I had to get back to the party before someone noticed, before there was talk. This couldn’t go any further.
Frederick pulled me tighter. “Be patient, my sweet. It will take but a few moments and then all will be better. It’s said that the dragons never take a deflowered princess.” I felt three buttons on my bodice pop open, his tongue roughly enter my mouth.
“What!” I endeavored to push him away, but he didn’t seem eager to leave. I struggled anew. My temper rose; the music replaced by the deep boom of war drums.
“Shhh, just relax,” he insisted, his hand grabbing for my breast. “Trust me. Even if you get with child, it won’t matter. Will it?”
Four more buttons went the way of the first ones. This was not noble behavior, not what I expected from a peer.
“Release me now!” We both tumbled down on the grass. I could have sworn he tripped me.
He seemed to have sprouted multiple arms and legs. I shoved him harder, but he didn’t seem to notice. Frederick initiated a full-fledged assault on my person, holding me down. I fought back with elbows, hands and nails. Both of us abandoned the mannerly behavior of courts. This was no longer the behavior of an overzealous seduction, but an attack.
“Stop it! How dare you, you, you poxy brigand. Stop!” I commanded. My full skirts were tangled and I could feel the chill night air on my legs. He outweighed me by four stone and he wasn’t listening.
I bit him. He reared back for a split second, saying something quite unbecoming.
“Ahem.”
Two large men lifted Frederick bodily off me.
“I believe the princess said she wants to go inside now. Isn’t that right, George?”
“Aye, that’s what she said.”
“You’re looking somewhat mussed,” Michael added as he shook Frederick hard enough to rattle his teeth and shoved him toward George.
“Here, let me dust you off before you return to the castle.” George held Frederick’s arms and Michael doubled him over with a punch to his stomach.
“Much better, don’t you think?”
I stood, holding my bodice together, shaken, bruised, a smidgen wiser and very, very angry.
George’s eyes glittered with rage, but his voice oozed concern for Frederick as he spoke to him. “Yes, you should go inside now. You’re looking a little under the weather. If I were you, I might get out of the night air. It isn’t good for you.”
“I’ll have you hanged,” Frederick sputtered, gasping for breath as he tried to straighten up.
I don’t believe he could see the fire in my sea-green eyes, but he should have thought this through. “I wouldn’t if I were you. You’ve accosted a princess.”
Anger warred with sense. I wanted him punished, publicly humiliated, but not at the cost of my name, my honor. I didn’t wish rumors of this spoken behind furled fans, people laughing at my inexperience and naïveté. My family having to deal not only with my death, but also my dishonor.
Honor won. I gritted my teeth.
“Let us agree that you won’t be drawn and quartered, and they won’t be charged with mussing your person.” I watched his face, defiance and pride competing with the beginnings of trepidation. “And, to ensure your continued health, make very, very sure that no word of this is ever mentioned. Not even whispered.” I willed myself to stand there, to speak clearly and carefully though I shook with fury and shock.
“So that you comprehend this lesson, I will send off a message to my father tonight for my men’s safety and the safety of any other females you might feel the need to write an ode to.”
Frederick snapped, “Well, you’re going to die a virgin. I hope that is some cold comfort to you.”
I stood stock-still and then turned to my men. “Please escort Frederick to his lodgings.” I turned my back for a second and then reconsidered. “And, if you would, make sure, make very sure, that Frederick is completely ‘dusted off’ before he enters his room. I wouldn’t want this lesson to be wasted.”
I retreated to my rooms, quickly throwing a shawl across my gown to disguise the damage done and to cover my missing buttons. I would not have my last days marred by this incident. I took out the chess piece that my father had gifted me and tossed it in my drawstring purse for courage. I tucked my hair back into my net, smoothed the creases from my green gown and put on my best smile. Once again I joined the party. I was charming, or so I hoped. I chatted with my hosts, interacted with the matrons and flirted with three or four men ranging from age from thirteen to sixty-three. I was bright, clever, and did everything but wag my tail like a hunting dog retrieving a grouse.
