Winter’s Desire

by Amanda McIntyre, Charlotte Featherstone

  “And this man, this forbidden lover, does he return yer love?”

  My heart squeezed. “He says he has no regrets. But what does it matter if he feels more for me or not? He has been banished, and I must wed another. That is the way of things and I have no choice.”

  “Nay, daughter, there is always a choice.” She patted my hand. “Ye must listen and do as I say if ye wish to turn the dark tides that would threaten yer happiness. Dunna leave out a single part, for it is a single thread, stretched through time. All of nature is connected and all of nature’s strength ye will need to claim what ye desire.”

  “But what if my desire is nothing more than mere carnal desire?” I asked as I fished in my pocket for the coin Nuala had given me. “How can I be certain my desire is true?”

  “There are no answers I can give ye, daughter. Ye must find them fer yerself.”

  I pushed up from the table. I was no better off than before I came, for I had no way of understanding this magic. I placed the coin on the table and started to leave. The crone grabbed my hand. She had great strength for an old woman. She studied my face with glittering dark eyes.

  “What would ye sacrifice for yer deepest desire?”

  I saw no escape from my fate, and, therefore, no loss attached should I speak my truth. “If I could, I would make things right. Had I the chance to speak to him, I would reveal the truth in my heart.”

  “If what ye say is true, daughter, then listen and heed my words well. Ye must return to your earth goddess as ye once came. Ye came into this world with no stain, no covering, an innocent to the darkness that mars the soul. She wants ye to come to her, as ye once did and speak to her these words issued from a pure and contrite heart.” She handed the sampler back to me. Though the words were embroidered in ancient Gaelic, I could now read them clearly.

  “These are the words that ye must speak at the hour between day and night. The Mother Goddess will know whether they issue from a pure heart. But know this, that there will be those who will attempt to thwart yer happiness. Ye must have great courage. Dunna fear, no matter what happens.”

  The castle seemed empty without Ranulf. I hurried directly to my chambers, considering how I could warn my father of Benedict’s deceit.

  Nuala was waiting, wringing her hands when I entered.

  “Oh, milady.” She hugged me. “It does my heart good to see you. How was your visit? Did the old crone offer you any comfort?” She went about laying out my clothes for the evening meal.

  I was too tired and confused to explain, and I knew I could not face Benedict yet. “Nuala, please give my father word that I shall be in my chambers this evening as I need to rest.”

  “Aye, milady,” she said with a curtsy.

  I held the embroidered piece of cloth in my hand and wondered what I was to do if the chant did not work.

  “Milady. I heard today that Sir Ranulf was called away.”

  I glanced up at her. “I know, and it is my doing, Nuala. I have committed a terrible sin, and I fear that I may not be able to make it right.”

  She was silent a moment and spoke quietly as she moved to my side. “I am not one to partake in rumors, milady, but I heard something with my own ears that I am pressed to reveal to someone.”

  “Speak quickly, Nuala. Tell me what you know,” I insisted.

  “’Twas the afternoon before today, I heard two people whispering.” Her cheeks blushed crimson. “I heard the words of passion, milady. They did not know that I stood just beyond the door of the alcove they hid within.”

  “And why would their conversation be of importance to me?”

  “I believe one was Lord Benedict, milady.”

  “Go on,” I urged, my interest growing.

  “He spoke to her as a lover would, and she asked if he still planned to marry you.”

  “Did you know the woman’s voice?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, milady.”

  I nodded. It could have been anyone, from Margaret to one of the kitchen servants. However, to be so bold as to ask Benedict about the marriage she would have to be someone who was interested in more than just a quick romp.

  “Speak to no one of what you’ve heard. It is for the safety of us all. Go now, and keep watch over my cousin. Do not let her near Benedict.”

  She nodded. “Ay, milady.”

  After Nuala left, I paced the floor, pondering what more I could do to help my father and Ranulf. My thoughts were confused, my emotions worse. Exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep.

