Chapter Twelve
The hall was buzzing with gossip, no doubt at his expense. Jasper knew he had laid his pride open to ridicule in taking Rowenna. But his overpowering desire for her demanded it, as did the frail hope that the wild MacCreadie lass might bring him more happiness than he had found with women thus far.
Kransmuir’s hall looked spectacular with the sconces blazing, casting shadows up the walls. The high table was groaning with food – a display of wealth they could well afford - and the glass of sweet wine he nursed in his hands tasted of the sun, like sultry, warmer climes. There was only one thing missing.
‘Where is that creature of yours?’ hissed Glenna. ‘All your clansmen are eager to see your latest paramour.’
‘Rowenna is no paramour. We are to be wed, so you will show respect.’
‘Never,’ spat Glenna.
‘Then I will send you away to stop your sniping.’
‘Perhaps she has absconded over the walls,’ offered Maeve.
‘Let us hope so,’ said Joan, her thin face pinched and sour.
‘I have ordered Rowenna to come, so she will come,’ he snarled, wishing they would all disappear.
Suddenly, the hall fell silent. Rowenna had entered.
Jasper’s breath caught, for she was a vision in an emerald dress which brought out the gold in her hair. Someone musthave pinned her down and tamed its unruly tangle, for it was coiled high on her head, with one fat ringlet left to hang, kissing the top of her creamy breasts. They rose and fell rapidly under the gaze of a hundred eyes, yet Rowenna stood her ground and returned every one of those stares, willing them to look away. And they did. Not for the first time, Jasper admired her courage.
She looked uncertainly down the rows of tables and found his gaze. Jasper put down his wine and approached her as casually as possible. He gave an elaborate bow and held out his hand for her to take. Rowenna slid her hand into his palm. Her fingers were delicate yet rough from working at Fallstairs, and he resolved to pamper her until he had softened those hands.
Once they were seated with his sisters and mother, the hum of conversation started up again, some of it open, some from behind hands, whispered in ears.
‘What do you think of my hall, Rowenna?’ he said into the stony silence from his family.
‘It is very grand indeed,’ she said, reaching for his wine and quaffing a good deal of it in great gulps.
Jasper took the glass away from her. ‘Steady. You may need your wits about you this evening before my clansmen.’
The lass said nothing, twisting her trembling fingers together in her lap. He put his hand over them and squeezed, and she let him. They locked eyes. Hers were dark brown flecked with amber and so warm and soft that he momentarily lost his words.
‘You look very well in that dress,’ he offered, leaning in. A sweet smell came off her skin.
‘I had no choice. Your servants forced me into a bath and scrubbed me until my flesh nearly came off my bones,’ she saidcrossly. ‘And I was told that if I did not don this dress, you would come and strip me naked and force me into it.’
He laughed. ‘It was an idle threat. Forgive me, please. I just wanted to give you something better than that rag you were wearing.’
‘Ah, so you are ashamed of me. Good.’
‘Quite the opposite, lass. And what about the earrings I sent?'
‘Still in my chamber, for I will not be bought so cheaply with little trinkets.’
‘Trinkets! Those earrings are worth a king’s ransom.’
‘Give them to him then,’ she pouted, eyeing his wine again.
‘I fear they would not flatter his complexion.’ Jasper smiled steadily at her and slid her his glass of wine. Rowenna clutched it in her fingers as if her life depended on it. ‘I met him once, you know,’ he continued.
‘The King? What was he like?’
Ah, so he had finally piqued her interest. ‘Our King is an ill-favoured man, bow-legged, with a long, sallow face, and it would be flattery to describe him as middling in height. Stunted is more like it, and he is prone to slobbering when he eats, like a peasant.’
‘But what of his character?’ said asked, wide-eyed.
