Page 25 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
Prince Escalus gently gripped my shoulder.
I stopped, but did not face him.
“I must beg your pardon, Lady Rosaline, and that of your beloved mother. You’re right.”
You’re right?That got my attention. I didn’t know if I’d ever before heard a male use those two words together.
“I was a pompous youth with no interest in my mother’s life or any female not available to me as a . . . dance partner. With shame, I do remember my youthful behavior, and regret my neglect of my own dear mother, a regret sharpened by the realization I can never again speak with her, feel her loving embrace, see her sweet face. I confess to jealousy of even her memory, and it sat ill with me to know that Lady Juliet knew her as I never will. I most humbly beg your forgiveness for my arrogance, and humbly beg that you not inform Lady Juliet of my . . .” He hesitated, unable to choose an adequate description.
I’m always eager to offer a suggestion. “Assholeyness?”
His solemnity did not break. “Precisely. I fear my outburst would grieve her. I also fear the sharp point of Lord Romeo’s sword.” At this last, the shadow on his face lightened. He did now perhaps feel protected by bounds of family.
I didn’t spare him. “You’re wise to worry about my father. He’s a good man who easily takes offense and remedies his perturbation with violence. He doesn’t kill as many men as he used to, not for lack of irascibility but because of the tempering influence of my mother. However, he did once use the point of his sword to remove a lord’s clothes, leaving him naked on one of Verona’s streets. The fool had to go into exile, and I hear even as far away as Geneva, mockery follows him.”
“Will you pardon and protect me from such a fate?”
I examined my fiancé, my podestà, and my prince. He did look as humble as that man could look, which was not at all, but he managed to seem anxious and as if my response mattered to him, and what else could a woman expect?
“I’ll pardon you on your understanding that should you ever again speak ill of my beloved parents or of my siblings, aggravating as they can be, I’ll serve your oysters as pâté on toast.”
His half an eyebrow, deformed by the torture he’d suffered, rose. “Have I noted that your colorful way of speaking fills me with delight?”
“It is not colorful when it is truthful.”
Prince Escalus crooked his neck as if easing a tension therein. “Noted. If you would do me the honor of going in to dinner with me?” He presented his arm.
I stared at it, knew that while Elder might be sincere in his decision to help me marry my One True Love, I didn’t trust the ghost, or a politician, and most especially not the ghost of a politician, much less the father who must want only the best for his son. As Prince Escalus and I agreed, searching for Elder’s killer would be a perilous endeavor and by no means would I come out unharmed, or even alive.
“We arrive together for the comfort it will give my family.” I hovered my fingertips above his forearm.
Again he noted the separation between us, but he did nothing to force my compliance.
We entered the brightly lit dining room together.
CHAPTER14
Papà stood speaking to the prince’s boon companions and bodyguards, Dion, Marcellus, and Holofernes. From Papà’s animated and pointed gestures, I assumed he was discussing past sword battles and his almost unbroken line of successes. The companions listened intently, not three younger warriors humoring an old knight, but men learning from the greatest swordsman to ever grace Verona’s streets. Even at the advanced age of thirty-seven, Papà handled a sword with skill, speed, and strategy.
My siblings were gathered around Princess Isabella, giggling as she stealthily passed grilled skewers of figs, bread cubes, and cheese to appease their hunger.
Our beloved Friar Laurence stood with the children, laughing with them and snatching the occasional fig. His humble brown robes and shaved head denoted that he had taken vows of poverty as a Franciscan monk, and the three knots on his corded rope cincture stood for poverty, chastity, and obedience. This good brother had in secret joined my parents in matrimony and, as a skilled apothecary, prepared for my mother the potion that put her into the sleep of death for two and forty hours. A respectful pupil, I weekly went to his shop and learned the apothecary arts, thus he’d earned a seat at this most momentous meal.
As soon as everyone saw Cal and myself, and saw that we were together, a palpable air of relief swept the assembly.
Mamma sat beside an old woman, older even than Nurse, a woman of seventy years or more, with iron-gray hair pulled back under a black veil and tucked into a beaded and bejeweled headdress. Loss and worry had worn deep, dry wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her shoulders were stooped, her frame skinny, and she leaned close to listen to Mamma.
“My grandmother,” Cal murmured in my ear.
“She who ‘spreads terror before her like a farmer spreads manure’?”
“The very one. Are you afraid?”
“Introduce me and I’ll know.”
“Dowager, here is my daughter Rosaline.” Mamma beckoned me.
As a young gentlewoman should, I glided majestically toward them.
