But today was not the same day. Today was different. Today he would, at the propulsion of his heart, conquer his fear and finally confess what he had always wanted to confess to the woman whose command over his will demanded his confession. Normally, when he saw her slight and petite frame round the corner, stepping into the dimming light of the sun, his fear would grip hold of his courage and dismantle any confidence he had been able to muster. Yet today was different because he was different. So, when he saw her this time, her light green, satin dress flowing ever so slightly against her newly discovered curves by the slightest of summer breezes, he became emboldened and stepped out to meet her. He stepped out and was crushed. For following just behind her, holding her hand, was the dark haired, dashing knight.
In just seconds, his heart went from soaring higher than any mountain top he ever dreamed of reaching to plummeting deeper than the deepest abyss in the deepest seas known and unknown. His heartbeat quickened and felt as though it would burst from his chest. And it probably would have had it possessed any of its former strength. Seeing the only woman he had ever dreamed of holding, looking longingly into the eyes of a man with much more to offer in every way things could be offered, dismantled his confidence and left him unable to move. As painful as it was, he was forced to watch as the dark-haired knight leaned in and kissed her. He must have made a noise of some kind, probably of either disgust or hopelessness, because their kiss ended abruptly as nothing more than a peck.
“Jaro!” she said in shock laced with embarrassment, “I did not see you there.”
“Oh,” he said, somehow recovering enough to coherently speak while hiding the utter doom he was feeling inside, “I am sorry for startling you.”
“I am glad you are here. I would like you to meet someone,” she said as she led the dark-haired knight over to where he was standing. He was beside himself and could do nothing but stand there and meet the man who had stolen her heart and his dreams away from him. “This is Sir Bronnerick Loslin.”
“Hello Jaro. Jonsia has told me much about you. It is a pleasure to meet you,” said Sir Bronnerick as he extended his hand.
“Um, hello Sir Bronnerick,” said Jaro as he grasped the knight’s forearm.
“That is a fine grip you have there. Strong enough to be a knight one day,” said Sir Bronnerick.
“Thank you, Sir,” returned Jaro, his emotional conflict somewhat muted by the easy and pleasant compliment from Sir Bronnerick.
“I knew you two would get along!” said Jonsia. “He will be staying with us for a while until the wedding.”
“Wedding?” Jaro exclaimed and must have had allowed his horrification to seep through because it drew a chuckle from Sir Bronnerick.
“Do not worry, Jaro. I will not steal all of her time away,” said Sir Bronnerick with a wink, more to Jonsia than to Jaro.
“That is a wonderful bouquet of flowers you have picked! Who are they for?” asked Jonsia.
He could not possibly confess his feelings now. In a moment of utter petrification, he could think of no other name than that of Jonsia’s handmaiden. So desperate was he to think of a name, any name, that he blurted, “Genova!”
“I knew it!” excitedly exclaimed Jonsia. “You must keep this a secret for she would never be my friend again if she knew I told you. Promise me you will not tell her,” she said to Jaro.
“Tell her what?” he asked.
“You must first promise me,” she said.
“Fine. I promise not to say anything to Genova,” he said.
“Thank you. In truth, Jaro, you have held her attention for a very long time. Since we were all young and would play in the gardens. Do you remember?”
“Would that not be a thing,” interjected Sir Bronnerick, “Imagine a dual wedding. Of course, we could never have them at the same time, but would it not be a thing?”
“Oh my! That would be a thing! Jaro, do you want to marry Genova?” she asked as she gripped Sir Bronnerick arm more tightly.
Stammered and utterly unable to respond, Jaro mustered the wherewithal to say only, “I just wanted to give her some flowers. Have you seen her?”
“My apologies, Jaro. I did not mean to presume. Yes, I did see her. She was tending to my laundry. She should still be washing them. I am quite sure she will love your gesture,” she said with a wink.
“Thank you, Lady Demeclure. With your permission, I would like your leave to pursue the intent of these flowers,” he said, recovering more decorum than was necessary.
“Jaro, how many times have I told you, you do not have to address me with my title. Are we not beyond such formalities?” she said pausing for his answer.
“Our limits are bound by our different status, m’lady. To reach beyond mine and into yours is a fiction fleeting in its reality,” he said with a deep and gracious bow. “Now, if I have your leaves?”
“Yes,” Jonsia responded straightening her posture ever so subtly. “You have our permission to take your leave and find the recipient of that wonderful bouquet.”
Seeing his dreams dissolved in a moment briefer than a single cloud burst within a season long drought made him realize something; as familiar as they had become, there would always be a separation between them. She would always be noble, and he would never be. “My thanks, m’lady, m’lord.”
“Of course. Until tomorrow,” she said.
“Until tomorrow,” he replied.
He chuckled to himself over the emotional peaks and valleys of his youth. Sir Bronnerick would prove to be more tarnished of character that his bright and gleaming persona indicated on initial impressions. Just a week before he and Jonsia were to be wed, three months after Jaro had met him, he caught Genova and Sir Bronnerick in the stables together in the middle of the night. Jonsia denied it at first in a fit of accusatory yelling. He did not blame her for it though. At the end of her rather fiery display of anger, he ended up holding her as she cried into the evening. He cursed himself for not brining a kerchief he could offer her; but it enabled him to tear a piece of cloth from his tunic that he used to wipe her tears away.
