Chapter Thirteen

The distant abbey bells were tolling the close of evensong when the castle denizens filtered into the hall for the late meal. In the keep’s small chapel, Bridget had led her family in a rosary for Brother Lefrid’s soul, mindful of how her friends at the abbey would keep vigil through the night beside his earthly remains.

She approached the dais and saw FitzHenri had given Aislinn her gift. Her sister looked pleased as she waved Bridget over.

“See what the lord has given me?” Aislinn presented the open box.

“I see. He has good taste.”

Bridget glanced at the man under discussion. He gave her one of his half smiles and a lift of an eyebrow.

“What a pretty box,” Bridget said to her sister, and ignored the brute.

“Oh, aye, but ’tis what’s on the parchment that is the treasure. ‘The Song of Songs.’ See?” Aislinn opened up the scroll and flashed the script at Bridget.

“Ah. ’Tis lovely, indeed.”

Aislinn carefully rerolled the scroll, tied the delicate gold cord round it, and placed it back in the box. She cast her intended a maidenly smile.

“He is a thoughtful suitor, is he not?” Aislinn asked.

“He is.”

“Do you think he will dance? I must dance with him.”

FitzHenri didn’t strike her as the sort to dance. She leaned round her sister, the better to speak to him. “You have her in the palm of your hand now, my lord. You must invite her to dance after the meal.”

“I do not dance.”

She suppressed a gratified smirk. “Can you not walk her down and stand at her side while she dances?”

“I will not dance. I’ve never taken the time to learn.”

Aislinn was watching them eagerly, with dazzling hope in her eyes.

Bridget’s heart sank to her toes as she realized what must be done to save this sadly mismatched union.

Sweet St. Hilda! She would have to teach the boor to dance.