For Love And Honor by Flora Speer Page B

together in his hall.
    Once more Alain and Piers were at the high
table. Piers was given the seat beside Rohaise, but Alain was
farther along, between a stately older noblewoman and a plump,
middle-aged lady who kept putting her hand on his thigh when she
talked to him. At another time he would have been amused by her
open interest in him; a month ago he might even have responded to
her blatant invitation, but on this night he could think of no
woman but Joanna. From where he sat he could not see her for
Crispin’s body blocked his view. He knew he should not try to speak
to her alone, but he wanted desperately to tell her once again that
he would come to her aid if ever she needed him. Good sense told
him it was not necessary to repeat what he had already said, but
his heart and his growing unease told him otherwise.
    “Here is special wine.” A serving-woman
poured out the ruby liquid for each of the ladies, emptying the
pitcher in her hand. “Here is more,” she said, reaching for a fresh
pitcher from the tray Baird was holding.
    “I’ll do it,” Baird said to her. “Take the
tray and the empty pitcher to the kitchen. I’ll be along in a
moment and give you more.”
    “Baird, why are you doing this service?”
Alain asked.
    “It’s Baron Radulf’s best wine.” Having
finished filling Alain’s cup, Baird straightened, smoothing down
his green wool tunic with his free hand. “Radulf ordered me to make
certain the servants don’t steal it to drink for themselves, while
giving his guests the vinegary, lesser stuff.”
    “A wise precaution,” remarked the elderly
noblewoman. “The kitchen folk will eat and drink everything if you
don’t watch them.”
    “ Servants
are so untrustworthy,” said the plump woman on Alain’s other side.
Resting her hand on his upper thigh, she continued, “I knew a lady whose personal maid
stole her jewels. Can you imagine such a thing? Stole her jewels
right out of her bedchamber and ran away with them!”
    “Shocking,” said the elderly lady.
    Amused
and mildly diverted by t hem, Alain sipped his wine. He did not care for the taste of
it, but he thought he ought to drink it rather than insult Radulf
by leaving the cup nearly full. Radulf might be looking for an
excuse to start a quarrel with him. He’d be glad to get away from
Banningford Castle on the morrow. The atmosphere of the place set
his nerves on edge, or perhaps it was just his longing for Joanna.
Either way, he looked forward to the next day’s dawn. At least the
feasting was almost done.
    He saw Crispin rise and leave the table, with
Piers following him to the outer door. Crispin was weaving a
little, as if he had taken too much wine. Piers looked around, met
Alain’s eyes, and tilted his head in a way that told Alain his
assistance was needed. Alain set his nearly empty wine cup on the
table and began to rise.
    “ Forgive
me,” he said to his two companions, “but I must leave you. It looks
as if the bridegroom needs my help.” He found it hard to stand
upright. All at once his head began to spin and he was shaken by a
w ave of nausea.
    “You’ve had a bit too much yourself, I
think.” The elderly woman gave him a disapproving glance.
    “Only two cups since the feast began,” Alain
reported.
    It was a long way to the door, and he
traversed the distance with growing uncertainty. He was finding it
increasingly difficult to focus his eyes. He hung on to the wall,
hoping his dinner would stay in his stomach where it belonged until
he had found Piers and Crispin. Then, hearing Piers’s voice, he
followed the sound.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Joanna
saw the three of them leave the great hall and shook her head in
exasperation. How foolish men were to drink too much when they must
know they would be sick the next day. Or that night, if they consumed enough. Poor
Crispin.
    She
glanced around the hall. Her father sat alone for once, staring
down into his wine cup in gloomy contemplation. Farther down the
table,