Over the next several months, the wiping of her tears with a piece of cloth from his tunic would become metaphorical for the wiping away of the walls around her heart with pieces of his soul. Over that time, he would write more poems for her and spend more time with her outside of their duties as noble and servant. Though now, she would read them. He would see her laugh again, run in the fields, and hold his hand. Their friendship grew into a devoted commitment to each other that reached is summit under the moonlit, night sky when the stars were at their brightest.
Often times, they would talk well into the night, but tonight was different. Neither of them spoke because neither of them had too. Neither of them had confessed their feelings for the other because they both just knew. There was a comfort, and familiarity which grew into an attraction more than simple infatuation. It grew from a deep and soulful respect that developed out of each of their pain. He respected her for placing her trust in him after all of it had been stolen away by her fiancé’s and handmaiden’s betrayal. And she respected him for his steadfast devotion while she wallowed in the throes of self-pity and sadness. Each of them built the other and brought back to life a part they had both previously believed to be dead. And in the bond born in their resurrections, they found love. That night, with the stars as their witness, they pledged each other in marriage and consummated it under the moon as it dripped its pale light upon their bodies. But when they woke, they knew their time was limited by a division stronger than love and pledges. After all, she was noble, and he was not.
Her mother had suspected their growing affections before her father. Being the ever-submissive Baroness did not mean she possessed a will unfit to hold its own against the growing tides of their love; but it did mean she chose more subtle means of disruption than what the Baron would have chosen. Before she knew it, Jonsia was immersed into more rigorous training in the ways of ladyhood lasting well i
nto the evening and beginning as the sun saw its first light illuminate their estate. While she did not complain about the added tutelage, Jonsia did long more and more for time with Jaro.
But she was not alone in her increased in duties. Jaro, too, saw his workload increase as the condition of the stables and all of its horses was placed directly under his supervision. With his grandfather’s ailing health, it was a necessity that he accept more of the oversight of the Baron’s estate instead of its specific daily tasks. Much like his father before him, and his grandfather before both of them, Jaro had worked his way from a serving boy charged with bringing meals at breakfast and dinner to overseeing all aspects of operating a small, but complicated estate complete with lands and vassals. Although now busier than ever, and more careful than ever, both Jaro and Jonsia would still find stolen seconds, sacred moments, and special times to spend with each other. They would find them, that is, until The Baron Demeclure was enlightened to the true motivations behind his stubborn daughter’s refusal of every marriage prospect over the last year. She was seventeen years old and would soon reach an age where people would begin to talk and question her fitness for betrothal. And once the nobles began to talk, they did not stop until a reputation was soundly attached to the object of their disapproval. If, in their undoubted machinations to uncover the “truth” they found out she loved a commoner, one of the help, her reputation would be so soundly ruined that it is quite possible she would never marry.
Needless to say, The Baron flew into a rage; however, his instinctive reaction of casting Jaro and all of his family out of their estate leaving them unemployed and unemployable was tempered by the passing of Jaro’s grandfather. Had the elder man not been so instrumental in the Baron’s upbringing through the difficult years of childhood and adolescence, the deeply planted respect would not have been watered and his anger would not have been tempered. However, because there was no buffer of loyalty between Jonsia and her father, she was not so fortunate as Jaro. The ensuing confrontation pitted two resolutely developed wills against each other. Had it not been for the full measure of the title “Baron” and all the authority that accompanied it, Jonsia might have outlasted her father. But as it was, what she did not agree to follow willingly, she was made to follow forcefully. It took three of his strongest guards to pick her up and place her in the Baron’s personal carriage meant to take her to her uncle’s estate far out of the range of Jaro’s influence where her only directive was to wed in six months’ time or be cast out and cut off.
Having worked in the stables all his life, and more recently having been placed in charge of them, he was extremely familiar with the specific qualities of each of the Baron’s horses. But more importantly, the horses were completely familiar and at peace with his presence. So, when he found out what had happened to Jonsia, he had no difficulty saddling the two fastest horses, one of which was the Baron’s own steed. For all they knew, they were being prepared for an early morning ride in the countryside. The fact that Jaro was riding with all gravity he could provoke from the two horses made no difference to them. They were simply doing what their familiar master was bidding them to do.
He was able to chase Jonsia’s mobile prison down rather quickly. After all, her captive carriage and its drivers and accompanying guards had no suspicion of anyone racing toward them. So, while instinctively guarded as a condition of their charge, their pace, while urgent, was still little more than leisurely. Most of the Baron’s guards, all except the newest recruits, recognized and trusted Jaro. His family had been in the employ of The Baron for most of their generations. They had seen Jaro grow from an infant into the young man charged with the daily operations of the entire stables. So, when they saw him approaching, having been given no reason as to why Jonsia was traveling to see her uncle, they thought nothing more of it than him fulfilling his duty to the Baron.
“Well met, Jaro. How fare you?” asked the driver.
