Old Magic(92)

‘A toast,’ he suddenly declares, pushing back from the table. Rising unsteadily he moves to stand behind Jarrod and me. When he has the attention of everyone in the Hall he raises his goblet in one hand, and with the other thumps Jarrod’s back affectionately. ‘To my nephew and Lady Katherine, may all their children be born here in my castle before I die, so that I may look upon their cheery faces and know they will be safe.’

The Hall thunders with applause and riotous cheering. I don’t share their enthusiasm. I’m having enough trouble stopping the heat from turning my face crimson at the thought of Richard’s suggestion.

‘A mighty thanks to Jarrod for annihilating our greatest enemy, a man who gave us more worry than the restless Scots on our border.’

More thundering cheers erupt. Richard drinks heartily from his goblet like there’s no tomorrow. Both Isabel and Richard look at us expectantly. Reluctantly I lift my wine-filled cup and sip.

For a second I think the world has tilted off its axis. Goose bumps skitter like lightning across my skin, making me shiver. I take another sip, just to be sure.

The wine is sweet, smooth, robust. Nothing like Richard’s usual rough dry red. Everything like … No …!

Richard sits, his head tilting forward politely. He’s trying to hear the words my mouth is having trouble spitting out. Finally, ‘Wh-where did you get this wine?’

His face beams proudly. ‘From the cellar, my dear. Isn’t it spectacular? We use it only on auspicious occasions like this one, or weddings, or other important feasts.’ He shrugs.

I choke in a strangled breath. It can’t be … ‘Who gave it to you?’

‘Why, the King of course, for services well performed. Our victories over the Scots are legendary. Only the King’s talented servants can brew such fine wine. And it’s strictly for family members, by order of the King.’

I stare at him, speechless, my mouth gaping.

He thinks I don’t understand. ‘It’s a gift from the King,’ he emphasises every word.

‘How-how-how long?’ I stutter badly.

‘Oh, for about twenty years or so.’ He seems to consider this, glancing at Isabel for confirmation.

She says, ‘The first crate arrived not long after Jarrod’s father left us. I remember it well as it brought life back into our family. We had reason to celebrate once more.’

I glance at Jarrod. He has his cup of wine in his raised hand, my conversation with Richard having momentarily drawn his attention. Now, he glances at his cup as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Sweet, you say,’ he mutters mostly to himself, and puts the cup to his lips.

I panic and whack the cup straight out of his hands. Emmeline screams as sweet red wine saturates and spoils her pretty blue dress. She jumps out of her seat, her dismal mood exploding into frustrated bursts of idiot speech. Her anger seems a little overdone, and I think there must be more to it than Jarrod’s explanation of her just being bored. I remember how she barely tolerated my return. I’m thinking about this when, out of the corner of my eye, I see her pick up a shiny platter of salted meats.

Luckily, Malcolm sees her too. Both of us are too late though to stop her throwing the platter directly at my head. Shoving me out of the way, Malcolm physically restrains his cousin, and Isabel goes into a rage. Lord Richard turns brighter red, staggering to his feet. ‘What’s wrong with this wench? To Court I think, Malcolm, just as you suggested. Make the arrangements immediately.’

I have no time, nor wish, to think about Emmeline’s problems now, but will remember to ask Jarrod again later. I have enough concerns of my own.

Jarrod’s head swings from me to Emmeline, then back to me again, stunned. This distraction is what I need to quietly slip away.

‘I’m sorry for spilling the wine,’ I mumble quickly, and drag Jarrod away by his elbow. I don’t let go until we’re clear of the smoke-filled Hall and into the cold twilight air of the bailey.

There are two knights on sentry duty on the wall nearby, and by their merry cackling, it’s obvious they aren’t doing much guarding; but I need a quiet, isolated place, so I drag Jarrod into the courtyard that houses Isabel’s private gardens.

‘What’s going on? Why did you spill my wine?’

Breathing deeply to try to restore order to my jangled nerves, I find the nearest stone bench and sit, yanking Jarrod down beside me. But I’m too hyped up to sit and start pacing the short length in front of him.

‘Kate, will you calm down. Can you explain what this is all about?’

‘It’s the wine.’

His face is blank. He doesn’t understand, so I backtrack. ‘Remember when we dined at Blacklands and Rhauk told us how he was brewing his curse in the tower?’