A Well-Timed Enchantment Page 4

  Deanna curtsied. "Lady Marguerite," she said. "I'm sorry to bother you. We didn't realize you were ill."

  "Nonsense, my dear," came the lady's faint voice from among the pillows. "I'm perfectly fit. It's just that direct sunlight is the kiss of death to one's complexion." But then, as though on second thought: "I don't look ill, do I?" Lady Marguerite pulled a mirror out from under one of the pillows. "Do you think I look ill?" she asked anxiously. "You don't see any age spots, do you?"

  "No, no," Deanna assured her, though the room was so badly lit Lady Marguerite could have been a giant turnip for all Deanna could see. "You look fine."

  "Are you sure?" the lady asked. "I don't have any bags under my eyes, do I? My friend Lady Rosamond said to rest silver teaspoons against my eyes five times a day to prevent dark circles and sagging, but I can't remember if she said to use a cold spoon or a warm spoon and she's gone to Normandy for her cousin's daughter's wedding. So I've been using both: cold spoons first and then warm spoons on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And warm spoons first, then cold spoons on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. And on Sundays, I use the cold spoons first, then the warm ones, then the cold ones again. Do you know which it's supposed to be?"

  "No, I'm sorry," Deanna said.

  "You don't use spoons?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "Hmm," Lady Marguerite said. But before she could ask anything else Oliver interrupted, saying, "Actually, we've never seen you look better."

  Lady Marguerite, without stopping to consider that they had, in fact, never before seen her at all, got gigglish and giddy. "Why, what a sweet thing to say! Do you really think so? How delightful to have such a handsome young man say such a lovely thing."

  Such a fuss, Deanna thought. She leaned to whisper into Oliver's ear, "You sly dog."

  He gave a startled look, but Lady Marguerite didn't notice any of it.

  "You must stay for lunch," she said. "I insist The boys are out in the woods having their little joust, but they should be back any time now. I usually don't go down for lunch, but I'll make an exception for such charming company."

  Charming company, my foot, Deanna thought. Once noticing him, Lady Marguerite hadn't taken her eyes off Oliver for a second. Deanna could have fallen out the window and Lady Marguerite would never have noticed.

  "So you two run down to the Hall while my maid gets me ready." She tugged on the embroi dered bell pull that lay across one of her pillows.

  "Thank you," Oliver said, with a smile that Deanna had to admit was maybe the slightest bit charming. He had never smiled at her like that.

  Deanna recovered enough to remember to curtsy before leaving. "Hmpfh!" she said to Oliver as they started back down the stairs.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. I'm glad she suggested lunch. I'm starving."

  "You are?" he asked with such alarm that Deanna had to explain: "It's an expression, Oliver."

  "Expression?"

  "Never mind."

  If Lady Marguerite was going to flirt with strangers, she probably deserved somebody like Oliver.

  They got lost trying to find the dining hall. But apparently Lady Marguerite sent word to watch out for them, and eventually the servants came and found them.

  How embarrassing, Deanna thought, being led through several storage rooms and around the stables. They weren't even in the right building. Three men patching a garden wall pointed down the corridor as though she and Oliver couldn't find the Hall even with an escort.

  The Hall itself was almost as big as her school cafeteria. It smelled more like a picnic cabin, though—all smoky from roasting meat Dogs barked and fought over scraps. Little children, finished eating, played tag among the tables while the adults had to come close to shouting to be heard over the noise of talking and laughing and servants cleaning up after the meal.

  The man who had been walking the pigs in the courtyard was sitting at the table nearest to the door, and he stood, removing his cap once more, when he saw Deanna. She curtsied once again, and the others sitting at that table—field laborers, by their clothes and grimy appearance—nudged each other and grinned. Okay, so she'd done something wrong again. Dumb elves. As long as they could change a cat to a human and make her understand medieval French, you'd think they could have used up a little bit more of their magic to give her pointers on proper castle etiquette.

  "There they are," Sir Henri called, motioning Deanna and Oliver to the head table.

