A Dishonorable Knight(29)
"Is something wrong, my lady?" Bryant asked politely.
"What?"
"You sighed rather mournfully. Is the food not to your liking?"
"It's quite good. Of course, sticks and mud would have tasted good after that horse hide you fed me this fortnight past," she said with a rueful smile. "Actually, I was hoping for some lighter entertainment than another discussion of political intrigue."
"Did I hear a call for lighter entertainment?" Cynan broke in. "Gareth! Show some manners for once and ask the Lady Elena to dance. She grows weary of this dull chatter." Turning to Morgan, he asked, "May I call for the musicians, sir?"
"Indeed," Morgan replied with an amused smile.
"Wake up you lazy beggars," he bellowed across the hall. "I've not seen my wife in months and I mean to dance with her right now."
Those who played instruments good-naturedly scurried to tune them while others broke down the trestle tables to make room for dancing. Cynan stalked down the reluctant Enid and dragged her to the newly created dance floor.
"A rousing tune, lads, with lots of spins and turns!"
As the musicians began playing, Gareth rose and approached Elena. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" he asked politely.
Elena glanced up in surprise; she'd been watching the dancers. Though she had seen that he had bathed and changed when she entered the hall for dinner, she only now noticed how handsome he looked. His face was freshly shaven and the ornery lock of hair temporarily smoothed out of his face. His green wool jerkin flattered the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Elena did not allow herself to scrutinize too closely his snug woolen hose that clung to his muscular legs. "I'm rather tired. I think I'll sit this one out."
Gareth raised an eyebrow, his hand still extended to accept hers. "This is no king's court, my lady. There are no earls or earls to impress. In fact, I'm the only knight among the lot of us. Wouldn't you just like to dance and have fun for once?"
Elena thought for less than a second. "Yes, I believe I would."
Dancing had heretofore been a means of flirting to Elena. She had used it to show off her grace and poise: to allow her suitor his fill of gazing at her. Now as Gareth whirled her effortlessly about the room, she laughed with delight, enjoying the quickening music, the swirling skirts, her partner's firm grip on her hands and waist. When the dance ended and Gareth made to escort her back to her chair, she refused, making him dance again and again. When he finally begged off claiming his still-healing leg was sore, Elena forgot all manners of modesty and asked Bryant to dance. Bryant flushed beet red, but obligingly danced two more songs with her.
"Quite a spirited girl, there," Morgan noted to Gareth. "Are you sure you didn't bring her home for other reasons? There were, after all at least four abbeys between Nottingham and here."
"Would that I had known of them," Gareth said, his eyes never leaving Elena, who was with her fourth dance partner. "She was not so biddable on the road as she is on the dance floor."
Morgan glanced sideways at his son who was still watching the young woman. "And were you as biddable as you would have had her been?"
Gareth finally looked at his father. "Perhaps not," he said with a grin. Turning back to the dancers, he saw Elena making her way back to the table. Pouring her a goblet of wine, he handed it to her as she sat down.
"My thanks," she said breathlessly.
"I'm amazed you have energy enough for so much dancing after our long journey."
"But this is so much more fun than English court dancing! Bryant said they were country dances...."
Elena continued talking animatedly about the dancing, but Gareth was distracted by the high color in her cheeks and the tendrils of chestnut hair that had escaped her intricate coiffure. Her warm brown eyes and creamy complexion gave off a golden glow in the fire and torchlight. When Elena paused to take a draught of wine, the droplet left on her lip, which she dabbed away with her finger, mesmerized him. As he leaned closer to her, he caught the scent of cloves, his whole being caught in the web of her beauty and spirit.
"Don't you agree?" she asked, turning her wide eyes toward him.
"Of course," he murmured, suddenly catching himself and shaking his head to clear it of its delusions.
***
Elena sucked in a breath at the slumberous look in Gareth's eyes. She was well practiced at knowing when a man was staring at her and she knew Gareth had watched her dance the last quarter hour. She had been absurdly pleased by that fact. But now as she stared back at him, all thoughts of coquetry and flirtation, in which she was so well versed, evaporated and all she could remember was the way his lips felt as they had explored hers. When Gareth shook his head and leaned back, Elena felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her head. Was he telling her that he would not deign to kiss her again? Telling her that, no, he did not find her as attractive as she seemed to find him? Angry with herself for romanticizing this crude Welshman and furious with him for stirring up these emotions, Elena stood and said coolly, "I believe I will retire now."