Chapter 6

“Did you know,” Jacques began, whispering softly to Marguerite as they danced, speaking each time she drew close enough to hear him, “this dance tells a story?”

Marguerite grinned as she looked up into the tall man’s eyes, “Oh, does it? What kind of story?”

Jacques leaned in closely, “It is a story of seduction,” As they drew together, he raised her hand, “The would-be lover pursues the lady, obsessed with her beauty and charm.”

Marguerite turned and took two steps away. “The lady is tempted, but steadfast in her loyalty to her husband,” he continued.

Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “The lady is married?” she asked.

“Of course,” Jacques replied. “The best seductions involve a married woman.” He circled Marguerite slowly.

“He stalks the woman, showing her the desire he feels for her,” he continued. “The temptation for her grows stronger, and she steps closer, longing to feel her suitor’s lips against hers.”

His words reminded Marguerite of their kiss earlier, and she felt a warm stirring inside her body. She knew she was blushing and looked away.

“She steps back and tries to resist her growing curiosity,” Jacques added as the couple stepped apart. He reached out, and she placed her hands in his.

“But, she feels the desire growing inside her, and she can no longer deny it,” he said as he pulled Marguerite firmly to him, her breasts brushing his muscular chest. She gasped softly.

“And she gives in to his seduction,” Le Gris concluded.

Marguerite was so distracted that she missed the next beat, moving after everyone else. As they bowed and squared off to face one another again, the dance began to repeat. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, then replied, “I think you have misunderstood the story.”

“Oh, have I?” he asked, playfully. “Then please tell me the real story of the dance.” They began the sequence again, moving together and apart, turning and stepping in rhythm.

“The man is obsessed with the wife of his friend,” she whispered so that only Jacques could hear her. They held hands, facing one another and moved in a loop. Jacques took her hand and walked around Marguerite, staring at her lustfully.

“He does everything he can to impress her,” she added as she watched him circling her. “Like a strutting peacock to woo his mate.”

“But, she has only thoughts and feelings for her husband,” she continued the story as she stepped apart and tipped her head.

“He becomes so desperate to have her, to kiss her, to bed her, that he grabs her forcefully and pulls her to him,” Marguerite said as Jacques acted in the same manner, drawing her body against his.

She stared up into his intense eyes, and slightly out of breath, finished, “But, she rejects his advances and excuses herself to return to her husband’s side.” She curtsied as the music concluded.

Marguerite smiled, pleased with herself. Jacques grinned and responded, “I liked my interpretation better.”

“I’m sure you do,” Marguerite replied. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be back to my husband’s side. I thank you for the dance.” With that, Marguerite made her way back to Jean and kissed him on his cheek as she sat down next to him.

“Back so soon?” he asked. “Did you not enjoy the dance?”

“I did, but I am growing tired, my love,” she explained. “Thank you for indulging me and my silly desires. I have danced enough for one day.”

Jean stood, swaying on his feet. He was clearly very drunk. Never before had Marguerite seen him indulge in wine so heartily. She stood and took his arm. “Shall we retire, my love,” she asked, concerned at his overindulgence.

“Yes, it is late, and we have the joust on the morrow,” Jean declared, though his words came out greatly slurred. He tried to take a step and nearly fell. Marguerite grabbed him and tried to hold him upright, but he was far too heavy for the petite woman to handle.

“Where is Crespin?” Jean asked. “I must thank him for such a sumptuous feast and a splendid good time.”

“He and the lady already retired to their chambers, looking ready to procreate another heir Marguerite explained as she struggled to help her husband walk. She was not having much luck.

Just then, Jacques le Gris appeared and took the other side of Jean, propping him upright. “Have too much to drink Jean?” he asked with a grin. “I haven’t seen you drunk since that time in Flanders when we were sixteen.”

Jean leaned his head towards the man, “Ahh, Le Gris! Have you met my beautiful wife, Marguerite?”

“Yes, Jean, I have,” Le Gris answered as he signaled one of his men from across the room. “Louvel, grab his other arm.”

A rough-looking man with dark eyes and three-days-growth of beard came quickly and took Jean’s right arm from Marguerite.

“I’ve got him, milady,” the man said as he put Jean’s arm over his shoulders.

“Are we going to joust now?” Jean asked, barely able to hold his head up.

“No, Jean, that is in the morning,” Jacques replied. “Though I’m not sure you’ll be able to sit a horse, old friend.”

“Nonsense! Put me in the saddle now, and I’ll show you. Give me a lance, squire!” Jean shouted.

“Maybe the rest of us will have a chance now that you’re too drunk to tilt, Jean,” Jacques added.