by Amanda Paris
But time would prove me wrong. Less than three months after she died, Lamia had become the lady of the castle, and rumors of the dark power she wielded over my father had been silenced. Everyone feared her.
Once she became my father’s wife, she dropped all pretence of affection for me. She took a heavy hand to the servants and would not have my mother’s name mentioned in her hearing. It was as though she wanted to erase all memory of her childhood friend and relative.
A dark cloud settled over the castle, a sense of foreboding filling our hearts with dread. Behind her back they called her la belle dame sans merci, the lady without mercy.
My sorrow increased tenfold when she began to turn my father away from me. Though she commanded him and all the castle inhabitants, she could not efface his love for me entirely. I suspected that she practiced the dark arts, but even I dared not accuse her. She exercised such power that I shuddered to think what could happen if I defied her.
If it had not been for Damien, the truest and best of my father’s knights, I could not have born her tyranny over us.
I rushed to embrace my father, my heart gladdened at the memory of our once happy home, and I missed my mother. My eyes found Damien’s, and he smiled at me, knowing, of course, my every thought.
Though my father had thrown the banquet ostensibly to honor the champion, he clearly meant for all eyes to turn to the champion’s chosen lady that night, Lamia. An uncustomary pall fell over the castle, normally jovial to the point of riotousness at tournament celebrations that lasted well into the night.
Gladdened by the lack of attention Damien received, I looked for an opportunity to meet him secretly as we did often. It was the only joy left to me after my mother’s passing. To my knowledge, neither Lamia nor my father knew of my feelings for Damien, whom my father had trained as his squire from the time he’d brought Damien home thirteen years before.
No one knew where Damien came from, including Damien, who had no memory before his life with us at the castle. My father had found him at the local town fair, wandering alone as a small boy. He brought him to the castle as his own, and I knew, from the first time I saw his dark, captivating eyes, that he belonged to me. We had played together as children, running and laughing outside of the castle walls.
By his twelfth birthday, Damien had shown signs of strength and talent as a knight. My father trained him from that time, and though Damien was young, he’d already fought in several tournaments, easily winning against even more experienced knights.
I waited for my father and Lamia to become distracted before I slipped out of the hall. Neither of them gave much thought to me anymore, and my place at the dais had long been supplanted by my stepmother, who would not allow me to sit with them. I’d been resigned to sitting at the table below them, glad for the reprieve. Though I missed my father, I felt relief at being able to escape Lamia’s prying eyes.
The hall was long and dark, with torches attached to the walls and a roaring fire at the opposite end offering light for the great chamber, filled with visiting lords and ladies, knights, squires, and servants. Damien, I saw, had already slipped out unnoticed by all but me.
It was easy to escape with so many milling about. Most averted their eyes, trying to avoid Lamia’s piercing stare.
I stepped back into the shadows of the hall, knowing he would be there, somewhere. I didn’t have long to wait.
“Dearest,” he whispered in my ear, catching me by my waist and easily sliding me farther into an alcove at the far end of the long hall where no one, not even the discerning eyes of my stepmother, could see us.
I gazed longingly into his dark eyes and almost believed Millicent, who thought such beauty was only to be found in the tales troubadours told. He was indeed as finely made with as pure a heart as the knights who defeated fearsome dragons for their lady loves.
Though tall for a woman, I was much smaller than Damien, who rose well over a foot above me. His arms, long attuned to sword fighting and practice on the field, reached around my waist.
“Emmeline, I’ve waited all day for you,” he breathed into my hair, kissing my eyes, cheeks, and forehead before settling on my lips.
I smiled, burying my fingers in his hair as I wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him closer.
“Not here. She might see us,” he cautioned.
I almost didn’t care. Almost.
Reluctantly, I pulled away, not wanting to break our embrace. Most of our moments together now were stolen in dark corners, and I had no longing to part from him.
The haunting melody from the harp and flute trickled down from the gallery above, following us as we slipped out to the courtyard outside.
Relieved to have escaped Lamia’s notice, we ran across the yard to the stables and began saddling Brutus, which my father had given to him on the occasion of his knighthood along with a sapphire-and-gold cross that he always wore around his neck. Brutus could support us both and had become accustomed to these evening jaunts.
I knew we wouldn’t be missed for a couple of hours yet, and Damien and I had frequently met in secret in an abandoned church in the woods, not too far outside the castle walls.
Damien quieted my horse, Mairin, a skittish mare in the stall beside Brutus, and helped me up his large warhorse before mounting behind me.
The last obstacle was to get past the guard at the front gate, a hurdle Damien had already foreseen. He’d given me a dark, hooded cloak he had hidden earlier in Mairin’s stall. It covered my red hair—my most recognizable feature since no one else in the castle had it. Having ensured that the cloak covered every tell-tale strand, Damien led us to the gate and spoke to the guard on night duty.
“Good evening, Richard,” he began.
The guard eyed me suspiciously.
“Who is this, and where would you be going, Sir Damien?” he asked warily.
“Just out to enjoy the evening with a friend,” Damien replied casually.
