Gwynn is promised a kiss

“Lose something down there?” Egelric whispered.

Lady Gwynn leaned closer to listen.

“I’ve – something – crawling up my leg,” Godefroy itched.

“Oh!” Egelric nodded sympathetically. “Generally I don’t worry unless I have wee beasties crawling down my leg from on high. But what you do with your feet is your affair.”

Godefroy chuckled wickedly, at which point Gwynn understood that she had just overheard something she shouldn’t. She stood up so suddenly that she cracked the small of her back against the window sill, and her gasp caught Egelric’s attention.

He squinted up at her. She hoped she had not understood correctly, and hoped furthermore that he would not guess what she had understood, correct or not.

In the end, the shrewd old devil simply winked at her, which covered all possibilities as far as he was concerned.

Margaret could not have heard what Egelric had said, but she snickered at Gwynn’s reaction.

“Having fun?” he whispered to Gwynn. “My lady?”

“One does not have ‘fun’ during Mass,” Gwynn said primly.

“My lady your sister does.”

Margaret laughed softly.

Gwynn flushed with pique. She did not appreciate being teased by Egelric, but… and therefore she did not wish that fate on her sister at all.

“How do you find it?” Egelric asked her. “I think it quite romantic so far.”

“Isn’t it?” she sighed rapturously.

Egelric wasn’t such a disagreeable man after all, beneath the layers of crustiness and old devilishness, if he could see the romance in a royal wedding.

“He’s teasing you, you double-​​ninny,” Margaret whispered.

“I am not!” Egelric protested. “It is so romantic. I cannot wait until they kiss. Can you?”

Gwynn watched him warily. She was not certain he was not teasing after all, but his brown eyes were so frank…

“Only because the bride will then kiss all the men here assembled,” Margaret muttered.

“I take what I can get,” Egelric shrugged. “Whenever I try to steal a kiss from a pretty maid, she or her father always contrive to prevent it. But one may always count on a kiss from a bride.”

Gwynn felt the blood come racing into her cheeks. He was clearly referring to her when he spoke of her father preventing it – if not also when he spoke of the bride.

He turned to Godefroy and whispered, “Can I be of some assistance to you, sir?”

“If you have a stick, or a… a something,” Godefroy grumbled, still clawing at his leg. “It’s the damned armor.”

“I cannot help you with damned armor in a sacred place, I fear.”

Godefroy glanced up at Gwynn and winced. “I beg your pardon.”

Gwynn shrugged.

Egelric lifted his head to her again and whispered, “Sadly, you will only have the meager pleasure of a kiss from your own brother.”

“I…”

“On the other hand, if we could have arranged for a more romantic bridegroom, you would have had the disappointment of seeing him married to another maiden. Any kiss worthy of the name always leaves one wanting more. Did you know?”

Gwynn had kissed many men, young and old, both on the cheek as well as on the lips when mistletoe permitted. However, she thought it was fair to say that the kisses men might give to a girl of eleven or twelve could not have been called kisses worthy of the name. But a girl of thirteen…

And she had never kissed Egelric. Until she did, she would never know for certain whether he knew something about kissing that most men did not.

His mouth was thin and wide and even a little ugly. It was also hidden beneath a dense mustache, and his enormous nose presented a formidable obstacle. Nevertheless she could imagine that he intended every kiss he gave to be worthy of the name.

The thought terrified her, or so it seemed, for it filled her stomach with a fluttering, as when she was afraid to speak or dance in front of a crowd.

When he turned his eyes back to Godefroy, it seemed a stool had been pulled out from beneath her feet, and she came tumbling back to earth.

“Got it?” Egelric whispered.

“It is either gone or napping.”

“They sleep?”

Godefroy shrugged.

Egelric looked back to Gwynn. “In any event, I am looking forward to your wedding, my lady. I shall be certain of a kiss then.”

Gwynn gasped.

“A kiss worthy of the name?” Margaret snickered.

“The merest glance from my lady your sister leaves one wanting more,” Egelric sighed and turned his face towards the altar. “What must a kiss do?”

Gwynn swallowed and leaned her body carefully back against the wall. Egelric did not know what he was saying – she hoped – but she feared he would be both wanting and getting much more than a kiss from her on her wedding day.

“Ask Cedric,” Margaret whispered to him. “I should wager he knows.”

Gwynn’s mouth fell open, but she was speechless with outrage. She had never kissed Cedric! Not even beneath mistletoe!

Before she could formulate a denial, however, her father sat bolt upright – as if he had heard from the front of the chapel – and cried, “Aie!”