But beneath it all I shivered. My name and position no longer shielded me. A man had thought to take advantage of my situation. And I had bitten someone, protected myself with nails and teeth. This was not like sparring with the weapons master. I was flooded with emotion: embarrassment, shame, and yet, strength. It was distasteful that I was reduced to such, but I now knew that I would defend myself if attacked, and not just with words.
And through it all, as the music played, I smiled and charmed.
Mother would have given me her nod of approval. Frederick was not to be seen; I hoped he had taken his lesson to heart.
I had learned mine.
Lucinda watched my performance from the sidelines with no expression on her face. Later that night, as she helped me dress for bed, she still said nothing, though the bruises on my body were obvious in the candlelight. She held my arm out, examining the dark spots, before rubbing it with an herbal mixture that smelled of camphor and mint.
I slept, dreaming of dragons who rode the wind, nobles who sprouted fangs and a woman who wore writing on her chemise.
Chapter 10
We left early the next morning, well before I was prepared to be awake.
I quietly informed Captain Markus of George and Michael’s gallant behavior, though the details didn’t bear recounting. As Mother was wont to say, self-pity is so plebian.
Riding along the dusty road, I reviewed the previous night: thinking about my folly with Frederick; how he had taken advantage of my situation, not for love, or even lust, but for power. None of my peers had looked for me, nor come to my aid. My rescuers had been my father’s men, George and Michael. It came to me that I hadn’t expressed my appreciation to them, taking their rescue as my due. An uncomfortable thought crossed my mind; what must they think of me, not only naïve and reckless but ungrateful also.
An opportunity for reparation came at our midmorning stop. George held Winter’s reins as I dismounted. Nearby, Michael checked his mount’s feet for stones, both of them acting as if nothing had happened the night before. Lucinda busied herself with Dumpling’s saddlebags, pretending not to hover.
When I didn’t leave, George raised his eyes to mine, questioning. I reached over, patting Winter’s mane to cover my embarrassment. “I never said thank you.”
George exchanged a glance with Michael before speaking. “Nothing to speak of, My Lady. We protect our own. We could see he was up to no good.”
“But you didn’t have to. You should have been off enjoying a pint of ale.”
George nodded. “We have daughters too. He’s not worth the backside of a bullock’s bastard.” He flashed a discomforted look at me. “Begging your pardon, My Lady.”
Impulsively, I grabbed his hand. “George, you do not need to beg my pardon. If anything, I need to beg yours. It was my inattention that put me in that situation.”
His ears reddened. “No, My Lady, ’tis nothing to mention. At your age I got into foolish scrapes way worse.” His whole face and neck turned a dull red. “Not that I’m thinking we’re alike in any way, or that you were foolish,” he stammered.
I fixed him with a look. “No, you’re right. I made a foolish choice.”
George protested, “It was something anyone might have done, My Lady.”
Anyone who hadn’t been raised as had I, perhaps.
“I’m no longer who I was. Pl
ease, you don’t need to be so formal.”
Michael looked at me from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. “You’re our princess—for the duration of this journey and beyond.”
Something snapped inside me. This journey also affected these men. Men whom I had all but ignored.
I stood tall, comprehending. Yes, I was going to my death, but they would take the guilt back with them, living with it day after day, year upon year.
“And you need to know that while I am your princess, you are my men. Not my father’s—mine.”
At their glance toward the captain, I clarified. “Oh, not to command. But in my heart. All of you are held there. For this journey and beyond.” I placed a single kiss on each of their cheeks.
Captain Marcus called for us to mount up, jerking the three of us back to the open road.
George hovered near me for the rest of the day. He whistled merry tunes, winking at me in comradeship each time he trotted by on his horse. After our exchange, I exerted myself, engaging the men in simple pleasantries, embarrassed by my recent discourteousness. Small changes, a polite hello and thank you; simple recognition of the men who were part of this endeavor. I pushed myself to stop acting listless and aloof and instead to see, really see, the others in this group. I made it my task to enquire after my men by name, to ask their opinion, to ask for their thoughts. In the days after leaving the Castle Ilmington, I saw them looking at me differently, as if seeing me not as a duty but as someone worthy of conversation.
