by Mairi Norris
Slowly, and with much labor, she drew on a scrap of vellum, using the strange symbols Ruald had taught her—not likenesses of words, he had said, but images that meant certain thoughts. She stored the keys and message materials, and returned the box to its hiding place. The note safely within her girdle, she moved through the hall, carrying a basket filled with clothing in need of a wash. Any who took notice would assume she was busy with one of a multitude of tasks.
Outside again, she wrapped her mantle close, raised the hood to screen her face, and mingled with the last of the burhfolc. Soon she reached the secret place where information was exchanged. Waiting until certain none had followed her, she opened the concealed aperture, and checked inside to find that a message awaited her.
She retrieved it, wrapped it her girdle, and replaced it with her own.
The timing was perfect, for the messenger came but twice a seven-day. This night was his next scheduled check, and he would find what she had left. Ruald would have her note within two days. She exulted in the knowledge. Soon Wulfsinraed and its riches would be hers forever. She smiled as she made her way back to the hall.
In her private place, she scanned the new missive. Glee filled her soul as it had done the day she had waited for her enemy’s execution, for it was short.
“Kill her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
His curiosity piqued, Fallard followed Ysane through dense undergrowth and over fallen logs to a small glade within a rampant growth of trees.
She stopped at its edge. “This is a place of enchantment for me,” she said. “I found it long ago, as a small child. ’Twas on the day I first met Cynric. Were it not for him, I would have been meat for a wolf. I was but four summers, and had wandered from my parents. He tracked me, and discovered I played here for some time. My delay in this place allowed him to catch up with me in time to save me. Later, he brought me back here many times, and I would ask him to tell me again of that day. He was my hero, you see.” She smiled in remembrance. “In time, it became a retreat for when I wished to be solitary. I have missed coming here, for I dared only twice while Renouf lived. None but Cynric knows of it…and now, you.”
The look of candid trust she turned on him shook him. What had he done to earn her favor thus, but steal her home, force her to unwanted marriage and overthrow her life? Even as he slipped an arm round her waist, he fought the tender protectiveness that made him want to lock her somewhere utterly safe, forever secure, so she could share that look with no one else but him. As her husband, ’twould be his responsibility to offer her kindness and to protect her, but the ‘tender’ part! It grew rapidly and seemed to burst upon him in unexpected moments. Already once this day had he yielded to its lure. Worse, it mattered less each time.
She caught his hand that rested at her waist. “Come and see. I have always believed faeries dance here when the dusk of even comes down, though I have never stayed late enough to keep watch.”
He stepped through the trees around the glade. A strange, sweet calm befell him, as if he had tread through an invisible doorway into another place, far beyond the world, where peace ruled. It seemed to him even the ache in his leg eased. He felt himself smiling foolishly, without reason. Mayhap her words were true, for ’twas as if the little glade had indeed been sprinkled with faerie dust. Its primitive beauty was arresting. Encompassed by the lichen-encrusted trunks of ancient oak, yew, beech and scattered alders, it lay in sunny splendor. He might have stepped back into the depths of time.
He heard the water ere he saw it. Hidden on the far side of the glade within a tiny copse of alder and drooping willows, it gushed forth from an underground spring to froth over a low fall of rock into a dark pool. He cupped his hand beneath the fall and almost yelped at its icy touch, but when he drank, the taste was pure and refreshing.
’Twas a shadowed spot, and cool, for the sun’s rays would touch upon it only at noontide. A spray-dampened rock, flat as a table, and large enough for one to sit comfortably—or two to cuddle close—nestled beside the falls as if set there by a giant hand. The water in the pool flowed into a streamlet that hurried away, seeming to laugh in joy, beyond his sight. Around the pool, swathes of new grass vied with patches of moss and infant fern in displays of lush green varying from light to dark. No weeds grew here, no vetch, nor brambles or briars.
The place is spellbinding. I understand why it draws her.
He silently laughed at his fancy.
Ysane curled up on the flat rock by the little falls, her chin resting on upraised knees around which her arms were clasped. Her eyes focused on the pool. An expression of utter bliss erased the lines on her face, marks wrought by grief and care.