The guard’s face broke out in a gap-toothed smile, comprehension dawning on his old, craggy features as he thought I was a servant, perhaps, whom Damien fancied. It was entirely plausible, as he was champion of today’s tourney, but it worried me, as I thought he’d be missed soon by Lamia and the others, even if I wasn’t.
Richard slowly lowered the drawbridge for us, watching me carefully to discern my identity.
“On ye go, then. But keep an eye out for witches, aye?” he cautioned, suddenly sober. Lore had it that witches rode out at night, stealing the souls of the unwary. A shiver ran through my spine, as there was a full moon. Everyone knew that witches held their Sabbaths then.
We all crossed ourselves, and Damien murmured, “God save us all.”
“Amen,” we each responded automatically.
Damien picked our way through the shadows, a well-worn path to us by now, and led us through the moonlight into the forest and towards a small clearing in front of the church. The castle itself was on a small hill, and we wended our way down to the woods, the dark closing in on us as we made our way through the trees.
We dismounted, and Damien tied Brutus to a nearby tree. Even in the moonlight, I could see him smile down at me.
“Emmeline,” he began, “the final tourney tomorrow…”
“Shhh…” I put my finger to his lips.
He took my hand into his.
“You know I will have to wear her color. It’s the tradition since your father no longer jousts.”
“Yes,” I breathed, not caring.
“But I want to wear your colors next to my heart,” he said, suddenly unsheathing his dagger. He bent down and cut a swathe of cloth from the white underskirt of my gown. Though he already possessed a favor I’d made for him—an embroidered ribbon with gold thread and white flowers—he wanted something more personal, something I’d worn.
“The purest lily,” he whispered, kissing the cloth.
As much as I loved Damien, I knew we needed to discuss the more pressing question of marriag
e.
“When can we approach my father?” I asked. I had begun to urge Damien to ask my father for my hand. Having already long passed my thirteenth birthday, I knew that my father would soon turn his attention to finding me a husband. He’d already waited too long, I knew, because of my mother’s death and his remarriage to Lamia, who seemed to have him in thrall. I could not bear to be parted from Damien or be given in marriage to another.
“Soon,” he replied, kissing away my fears.
Taking me by the hand, he led me into the ruins of the church, lit by the moonlight. Folklore said that the church had been the ancient site of the Druids, those pagan priests. It was a magical place, the crumbling stone walls a haven for us.
Damien knelt before me where I imagined an altar once stood.
“Lady Emmeline,” he began formally, “I plight you my troth.”
My breath caught, and I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. We’d once made our vows out beneath the stars, but the church, even a pagan one, held a sacred solemnity to it. To me, we were already as good as married, priest or no.
“And I you,” I vowed, bending to kiss the top of his head.
He laid his hand upon my waist, his hands easily circling it, then tied our hands together with the material he cut from my skirt, handfasting us.
“I shall speak to Father Philip first,” he told me.
“But we shall still need my father’s blessing,” I said worriedly, thinking that my father could easily invalidate the betrothal.
Both of us knew my father would easily have consented had my mother been alive; there was a time when he cared less about a person’s lineage than their moral worth, but now, I suspected that that would be the greatest obstacle, even though Damien had proven himself as a knight. Lamia’s disapproval and influence was uppermost in both of our minds.
“Emmeline, I wonder, would you be prepared…” he began nervously.
I looked at him, waiting for him to finish.
“Prepared?” I prodded. “For what?”
“To defy your father…to turn your back on all this,” he gestured towards the castle.
“To leave, you mean?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“It won’t come to that, Damien, I know it won’t,” I said firmly.
“But if it did. If your father will not, no, cannot grant us his blessing. Would you be prepared to leave of your own accord?”
I heard the tone of insistence in his voice.
I didn’t immediately know what to say. As much as I disliked Lamia, I was only a thorn in her side, and I said as much. The castle was my entire world, my father the only family I had left. How could I leave him? How could I depart forever from the place where I’d lived my entire life? I’d never been farther than Sarum on a market day and could not imagine living anywhere else.
And yet, as I looked in Damien’s eyes, which seemed to glow in the moonlight, I could see the hurt in them, which I knew my hesitation had caused.
“I…” I said, faltering. It was too weighty a decision to make then; I needed more time.
“Emmeline, I will protect you. You need never fear for your future, your safety,” he said earnestly.
“But I cannot leave my father to that, that…witch!” I burst out.
Damien untied the cloth between us and turned away from me, disappointed, I knew. But what could I say? He was prepared to leave, had obviously begun making plans, while I had had no more than a few minutes to think of an idea that would alter the course of my life forever.
“You don’t really love me at all, do you?” he asked mournfully, twisting the silken cloth in his hands.
“Oh Damien, don’t say that!” I burst out, not bearing to hear the heartbreak in his voice.
He turned away from me. Coldness descended upon my heart.
I ran over and put my arms around him.
“Of course I love you…how could I love anyone else?” I assured him, anxious to show him my devotion.
“Then come away with me,” he urged, “Now. It’s the perfect time. The tournament ends tomorrow, but no one will even know we’re missing until midday. By then, we’ll be far away from here,” he finished.
