Christin’s face screwed up as if she were going to cry. “It is beautiful, your grace,” she said, her voice squeaky. “I am so ashamed. I will try to do better.”
She grabbed the wine cup again, managing to spill most of it on her dress before the cup made it to her mouth. She drained the cup because there was very little left, tossing the cup onto the floor.
“More wine!” she bellowed.
She yelled so loud that John winced, sitting back in his chair and watching the woman behave as badly as she possibly could. It was astonishing, really. He’d never seen something so appalling in his entire life.
But that was only the first act.
More wine came, delivered by one of Lady de Winter’s women who was, in fact, Wynter. And the wine wasn’t wine as much as it was very little wine and boiled water, but there was enough wine to color it red. The king didn’t know that. He watched as Christin drank half the cup, smacking her lips before delivering a belch that half the hall heard.
And that’s when things got interesting.
“My God,” Peter breathed. “What is she doing?”
Alexander was at one of the tables with Peter, Bric, and Kevin. He had watched as Sean had directed Christin into the hall and when she took her seat with John. From that point on, all he could see was her animated conversation. She seemed to be talking up a storm to the king, who was watching her with increasing disbelief. Alexander couldn’t hear the words and wondered what she was saying, but when she started eating the swan’s leg and food began to fly, he suspected she was making herself out to be the epitome of an ill-bred woman.
Her brother was nearly beside himself.
“Just… wait,” Alexander said to Peter. “Wait and watch. This is her show now, so let her perform. We told you that she is trying to disgust the king so he will turn his attentions elsewhere, so let her do what she must do.”
“Has anyone told Old Daveigh?”
“I have,” Bric said quietly. “He knows. Christ, she just dropped wine all down the front of her. She is called The Ghost, but this is not very ghostly.”
“Nay, it’s very obvious,” Alexander said. “But oh, so brilliant.”
The four of them were trying hard not to watch her because they didn’t want the king or his men to catch on to what amounted to an act. They didn’t want to blow Christin’s efforts apart, so they focused on their food, on each other, only casting the occasional glance to the dais as the show continued.
But Alexander was coiled.
It was an unusual state for him. Usually, he was the calm one. He gave the commands and others followed because he was composed no matter what was going on, but at the moment, he felt as if his composure were hanging on by a thread.
Even if he couldn’t hear her words, he definitely heard the wet, deep belch she emitted after she’d downed what looked to be a cup of wine. Half the hall heard it. As Alexander, Kevin, and Bric looked on with shock, Peter was having a difficult time holding back the laughter.
“I cannot believe she did that,” Peter said, turning his head away so they couldn’t see him laugh. “As a child, we used to have competitions on who could belch the loudest and Christin was always a force to be reckoned with. I cannot believe she has brought that talent to light.”
As the others were trying not to look at the dais, open-mouthed, Christin let out another belch that was very wet and she ended up vomiting up some of the food she’d eaten. As she let it fall to the floor, spitting it out, Bric and Peter lost their struggle against the laughter. Heads turned away from the dais, they laughed so hard that Bric’s face turned a deep shade of red. Peter couldn’t catch his breath. All the while, Alexander was watching the entire event with a mixture of shock, amusement, and the utmost respect.
She was one hell of a woman.
He’d called Christin brave, but this went beyond what he thought she was capable of. It was the most barbaric behavior he’d ever seen coming from a woman, a performance carried out with the utmost skill. She wasn’t afraid to get dirty, to make herself sick, or make a fool of herself, knowing it was all for an end result.
That elevated her tremendously in his eyes.
He could only hope her extreme efforts were working.
Little did he know she was about to take it to the next level.
“Your grace, forgive me,” Christin said as she moved her chair back, away from the vomit on the floor. “This has been a terrible evening. But most evenings go like this for me. It is the drink; it always does terrible things to me, yet I love it so. Life is very dull without wine, would you not say so? My favorite is from Spain. Do you have a favorite wine?”
John was absolutely appalled by what he’d seen. When she stopped belching, barfing, and chatting, he realized she’d asked him a question. He, too, scooted his chair away from the vomit and also from her, afraid she might belch and puke again.
“Gascony, I suppose,” he said. “I find that I do not care where it comes from as long as it is fine.”
Christin nodded vigorously. Her hair was starting to come undone, making her appear quite disheveled. “I agree completely, your grace,” she said. Before she could comment further, Wynter came by with a pitcher of wine and Christin grabbed her arm. “I need more drink, wench. Fill my…”
She yanked too hard on Wynter’s arm and the woman dumped half the contents of the pitcher on her shoulder and arm. A portion of it splashed onto John, who wasn’t quite out of range. Outraged, and wet, Christin leapt to her feet.
“You foolish chit,” she gasped. “Do you not realize who this is? You have offended the king with your sloppy behavior. Someone should teach you some manners!”
With that, she grabbed Wynter by the hair and pulled her down onto the king’s table. Sean, who had been watching the fiasco so far and struggling not to laugh, stepped forward to pull the king out of the way as the two women began to fight on the table. Legs and hands were flying around. Gerard d’Athee was also there and Sean passed the king into the man’s protective custody as those nearest the dais stood up, concerned to see two women fighting right on the king’s table.
Unfortunately, the man Christin had hit on the shoulder with the bone from the swan was fairly close to the table where the women were brawling. He was a knight who served the House of de Mandeville, a de Winter ally. Christin, on top of Wynter at this point and smashing turnips into her face, caught sight of the man, who was looking at her with outrage. That was all it took for Christin to unleash on him. Picking up a bowl of stewed fruit, she hurled it at him.
“And that’s for challenging me, you revolting dog!” she screamed. “You are an abomination!”
The knight was hit with the bowl on the jaw. As the fruit sprayed everywhere, he lost his balance and toppled back into the man next to him. That man didn’t take kindly to it and soon the two of them were throwing punches. Because they were fighting, their colleagues began to push each other and, within very little time, a full-scale brawl had erupted at one of the tables. Food began to fly and dogs began to scatter.
But Christin wasn’t paying attention to that. She wasn’t hurting Wynter, nor was Wynter hurting her, but they were making a good show of pulling hair and smashing food into each other. This had been their plan all along and it was working splendidly. Christin grabbed a half a loaf of bread that had been artfully braided, with a hard crust, and began beating Wynter with it, who shoved her onto the floor.