  The sound of insistent rattling awakened me. Groggy and cold, I stumbled from my bed and fumbled in the dark for the window latch. A bitter winter wind caught my hair and sent it flying in a tangled mass about my head. The sight of the pale moon near full and rising high in the midnight sky made me remember the old woman’s words.

  Washed in silvery moonlight and covered with snow, the deserted ward below and the village beyond lay in crystal blue-white radiance. An owl hooted from the rooftop of the stable below.

  I kept my gaze on the moon, praying the clouds would not swallow its brilliance. Quickly, I slipped out of my robe and gown, letting them pool at my feet. My flesh grew numb with the cool night air, causing me to hug my arms. Fighting the chatter of my teeth, I held the cloth in my hand and raised it high as I stretched my other hand toward the midnight moon.

  “Hope reborn, come with the sun

  dispel the chill of darkness

  bright fire of dawn

  reach to our hearts

  burn bright of winter’s desire.”

  I drew my arms again to my body, holding myself against the bitter air, summoning the courage to continue.

  “Enchanted stream of brilliant light

  amid the crystal ground

  dark traverse blending of the night

  bring sweet lover’s kiss

  burn bright of winter’s desire.”

  My body warmed as thoughts of Ranulf flooded my mind. Our first meeting, his palm against mine in our dance, the gleam of mischief in his eye, the smile of a man who knows much, yet has no need to boast. My skin tingled at the thought of his beard chafing my sensitive flesh. For a moment, I sensed his presence, the scent of his skin chilled with the winter, a male musky scent of leather, earth and wind. His hands upon me, his body molded to mine, drawing me close as he had our last morning together. Indeed, our first morning together, I thought, pushing away the fear that it might be the last. I continued with the Gaelic recitation, the words wrapping themselves around me, entering me, becoming one with my soul.

  “No wanderer’s curse

  be he thus beckoned

  a slave to passion’s fire

  return his head upon my breast

  burn bright of winter’s desire.”

  I closed my eyes and reached heavenward, my body drawn to the power of the stars and the moon sky. My skin shimmered from the dew of the snow blowing over me.

  A moment later, the clouds obscured the light, and blackness as thick as pitch settled over the earth. I hurried back to my warm bed. Naked beneath the quilts, I turned my face to the open window, hoping for a celestial sign that my heart was deemed pure enough to return Ranulf to me.

  I awoke the next morning to the sun streaming through the window. A drift of powdery snow blanketed my robe and gown, still lying where I had left them. I made haste to dress, not waiting for Nuala, and made my way to the private dining hall where I knew I would find my father, and I hoped Ranulf.

  “I trust you are well rested, daughter,” my father greeted me.

  I kissed his cheek and glanced around the room. We were alone except for the servants.

  “Today is a very special day for us all.” He ushered me to sit at his side.

  Guilt riddled my thoughts. I had to tell my father the truth and pray that he would find it in his heart to forgive my indiscretion. I grabbed his hand and leaned in close, hoping that no one would hear me. “I must speak to you in private, Father.”

&nbs
p; He patted my hand as he offered me a gentle smile.

  “I understand more than you realize, my daughter. It is the day of your wedding. Of course you would have questions. I only wish your mother were—”

  “No, Father, it isn’t that,” I interrupted.

  “Surely you are not having second thoughts about me?” A low-timbred voice issued from behind us. Standing just to the left of my chair stood Benedict, looking handsome and polished. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, as my mother would have said.

  “Ah, good morrow, Lord Benedict. Come sit here beside me and tell me how I might quell my daughter’s nerves.”

  Benedict smiled as he leaned between my father and me and took my hand in his. He brought it to his lips, despite my hesitation.

  “You have no need for concern, milady. I am a most patient and gentle man. By the morrow’s dawn, you will have forgotten all of your concerns.”

  I pulled my hand from his grasp, averting from his penetrating stare.

  “However, it saddens me to have to be the bearer of bad news on such a joyous day as this,” he remarked, bracing his arm leisurely on the back of my chair.

  Both my father and I turned to give him our full attention.

  “What news do you bring, milord?” my father asked, concern sobering his expression.