“How can you want us to leave without even trying to ask my father?” I asked.
“Don’t you understand? We’ll never escape once she knows,” he said, a chilling tone in his voice.
“What is she to us, Damien?” I asked.
I could tell that he struggled, as though deciding whether or not to tell me something.
“Don’t cross her,” he finally said.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” I laughed, faltering only when I read the seriousness in his eyes. “Let’s go back, think about this. In the morning, we’ll ask my father…” I explained.
He interrupted me.
“Emmeline, if we go back, there will be no escape. There is something evil in that castle. She is evil. And she’ll never let me go.”
“Never let you go?” I scoffed. “What do you mean, never let you go?”
“Emmeline, there are things you cannot imagine in your innocence.”
“Has she cast a spell over you too, then?” I asked angrily.
“Not like you mean. But she is a force to be reckoned with, and I don’t know that I can stop her,” he said.
This gave me pause. Damien was the strongest knight in the castle. There was no force he could not overcome, and so assured was I of his love for me, that I could not imagine any spell that Lamia could cast breaking our bond.
I also still felt fairly safe in the assurance of my father’s love. I hoped he could put my happiness ahead of her wishes. Surely she could not break the tie between a father and his daughter?
“We should go back. They’ll miss us soon,” I said, afraid that someone had already noticed our absence. I also needed some time to consider his proposal.
I took him by the hand and led him to Brutus, normally so calm. Tonight he seemed wary and nervous. Damien stroked his mane, speaking to him in a gentle voice only horses understand, soothing him immediately. Damien’s talent to quiet any horse had made him an instant favorite in the castle from his earliest days.
Once he’d settled Brutus, Damien turned to me, an acknowledgement that he understood my fears.
“I think we should still speak with my father. If he refuses his permission, then we’ll speak with Father Philip and make preparations,” I assured him, stroking his cheek. Whatever happened with my father or Lamia, we’d both agreed to have our priest, Father Philip marry us—publicly, we hoped, but secretly if necessary.
Damien nodded his head, not arguing anymore. He knew what he was asking me to give up, and he did not want to force me to choose between him and my father.
The moon cast its melancholy glow over Damien’s face, a picture of despair that I hadn’t seen before. I knew he didn’t want to return to the castle, but he wouldn’t go against my wishes.
“Dearest, don’t worry. ’Twill work out. You’ll see,” I cried, wanting to assuage his concern even as I suspected that he could be right, that our return to the castle might end in disaster. I still trusted my father, however, still believed that some essence of his love for me remained. And besides, my absence would give Lamia complete control over everyone, no longer conflicted in their loyalty to me and their fear of her. That had to give her some satisfaction, if not happiness.
Damien hoisted me in the saddle, maintaining a stoical silence that lasted the entire way back.
We wended our way through the forest and to the castle. Richard had kept a watch for us and lowered the drawbridge. We entered through the gate. Damien helped me to dismount, and I took off my cloak, giving it to him. I slipped across the courtyard and back inside the hall while Damien settled Brutus for the evening in the stables. I knew we wouldn’t be able to re-enter together.
I could see that no one had missed us—the dancing had become rigorous, the drink having its effect on the revelers, more carel
ess now of Lamia’s presence than they had been.
My father cast enamored eyes on my stepmother, who spotted me and beckoned with her finger.
I walked up to the dais, glancing behind me to see if Damien had returned to the hall. He’d already taken his seat by two of the knights playing chess together in a corner, choosing a spot not directly in Lamia’s line of sight.
“Yes, stepmother?” I said when I reached her, bowing my head to hide the revulsion from my eyes. Lamia knew I resented her.
“We have important tidings for you, stepdaughter,” she began, eyeing me smugly.
She almost never called me Emmeline, preferring ‘stepdaughter’ instead.
I looked at her askance.
She regarded me in triumph and then stood, taking me by the hand. It took a moment for the revelers to quiet down, but when she wanted it, Lamia could easily command the attention of the entire room merely by her domineering presence.
“We have found a husband for Emmeline,” she said victoriously, knowing that I would resist the idea.
I began to shiver with apprehension and could almost feel Damien tense from across the room.
Before I could ask, however, she answered the question in my eyes: “Sir Roger Beauchamp.”
I closed my eyes in pain, opening them to look at my father.
“Tell me it isn’t true, Father, please!” I cried, more horrified than I could have imagined. At fifty, Sir Roger was nearly as old as my father was.
Damien must have surmised something like this all along. Oh, why hadn’t I listened to him? We could already be gone!
My father refused to look at me, and I knew this idea originated with Lamia. How long had she plotted? Had she planned it the moment she arrived?
I turned to my stepmother, wrenching my hand from hers.
“Do you hate me so much? Do I remind you of my mother so much that you must marry me to a man over twice my age?” I burst out.
She hissed, but it was under her breath, so that only I heard her. She wiped the smile from her face and regarded me with cold, inhuman eyes.
“It’s time you wed, Emmeline,” she began, more quietly now. “You’re far too old as it is to still be a maiden roaming the castle. Sir Roger is a knight we can trust. His loyalty has ever been to your father. You’ll make him a lovely bride.”