Page 111 of No Place in Time

Garlands of summer lavender and white campion decorated Veyron Hall for the feast. Their blooms caught the torchlight as Cecily followed her parents through the gates.

She had been here before, in another life, in another century. She hated to think of the other Cecily. Tonight, she shook her head as if to shake away the memories.

Tonight she would see Finn.

Veyron Hall looked different. It was warm, lit, and full of voices, a mid-summer feast hosted by Lord Veyron to entertain and impress the nobility.

Cecily smoothed her skirts and followed her parents inside. She had chosen her gown carefully. It was the blue one, a color rich as a summer sky, with a cream-colored undergown that showed at the sleeves and hem. She hoped it would make her eyes startling enough to catch Finn’s. She had dressed with only one thought in mind: Finn would be there.

The great hall was already crowded. Trestle tables ran the length of the room, loaded with roasted meat, bread, and great pitchers of ale. Candles burned in iron stands along the walls. Musicians in the gallery above played a lively estampie that rose above the noise of conversation and laughter. The smell of roasted meat, rosemary, and warm bodies filled the air.

Cecily found Finn before she had taken ten steps into the hall.

He was standing near the far wall with a group of young men she didn’t recognize. He was dressed in a dark green tunic, looking exactly as he always did, tall, composed, a little apart from the people around him. He saw her at almost the same moment. Their eyes met across the hall and held for just a second before they both looked away.

That look was enough to set her pulse racing.

The lord of Veyron, Sir Alard, received them near the high table, effusive in the way of a man who was pleased with his evening. He bowed to Rosamund with practiced courtesy, clasped Thomas’s hand, and turned to Cecily with a faint smile.

“Lady Cecily,” he said politely. “You are a welcome sight.”

She curtsied. Beside her, her mother’s hand briefly found her elbow.

Finn appeared at his father’s shoulder a moment later, as though summoned. He greeted Thomas and Rosamund with easy courtesy, and then turned to Cecily with the polite, faintly distant manner of a young man being introduced to a guest’s daughter for the first time. She matched his demeanor perfectly.

“Finn.” Alard touched his arm before he could move away. “A business associate of mine will arrive later this evening. He’s been of considerable service to this house.” He paused, and his tone carried the weight of a man reminding his son of his obligations. “See that he is shown every hospitality. I want him to feel welcome here.”

“Of course,” Finn said, bowing lightly to his father.

Alard nodded, already turning back to Thomas. Finn glanced at her, a quick, careful look that said everything he couldn’t, then he turned and disappeared into the hall.

∞∞∞

The feast began with food. Servants moved through the hall in a steady procession, bearing dishes that filled the air with the smell of roasted meat and warm bread, a whole pig glistening on a wooden board, a great pike in herb sauce, pastries stuffed with dried fruit and spiced with cinnamon, platters piled with soft cheese and honey. Pitchers of ale and spiced wine made their rounds without stopping. The noise of the hall rose with each course, louder, warmer, and more generous.

Cecily was feeling reborn. The food was delicious, and she ate with genuine appetite for the first time in months. The music made her want to move. The room was warm, and the hall was full of voices. She was wearing her blue gown, and Finn was across the room, and everything—for this one golden evening—was exactly as it should be.

Across the hall, she spotted Finn again. Once, between courses, he glanced up and found her already looking. She lifted her cup slightly. He dipped his head, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes sparkled above the rim. They both looked away before anyone noticed.

When the last of the dishes were cleared and the trestle tables pushed back toward the walls, Alard rose from the high table and clapped his hands twice. The musicians in the gallery stirred, and the first notes of the dance floated down into the hall. Conversation gave way to movement as couples formed on the open floor.

Cecily watched Alard descend from the dais. She felt her shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly. Was he going to claim her for the first dance?

He moved through the hall with the easy authority of a man in his own domain, nodding to guests, pausing to exchange a word here and there. He was heading in her direction. She kept her expression pleasant and her hands very still.

And then he walked straight past her.

He stopped three paces beyond her, in front of a fair-haired girl Cecily didn’t recognize, the daughter of some neighboring noble family, who had been laughing at something her companion had just said. Alard bowed. The girl curtsied, surprised and obviously pleased. He led her onto the floor.

Cecily didn’t move for a moment.

Then she looked across the hall. Finn was watching her. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes said everything.

Do you see that?

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too broadly and gave the slightest nod, a silent confirmation passing between them.

Yes, it was working.