Page 83 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

Prince Owain grinned. “But! We are also honored to be playing host to a wedding—Sir Sidney has just this evening wed the Lady Agnes, and we wish them good health, a long life, and a longer love. There’s little in this world that can’t be made sweeter with the right person at your side. To the groom and his lovely bride!”

Gabriel took a breath, and allowed himself to feel a tug of gladness as the hall toasted the happy couple. Sidney was actually red-eyed now, like he’d been recently crying and was threatening to do so again. Gabriel looked to Gwen, and saw that she was crying too, just one tear glistening tastefully on her cheekbone, and then he chanced a quick glance at Arthur, whose eyes were suspiciously glossy. He loved Sidney in a way Gabriel envied, not because it was the least bit romantic, but because it was entirely uncomplicated and easy for both of them to speak out loud. True brothers-in-arms.

The pages and cupbearers brought round the ewers for handwashing, and then the feasting began. There was fine pottage, wild pig with spiced apple preserve, fig and custard pie. Then roasted pheasants, herons, and chickens, finely dressed, accompanied by great silver bowls of gold and crimson sauces; later, venison, rabbit, and partridge, followed by bright jellies in floral shapes and tiny eggs, halved and pickled. Gabriel picked at each course sparingly, tried a little of everything, and tasted nothing, then washed it all away with wine.

The step dancers returned to perform, once the majority of the feasting had finished, and then Prince Owain insistedthat they push the trestle tables aside and all dance the next number together. It was unclear whether he’d chosen something very simple to avoid the risk of general embarrassment or if this truly was a traditional Welsh dance suitable for the occasion, but Gabriel was able to follow along to a reasonable standard, and even Gwen only got every third step wrong. They danced in pairs, in parallel lines across the hall; first Gabriel danced with his sister, then Lady Adah, who was actually very good, and then a Welsh noblewoman who blushed heartily the entire time and couldn’t help but stare at his arm when the dance called for her to grasp him by the left hand, and she found she couldn’t.

“Now,” Owain called, barely out of breath despite his great enthusiasm for physical movement, “the English will choose a song, and lead us. Your Majesty, if you would.”

It felt like the sands of time were running out on this evening. It was late, and Gabriel had barely caught a glimpse of Arthur, except when they’d passed by the shoulder during one of the dances and then been borne away from each other by the pattern of the steps.

Perhaps it was a lost cause, and Arthur’s mind was made up; but perhaps it wasn’t. All Gabriel knew now, on this night and in the face of all this love, was that if he was lucky enough to be given one more chance, he had to take it—and that if he left this hall without doingsomething, he’d hate himself forever.

“We’ll dance the estampie,” Gabriel said, and Owain nodded approvingly.

“A dance for lovers,” he said. “Very good! Lead the way.”

It was possibly Gabriel’s least favorite dance, because it was sopublic. You chose your partner in advance, and each set ended with one couple dancing down the middle of the row,showing off for the crowd before joining the line at the end, creating a new top couple, who would then have their chance to perform their love. Gabriel did not shine on the dance floor, as a rule. He tried to blend in as much as possible, and almost always managed to excuse himself when the estampie was on the menu.

He knew Gwen was staring at him from two couples down, but that wasn’t of note, becauseeveryonewas staring at him, waiting for him to honor one of the ladies with his hand.

He broke away from the line, and there, just five men along, was Arthur. A blur of scarlet and gold, copper and sable.

He knew what he needed to do.

He kept walking, like a man possessed, past Gwen and Lady Adah, past the blushing girls who watched him go with shrewd eyes, and then stopped, and held his hand out for Sir Arthur Delacey.

Arthur froze halfway between expressions, seeming glued to the spot, and for a second Gabriel thought he might laugh and refuse, give Gabriel a chance to pretend this monumental risk had been in jest—but then he flushed red, bright spots of color in his cheeks, and took Gabriel’s hand. They walked together to the top of the hall. People were probably whispering. Gabriel couldn’t hear them over the pounding in his ears.

“Well, as I said,” Prince Owain proclaimed, “they do things a little differently across the border. To your partners, all!”

There was a brief interlude of confusion, and then an older man, rail-thin with a magnificent mustache, went and offered his hand to a stout gentleman of similar age, who stared at it like he’d never seen a hand before and then accepted with a quivering smile.

Bridget, who had not been dancing, came cutting through the crowd straight to Gwen, who was brimming over with delight as she was bowed to, taken by the arm, and led to her place. Everybody else coupled up with shouts and laughter, married men and ladies, young friends, nervous boys with the beginnings of whiskers and girls who whispered to each other and held hands, enamored with their own daring. Quite a few people left the hall, but it barely registered.

Arthur was by his side.

Sidney and Agnes came to take their place as second couple; Prince Owain, with permission from his wife, insisted on joining the line to dance with his own Lord Steward, who was plainly horrified.

The music started up, bright and lively, and Gabriel looked to Arthur with sudden panic. He was not a good enough dancer to pull this off. Arthur, of course, was magnificent.

He was looking back at Gabriel, his brown eyes wide, his smile almost shy—but then he winked, and relief flooded Gabriel’s veins like cool water on a sweltering day.

“Amazingly bad idea,” he whispered. “Really impressively terrible. I love it.”

Then he took Gabriel’s hand and led him into the dance.

And… it was easy. He probably wasn’t doing it quite right, but Arthur was guiding him, and every time he touched Gabriel it didn’t feel like an admonishment, but an invitation. They danced down the line, Arthur’s eyes bright, hair flying, the only face Gabriel could see in this room full of people, and everybody stomped and clapped and cheered.

When they reached the end of the row and their time was up, Sidney and Agnes gladly taking center stage, Arthur was still holding on tight to his hand.

Thirty-Three

And so the King met Prince Owain of Wales, and he did cry in all this country a great feast shall be held in honor of the King’s coming, and no man may come but if he dance,and so the King

And the King, who was passing kind, didchoose to dance with

And when the time came to dance