Page 19 of My Hero
Cynthia twisted her fingers in the linen napkin, inexplicably nervous. The sounds in the great hall reverberated in her ears as if she were hearing them for the first time. Daggers scraped across pewter platters. Wine gurgled into cups and down gullets. The hounds whuffed softly from their corner, eager for the tidbits children would bring them later. Kitchen lads brought forth steaming bowls of pottage and loaves of fragrant bread, adroitly dodging the maidservants hefting flagons of wine. And everyone spoke at once.
Thanks to Elspeth, the castle gossip had turned around again. The incident at the lists had been declared an unfortunate accident, a mishap caused when the chaplain drew too close to Cynthia’s exertions. And if young Will and his friends knew a different story, they held their tongues. Their world was rife with fighting and maidens and honor, after all, and they didn’t much care for rumors.
Still, all was utter pandemonium in the hall, as usual. Indeed, Cynthia suspected strangers could dine for weeks at Wendeville and never be spotted. Except that she knew everyone in her own household and the nearby village. She’d mended them all at one time or another.
Only one stranger dined before her tonight, the humblest of priests, yet she agonized over every detail as if she entertained the king. Would he like the rue wine? Did he find his bench comfortable enough? Was there a draft in the hall?
Already, he’d made a bad choice of tables. He’d managed to sequester himself between the two quarreling Campbell cousins, and there he was stuck, picking morosely at his capon while the raucous lads jostled him mercilessly. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable, no doubt unnerved by both the boys’ familiarity and the cacophony of the hall—knights bragging, maids giggling, hounds barking. She bit her lip. Wendeville Castle was a far cry from a monastery.
“My lady?” Elspeth appeared at her side, bearing a flask of wine. She settled in beside Cynthia and filled their cups. “Will has joined us, do you see?” She nodded toward the youth. “Weak as a lamb, but hungry as a wolf.”
“Mm.”
“The way the maids are fawning over him, fighting for the honor of hand-feeding the boy,allthe lads will be breaking their arms over the next week.”
Cynthia gave her a brief smile, but wasn’t truly listening. Her eyes and her thoughts were elsewhere. Heaven help her, she hadn’t drawn a decent breath from the instant Garth had come crashing into the chapel, bringing with him a flood of long-lost memories. And the way he’d made her feel when he’d sent her away with the unspoken warning in his fiery eyes…
She had so many questions. How did he fare—he and his family? Did his mother’s enchanted garden thrive? Were his brothers as bloodthirsty as ever? And, more than anything, she longed to know—what had steered a man of such honor and chivalry and heroism toward the church?
She watched Garth break a loaf of bread between strong, nimble fingers, then ran her fingertip pensively around the cool lip of her chalice, making a game of mentally bidding him look at her. He did, surreptitiously, over the rim of his cup, searing her with his gaze before shifting his eyes anxiously away.
Cynthia’s heart fluttered. Lord, what ailed her? She hadn’t even touched her wine yet, and already she felt lightheaded. She lowered her eyes, swirling the burgundy liquid around in her chalice.
“So what do you think?” she murmured to Elspeth, not daring to lift her eyes.
“Of the wine?”
“Of our new chaplain.” She took a long drink.
Elspeth paused to give Garth a stern appraisal. “A mite too quiet, a mite too thin…”
Cynthia stole another glance at him just as his tongue flicked out to lick the corner of his lip. She shouldn’t have. The sight made her stomach quiver.
“And,” Elspeth added, “a mite too handsome for his own good.”
Cynthia choked on her wine.
“Too much rue in the wine?” Elspeth asked, her face pinched in concern.
Cynthia shook her head, burying a cough in her linen napkin.
“Of course,” Elspeth allowed, “he’s quiet because he’s under a vow of silence. And he’s thin because we’ve yet to fatten him up on Cook’s fine suppers. As for being handsome…”
Cynthia slid her gaze toward Garth again. Lord, hewasthat. Even the way he tucked a morsel of capon into his mouth, chewing with sensual patience… She gave Elspeth a weak smile. Her voice came out in a strained whisper. “I hardly think a man can be faulted for his looks.”
Elspeth snapped her gaze back to Cynthia, who set aside her wine, too edgy to drink.
She only toyed with her food as well, and by the serving of the third course, she wondered if she’d ever regain her appetite. It was only nerves, she told herself. She hadn’t seen the de Wares since she was a child, and she wanted to impress Garth, that was all.
It couldn’t be anything else. After all, Garth was a priest now. He commanded a certain deference. And while the Bible did not expressly forbid friendships between men of the cloth and noblewomen, the church certainly did not encourage them. Moreover, Garth had come from a monastery, where the doctrine was much more stringent. After four years, he was probably completely unused to the company of women. Perhaps that was why he seemed so…restless.
But it hadn’t always been so. Once he’d been quite another person.
“El,” she said, running a thumbnail over the grapes carved into her pewter chalice, “did I ever tell you about my noble champion in the enchanted garden?”
Without risking another glance at Garth, she recounted the whole tale—the jasmine, the swarm of bees, and her gallant hero with the smoky green eyes that were mocking and kind all at once. Elspeth hung on her every word.
Afterward, the maid leaned forward expectantly. “Is it true, my lady? And did you…did youlovehim?”
