30 Days, 30 Stories

Day Sixteen: The Art of Courtly Love

“I think Fate is playing tricks on us,” a familiar voice said, just behind her. “Why else would it send me to this boring function if not to find you here.”

Naomi turned quickly. Liam was standing there, an empty wine glass in his hand, and smiling that same brilliant smile she remembered from their encounter at the Winterbottom party. Even now he wasn’t wearing a suit. He’d opted for a pair of black jeans, a black cashmere v-neck pullover sweater and suede loafers, and the effect was perfect. Despite the monotone of his clothing, he stood out from the crowd. His reddish hair was slicked back, accentuating his high cheekbones and his full mouth. 

Something fluttered inside Naomi. She stood a little straighter, felt a slow smile forming on her mouth, her first of the evening.

“Are you a friend of the Museum then?” she asked, looking up at him. He was at least a head taller than she. If she were in his arms, he’d duck his head to kiss her. God, I’m jumping the gun, she laughed inside. I’ve only just met him and I’m already imagining him kissing me!

“Not me, but Tom and Lolly are.” He gestured over his shoulder. There were Lolly and Tom, chatting with an older couple Naomi recognized as the mayor and his wife. “They think my mates and I need a little cultivation besides music, so they’re making us tag along.” She noted the irony in his tone, but he didn’t sound bitter or resentful of their presumption. “What’s a gorgeous girl such as yourself doing at such a geriatric function like this?”

Naomi grinned. “I’m supposed to be on a date.”

“Are you now? So where’s the lucky man?”

With her empty glass, Naomi pointed out Anthony. He was so engrossed in whatever his colleague was saying that he still had not noticed Naomi’s absence.

“And he brought you to this party on a date?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Christ, I could think of a million better places we could go if we were on a date.” 

“Where would you take me then?”

He made a show of thinking about it, then said, “If we were in Ireland, I’d take you for a long walk round Dublin, it being your first time there, y’see, we’d stroll through St. Stephen’s Green then pop into a pub for a pint and some laughs and then we’d have dinner in one of the private dining rooms at the Clarence Hotel…something along those lines.”

“Sounds much better than this,” she admitted. “Anthony hasn’t even thought about dinner yet, and I’m starving.”

They were walking towards the east wing of the museum now, where the medieval arts collection was housed. This was Naomi’s favorite part of the museum. The tapestries depicting lords and ladies and courtly love always fascinated her. Her father had once given her a picture book featuring a romance between a knight and the lady of the castle. The illustrations were based on the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, a story Naomi knew well even as a child. She’d never been very concerned about King Arthur. He’d always seemed too good to be true. But Lancelot was flawed, and his imperfection—along with the irresistible pull of his love for Guinevere—appealed to Naomi’s romantic heart. And now as an adult, the tapestries and illuminated manuscripts held the same appeal for her. 

“We should leave together then. I haven’t eaten either, and I’d much rather break bread with you than with Tom and Loll and the boys.”

His suggestion was tempting.  Where his hand brushed her arm her skin tingled. There was a bubble of giddiness forming inside her. If he kissed her, she’d melt.  Why did she never feel this way with Anthony? When he touched her, there was never the heady anticipation of something more. But now, Liam had confiscated their woefully empty glasses, proffered new ones and was walking beside Naomi, his gaze constantly sliding to meet hers. His cheeks were flushed red, and there was something boyish in the way he fidgeted with his glasses. 

She did want to leave with him. This was insane! She was with Anthony tonight, and even if he wasn’t behaving like the perfect date, she couldn’t just disappear with another man. But here she was, leading Liam further into the dimly lit seclusion of the Medieval Arts hall, away from the cacophony of the other guests. Her shawl slid down one shoulder, leaving her skin bare to the faint draught. 

“This is more like it,” Liam said, looking around. “A room dedicated to the courtly art of love. I like it.”

“Me, too,” Naomi murmured. “Even with all the affectations, there is something so romantic and beautiful about the ceremony of it.”

They stopped in front a tapestry depicting a young woman playing the harp in a lush garden. Beside her sat her lover, his arms full of flowers. The night sky above them, though faded, was punctuated with silvery stars. The lover’s hair was as coppery as Liam’s. 

“You know, we’ve never been properly introduced,” Naomi said coyly. “So how could I possibly leave with you, when all I know about you is that you’re Irish and you know the Winterbottoms?” 

“I’d best remedy that then, hadn’t I?” He took her glass from her hand and set it on a nearby bench. Then, taking her hand in his, he bent low over it and kissed her fingertips. The brush of his lips on her skin sent another wave of shivers through her. “I’m Liam Donegal, at your service.”

Playing along, Naomi gave a regal nod of her head. “Enchanté.”

“Enchanté.” He straightened up now and was smiling down at her. “And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name, milady?”

“Naomi. Naomi Wilkerson.”

“Well, Ms. Wilkerson, may I share something with you?” he asked, still in the role of the courtly gentleman. He was still holding her hand.

“You may,” she said, her voice suddenly low.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He sounded surprised, stunned almost by his own confession. “I can’t concentrate, I keep wondering when I’ll see you again and what I’d say to you when I finally saw you again…”

Inside, she was trembling though her exterior betrayed none of this. Every fiber of her was attuned to his words, to the feel of his fingers laced with her. Kiss me, a voice in her head willed. Kiss me so I know how it feels…

Traces of the string quartet’s rendition of Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” wafted into the room like perfume. 

“Have you thought about me at all, Naomi?” He moved closer now. She couldn’t avoid the steadiness of his stare, and she didn’t want to. 

She nodded. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

“And here we are…in this museum in a room no one else seems to remember since there’s no free food or wine here…we could just vanish…” he snapped his fingers. “…and they’d be none the wiser.”

And then he took her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers. She opened up for him and felt his tongue slide gently into her mouth, felt the warmth of his body grow taut against hers. Her body was responding to his, melting into him, igniting in the rush of want coursing through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, let her fingers tangle in his hair.  Liam’s strong hands slid to her neck, his fingers sliding along the neckline of her dress. If he asks me, I’ll go home with him…the thought came so suddenly it startled her. God, Anthony—what if he were to see her in another man’s arms like this? 

She broke away, a rash of guilt spreading through her. “I…Anthony’s probably wondering where I am.” 

Liam reached for her but she waved him off. “He hasn’t even noticed you’re gone, Naomi. You know he hasn’t.”

She shook her head. This was crazy. “I have to go” and she quickly retreated, not looking back even when she heard him say her name.