“I am doing well, Yesin. Very well indeed,” replied Jaro jovially.
“I am sure you would be doing better if you were not upon a task from the Baron,” said the lead guard.
“Indeed, I would be. But is that the condition of our lives, to do as we are bid until the days arrive that see us unable to do the bidding of others?”
“You are quite right, my friend. Tell me, what task are you about today?” asked Yesin.
“And why do you have two horses and are armed with a sword?” added the guard.
It was in this moment that Jaro discovered he had a talent for quick thinking. Propelled by the desperation of sorrow and what would surely be the forever ache of losing Jonsia, he spurred his horse firmly causing it to rear on its hind legs. It landed hard enough to startle the horse next to it. He was, if he desired it, completely able to hold both horses calm and steady, but his goal was not the peaceful compliance of these strong beasts. Instead, he sought to rise their chaotic reactions. It worked. The horses being ridden by the guards became instantly uneasy and uncontrollable enough to allow Jaro a few moments of disorientation wherein he was able to gain the upper hand in what would have otherwise been a one-sided engagement. Jaro pushed his two horses into the flanks of the horses pulling the carriage hard. As he did, he pulled out his horse whip and used it on the backside of the closest of the two. It responded with a high-pitched whinny and darted forward pulling the other horse to do the same. With the carriage thundering ahead propelled by the horses’ anxiety driven charge, Jaro was given the opportunity he needed. He sped with his two horses and got right up next to the carriage door.
“Jonsia!” he shouted as the horses were in full gallop. “Jonsia!”
Stumbling to gain balance in the speeding carriage, Jonsia shouted through the side window, “Jaro, what are you doing?”
“Saving you!” he shouted back. The carriage driver was not without sufficient experience to gain control of the running beasts. Jaro knew this and knew the seconds available for completing his plan were drawing to a close. He cracked his riding whip against the rump of the closest horse hoping the sharp snap would counter the driver’s efforts to slow them down. He was in luck, it did. “Hurry, we do not have much time.”
“What should I do?” she asked him as she used her hands to brace herself against the rough path.
“Jump!” he shouted back. He risked a glance behind him and saw the guards were closing fast. “You must jump now!” Just as he said that, the carriage hit a particularly large divot. Jonsia was flung back into the carriage interior. At the same time, Jaro glanced forward and saw a large tree. He veered his horses just in time to avoid the impact. As he pulled up to the carriage again, Jonsia was also able to stand up. “Jump!” he desperately shouted snapping his whip once again.
She hesitated.
“Jump!” he shouted again.
And jump she did.
Using her grasp on the carriage sides, combined with her jump, she was able to fling herself onto the horse far enough for Jaro to reach and pull her up the rest of the way. Together they sped away on the two fastest horses in the Baron’s stables. The guards offered pursuit for a time and had either Jaro or Jonsia not been adept riders, they might have been caught. But such as they were, the guards were unable to keep pace because of their heavy armor and lesser skill.
They road and they road until their horses could ride no longer. What began as a frenzied race away from the lives they had known and into those they did not, ended with a moonlit gallop across the plains of the neighboring provinces and estates. They had nothing with them with which to survive, but neither could they continue their survival by going back. Yes, if they did choose to return, the Baron would erupt in a rage; but he was a good man, and while it might take many years, the damage would be repaired. But those reparations would not include a landscape wherein they would be together. And that was simply no survival at all.
He loved mornings most for their peace because it reminded him of their first morning together without the hangings o
f expectations hovering above them, silently dictating possibilities and probabilities. He loved the freedom he felt, they felt, as they raced across their present and into their future; a future that would see them struggle together, thrive together and parent together. But just as their peaceful life would eventually be interrupted, so too was his contemplation on this peaceful morning. Just becoming visible in the brilliance of the rising sun, was as lone rider.
As the rider drew closer, he could see it was a woman. He felt an ease to his anxiety more than what he expected as Soliana returned. She was beautiful, that was as sure as the mountains were constant. More than that, she was also formidable in the way those same beautiful mountains were formidable in their immobility. Powerful, majestic, and representative of something larger, she stood just as strongly as the mountains did, as they always did, as she always would. There was a gravity about her extending beyond the lines and curves of her blessed physicality. With each movement, her muscles would shift smoothly, like the finest of silk gowns worn by the most elegant queen in all the lands. And just like the queens of legend, she was effortless in her elegance. But unlike them, there was a lethality about her that spoke of a deeply borne resolution beyond the comforts and luxuries of nobility. And though she did not possess the bloodlines of those noble queens of times almost forgotten, in all other aspects of character, at least those they counted, she was every bit as noble as they. She was a woman strikingly gorgeous, but more, she was stunning in her persona. As he began walking to meet her, prepared to hear some tale of heroism, he noticed that the woman riding toward him was not Soliana. Expecting to see her blonde locks lit up like the sun itself, he saw instead, black hair like a raven’s feathers spilling down this woman’s shoulders.
His pace quickened. When he was close enough for her clothing to become visible and distinguishable, he noticed that she was dressed very similarly as the barbarians with whom she rode away. “Where is Soliana?” Jaro said threateningly.
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