He watched her in silence, wondering at her thoughts. Abruptly, he felt left out, shunted aside, as if she had withdrawn to some secret place. He liked not the feeling, and started to speak, but she looked up and smiled. ’Twas the loveliest smile he had ever seen, and it enchanted him more surely than the glade.
She scooted over on the rock and held out her hand, inviting him to join her.
He wasted no time accepting her offer. The rock was hard, the occasional splash of spray from the falls cold, and there was barely room for the two of them upon it. He minded none of it. He drew her to his side. She snuggled close to rest her head on his shoulder as if ’twas the most natural thing in the world. Though the light was dim within the copse, he felt the magic around them grow, almost as if ‘twere visible to the eye.
“I came here as often as I could,” she said. “I would sit on this rock and dream of beautiful princesses and wonderful halls, and the things I read in my father’s books about faraway lands.”
“And did you ever daydream of a knight who would steal away your heart?”
He blinked at his own question, startled all over again that he would think such, much less speak it. He was no poet, nor was sentiment high in his view of life. Yet, his rose was inspiration for many new thoughts and frivolous ideas such as the more romance-minded of his men betimes espoused around the fires at night. Never had he indulged in fatuous fantasies, nor could he think why ’twas happening now.
He was not unaware females enjoyed such nonsense. ’Twas rather he had never met one he deemed worth the effort of wooing. ’Twas far more convenient to find a willing wench and when both of them were satisfied, kiss her farewell and be on his way. But with Ysane, he would promise aught to gain from her a smile.
“’Tis possible knights might have figured in my dreams, now and anon.” She blushed crimson and ducked her head. “But if they did, none compared with…reality.”
My rose deems me of more value than her dream knights!
He suddenly felt taller than the hills in the far distance, as mighty and invincible as the warrior-gods of the ancient lays. ’Twas too bad there were no more dragons, for he would slay them all with a single thrust of his sword, impervious to their fire, and lay their heads before her feet. ’Twas all he could do not to kiss her until she surrendered to him, body, mind and heart.
Ah, I do want her love, fool that I am!
She drew a sharp breath as if she sensed the change in him. “We are to be wed on the day after the morrow.” She sounded winded, as if she had run some distance. Her next words were spoken so quietly he barely heard them above the falls. “Would you think it shameless, my brave knight, or too brazen of me did I ask for but one kiss?”
His heart slammed in his chest. He shut his eyes, fearing she might flee in terror. He knew raw passion blazed within his look.
She placed her palm against his chest. “You are so warm, and your heart thunders. It calls to me.”
He needed no more encouragement. He swooped, and she flowed into his embrace. In that moment, he knew himself for what he was, a cynical warrior with hard, unrefined edges, and he saw her as his wounded, hurting lady. But he vowed, despite his ignorance, to do his best to care for her.
Lost with her in the magic, he wandered for timeless ages—or mayhap,
’twas only moments—in a world of shared glory.
***
Ysane’s eyes flew open as a loud, extended growl broke into their sensual world.
Fallard started to laugh against her mouth, his chest heaving beneath her palm.
She brought her hand to her stomach.
Oh, how embarrassing!
She should have broken her fast ere leaving the hall, but Fallard had given her no time. Her hunger made itself known with yet another rolling rumble.
He chuckled. “Poor little rose, I have starved you. I cannot allow such neglect to continue.” He released her, but slowly, and rose to his feet. “Wait but a moment, my lady.”
She sat back, the heels of her palms resting on either side of her hips. He left the copse to walk to where the tethered horses waited, their tails switching in lazy flicks at imagined flies, and returned with a blanket and the basket with their meal. She was glad to see he limped not at all.
While he spread the blanket upon the grassy verge of the pond, she rummaged among the food. “Alewyn has packed a feast for us.” She unwrapped one delicious item after another. “There is enough here to feed a score, and all of them warriors.”