At one stop, a small posy of wildflowers appeared upon my saddle. Michael and Jeremy stood nonchalantly nearby, bright yellow pollen dusting their shirtfronts. As the days passed, a dozen kindnesses lifted my spirits. One afternoon, slices of dried apple mysteriously appeared on my folded cloak, and that night five of the men entertained me with an impromptu mummer’s play. The following evening, a chessboard was unrolled, like a tiny carpet, as it had on many nights, but this time I was challenged to play the winner. Even though I worked hard not to beat Ethan too badly, they tormented him all the rest of the evening.
“Losing to a slip of a girl,” Jeremy snickered, but now, I was one of them. These men, commoners all, extended themselves, sharing their private stashes of supplies with me, for no recompense. They knew my destiny but shed no false tears and spoke no soothing words to feed my sorrow. These men weren’t looking for an opportunity to further their own status through me. There was no favor to curry in seeing me to this end. And still they gave of themselves, and I felt honored—and loved.
With a single unpleasant incident, many of my assumptions had collapsed. It became clear to me that not all nobles were, well, noble, and that some of the common people were—noble, that is.
Halfway into the week, George trotted up alongside me. Lucinda watched him with a warning set to her eyes. He whistled as if nothing were on his mind. “Your Highness,” he finally said.
I nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“Just thought you ought to know, all men aren’t like that. That’s all.” He tipped his hat and cantered off. As I watched him lope away, some of the strain of the week peeled away.
I had never spent much time in the company of men, never noticed how truly different they were. As I emerged from my initial fog of despair, I started to observe them. Their hearty camaraderie was not much different from Harold and Bartholomew’s, a pleasant change from my dithering ladies-in-waiting. I loved to hear them guffaw, snort and chortle, none of the polite tittering behind an open fan. Once they relaxed around me, my language expanded in interesting ways.
I found observing their antics habit-forming. Watching them became my entertainment, my distraction. George stayed sunny and optimistic. Michael, Jonathan and Sam argued constantly about the best way to hunt boar, whether with hounds or beaters or both. Each endeavored to get me to side with them in the debate. Ever serious Ethan with his high forehead and narrow nose confided to me his worries about his young daughters.
Lawrence, Jeremy, Charles and Douglas were forever playing pranks and teasing each other. I was hard pressed not to laugh when Charles tied one of my pink satin bows on the tail of Captain Markus’s horse. Oh yes, I had given him the bow.
What sympathy, guilt or anger the men felt at my situation, they hid it well, showing me their caring with smiles and kindness.
It was hard to stay frightened all the time.
The dragons were waiting, I knew, and I wondered what, if anything, the beasts thought. My thoughts veered to them more and more often, not out of self-pity but from true curiosity about those huge creatures. I knew next to nothing about them. I didn’t know where they came from or how long they stayed. Ever since Frederick’s ending remark that I would “die a virgin,” I wondered about the dragons and myself.
Did dragons prefer virgins? It did bring up questions. There was the book hidden away in my saddle bags. I wondered if those ancient pages answered any of these questions. Part of me wanted to know and part wished to remain ignorant.
During the days when the sun was up and the morning was soft with dew, I could escape and pretend I was on a lovely jaunt into the woods.
Mostly, I watched the sky, patted my horse, sang little songs in my head, and observed the exchanges between the men. Each evening around the camp’s fire, the whines of the cicadas harmonized with the snorting, spitting and snoring of the men. Their risqué jokes had me laughing aloud as we sat eating our evening meal. Lucinda glared at them but they were unrepentant.
