Emma: Daughter Of Normandy by Kaitlynn Clarkson

Author:Kaitlynn Clarkson [Clarkson, Kaitlynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-29T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

“Remember what I told you,” Geoffrey said in a low voice as the fanfare sounded, announcing the arrival of the ladies in the great hall. “These ladies are here for you to consider one of them as a bride.”

Gilbert tried to choke back angry words. “You have told me many times, Papa,” he said stiffly. “I do not need another reminder.”

“I wish you to be a charming and dutiful host,” Geoffrey replied. “We all have to do things we would rather not.”

“This is my life we’re talking about, Papa,” Gilbert hissed between clenched teeth. “I am the one who has to live it. Why should I not have a say in it also?”

“Duty comes before our own preferences,” Geoffrey said sternly. “You know that as well as I do. Now, do your best to ensure these ladies have a pleasant time, and perhaps you will find that the idea of marrying one of them is not so odious, after all.”

Gilbert glared at his father’s departing back, then squared his shoulders and plastered a smile on his face as the ladies approached the table close to the dais. A troubadour with a lute appeared, making the crowd laugh with his exaggerated movements.

Gilbert stood to greet the ladies and help them get settled. Several young knights were also seated at the table, and he knew they were looking forward to the dancing that would come later.

He cast a glance at Father Phillipe, there to oversee the feast. It was well-known that the Church frowned on dancing, but Father Phillipe seemed to be enjoying himself if the pile of chicken bones next to his trencher was anything to judge by. A servant scurried to the head table and whipped the trencher and chicken bones out of sight so the priest was ready for the next course. Several other servants moved discreetly around the room, clearing away bowls and cleaning food off the tables. Frotberga and her mother were the first to arrive, claiming the best seats to watch the troubadour as he fussed around with his seat, pulling comical faces and delighting the crowd.

“Greetings, ladies,” Gilbert said politely. “I trust you are comfortable.”

Frotberga barely spared him a glance. “We are fine, thank you,” she replied in a toneless voice before looking down at her fingernails.

Gilbert was already feeling irritated by her bored, petulant attitude. He turned to the next pair to arrive, Adèle and her mother.

“Greetings, ladies,” he said smoothly. “You are looking very elegant on this occasion.”

Adèle cast him a quick glance. “Thank you, mon seigneur,” she replied demurely.

Bertha and her lady’s companion appeared next, her clothing and hair perfect as always. Gilbert glanced at Alfred, sitting next to a vacant seat. He caught Bertha’s eye, and she made her way to sit beside the young knight. Gilbert did not doubt that Alfred would very much like to take Bertha as his own.

Three other young women and their companions followed, all daughters of high-ranking officials belonging to the other nobles. Gilbert greeted each one politely, mindful of Geoffrey’s watchful gaze.

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