She spread slices of smoked ham with boiled, spiced eggs upon trenchers. Rich oat bread, blackberry jam, soft yellow cheese and sweet honey-nut cakes followed. Dried peaches and a carafe of mulled wine completed the repast. They ate without speaking.
Some time later, Fallard offered her a bite of cheese. “I have tasted finer foods, and more excellently prepared at William’s court, yet none were so delightful as this.”
“Methinks ’tis the company, more than the food.” She slathered jam on a slice of bread and offered it to him. When he bent to take a bite, she feigned shoving it into his face and he jerked away, eyes widening, then chuckled at the jest.
He poured more wine into their tankards and lifted his high, offering a toast. “To Alewyn, Alyce, and the good cooks of the world! May their….”
He hesitated, thinking, and Ysane jumped in. “May their sauces never burn.”
“Aye, and may their meat never spoil.”
“And their knives be always be sharp.”
“And most of all, may their garlic never reek!”
She laughed, the sound ringing across the glade, and then wondered at the secret little smile Fallard flashed at her. “What? Why do you smile in that way?”
His expression was guileless. “Whatever do you mean, little rose? I but enjoy our foolishness.”
“Nay, ’tis more. Tell me!”
He leaned to lick jam from the corner of her mouth, then stole a fast kiss from her lips. “’Tis but that I made you laugh.”
“You….” Her heart lurched.
Why would my laughter matter to him? Does he begin to care for me, even but a little?
With breathtaking suddenness, the first bright shards of golden sunlight pierced the shadows and dazzled her shade-accustomed eyes as the sun sailed high, nearing zenith. Yet, it seemed less bright than the glow of joy in her heart. She watched Fallard, enjoying his surprise as the rays cascaded through the small open space above them, turning the laughing waters of the falls and the dancing ripples on the pond into a glittering fountain, and filling the spray with shimmering, dancing rainbows.
Now ’twas seen the water in the pool was hip deep and crystal clear. Pebbles littered the white sand at the bottom. Among the green of the surrounding ferns small, white flowers gleamed like patches of leftover snow. Warmth flooded the copse with the light. A single dragonfly darted over the pond, hung suspended for a heartbeat, then swooped to light on the less ruffled surface nigh the water’s edge.
“‘Magic’, indeed,” Fallard breathed, his voice bemused. His midnight gaze fell upon her. “’Tis not to be wondered you believe the fairie folk linger here.” He cocked his head. “Does not the thought of magical beings frighten you?”
“After Renouf? Nay. Fairies are good folk, despite what some believe.” She gestured around them. “Once, long ago, a wolf came. ’Twas summer, and hot, and of a certain the water drew it. ’Twas very young, and a male. I sat upon the rock and it loped into the glade. It came to the pool and stopped on the other side, its yellow gaze upon me. I moved not. Methinks mayhap, I even breathed not, though my heart pounded so hard with mingled fear and excitement the beast must surely have heard. It seemed to decide I was neither meat nor threat, for it advanced to the water’s edge. It drank its fill, though it never took its eyes from me, not for a moment. It lifted its head, water dripping from its jaws, and then with one leap, ’twas gone.
“There have been other visitors through the twelvemonths. I learned if I sat quietly, and very still, betimes animals would come. Squirrels, hares, birds, badgers and deer, and small, timid things like moles and dormice. Once even a fox, but the wolf was the best.”
***
Fallard’s eyelids were heavy. Lulled by wine, the warmth of the sun and the quiet, and caught up in the sweet music of Ysane’s voice that rivaled in beauty the hypnotic song of the falls, he relaxed, half asleep. He started, returning to full wakefulness when she ceased to speak.
She watched him, the light in her eyes both wary and hopeful. “This is the closest I have seen you to drunkenness.”
He knew what she asked, though ’twas said in a round about manner. He hastened to reassure her.
Clapping his hand upon his heart, he rolled his eyes to the heavens and sighed. “Ah, your bright eyes see too much, little rose. You have discerned my greatest shame, the disgrace and disrepute I bring upon myself, and my family. Most ignoble of rogues am I, and for which I live in continual remorse. Aye, even among my men, I am a source for jest. Oh, the indignity! Yet, though I be always stricken by contrition, ’tis truth I can help myself not. I know not how I have lived for so long with such guilt at my deplorable behavior.”
