by M. C. Elam
“One more chance, big fellow,” Hawk took the horses reins and swung into the saddle. He backtracked, eyes fastened on the soft ground. He had looked for hoof prints before. Now he sought boot tracks, some speck of hope that the rider had fooled him after all. They climbed to the place where he had left his mount. He gathered her reins and wrapped them around the saddle pummel of the big horse.
In his life, he knew no feeling like the one that seized him now. He blamed himself for the whole bloody occurrence. If he had stopped the pursuit even an hour ago—but he hadn’t, had he—and now disaster. One more look, maybe he had missed something. Maybe his opponent had bamboozled him after all. He headed for the growth of willows, leading one horse, riding the other and watching the ground for a sign. Intent on the search, he passed beneath the largest of the old trees.
“Aha! I have you now. The game is up. Prepare to surrender to me, fair prince.”
That whispered threat masked with laughter pierced the frozen mantle of fear and remorse wrapped around his heart. The thief dropped from the tree and took seat behind him. Struck dumb, Hawk muttered something unintelligible. He sat stiff and silent, not certain whether he dreamed the whole thing or not, but the warm breath on the back of his neck was no dream.
“Up a tree the whole time while, like a bloody fool, I searched the water for you,” He was too relieved to be angry.
An arm encircled his neck, the cold edge of a dagger touching his throat.
“Your purse, sweet prince. I claim a reward for my effort.”
“Aye,” said Hawk. “A reward, you shall have. A good thrashing is what you deserve.”
“Tsk Tsk. You dare insult me? Perhaps I should let my dagger bite you.”
Distinct merriment tempered the threat and fired Hawk’s reserve strength. He jerked the dagger from his throat and unseated his captor. Before the thief could rise, Hawk was on the ground, a short sword pointed toward his fallen assailant.
“Never think you can best me,” he said straddling the thief.
Eyes never leaving his face, the thief began to laugh. “Ah, but I did best you didn’t I? Pride a bit bruised?”
“Here now. What's this? What is so damned funny? You dare laugh at me after the stunts you pulled today. Why I wonder I thought you worth the worry I suffered thinking you’d gone to feed the fishes in yonder river.”
Quite certain the prince had lost his advantage to a bit of righteous anger, the thief curled a leg deftly behind his knee, sat up and, with tremendous force for one so slight, gave a mighty shove against his middle. Arms flailing, Hawk crashed to the ground. Before he could recover, the thief sat atop his chest. His assailant’s knees trapped his arms, and that damnable dagger pointed straight at his throat once more.
“Worried I drowned in the water, were you? No, my prince, how could I drown when I must best you in the chase? Will you surrender now, or shall I slit your throat for the trouble you have caused me this day?”
“The trouble I caused you? Do you know what you did to my heart when I thought the river claimed you? Slit my throat, would you?”
“Will you risk finding out?”
“I think I might.” Hawk began to laugh. When the pressure of the dagger eased, he managed to extricate an arm and reached up to push the hood from his captor's head. A tangle of dark curls fell free and brushed his face.
“You, my Evangeline, are a formidable opponent. But the trick with the river,” he shook his head, “not fair love.” He rolled from beneath her, stood and pulled her to her feet.
“The river trick won the day, Hawk. Tell me you would not do the same. Remember I learned all of the same lessons as you,” She sheathed the dagger.
“Yes, and to my disadvantage I fear. Gods I thought you drowned.”
“Would it matter so much?” She looked at him through half closed eyes. Hawk wondered if she doubted his devotion.
“Why ask me that? Of course, it matters.” He took her arm and drew her against his chest. With his free hand, he lifted her chin and kissed her—slowly at first and then more deeply tasting her lips, her mouth, the nectar of her tongue. He drew away leaving them both breathless.
“Come,” he said and offered his hand. “It grows late. I would see you home before dark.”
***
A crisp chill in the fall air found both of them shivering by the time they reached the cottage. Evangeline slid from the saddle and led her horse inside the lean-to.
