fire, a deceptively calm expression on her face, her daughter standing by her side.
He took a moment to savor Lady Julianna in her hideous brown gown and enveloping veil, then turned his attention back to the bride. There was definitely something wrong, much as she was trying to hide it. And he imagined the abbot of Saint Hugelina was behind it.
The door behind the arras opened, and Lord Hugh strode through, a thunderous expression on his face, followed closely by Father Paulus. There was no missing the smugness on the monk’s bony face, and Nicholas allowed himself the brief fantasy of sending his fist directly into the middle of that pale flesh.
He couldn’t, of course. Not now. Instead he simply tucked into a ball and rolled forward, ignoring the pain in his back, ignoring the shrieks of the crowd as they moved out of his way. Four complete turns brought him, standing, in front of Lord Hugh and the smirking priest.
“We come to celebrate a feast
Our lord and master’s sought-for wedding
With wine and ale and roasted beast
We’d rather witness Lord Hugh’s bedding.”
There was a nervous titter of laughter in the Great Hall, but Lord Hugh looked even more furious.
“There will be no—” he thundered, and then his glance fell on Lady Isabeau’s calm form. “No bedding,” he said finally. “Father Paulus has enjoined us to live chastely in the eyes of God for the time being, and my wife and I will conform to his goodly advice. We will be as brother and sister, working together for the well-being of this household and our people.”
The murmur of scandalized conversation was hushed, but the abbot’s smile widened. “Come, my daughter,” he said to Isabeau, who still hadn’t risen. “Come and be joined to your husband-brother.”
She was as good as her daughter at hiding her feelings, Nicholas thought. Only a faint shadow in her eyes displayed her dislike of the priest’s edict, even as she rose obediently and approached the towering form of her new husband. So the daughter was afraid of bedding and the mother wasn’t. An interesting piece of information, Nicholas thought.
The ceremony went smoothly, the vows brief, grumbled by Lord Hugh, murmured sweetly by his new bride. Father Paulus then launched into a speech that seemed interminable, Nicholas thought as he observed people shifting from one foot to the other, trying to hide their yawns.
At last the final blessing was pronounced, the happy couple was bidden to live in chaste bliss, and a restrained huzzah filled the hall. Nicholas moved with his usual deft grace, sliding up next to the unhappy couple.
“The monk’s desire
Is strange and ill
We’ll see his ire
When tup you will.”
“Silence!” Father Paulus thundered, glaring at him in impotent fury.
“How can I be silent, oh, Father Twist?” Nicholas replied, doing a little spin that set his bells to jangling. Julianna was watching him, and he leaned forward and kissed the horrified monk on the forehead. “You’ll have to find your own sick pleasures and leave these two to theirs.”
“I’ll have you flayed alive!” he said in a furious whisper.
Nicholas smiled sweetly at him. “You already tried, good priest. Find some other way to bring yourself to completion.”
And he danced off toward the waiting Julianna before Father Paulus could do more than sputter in impotent rage.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was no place to escape to in this crowd of people, and Julianna prided herself on her courage. She lifted her head to watch the jester’s graceful approach, telling herself the man was mad, and as a good Christian she should be merciful.
“You’d look far better without that ugly dress, my lady,” he greeted her softly. “You’d look far better without anything at all. Turn around and I’ll unfasten it for you.”
Fortunately, his musical voice was pitched low enough that no one heard him. “Are you bleeding again?” she asked him in a severe
He took a moment to savor Lady Julianna in her hideous brown gown and enveloping veil, then turned his attention back to the bride. There was definitely something wrong, much as she was trying to hide it. And he imagined the abbot of Saint Hugelina was behind it.
The door behind the arras opened, and Lord Hugh strode through, a thunderous expression on his face, followed closely by Father Paulus. There was no missing the smugness on the monk’s bony face, and Nicholas allowed himself the brief fantasy of sending his fist directly into the middle of that pale flesh.
He couldn’t, of course. Not now. Instead he simply tucked into a ball and rolled forward, ignoring the pain in his back, ignoring the shrieks of the crowd as they moved out of his way. Four complete turns brought him, standing, in front of Lord Hugh and the smirking priest.
“We come to celebrate a feast
Our lord and master’s sought-for wedding
With wine and ale and roasted beast
We’d rather witness Lord Hugh’s bedding.”
There was a nervous titter of laughter in the Great Hall, but Lord Hugh looked even more furious.
“There will be no—” he thundered, and then his glance fell on Lady Isabeau’s calm form. “No bedding,” he said finally. “Father Paulus has enjoined us to live chastely in the eyes of God for the time being, and my wife and I will conform to his goodly advice. We will be as brother and sister, working together for the well-being of this household and our people.”
The murmur of scandalized conversation was hushed, but the abbot’s smile widened. “Come, my daughter,” he said to Isabeau, who still hadn’t risen. “Come and be joined to your husband-brother.”
She was as good as her daughter at hiding her feelings, Nicholas thought. Only a faint shadow in her eyes displayed her dislike of the priest’s edict, even as she rose obediently and approached the towering form of her new husband. So the daughter was afraid of bedding and the mother wasn’t. An interesting piece of information, Nicholas thought.
The ceremony went smoothly, the vows brief, grumbled by Lord Hugh, murmured sweetly by his new bride. Father Paulus then launched into a speech that seemed interminable, Nicholas thought as he observed people shifting from one foot to the other, trying to hide their yawns.
At last the final blessing was pronounced, the happy couple was bidden to live in chaste bliss, and a restrained huzzah filled the hall. Nicholas moved with his usual deft grace, sliding up next to the unhappy couple.
“The monk’s desire
Is strange and ill
We’ll see his ire
When tup you will.”
“Silence!” Father Paulus thundered, glaring at him in impotent fury.
“How can I be silent, oh, Father Twist?” Nicholas replied, doing a little spin that set his bells to jangling. Julianna was watching him, and he leaned forward and kissed the horrified monk on the forehead. “You’ll have to find your own sick pleasures and leave these two to theirs.”
“I’ll have you flayed alive!” he said in a furious whisper.
Nicholas smiled sweetly at him. “You already tried, good priest. Find some other way to bring yourself to completion.”
And he danced off toward the waiting Julianna before Father Paulus could do more than sputter in impotent rage.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was no place to escape to in this crowd of people, and Julianna prided herself on her courage. She lifted her head to watch the jester’s graceful approach, telling herself the man was mad, and as a good Christian she should be merciful.
“You’d look far better without that ugly dress, my lady,” he greeted her softly. “You’d look far better without anything at all. Turn around and I’ll unfasten it for you.”
Fortunately, his musical voice was pitched low enough that no one heard him. “Are you bleeding again?” she asked him in a severe
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