Page 11 of Touched By Maen Llia
But the rim of the cup above the wine shone silver and bright.
Silently, Glaw bowed and moved to serve Merlin.
Eira turned to Catrin. “You may eat, now.”
Catrin tore her gaze away from the wine. “Thank you,” she murmured to the Queen. But her gaze pulled back to the wine cup once more.
It still looked black to her.
Catrin stumbled away to find a seat at the bastards’ table at the back of the room, feeling ill.
VI
There was nothing wrong with the food, the people in the room, or the warm welcome they had given Merlin’s men, but Marcus couldn’t relax. His appetite fled, despite the day of riding and the long walk at the end of it. He pushed away both cup and platter. Neither appealed to him.
The High King’s other men were indulging themselves fully, as men did after travelling. The feast was well-timed in that regard.
What was wrong with him? Marcus enjoyed feasts as much as the next man. But he could not settle to eating fully, and the single sip of wine had tasted sour to him. All around him, he could hear conversations oiled by wine—the shyness the women had felt out upon the hills had evaporated as the meal proceeded. Now they flirted with the men, while the men enjoyed their pretty company as fully as possible.
Marcus could see more than a few associations developing. Perhaps each had wished to find a prince of Camelot to take them to the fabled palace and now thought they may have found their man.
Marcus shook his head. Catrin had more sense. He looked around for a head of wild red hair once more, this time not bothering to hide his examination of every seat in the room. Others were looking about the room with bold openness, too, but they were sitting back with a cup in their hand.
A small table at the very back of the room was hidden by the diners between it and Marcus. He could only see one person at the table, but guessed by its size there were at least three more.
He got to his feet, just enough to see over heads, and spotted wavy red locks. So he straightened and stepped over the bench and moved through the tables to the little one at the back.
Catrin looked up as he approached the table. Her lips parted in surprise.
The other three at the table were all men, all dressed in the poorest of clothes—but not the short, rough tunics of servants and slaves. They all stiffened when they saw him.
“I should not be here?” Marcus asked, when he reached the table. More and more, he liked frank speech. It saved a great deal of effort.
Catrin licked her lips. “This is…” Her voice lowered even more. “The bastards’ table.”
“In that case, shouldn’t you be sitting at the table with the Queen and Merlin?” Marcus asked. “Merlin is a bastard, too, you know.”
The men actually gasped. Catrin’s lips parted even further. Then she closed them, and the corners turned up in a small smile. “The entire palace would fall dead with surprise if I sat at the head table.”
“More meat for you, that way.” He realized he was smiling, too.
Catrin put a hand over her mouth, to hold in her amusement. Her fingers were very long and clever, and too slender.
He glanced at her plate and the mug before it. “You do not eat? Or drink?”
Her hand lowered. He caught her glance at the other three. They were listening avidly to every word.
“Perhaps, gentlemen, you should find other company,” Marcus suggested, his tone short. “Allow the lady and I to converse in private.”
All three stared at him with varying degrees of amazement.
“I won’t ask again,” Marcus added. He put his sword hand on his hip, a short distance from the hilt of his sword.
They looked at each other. Then they rose and took their mugs with them.
Marcus chose the stool directly opposite Catrin and settled on it. She watched him with wariness that he thought he understood. “I seek only to speak to you,” he told her. “Conversation that holds no hidden barbs is a rare thing here tonight.”
Catrin’s wariness didn’t lower. “You do not drink?’
