Page 23 of Lion and the Lamb: Easter

“It’s because the kitchens are prepared for Lent,” said his mother. “You know they used up all the meat and dairy yesterday since we’re not supposed to have it for another six weeks.”

“That’s right, Lion, don’t be silly,” said his sister. “It’s Lent, and you know we can’t eat meat. Unless you’ve bribed the priest to let us do that, too.” She reached out and scooped some eel and vegetables onto her plate. They didn’t even have trenchers, since bread was made with dairy and not allowed.

“I told you, I didn’t bribe anyone,” Lionel repeated.

“Lion? Did I hear your sister just call you Lion?” asked Rachael with a giggle.

“It’s what Lily always calls Lionel,” answered his mother. “She started it when she was about six I believe.”

“Because his name is Lionel,” said Rachael, as if she understood. She didn’t. And Lionel was sure where this conversation was headed.

“Oh, nay, that’s not why, my dear,” said Lady Aldith, holding out her cup for the cupbearer to fill it with wine.

“It’s not?” Rachael looked up in confusion.

“Tell her why, Lily,” said Lionel’s mother, once again causing him to groan.

“It’s because he’s always had that long, wild hair that reminded me of a mane.” Lily put her hand to her mouth and giggled. “Plus, my brother was always growling about something and it sounded like the roar of a lion.”

“Really?” Rachael’s face lit up in amusement now.

“Enough,” said Lionel, taking the platter of food and scooping some onto his mother’s plate for her. Then he did the same for his wife before scooping some onto his. Looking down, his stomach grumbled. He wrinkled his nose, eyeing up the eel. In his opinion, it was even worse than all the red herring they would eat before these six weeks were up. He really couldn’t wait for Easter to arrive. He put down the platter and looked back over to his new wife. She was nibbling on a turnip and licking the sauce from her lips, acting as if she really enjoyed the food.

His eyes settled on her long neck, watching the movement of her throat as she swallowed. Damn, it was making him randy. Then his eyes dropped to her cleavage, and he couldn’t help noticing the valley between her breasts. He was hungrier than he’d thought, and it wasn’t just for food.

Rachael glanced up at him, catching him looking at her. “Is something wrong, Husband?” she asked.

“Nay.” He put down the platter and picked up his goblet, chugging down all of his wine. “Cupbearer,” he called out, holding out his goblet for more.

“Slow down, Son, or you’re going to get tipsy,” warned his mother.

Tipsy, drunk, sloshed, any of those might help him to keep his mind off the things he wanted that he could not have.

“My lord,” said his steward, coming up the dais, and bending over to speak to him in private. “One of the dockworkers is here with the ledgers you’ve requested.”

“Now? Egads, Willard, I am trying to eat my one meal of the day,” griped Lionel. During Lent, they were only allowed one meal a day, and sometimes just a snack in the morning or before bed. But face it, this was really all the food he was getting today and he didn’t want to miss it. “Just take the ledgers from him, and leave them in my solar.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Willard with a bow.

Lionel picked up his spoon and shoveled some food into his mouth, not paying attention to anything else.

Rachael overheard the steward,and realized that Winifred did, too. The girl excused herself from the table, and hurried toward a boy who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen standing inside the entrance of the great hall. The boy seemed nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He held a stack of ledgers in his hands.

Rachael didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up when Winifred slowed at the door, glancing over to him. Then she picked up her skirts and hurried away.

“What is the name of that dockworker standing in the doorway?” Rachael asked Lionel.

“Hmm?” Lionel looked over to the boy, but the boy had turned and they could only see his back now. “I don’t know, I can’t see his face.” Lionel continued to eat. “I just hope it’s not that Gilly.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Gilly is the one who I found arm wrestling with Winifred in the tavern. So if it’s him, the sooner he leaves the better.”

“I see.” Rachael reached over and put some food on her son’s plate, her eyes still on the door. Willard took the ledgers and then the boy left. “I’ll be right back,” she told her son, getting up from her chair.

“Where are you going?” asked Lionel, not even noticing that his daughter was gone.

“I just . . . need to use the garderobe,” she said in a hushed whisper.