I told no one of my nights when all my terrors surrounded me. Sleep would come and with it dreams of sharp, tearing teeth and claws. I would awake sweating and trembling, my breath coming fast and hard as if I had been running. I would cradle the pawn my father had given me; smooth out my official signed documents; and try to envision a different end game. But the dreams kept coming and I would greet daybreak with the joy of one for whom a pardon is received moments before the executioner raises his axe.
--
I was lost in thought when Captain Markus called a halt to rest the horses. The afternoon sun was scurrying westward. A beautiful meadow, strewn with orange and purple wild flowers, stretched out before us.
I dismounted and handed Winter’s reins to Jeremy. Lucinda clambered off her horse, landing heavily with a nasty twist to her ankle. She shrugged aside Malcolm and Douglas’ offers of help and went on about her duties, cooking supper, laying out my supplies while the men set up camp. I sat stitching my embroidery as Lucinda limped by.
At our evening meal, she hobbled over with my meal: some unfortunate rabbit one of the men had shot, together with a lovely fresh trout. Not royal fare, but truly wonderful after a full day in the saddle.
I put my plate down, observing my entourage. How could I have overlooked this? They were also tired and hungry. I noticed Malcolm, bedding down Winter and Dumpling, and Michael’s weary yawn as he went about setting up my tent.
Lucinda hobbled back with the tea kettle. "Sit down," I said. “You need to rest.”
She shrugged, pushing a mug of tea into my hand and made her way back to the fire. I got up and followed her. Enough. No longer would I sit as if behind canopied stands. This, for now, was my life.
“You’ll do me no good if you don’t take care of yourself.” I practically dragged Lucinda to the side of the fire and sat her on a log, propping her leg up. “Sit here and rest. Tomorrow, well, we’ll see,” I said. She shook her head impatiently and started to get up again.
I placed my hand on her shoulder. “No, truly, I wish you to rest. This is only the beginning of the wilderness. You must heal so that when I need you—and I will—I can count on your strength.” She relented then, her face ash-white with pain.
I poured her a cup of tea from the kettle, burning my finger in the process.
By the next morning, Lucinda’s ankle had swollen up like a gourd. Captain Markus examined it, declaring it a bad sprain but nothing more. I rose early, restless, and yet more awake then I had ever been. I stirred the
fire and put on a kettle of water as I had seen the men do. Lucinda limped over, using a stick to balance. I firmly pointed back to the log and shook my head.
No longer was I the fragile princess who required everyone to wait on her. She was gone and would never return.
Winter whickered as I brought his morning bran. He plunged his head deep in the bucket once I placed it down. Dumpling stamped his feathered hooves and nudged me with his huge head, encouraging me to hurry with his food.
It was a good thing that Dumpling was steady. He snorted once as the air before him spun when Chris materialized almost under his nose. I stood still, holding Dumpling’s feed, not sure what to say or do, though the relief and distress on my face must have shown. She rushed to my side, wearing a sleeveless chemise that declared, “Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition.” A shawl of some kind wrapped around her arms. Her legs were bare from knee to thigh with a short strip of clothing above that one couldn’t call a skirt, and boots that laced up the front to her knees.
She looked at my face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was so caught up with exams and papers, then I couldn’t find the card and….”
I couldn’t stop a tear from trickling down. Here was the only person who had given me reason to hope.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw my men gather about us but my attention remained with Chris.
Her voice lowered to a whisper, a plea. “I couldn’t accept that you were real. I’m so sorry.” She grabbed my hand and I let her, her hand so tight on mine she almost snapped in half the golden card she cradled within her fingers. It seemed silly to stand on formality under the circumstances.
“Step away, Your Highness.” The captain’s voice interrupted our reunion. I could see him evaluating her, an unknown, dangerous element compounding the complexity of his task. He glared at her and flicked his fingers to ward off evil. “Begone, witch.”
Chris held on to my hand. My fingers ached from the strength of her grip. I waved the men back. “A friend, not a witch.” I smiled, pleased with that sudden awareness. I did have a friend. I looked at the men around me; perhaps more than one.
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