“Tommy wants a good rub and a rack of hay,” she said and loosened the saddle girth.
“I’ll see to them, Evan. Go inside and get warm. Your teeth are chattering.”
She gave him a grateful nod, left the horses in his care and entered the dark cottage. The fire showed little life, but she stirred the smoldering embers, coaxed them awake and stood a few thin pieces of broken peat upright among the hot coals. When they took fire from the embers, she built a pyramid of larger blocks over the top. She liked peat fires better than wood. The blocks lasted longer, and the heat they emitted seemed warmer. When she had a small blaze going, she tossed a handful of chamomile leaves into a small kettle and set it on the grate above the fire.
By the time Hawk finished with the horses and came inside, she had spread a large fur before the fire and sat cross-legged in front of it toasting two thick slices of bread. Her riding leathers pushed halfway up her slender calves and the firelight danced across bare skin.
She turned and smiled, “Jam or cheese?”
“Cheese,” he answered, sat beside her on the floor, adopting the same cross-legged pose.
She handed him the toasting fork and sliced two large pieces of cheese from a small wheel on the plate beside her. “Tea’s nearly ready. I’ve no milk, but Marcus promised to peel an eye for a couple of goats, maybe a cow.”
“You place a great store in him, don’t you?”
“Here, let’s melt the cheese.” She rose to her knees and placed the slices on top of the bread. “I do place great store in Marcus.”
“More than me?”
She caressed his cheek, “Different than you.”
“But you love him.”
“Aye, ever since I can remember.” She steadied his hand. “Careful the cheese is melting.”
“You turn to him whenever you need something.”
“We are like a father and daughter, close, the way I felt with Granny Stone.” She took the toasting fork from him and pushed the slices of bread onto a wooden plate. The small kettle bubbled and the aroma of chamomile filled the room. She lifted it from the fire and poured a steaming mug for each of them.
“Oh, I have a little honey.” She started to get up but he shook his head.
“Your hair has a cast like burnished copper in the firelight.” He brushed a strand back from her face, leaned close and kissed her cheek. “Marcus is family to you, isn’t he?”
She handed one of the mugs to him. “Aye, he is all the family I know now that Granny Stone is gone.” She lifted the plate and offered a slice of toast.
“Not me?”
“Hawk, you are family to me in another way.”
Content, they watched the fire. The toast disappeared and soon after the tea.
“Evan?”
“Hmmm?”
“Why did you name the stallion Tommy? He has champion blood lines.”
“What? Tommy? I don’t know. I thought it fit him. When his dam died his blood lines didn’t matter much to anyone.”
“I suppose not. You never talk about that day.”
“I don’t feel good talking about it. Why so many questions tonight. What is bothering you?”
He leaned on one elbow, stretched his legs toward the fire and crossed one over the other.
“You went to the stable without me that day.”
“Aye, Marcus came for me because the mare went into labor. I wanted to see the foal born.”
“My father was there.”
“Yes.”
“And he gave you the foal.
I want to know about that day. What happened? Why did he give a twelve-year-old girl a foal?”
She sighed. “Hawk, the mare died. Your father said to destroy the foal because it wouldn’t survive. A man, I don’t remember who, sat on Tommy and grabbed his muzzle. When I saw he meant to cut his throat I threw myself at him. I pounded on him until Marcus pulled me off. Your father, looked outraged at first and told Marcus to take me away, but I don’t know, something happened. The light in the stall changed. I thought the sun had come up, but it was still too early for that. The light settled beside me like a golden aura. Marcus let me go, and I ran back to Tommy. The whole time I begged your father to give him to me. He came and sat beside me right on the floor in that stall, and he had tears in his eyes. He told me I could have Tommy, and he kept saying thank you child.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Hawk asked.
“I didn’t know what to tell you. Hawk. Marcus said your father saw something inside the light.”
“What did he see?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But he gave the foal to me, and when the stable master asked for a name, I said Tommy.”
