Free The Betrothed Sister by Carol McGrath

high. There was no giggling or smirking here as there was in the upper chamber. This was serious.
    Though it was afternoon the hall was dim and candles had been lit. That morning, the princesses had discussed this feast. They had boasted of pears from the king’s orchard, dates from southern Europe and sweetmeats, such as would usually only be served in distant realms where there was always sunshine, but which often mysteriously appeared in Sweyn’s kitchens. Glass tumblers glinted on the linen clothed table and jewelled eating knives sparkled in the soft candlelight. The princesses had napkins of linen to dab their mouths daintily after every bite and silver finger bowls set by their places so their hands remained spotless. They must appear as pristine by the end of the meal as they had at the beginning.
    The first dishes were carried to the table by servers. As the feast proceeded, Thea glanced down at her silver plate and slid her fish about it with her knife. She had no appetite. Fowl breasts and tiny pastries stuffed with soft cheese arrived on the table. These were accompanied by various dishes of beets, radishes, and beans that had been cooked soft in oil and served with herbs.
    The napkins the visitors lifted to their mouths were those that they had embroidered in the women’s chamber in the king’s house at Schleswig. She wondered if what Elizaveta was whispering into the ear of the ambassador seated by her would be, ‘My stepdaughters’ work, so fine.’
    Thea shrugged, lifted a date from a golden dish and popped it into her mouth. Ouch, it had a stone. She tried to spit it out onto her plate but failed and it landed instead on the table linen. Princess Gunnhild wrinkled up her nose. She grinned smugly. Her rude smirk quickly vanished the very moment the important, tall-hatted ambassador stared down at Thea and seemed to smile. Thea reached over the cloth and carefully lifted the errant stone between her finger and thumb and daintily placed it on her plate. When he looked away again she watched him. She thought that the diplomat looked pale and unwell. He was not eating anything. Occasionally he removed his furred hat and wiped his brow with one of the embroidered napkins.
    A small band of musicians began tuning their instruments. Soon the music struck up. The princesses were called upon to perform an elaborate slow circle dance with four of their brothers, one that Lady Eleanor and the minstrels had adapted from dances they had observed at the French court in Paris. The governess nodded at them and they rose. ‘Remove your veil,’ Ragnhild hissed at Thea through her teeth. ‘You will spoil our effect.’
    â€˜I intend to remove it,’ Thea said. ‘I shall not spoil anything.’ She lifted the circlet and veil from her head, folded the veil neatly, laying it on their bench, replaced her silver circlet and glided, her head held high, from the bench to take her place before the king’s table where Edmund awaited to partner her. Grandmother’s lessons had paid off. She felt that she walked as if floating on a cloud.
    Edmund smiled, leaned over and lifted her hand. He was an accomplished dancer and she knew they stood out from the others. He was fair, very handsome and she noticed that often women looked longingly at him. ‘Ready,’ he whispered.
    â€˜Yes,’ she whispered back.
    They turned to face the high table. But as they spun around again he said so low into her ear that his utterance was like the faint rustle of a soft silken mantle, ‘You are doing well, my sister. Now that we are dancing, their curiosity will be wetted, as if you are a fine wine. Was this Grandmother’s idea?’
    â€˜No, and wetting appetites is not my intention. Winning a prince is,’ she whispered back, glancing sideways at the tall, elaborately hatted Russians. Did they ever wear other hats? Their robes were furred. Under them they wore embroidered