  Immediately Lady Marguerite made room for them next to her. Everyone sat on one side of the table, so that the food could be served more easily. The wizard, Algernon, was on the end, then Sir Henri, and their sister, Lady Marguerite. Deanna knew what their hostess had in mind when she patted the seat next to her, but Oliver didn't, or he pretended not to: he kept to Deanna's right side so that Deanna ended up between them. Next to Oliver sat a bearded young man who had to be Leonard, whose face they'd never seen beneath his helmet; the droopy-mustached Baylen sat on the end. Judging by Leonard's sullen and single-minded attention to the meal in front of him, and by Baylen's self-satisfied smile, Deanna guessed that—snapped lance or no—Leonard had lost the morning's match.

  Lady Marguerite looked older than she had appeared in her dimly lit room, though not so old as Deanna had anticipated from her preoccupation with bags under the eyes. She wore a satin gown that was low-cut enough that Deanna wondered how it stayed up, and more jewelry than Deanna had ever before seen on any one person. She craned around Deanna to ask Oliver, "So, did you have any trouble finding the Hall?"—which had to be the world's dumbest question, considering that she and Oliver had set out first, and not gotten there 'til all the others at the table had already finished with their food. (With the possible exception of Leonard, who in any case seemed more interested in sticking his knife into his meat than actually picking it up and eating it.) So she couldn't help but answer, "No. No trouble, thank you." And she flashed a smile that she hoped was at least as charming as Oliver's.

  It was wasted, because Lady Marguerite wasn't looking at her. "I hope you brought your appetite," she told Oliver.

  He paused to consider. "Yes," he said slowly. He glanced at Deanna for reassurance and she gave a half nod. "I'm starving. That's an expression."

  "Yes," Lady Marguerite said. "Good." She batted her eyelashes at him. "Now this is embarrassing, but I'm sorry: I don't believe I know your name."

  Oliver was warily watching the serving boy, who was ladling stew onto their plates.

  Lamb, Deanna guessed by the smell of it. Yum, one of her favorite things. Right up there with Spam and brussels sprouts and lukewarm milk. Oliver didn't look too happy about it either. "I'm Deanna," she said, since Oliver wasn't saying anything, "and this is Oliver. He's my—" She remembered the look Algernon had given Oliver's sword and had a suspicion pages might not carry weapons, so she lowered her voice. "—my brother." Which was ridiculous since they didn't look anything alike. And in any case she must have lowered her voice too much, for the others at the table seemed to think she hadn't finished her sentence.

  "Squire," Sir Henri said.

  "Page," Algernon said.

  "Friend," Baylen said.

  All at once.

  Leonard looked up from poking his stew. "General all-'round fellow, eh?" he observed.

  "We're on a quest," Deanna told them. "And we, uh..

  "Can't tell you any more than that," Oliver finished.

  "Ah!" everybody said knowingly. Except for Leonard, who looked bored and returned his attention to skewering his vegetables. And Algernon, who gave her a grin as though they shared a secret joke.

  "Well," Deanna said, turning away from him to the two brothers, "so how did the joust go?"

  "Very nicely," Baylen said.

  "Cheap, miserable horse couldn't keep its footing," Leonard said.

  "Don't you care for lamb, dear?" Lady Marguerite asked Oliver.

  Deanna saw that he was sitting with his hands in his lap, looking disconsolate
. "Care for ... lamb?" he repeated noncommittally.

  "Do you like rabbit?"

  His face brightened. "Whenever I can get one."

  Lady Marguerite snapped her fingers for a servant to pass the platter of roast rabbit.

  Deanna had a sudden awful thought. "It's really too bad you couldn't attend your nephews' joust," Deanna told her. (Did Oliver know anything about table manners?) "It was really quite exciting." (What if he just stuck his face into the plate?)

  "Excitement's not good for the skin," Lady Marguerite said. "Rush of the blood to the face and all that. It ages one. Isn't the rabbit cooked right for you, dear?"

  "Do you have anything, maybe, not cooked?" Oliver asked.

  Deanna gulped.

  "Grapes?" Lady Marguerite reached for a bowl. "Peaches?"

  Oliver stood abruptly, scraping his chair against the floor, so that everyone turned to stare. "Actually I'm not starving after all. I think I'll go for a walk in the garden."