“Thank you for telling me, Evan.” He reached for her hand. Small and fragile it disappeared inside his. He could crush her slender fingers if he chose. He admired her profile in the firelight. The slight upturn of her nose, the curve of her chin, her stubborn chin, so much about her seemed fragile. Yet, he marveled at her strength, her clever way of reasoning. She had bested him today. A prime specimen according to many and in the fall of his nineteenth season, yet a mere girl, two years younger had wiped the ground with him.
“How did you do it, love?”
She turned and found him watching her. “Do what, Hawk?”
“Beat me in the field today.”
“Remember what they taught us of strategy?”
He nodded.
“You assumed I could not possibly win.”
“I underestimated your ability.”
She smiled and nodded. “Aye, a wee bit, and in a real pursuit, a dead thief might not matter so much.”
He looked somber and not at all pleased with his performance.
“Come,” she said wishing to lighten the mood. “Don your new cloak, and show me how it fits.”
“Milady,” he squeezed her hand, “just for you.”
His cloak hung on a peg beside the door. While he went to retrieve it, she scooted farther back on the fur to make room for him. She watched him take the cape, swirl it around his shoulders and fasten it at the neck. Over six feet of well-developed muscle rippled beneath his sun-bronzed flesh. The past year saw his deep-set, blue eyes acquire a more learned expression despite the glint of roguish fire she so adored. She missed that wild shock of black hair that once hung to his shoulders. Gone, tamed by a barber’s shears—she blinked rapidly before he saw the tears in her eyes.
“I had the most awful row with Father you know. He summoned a whole slew of tailors set on stitching me into,” he cleared his throat for emphasis and came to stand in front of her, hands on hips, “the most hideous garb. Ruffles, Evan. Picture me with ruffled cuffs and one of those waistcoats, the kind in the window of the Emporium, only the ones they made for me had flowers stitched all over the front.”
“Handsome indeed, my dandy man.”
He raised his hands in a what could I do manner and shrugged. “My words to Father made his ears go red, but when he saw I meant it, we compromised.”
“Leathers and the cloak?”
“Aye, leathers and a cloak, as long as my cloaks bear the insignia of Ascalla.”
She suspected the king knew he would balk at the dandified garments but wanted to get him used to more formal attire. The cloaks were a small step in that direction.
“And now my sweet lady, just for you,” he said. With a single motion, he swept the cape across one shoulder and made a low bow. She clapped her hands in delight and laughed the deep throaty laugh that so enchanted him.
Another flourish and bow brought him too close to the fire. The edge of the cape caught a flame and began to smolder. Startled, Hawk threw it on the floor. A dipper of water extinguished the burning hem. He dropped to the floor beside her, a little out of breath. She gazed at his shorn locks. Her expression turned solemn. Alarmed, Hawk gathered her into his arms and settled her close to his heart.
“What is it, Evan? What troubles you? Is it because I asked you to tell me about Tommy?”
She shook her head.
“Surely not a burnt cloak, I’ve a dozen more just like it. Father reckoned I’d destroy them.”
His warm laughter filled the room, but nothing seemed to raise her spirit. For a time, she could not answer.
“Talk to me,” he coaxed.
“It isn’t about Tommy at all, love, or about your cloak,” she said.
“What then, sweetheart?”
“Oh Hawk, our time is coming to an end. I knew it was close. Your sheared hair, the cloak, they are but reminders. You prepare to be a king and will gather to you all the ways of a king.”
“Of course, I will be king one day, Evan. You have always shared knowledge of my destiny. It changes nothing for us.”
“It changes everything, Hawk. Days like today grow few. We must put away our games.” She pushed away from him and retreated across the sparsely furnished room. When he moved to follow, she raised a hand as if to hold him away.
“A month ago I lived inside the palace, my rooms in the same wing as yours. Then one day, I found everything packed, loaded onto a cart and brought here. Look around you. Do you see royal hangings, china, pewter, a silk coverlet on the bed? My home is plain, Hawk. I am plain.”
