati coins, and all manner of jewels - including the ones she’d brought.
Even without the eunuch, the Ramhurst clansmen made an impressive retinue. Euan and Henry Fitzhugh led. Rhoenne followed with Cassandra at his left side. She kept her focus on where Henry’s queue ended on his back. The red bearded Montvale guarded her left side. The other Montvale and Rhoenne’s cousin, Grant brought up the rear. Cassandra couldn’t see much over the men. She didn’t truly want to. And she didn’t have to. She sensed the impact they created. She could hear conversation halting. Hear gasps. A thunk, then a large crashing noise, was followed by a flash of laughter that was almost instantly quelled.
“You see? It is na’ just me. One peek at your lady and people run into poles.”
Euan remarked it over his shoulder. Rhoenne grunted humorlessly. Cassandra dipped her head further. Fought another blush. They stopped at a massive set of doors. Time seemed to slow. Sound went mute. Her fingers tightened on Rhoenne’s arm. She felt him lean toward her. Cassandra tipped her head, lifting an ear toward him.
“Do na’ fash. All is prepared,” he spoke softly.
Cassandra’s gaze flashed to his. “Prepared?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. His lips tightened and he looked away. His expression was grim. His mouth set. That look didn’t bode well. She didn’t know what he’d prepared. Her heartbeat pulsed. Breath grew rapid and shallow. Her fingers went icy.
“Are you certain you wish to do this?”
Henry had turned, met her glance before looking up to the man at her side. He spoke softly, yet earnestly.
“Aye,” Rhoenne answered.
“Absolutely certain?”
“’Twas your plan, FitzHugh,” Rhoenne replied.
“That was afore I met her!” Henry hissed. “And saw you two together!”
“FitzHugh,” Rhoenne said with his warning voice.
“More specifically...when I saw you with her!” the man whispered.
“She understands Gaelic,” Rhoenne replied, the words said through what sounded like clenched teeth.
Henry gave an oath beneath his breath, and turned away. Cassandra hadn’t just understood their words. Her eyes were so wide the pressure of air hurt. Her mind stalled. Thoughts jumbled. Reaction wasn’t far behind. An unpleasant series of shivers flew across her skin. Her lower lip trembled. And her heart fell. They had to wait to speak of a plan now? Without one hint of warning?
There wasn’t time to say more. An older man dressed in a floor-length white-and-gold robe and wearing a high conical hat stepped toward them. He carried a long staff. The outer Cassandra watched as they conversed. The inner woman was awash in emotion. Terrified. Worried. Anxious. She was left to guess at the plan. It wasn’t a difficult task. Rhoenne Ramhurst had never wanted her. He was ridding himself of an unwanted complication. A woman he didn’t need. That was the purpose behind her wardrobe. Her preparation. This presentation.
She’d been fooling herself all day. Her mouth and throat felt as if she’d swallowed ashes.
The man with the staff cast a glance her direction and jerked as though startled. Cassandra barely noticed. He shook his head, then walked to the doors and rapped on the wood with his staff. An echo rippled through the room behind them. The doors opened inward. Cassandra got a glimpse of a lengthy red carpet, a crowd of elegantly dressed men and women behind waist-high barriers. Armored soldiers lined both sides of the carpet. Torches were lit in sconces, shedding light throughout the room. And everywhere was the glint of gold.
And if she could have been back in her chambers, she’d have raced there.
She kept her focus on the spot between Henry’s shoulders. Stared without seeing. Unblinking. The spot blurred with emotion she forced back. She’d never cried in the harem. She’d silently chided anyone else who wept. Tears never solved anything. They were for the weak. The spineless. The foolish.
She’d been so naïve. Stupidly judgmental. Because she hadn’t met Rhoenne, experienced what the world really was. And she hadn’t fallen in love.
Oh dear God.
Her knees wavered. Her hand clenched Rhoenne. She felt the muscles in his forearm tighten beneath her fingers.
It wasn’t possible.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t smart.
But just like that, she knew. Despite everything against the notion, she loved him! It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, either. It was harsh. Scalding hot, yet ice cold. Soft as a twilit breeze, and hard as stone. Immense. Soul-altering. She knew now why she’d begged to stay with him. Why she’d been so excited all day. Why his glance made her heart race, and his kiss had sent her spirit into sleepless rapture.
She loved him!
Cassandra stumbled. Rhoenne’s arm went taut again. His steps stopped. He didn’t look toward her. And curse her stupidity in checking for that very thing! The man in the long robe and conical hat stepped into the room and pounded the floor with his staff. It was unnecessary. Everyone seemed to be waiting for his words. He spoke. It was obvious why he had the occupation. He had a large projecting voice. Notes bounced off the walls and ceiling as he announced their party.
“Your Excellency, Councilor Angelo Moroseni! May I present Lord Rhoenne Guy de Ramhurst, Fifth Earl of Tyneburgh, from the Kingdom of Sco
tia?”
“Ready?” Rhoenne asked her.
To lose him?
Never.
Cassandra managed to nod. She didn’t look up. She didn’t dare. She put her mind on mundane things. The carpet was a thick pile. It sucked up any sound of boot heels or the leather soles of her satin slippers. Rhoenne and the others adjusted their gait to hers, waiting to take one step to her every two, their movements smooth and evenly spaced as though practiced. Cassandra noted the men kept their right sides free, their hand resting on sword hilts. Soldiers gawked, and stood straighter as they neared and then passed. The walk seemed interminable. The room enormous and chill. But that wasn’t odd. The entire world felt the exact same. Vast. Frightening.
And cold.
They stopped at a circular section of carpeting. The Honor Guard fanned out, Henry and Euan moved to Rhoenne’s right. The other three moved to Cassandra’s left side, forming a slightly curved line with Rhoenne and Cassandra at the center.
The carpet hadn’t ended. On the opposite side of the circle, it changed back to a long panel and climbed up a series of steps before disappearing beneath a row of chairs. Cassandra’s glance upward saw the carved lions on the legs of gold-embossed chairs. She quickly looked back down. The shiver that rippled over her wasn’t pleasant. Rhoenne lowered his left arm, releasing her. Cassandra moved her hand, clasped it with the other, and held them at the top of her lacing, just beneath her breasts. And she started praying. Silently. Fervently.
Please God! Let me stay with him! Please?
“My Lord Ramhurst. Welcome to Sitia!”
“Your Excellency.”
Rhoenne bowed. His men all followed. And Cassandra surprised herself as she remembered how to accomplish a formal curtsey from somewhere in her past.
“I have been informed that you and your men just returned from the Seventh Crusade?”
“Yes.”
“I have heard rumors. Bad ones. What tidings have you brought?”