  "But..." Deanna said.

  "But..." Lady Marguerite said.

  Oliver turned and left.

  Leonard moved in closer to Deanna and flashed a grin almost as reassuring as Algernon's. "Strange, that all-'round fellow of yours."

  Deanna feigned preoccupation with her lamb stew. It was cold by now, with the grease congealing, which made it even less appetizing. She took a bite, which settled in a hard lump between her chest and her stomach.

  Sir Henri leaned forward. "Leonard," he said, "Ransom's devised a new saddle grip that might help—"

  "Oh, who cares?" Lady Marguerite snapped. She got up and swept out of the Hall.

  Baylen stretched, then stood. "Anyway," he said, "I won."

  "Cheap horse," Leonard answered. But it seemed an instinctive reaction, with little feeling. He was still smiling at Deanna.

  "Now, Baylen, that's not the proper sporting attitude." Sir Henri threw his arm around his older son's shoulder and the two of them left the room, discussing point spreads and handicaps.

  So here she was, abandoned, sitting between Leonard, who had his arm around the back of the bench behind her, and the wizard Algernon, who was sidling over next to her. Appearances to the contrary, Leonard was engaged—betrothed, they called it here—and had just fought his brother on his fiancée's behalf. Obviously Deanna was misinterpreting his intentions: she wasn't familiar with this time, with their social customs. He was just being friendly, she told herself. Algernon, on the other hand...

  "Leonard," she said, thinking he might be the solution to her quest, if she could just get him alone to talk to him about it, "how about if you show me around Castle Belesse so I don't get lost again?"

  Leonard looked surprised, then pleased, then self-satisfied. "Certainly," he said. "See you around, Uncle Algernon."

  The wizard nodded, never taking his gaze from Deanna. "Later," he assured her.

  SIX

  Leonard

  Leonard and Deanna passed the dusty pig keeper on their way out of the Hall. He stood, bowing and removing his cap as he seemed to do every time he saw her. "Miss," he mumbled.

  Behind his back, the other servants at the table snickered and rolled their eyes and nudged one another in the ribs.

  Why, they're laughing at him as much as at me, Deanna thought, and to save his pride curtsied even though she was fairly certain by now that ladies of her (apparent) social standing didn't curtsy to men of his (obvious) social standing.

  "Miss," he repeated, and this time she got the impression he was about to say more, but Leonard hustled her out of the room. "So," he said, "how about if I show you—"

  "The gardens," she interrupted. That's where Oliver had said he was going and she didn't like having him out of her sight. There was no telling what he'd get himself into without her.

  "All right. The gardens, then." Leonard had his arm entwined with hers, which she didn't care for, and which made walking awkward, but she put it down to French social customs of the—what was this?—tenth or eleventh century. "I'm so pleased that you and your ... quest partner have come to Castle Belesse," he started. "You know, I—"

  "Thank you. Tell me about your uncle."

  "My uncle?"

  "What's he do, just say magic words and magic happens? Or does he use things? You know, bats' wings, lizards' teeth, or something?"

  Leonard curled his lip in disgust "You mean does my Uncle Algernon go around plucking body parts from the local wildlife?"

  "Or something?"

  Leonard shrugged.

  Boy, he was helpful. "Amulets? Charms?"

  Again he shrugged.

  "Mysterious things that come out of nowhere that you don't know what they are or how they're used, maybe about this big, with numbers on it and a white leather strap?"

  "Who knows? I don't know."

  "Well, is he a good wizard?"

  "Good?"

  The question hadn't come out the way she had intended. "I mean, is he good at what he does? His spells work and all that?"

  "Well, yes, I suppose. He can make people disappear."

  "People disappear?"

  "Well, not important people. Here, watch your step." The garden had a lower level, and they had to go down a couple of steps. There was a metal handrail, and the steps were made of large, even slabs of stone, but Leonard moved behind her, putting one hand on her elbow and the other around her waist as though guiding her down a treacherous mountain trail.

  Again the thought crossed her mind that this was terribly awkward and that she could manage better without him. Algernon could make people disappear, and Leonard shrugged it off because they weren't important people.

