right. Her shimmering blond hair was drawn up through and overflowed the garland of gold and rubies he had bestowed upon her.
“ Your Englishman has done well by the feast,” Francis said, finishing the last of his wine.
"You know he is not my Englishman.” The vermillion sugar plums were ashes in her mouth. “By tonight’s end, he will be officially my lord.”
"Look at me, Dominique.” His seriousness drew her regard. Around him was a mystic aura that she could not ignore, had never been able to. Beneath his striking mane of ebony hair, his eyes held hers. "You well know that if conditions were different I would take you as my wife.” A wry smile pleated the corners of his supple mouth. "But the Church has a problem with married priests.”
"Francis . . .” She paused, then verbalized her curiosity, "Do you . . . uh . . . ever have a problem with celibacy?”
To her, Francis had always seemed steeped in a luxury and sensuality that di d not dull but rather embellished his graceful masculinity. The Church had long been having difficulty with homosexual priests as well as the married clergy. Could she have misjudged Francis’s sexual preference?
His outburst of sincere laughter reassured h er. "Come with me to Avignon and discover the answer yourself, m'amie .” Then he turned serious. "I do want you to come to Avignon. I assure you, you would be quite safe there under my tutelage.”
Her eyes laughed. "What kind of tutelage is that, Francis?”
His smile was one of mock innocence. "Why, t’would be like the days of old, when together we explored the works of Abramelin the Mage and Albertus Magnus in your mother’s laboratory.”
"No, t ’would not. Nothing remains the same but is forever changing in the instant. I thank you for your offer of a haven, Francis, but I cannot forsake Montlimoux.”
Her gaze sought out the English lieutenant again. He was conversing with his king, but at that instant Esclarmonde said something to distract him and he laughed. Hi s grin took away Dominique's breath. That smile transformed his ordinary features into an arresting face. The bold dark eyes flashed with a humor that made any woman watching declare him unequivocally handsome.
Every woman, that was, but Dominique. She wou ld grant him no boon.
She turned back to Francis. "Paxton of Wychchester may deprive me of my title. He may drive me from my chateau, but he cannot hound me out of my county. I know every valley, every cave, every pond, every plant. If need be, I could liv e off the land as he never could.”
Too soon for her, the dinner was over, and the ballet was set to begin. At some time during the dancing, she would be forced to make public her renunciation of title. The tables were removed, and the gallery's musicians started to play.
At first, the dances were lighthearted, like the roundeau or chain dance, and the torch dance, in which each dancer held a long, lighted taper and endeavored to prevent the other dancers from blowing it out.
As the evening passed, the dance s waxed more romantic. The code of the courts of love, entitled Arresta Amorum , the decrees of love, specified that each gentleman was to bend his knee before his lady at the end of the dance.
Throughout Dominique had watched with her maids-in-waiting, particularly Beatrix who glowed like a wax taper when John Bedford presented himself before her.
On her part, Dominique declined to participate. Certainly, her heart was not of the merry vein. She would have even refused Denys when he bent a knee before her, but she did owe him a great debt of gratitude for fighting in her honor today. Her hand in his, they joined the circle of dancers, taking three steps to the left, marking time, then taking three steps to the right.
His expression was brooding, and he moved stiffly. When next they marked time, she teased, "Are you bruised and sore from tilting today, my good friend?"
He made a face and lifted her hand aloft, as the dance steps
“ Your Englishman has done well by the feast,” Francis said, finishing the last of his wine.
"You know he is not my Englishman.” The vermillion sugar plums were ashes in her mouth. “By tonight’s end, he will be officially my lord.”
"Look at me, Dominique.” His seriousness drew her regard. Around him was a mystic aura that she could not ignore, had never been able to. Beneath his striking mane of ebony hair, his eyes held hers. "You well know that if conditions were different I would take you as my wife.” A wry smile pleated the corners of his supple mouth. "But the Church has a problem with married priests.”
"Francis . . .” She paused, then verbalized her curiosity, "Do you . . . uh . . . ever have a problem with celibacy?”
To her, Francis had always seemed steeped in a luxury and sensuality that di d not dull but rather embellished his graceful masculinity. The Church had long been having difficulty with homosexual priests as well as the married clergy. Could she have misjudged Francis’s sexual preference?
His outburst of sincere laughter reassured h er. "Come with me to Avignon and discover the answer yourself, m'amie .” Then he turned serious. "I do want you to come to Avignon. I assure you, you would be quite safe there under my tutelage.”
Her eyes laughed. "What kind of tutelage is that, Francis?”
His smile was one of mock innocence. "Why, t’would be like the days of old, when together we explored the works of Abramelin the Mage and Albertus Magnus in your mother’s laboratory.”
"No, t ’would not. Nothing remains the same but is forever changing in the instant. I thank you for your offer of a haven, Francis, but I cannot forsake Montlimoux.”
Her gaze sought out the English lieutenant again. He was conversing with his king, but at that instant Esclarmonde said something to distract him and he laughed. Hi s grin took away Dominique's breath. That smile transformed his ordinary features into an arresting face. The bold dark eyes flashed with a humor that made any woman watching declare him unequivocally handsome.
Every woman, that was, but Dominique. She wou ld grant him no boon.
She turned back to Francis. "Paxton of Wychchester may deprive me of my title. He may drive me from my chateau, but he cannot hound me out of my county. I know every valley, every cave, every pond, every plant. If need be, I could liv e off the land as he never could.”
Too soon for her, the dinner was over, and the ballet was set to begin. At some time during the dancing, she would be forced to make public her renunciation of title. The tables were removed, and the gallery's musicians started to play.
At first, the dances were lighthearted, like the roundeau or chain dance, and the torch dance, in which each dancer held a long, lighted taper and endeavored to prevent the other dancers from blowing it out.
As the evening passed, the dance s waxed more romantic. The code of the courts of love, entitled Arresta Amorum , the decrees of love, specified that each gentleman was to bend his knee before his lady at the end of the dance.
Throughout Dominique had watched with her maids-in-waiting, particularly Beatrix who glowed like a wax taper when John Bedford presented himself before her.
On her part, Dominique declined to participate. Certainly, her heart was not of the merry vein. She would have even refused Denys when he bent a knee before her, but she did owe him a great debt of gratitude for fighting in her honor today. Her hand in his, they joined the circle of dancers, taking three steps to the left, marking time, then taking three steps to the right.
His expression was brooding, and he moved stiffly. When next they marked time, she teased, "Are you bruised and sore from tilting today, my good friend?"
He made a face and lifted her hand aloft, as the dance steps
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