He glanced at her, seeking appreciation of his playacting. Truthfully, he thought his performance better than some scops.
She eyed him, clearly perplexed.
He groaned and slapped his hand over his eyes. “How kind she is, my white rose! She pretends to notice not my fault. She is generous, but must face the truth, for she is to be my wife, and must learn to bear the disgrace that is mine.” He peeked through his fingers and tried not to grin at the comical befuddlement on her face. “’Tis a sorry secret indeed, my rose, but should you ask, my men will tell you of it quickly enough, even as they laugh themselves ill.
“Though it pains me to speak of it—for I fear you may decide ’tis too much to ask that you should marry such a disreputable knight—’tis only fair you should know. Even a mild overindulgence of spirits sends this knight to the kingdom of slumber. Ah, but ’tis a source of much hilarity with my men, that I can hold not my drink. Why, I am ashamed to admit that once, after one of King William’s famous banquets, Trifine likened me to a kitten, drunk on its mother’s milk, yet I consumed a bare three tankards of ale. He perforce had to use his elbow to keep me from falling asleep and sliding beneath the table in dishonor. Therefore, though ’tis a disgrace I can hardly bear, moderation in drink has become for me a common practice.”
’Twas the lengthiest speech he had indulged in for longer than he remembered, and certainly the most ridiculous, but he cared not, for by this time, Ysane had her hand over her mouth, her gaze alive with mirth. Gladness, gratitude, and no little relief brimmed in her eyes, for his words assured her she need never fear him should he become sotted.
“’Tis an amusing picture I hold in my mind, Fallard, that of you curled up tight as a kitten on a pallet, sleeping off an excess of spirits.”
“See you! Even you, my dearly betrothed, find my unhappy secret amusing!”
Again, her laughter peeled through the woods. “Oh! ’Tis most lovely to my mind, sir knight, that the man I will wed in so short a time is one with whom I might laugh and…and be with like a child, betimes. I find I am much in favor of our union. ’Tis my thought we will share a good life
together.”
“’Tis my thought, as well, Ysane. From the first moment I saw you, ’twas my intent and my determination.”
“When first you saw me?”
“Aye. ’Twas the moment I named you my rose. Your syrce was the same green as the stem of a rose, and with it you wore a cyrtel and veil as white as their petals. ’Twas told to me your eyes were the color of the moss in the forest and your hair the hue of the finest flax. A comparison with the flower was inevitable, but indeed, I am not the first. Others name you thus.”
Her eyes flew wide. “Truly?”
“Aye, ‘truly’! Young Alderan the swineherd, for one, has been overheard waxing poetic on the similarities between you and the flowers of your garden, though ’tis not meet for a serf to speak thus of his mistress. But ’twould seem so many speak of you thus, ’twould be necessary to whip half the population of the burh for the same offense. Surely, you have heard the songs of Wurth, your scop, though mayhap, comparisons with flowers are to be expected of a poet. But for Varin, my knight, of whom I would never have expected it, and Domnall and Father Gregory and….”
“Hush! Oh, stop!” She blushed with the depth of a crimson bloom. “I believe you not! You laugh at me.”
“But I do not,” he insisted, while he did smile at her blushes.
“Surely not Father Gregory.”
“Aye, the good priest. He spoke personally of you thus. He said, ‘the Lady Ysane is a special woman. She is the rose of Wulfsinraed’.”
She hid her face in her hands, but he could see she was pleased.
He pulled her hands away and kissed each flaming cheek. “Why should they not speak thusly? They care for you, lady. They are blind not to your goodness and beauty, even if you are. They speak only from their hearts, and their words are meant as praise they consider your due. Who am I to disagree with so many? That day when first I looked upon you, you seemed so very young, and so beautiful. How could I not be drawn to you as a ship lost in fog is drawn to a beacon flashing upon the shore? You were with Roana, walking to the village. You had baskets on your arms.”