  "We wouldn't want you falling and hurting your lovely self," Leonard said.

  "You're too kind," she murmured, a phrase she'd heard her mother use with Dad's cousin Sid, who had a tendency to put lamp shades on his head and say things for which he'd have to call the following day and apologize. She leaned to one side to force Leonard to let go. "Now about your Uncle Algernon—"

  He whirled her around and started kissing her hand. "Your skin is fair as a lily, kissed by the first blush of dawn."

  She snatched her hand away. "Stop that."

  "Your eyes are like limpid pools."

  "They are not." She was getting frightened now.

  "Your lips ... ah, your cherry lips ... If I might just once touch—"

  He reached as though to lay a finger across her lips, and she slapped his hand down. "Back off, you," she warned. But her voice shook, her heart pounded. There was a wooden bench on the path, and she stepped behind it, to force Leonard to keep his distance.

  "Your lips say no, but your eyes say yes," he told her.

  "My eyes say no such thing."

  He began circling the bench. "You're beautiful when you're angry," he said.

  But she circled also, and managed to keep the bench between them. "No, I'm not. And what about your fiancée?"

  "The betrothal's off." He feinted to the right, then lunged to the left, and she just managed to pull back so that his hand closed on empty air instead of around her wrist.

  "The betrothal's off?" she repeated, to keep him talking, to keep him distracted. And she had thought Algernon was dangerous. "Why?"

  "Because I challenged Baylen but he won the joust. That means his lady is fairer than mine was. I'm not going to be stuck marrying someone who makes Baylen come off better than me."

  "That doesn't make any sense." Deanna thought he looked as though he was considering climbing over the bench, and she didn't know what she'd do if he did that. She had no idea how fast she could run in her long gown and thin slippers. "And anyway, suppose Baylen's lady is fairer than me?"

  "She won't be. She can't be. And, anyway, to be on the safe side, I won't challenge him."

  Thanks a lot. She stepped away as he reached over the bench but wasn't fast enough: Leonard caught hold of her wrists. "Let go of me," she cried. She jerked back, and her tall hat slipped down over her eyes.


  "Don't toy with my emotions, icy goddess of love." Leonard put a knee on the seat of the bench and tried to draw her toward him.

  She dug her heels into the grass and leaned backward.

  "I love the fire in your eyes," he insisted.

  Her foot slipped in the grass. He was still pulling on her arms, so that she lost her balance. She fell across the back of the bench and he, with one knee still on the seat, was unable to counteract the effect of her weight. The bench tipped, then rolled: Leonard ended up flat on his back with the bench on top of him and Deanna on top of the bench.

  "My lady," he gasped. "My lady, you're squashing me!"

  Deanna became aware that someone was standing next to her. She could see boots, but she was having a hard enough time figuring which way was up, never mind who it was standing there. She brushed the hat back.

  Leonard's face was turning an interesting shade of purple as she pushed on the bench, trying to lift herself up. "My lady! Stop. You're killing me."

  Oliver stooped down where Deanna could see him. "Does he really mean that?" he asked, indicating Leonard. "Or is that just an expression?"

  "If I'm lucky, he means it," Deanna said.

  Oliver nodded. "Are you just..." She could see him groping for exactly the right words. "...amusing yourself? Or do you need help?"

  "I could use a hand up."

  Oliver pulled her to her feet. "Are you injured?" he asked. "Have you been harmed?"

  Leonard rolled the bench off himself. "No, no," he answered sulkily. "Don't worry about me. I'm quite all right."

  "I wasn't worried about you," Oliver answered evenly. "I was asking about Deanna."

  Leonard got to his feet. He stood directly in front of Oliver, who, being considerably shorter, had to look up at him. "Sort of an idiot, aren't you?" Leonard growled.

  "I'm not the one who was lying on the ground with a park bench on my chest," Oliver pointed out.

  Leonard snorted. But he must have become aware of how he looked, all rumpled, with grass and leaves stuck to him. And perhaps he became aware too of Oliver's hand, resting on the hilt of his elfin sword. Leonard glanced at Deanna, gave a curt bow, snorted at Oliver again, then strode away as though he had more important things to think of.