  An icy dread formed in the pit of my stomach.

  “I fear it is disturbing news about Sir Ranulf. Renegade warriors from the north attacked him and my guards as they were on their way to deliver my solstice greeting to my troops. My guards bring news that Ranulf fought bravely, but was overtaken and received a wound from which he did not recover. There was nothing more that could be done.”

  His eyes glittered with deceit as he spoke of Ranulf’s demise. The enjoyment he took in conveying the terrible news was evident.

  “With your permission, milord, I have ordered his body brought back here for proper burial. As you know, he was without home or lands.”

  My father nodded. “Of course.”

  I wanted to claw Benedict’s eyes out.

  He had maneuvered events to his advantage, knowing that if I challenged him he would carry through on his threat to harm my father.

  My stomach roiled. How could I now explain to my father about Benedict’s deceit without hope of Ranulf’s word to confirm it?

  Still, I was certain that if Ranulf was dead, that Benedict had a direct hand in it. Somehow, I had to find a way to prove his guilt and protect my father.

  “I am light-headed, Father. Forgive me, but I must rest.” Benedict held my chair as I rose.

  “Shall I escort you to your chambers, milady?” Benedict offered with a slight bow.

  Nuala, who had been waiting nearby, rushed to my side and took my arm.

  “I shall see to her, milord.”

  I grabbed her hand and squeezed it, grateful for her presence.

  “Rest well, my dear. I do hope you feel better. My happiness depends on yours,” Benedict called after me.

  My legs barely carried me as Nuala helped me to the safety of my chambers. Ranulf, dead? Was it possible? “The old woman said that the Earth Mother would hear the desires of my heart,” I said aloud, challenging this ancient magic that had betrayed me.

  “Milady, drink this. It will calm you.”

  Nuala handed me a cup and, without thought, I tossed it down my throat. My eyes watered as I swallowed the bitter liquid. “What is this?”

  “It is a special drink, milady. Something the cook is tinkering with.”

  I handed her the empty cup and wiped my hand across my mouth. My chest felt on fire as I tried to speak. “I want a horse made ready. I have to go to the village. I must speak to the old crone.”

  “Is that wise, mi—”

  “Now!” I demanded. I had to find out why the chant did not work. Was it due to the blackness of my heart? What manner of deceitful magic had the old woman lured me into? I could not—would not—marry Benedict, even if it meant my father’s disgrace.

  The crone looked at me, the folds of skin crinkling near her eyes as she narrowed her gaze. “Ye must be patient, Sabeline. Magic takes its own time. The goddess waits to see if your belief will falter.”

  I stared at the old woman. Had she not heard a word I had said? “Ranulf is dead. They are bringing his body even now to the castle for burial. I did exactly as you instructed. This is the day I had hoped would be one of joy and instead it is the furthest thing from it.” I pressed my face into my hands, tormented by thoughts that somehow this horrible magic had played a part in Ranulf’s death.

  “Child, even though we canna see everything before us, does not mean that life and hope dunna exist.”

  Uncomforted by the old woman’s words, I returned to the castle despondent, prepared to incur my father’s wrath in refusing to go through with the marriage to Benedict. As I entered the village, I noted a cart covered with furs. My gaze drifted to where a man’s arm dangled from beneath the furs, and my heart twisted.

  “May I see the body?” I asked, pausing a moment by the cart. Benedict’s guards had made haste in returning Ranulf’s body to the castle.

  The burly guard shook his head. “Nay, milady. Lord Benedict’s orders are to let no one touch the body.”

  He waved me on and to protest was unwise. I wrapped my cloak about my arms, glancing back at the cart, I sensed no magic, only my dismal future void of love.

  Inside the castle, preparations had begun for my twilight wedding. Great cords of evergreen draped the windows and doorways. The chandeliers were being fitted with new candles of white, and draped with greenery and berries. Bright polished red apples and oranges peeked from the boughs and brought a heady scent of freshness to the pine.

