puzzling but, again, not his concern.
He nodded in farewell and departed.
In the morning, after he had bathed and everyone was rested,
would be time enough to ask for Chantal in marriage.
Of course, if Alain Orateur knew who Ian was, he also knew
that Other World vows were meaningless on Aelynn. Ian hoped that wouldn’t
create a complication.
Nine
Chantal tried not to hurry down to the breakfast parlor the
next morning, but her step was light and eager on the stairs.
Ian had not come to her chamber last night. She assumed it
was out of courtesy to her father. She had thought that was what she wanted — to
protect her father from unseemly behavior. But this morning, she felt otherwise.
She wanted Ian in her bed again for whatever brief time he could be here. She
didn’t wish to miss a minute of the pleasure they could have together. If a
child came of it, so be it. She’d never conceived in the early years of her
marriage, before Jean became ill, so considering the possibility was mostly an
intellectual exercise.
She had not realized she’d been living as if half-dead for
so long. She wanted to feel truly alive again, and Ian did that for her.
She walked into the parlor to find Ian and Pauline with
their heads cozily together over cups of coffee, and her spirits dropped to her
feet.
What had she been thinking?
He was a strikingly exotic stranger, a traveler who took his
pleasure where he found it. She knew that, had acknowledged that by assuming they didn’t have much time together. So
why was she so disappointed that she wasn’t the only woman he had his eye on?
She supposed she shouldn’t be so old-fashioned as to believe
men and women should have only one partner at a time, but she’d just discovered
a strong streak of jealousy she had not known she possessed — for a man who had
not even acknowledged her entrance.
Apparently caught up in his conversation with Pauline, Ian
didn’t rise from the table as he should have. After Chantal poured coffee from
the silver pot on the sideboard and sing-songed her good mornings with false
gaiety, he slowly rose to tower over the table, wearing a quizzical expression,
as if he’d been kicked into doing the proper thing and didn’t understand why.
Perhaps her song had been a little too false.
He wore his monk’s robes open over crisp linen and lace that
someone must have laundered for him overnight, but he exuded a raw maleness
that was far from saintly.
She had to wonder whether Ian had gone to Pauline’s bed last
night instead of hers, if he preferred her friend’s more experienced
lovemaking. She couldn’t bear to look at Pauline to see if she wore a satisfied
expression.
She could barely unclench her teeth as she took a seat while
Ian returned to his chair. “I see you have learned more of our etiquette,
monsieur,” she said politely.
Did she sense amusement beneath his serious exterior? Was
her jealousy that evident? Maybe she ought to kick him into rising again.
“I do not fully grasp this word etiquette ,” he acknowledged, “or the reasons for bobbing up and
down like a puppet on a string.”
“Etiquette is how one shows respect , another word you do not seem to fully grasp,” she replied
sweetly.
His amusement seemed to heighten, and he regarded her as if
she were a particularly ripe plum on his plate. “Your voice is an enchanting
song in my ear, even though your intention is to drive nails into my flesh. I
am to show respect for this fascinating talent?”
Chantal tore off a bite of croissant with more force than
the flaky pastry deserved. She did not recall anyone ever laughing at her.
Perhaps she did not want this stranger here so much after all. She’d forgotten
that the pleasures of sex came accompanied by the nuisance of submitting to the
annoying notions of men.
“Monsieur d’Olympe believes the chalice has been taken to
the king,” Pauline interrupted Chantal’s snit with excitement. “I am to go to
the Tuileries
He nodded in farewell and departed.
In the morning, after he had bathed and everyone was rested,
would be time enough to ask for Chantal in marriage.
Of course, if Alain Orateur knew who Ian was, he also knew
that Other World vows were meaningless on Aelynn. Ian hoped that wouldn’t
create a complication.
Nine
Chantal tried not to hurry down to the breakfast parlor the
next morning, but her step was light and eager on the stairs.
Ian had not come to her chamber last night. She assumed it
was out of courtesy to her father. She had thought that was what she wanted — to
protect her father from unseemly behavior. But this morning, she felt otherwise.
She wanted Ian in her bed again for whatever brief time he could be here. She
didn’t wish to miss a minute of the pleasure they could have together. If a
child came of it, so be it. She’d never conceived in the early years of her
marriage, before Jean became ill, so considering the possibility was mostly an
intellectual exercise.
She had not realized she’d been living as if half-dead for
so long. She wanted to feel truly alive again, and Ian did that for her.
She walked into the parlor to find Ian and Pauline with
their heads cozily together over cups of coffee, and her spirits dropped to her
feet.
What had she been thinking?
He was a strikingly exotic stranger, a traveler who took his
pleasure where he found it. She knew that, had acknowledged that by assuming they didn’t have much time together. So
why was she so disappointed that she wasn’t the only woman he had his eye on?
She supposed she shouldn’t be so old-fashioned as to believe
men and women should have only one partner at a time, but she’d just discovered
a strong streak of jealousy she had not known she possessed — for a man who had
not even acknowledged her entrance.
Apparently caught up in his conversation with Pauline, Ian
didn’t rise from the table as he should have. After Chantal poured coffee from
the silver pot on the sideboard and sing-songed her good mornings with false
gaiety, he slowly rose to tower over the table, wearing a quizzical expression,
as if he’d been kicked into doing the proper thing and didn’t understand why.
Perhaps her song had been a little too false.
He wore his monk’s robes open over crisp linen and lace that
someone must have laundered for him overnight, but he exuded a raw maleness
that was far from saintly.
She had to wonder whether Ian had gone to Pauline’s bed last
night instead of hers, if he preferred her friend’s more experienced
lovemaking. She couldn’t bear to look at Pauline to see if she wore a satisfied
expression.
She could barely unclench her teeth as she took a seat while
Ian returned to his chair. “I see you have learned more of our etiquette,
monsieur,” she said politely.
Did she sense amusement beneath his serious exterior? Was
her jealousy that evident? Maybe she ought to kick him into rising again.
“I do not fully grasp this word etiquette ,” he acknowledged, “or the reasons for bobbing up and
down like a puppet on a string.”
“Etiquette is how one shows respect , another word you do not seem to fully grasp,” she replied
sweetly.
His amusement seemed to heighten, and he regarded her as if
she were a particularly ripe plum on his plate. “Your voice is an enchanting
song in my ear, even though your intention is to drive nails into my flesh. I
am to show respect for this fascinating talent?”
Chantal tore off a bite of croissant with more force than
the flaky pastry deserved. She did not recall anyone ever laughing at her.
Perhaps she did not want this stranger here so much after all. She’d forgotten
that the pleasures of sex came accompanied by the nuisance of submitting to the
annoying notions of men.
“Monsieur d’Olympe believes the chalice has been taken to
the king,” Pauline interrupted Chantal’s snit with excitement. “I am to go to
the Tuileries
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