He did go to her then and took her firmly by the shoulders. “What the devil are you saying? You are anything but plain. As for the cottage, I love it because you are here. I thought you wanted to be here.”
“I do like living here, but no one asked me. Your father ordered the move.”
“Ordered? I’ll not have it.”
“Yes, yes you will because it is the right thing. Your father didn’t do it to be cruel. He means to put distance between us while he can.” She shrugged away from him once more as though the act of doing so steadied her resolve for what she wanted to tell him. “Don’t you see, Hawk? You have position. I am common. You can’t spend hours and hours with me. We are changing, and you must leave me behind.”
“Leave you behind, what are you talking about? You are my best friend and my only love. Since ever I can remember you have walked beside me. I love you more than Ascalla.”
“No, Hawk. Never say that. Though I relish your devotion, you must never hold anyone above the land or your people. The land endures, Hawk. You must cherish her.”
“Nevertheless, I shall never part from you. You will be my bride and one day my queen.”
She shook her head. “You can’t promise that. Be logical. Duty will always come first, must come first. I am no one. No parentage can I bring to you. No royal lands or alliances, no dowry, not even a pittance is mine. I am simply a foundling, believed an orphan of a vicious raid that destroyed my home village. Marcus found me in the mountains. You know the tale as well as I. To make more of it is to make less of who we share.”
“Not another word! I’ll hear no more!” His voice thundered in the tiny room, and he slammed a fist on the table. The jar from the impact caused a lit candle to tip and fall, melted wax smothering the flame.
“Whether you hear it or not, you know I am telling the truth,” she whispered. “I live on the charity of the king.” Evan was glad for the doused candle. The low light masked her features. Sometimes she did not want him to know all that she thought, and she was never good at hiding her feelings. “I am a foundling, no more.”
Sorry for his angry outburst, Hawk’s expression softened, and he moved toward her again. “Foundling you are, my beautiful one, found for me.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed her. “To hold you so near fires my passi
on. Will you have me this night or show me the door?”
She pushed against his chest. “Would you ask the same of a noble woman, a lady, without benefit of marriage?”
Always it came to desire, she thought. How could he expect that of her without marriage? Down deep he must see her as common, just a simple peasant girl. She pushed the thought away. Hawk loved her. In truth, the same fire that drove him burned in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him to stop asking and kiss her. Tonight he seemed more insistent than usual, and she knew if he pressed, she would not refuse. How could she control his passion when her own matched it? Her coming of age humors brought such a hunger for him. They were no longer children. He was so near her now. Her breath caught and held in her throat.
“Your silence is my answer. I will wait until we wed.”
***
Evan stood at the door until the sound of hoof beats faded and wished she had not sent him away. Tommy nickered and she went to tend him. She cleaned away the soiled straw from the floor of the lean-to and spread a clean layer for his bed. Most of the water Hawk drew from the well was gone. She pumped another bucket and refilled the hayrack. He sidled closer whickering until she offered him a sugar cube. He rolled it around in his mouth making a low rumbly kind of sound that signaled contentment.
“There, now. All is well in your world. Were it the same in mine I’d be satisfied as well.” She patted his neck and measured the long strands of mane with her fingers.
“Mayhap I be braiding that up with a few colored beads for you one of these days.” She smiled. The country lilt came into her speech when she was alone. She welcomed it like an old friend. It was how Marcus spoke, how Granny Stone had talked, full of warmth and humanity.
Night swallowed the last of the sunset, and the sky turned brilliant with stars. Tonight no moon lit the dense wall of trees that edged the little clearing.
“Chinera, Chinera are you there?”
A huge white wolf appeared at the tree line and padded toward her.
“I am so lonely sometimes, Chinera. He does not know me. My prince does not really know me. I think it is that I do not know myself. I must love him, but something is inside me I cannot name. I know not the way of things or what will happen.”