  The sights and smells of the season rekindled memories of my childhood. I longed to go back to those days. My mother’s tablecloth donned the head table, her wedding cloth of ivory and dusty blue adorned with ornate beadwork and embroidery. It was her wish that I use it on my wedding day. I could not picture myself in her wedding dress made of the same colors and rich detail. My eyes welled at the thought.

  A low chuckle from a room in the corridor caught my attention. I crept toward it, listening intently as I moved past several rooms. I stopped at my father’s parlor, shutting my eyes to the vision of Ranulf and I in the same room. From behind the door came the sounds of fervent passion.

  If I was forced to marry Lord Benedict, I would no longer tolerate my own cousin’s impropriety. Determined to make my position clear, I eased open the door, certain I would catch her with Benedict. I discovered Benedict, but thankfully, not with my cousin.

  Seated in front of the fire, his knees spread, Benedict held a goblet in one hand, while a woman, her face obscured by the angle of his body, knelt before him.

  Benedict’s low moan was all the proof I needed of his indiscretion. Stunned by his ludicrous behavior, I stared in disbelief, listening to the sounds of his impending release. He grabbed the woman’s hair and yanked her up to meet his face in a violent kiss as his cream drizzled over the woman’s ample breasts.

  At that moment, the kitchen maid opened her eyes and her horrified expression met mine. She scrambled to retrieve her clothes. Benedict merely glanced over his shoulder as he casually tucked his spent phallus back into his breeches.

  “Sabeline, I am pleased you had the sense to observe. Now and again, I prefer to relieve the tensions of the day in this manner. I am a prisoner of my pleasure. I admit that I require variety. Do not be concerned if you are not prepared—it will come easier with time and practice.”

  The woman lowered her eyes and skirted past me.

  I clenched my fists at my sides. “I will not marry you,” I ground through clenched teeth.

  “Because of her? Or because I am a man of great physical needs?” He swallowed his drink, dropped the cup on the table and proceeded to arrange his clothes. “I think you will find my insatiable desire will benefit you as well, if you allow yourself the freedom to e
njoy it.”

  “I am not your judge, Benedict, when it comes to your carnal needs. But I know you had more to do with Ranulf’s death than you confess.”

  He offered a shrug and grinned.

  “Your deceit will be found out. I will see to it. And I swear to you, if you harm my father, I will go to the king myself and reveal your plans.”

  He sauntered toward me with a lazy smile. His eyes were filled with hate. He tried to touch my cheek, but I turned my head. He grabbed my chin and forced his gaze to mine.

  “Unless you wish to plan a funeral mass for your father, I suggest you hold your tongue, like the dutiful wife I hope you will be.”

  He smirked as his fingers traced my lips.

  “Besides, there are much better uses for that sharp tongue.”

  Before I could escape, he pushed me back to the wall and brought his mouth down on mine, forcing his tongue between my lips in a brutal, sickening kiss.

  I shoved him away and when he stumbled, I took the opportunity to run from the room.

  “Until tonight, my love,” he called out.

  His mocking laughter chased me down the hall. I ran outside, sliding along the snowy path to the garden where I emptied my stomach. A swarm of black wrens, startled from their rest, swirled high in the late-day sky, a dark omen on this Solstice Day.

  The flames of the traditional solstice bonfire reached high into the darkening winter sky. A thousand stars began to dot the heavens as the frost moon peered down over the castle bastion like a great dragon’s eye.

  The cold was no deterrent for the happy villagers, having just received my father’s gifts of bread and coins. They danced around the fire, some daring to cross where they had spread the embers flat, while others tossed in tokens to the Mother Goddess, making their desires known to her. As in the ancient tradition, musicians played their crude instruments, to drive the dark night of winter away.

  I stood next to my father, dressed in my mother’s pale blue wedding gown. The intricate beading shimmered in the glow of the fire. On my head, I wore a crown of twigs, holly berries and evergreen, fashioned by Nuala to look like the one my mother had worn. I looked through the flames, seeing the blur of faces, none of whom I recognized but all there to witness the marriage they hoped would provide them with a better future. An icy chill swept over my shoulders and my body shivered in response.