Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss

by Jessica Woodard

  “Well, what happened?”

  Bianca hesitated, unsure of how to convey those sweet moments in mundane words.

  “He told me not to worry, that he would speak to Lady MacTíre, and, when we were old enough, we would be married.”

  He’d kissed her, too, for the first time, sitting there on that hard, wooden chest, with her face tear-stained and her heart singing for joy.

  “Lady MacTíre was satisfied with the match. I would be able to stay with her, as Thomas grew to take his father’s position, and it was a fine place for the bastard daughter of a prince. King Lodney agreed as well, presumably well pleased that it would keep me safe and sound and a suitable distance from court. And Thomas and I—” She hesitated. There weren’t really words to describe how happy she’d been.

  “You were in love.”

  “Yes. We were in love. Of course, I’d always loved him, but once I asked him when he’d come to love me, and do you know what he said?”

  “What?”

  “He said he hadn’t known that he did, until the day I ran, crying, into the stables.”

  Bianca stared at the fire. There was still the rest of the story to be told. She fixed her eyes on the glowing ember buried deep in one of the logs, and took a deep breath.

  “The wedding was set to be the summer I turned sixteen. At the time, three years seemed like an eternity to wait, but Lady MacTíre insisted. And I suppose I was content enough. What does a girl that young know of marriage, anyway? Thomas and I spent our free hours together—playing, or gossiping about the villagers, or quarreling—very much like we had before, only now we stole kisses when our chaperones were out of sight.”

  “It sounds… pleasant.” Bianca looked up. Robin had a wistful look on his face. She wondered if he knew it was there.

  “It was. But, after a time, it wasn’t enough. One night, when Thomas asked me to meet him in the stables after the household was asleep, I agreed.”

  The wistfulness was gone, replaced by shock. “You what?”

  “I snuck from my bed in the middle of the night, and met my intended husband in the same paddock where he first asked me to marry him.”

  “Did you, ah…” Robin seemed at a loss as to how to ask his question, so Bianca took pity on him.

  “No. We didn’t. But we managed quite a bit more than just a few stolen kisses.”

  “That hardly sounds like you, Bianca.”

  He was teasing, but Bianca answered him seriously. “I used to care a great deal more about making myself happy, no matter the consequences. And my poor, beautiful Thomas paid for it.”

  “What happened?”

  She sighed. “King Lodney died. Brannon took the throne. And just days after his coronation he arrived at the MacTíre’s. He said it was time for his “darling daughter to come live in the palace.” He mentioned servants, and gowns, and jewels, and then, of course, he spoke of all the political alliances I might bring him, through marriage. Lady MacTíre objected, and reminded him that his father had already agreed I should wed Thomas, and we were lawfully betrothed, but he laughed at her. He told her that, trueborn or no, I was his only child, and I wouldn’t be marrying some poor steward and spending my days counting chickens.”

  “I went to the stables that night. Thomas was waiting for me, with two horses saddled and a pack full of food. He told me he wasn’t going to let my father force me into marriage with some fat vassal, just for political gain. He said we’d leave, leave our home, leave the kingdom if we had to. And I said yes. I kissed him, as full of love as ever I’d been, and we rode out. All through that night, and the next day, we rode. We were terrified, and exhilarated, and full of the energy of youth. We finally stopped in an abandoned farmer’s cot, so sure that we had made good our escape.”

  Bianca caught her breath. That night was the sweetest, and most bitter, memory of her life. After they’d eaten she’d come to Thomas, hair unbound, and asked him if he remembered the common law.

  Which one?

  The one about marriage.

  Of course. You must share a meal, and exchange your vows, and then…

  He’d been so shocked, when he realized her intention.

  Bianca, don’t you want to wait for a magis—

  Thomas. She’d cut him off. I take you for my husband.

  He’d gaped at her, so she’d laid a soft kiss on his mouth.

  Say it. Another, deeper kiss. Say it. Another, full of all the longing in her heart. Please, Thomas. Say it.

  Bianca. I take you for my wife.

  Then there had been no more words. They had tumbled together with sweet, eager awkwardness, finding their way with love, and some laughter, and, in the end, a great deal of passion. What she remembered best, though, was the moment before they slept, in a tangled mass of limbs. When Thomas looked at her with eyes so full of love, she knew they shared one heart, and one soul.

  “Bianca?”

  Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. “They found us, of course. In the morning. They dragged Thomas from our marriage bed, and Brannon forced him to kneel on the grass in front of the cottage. I was screaming, screaming for them to stop, screaming that he was my husband, that I loved him, that I would do anything, anything to save him. My father drew his sword, and looked at me. Then he told me that the only way I could have saved Thomas would have been to let him go. But I had been such a cow-eyed fool as to marry him, so I must live with the consequences.

  “And then he struck his head off, right there on the grass.”

  “Bianca…” She could hear the horror in Robin’s whisper, but her mind felt numb. Her lips kept shaping the words, finishing the story, telling all of it, as though Robin were her confessor, and had to hear.

  “I don’t remember much of the trip to the castle. I was blinded by grief. Brannon would visit with me in the evenings. I was kept in a guarded tent, and he would come to spend an hour or so berating me. He would heap abuses on me, telling me I was worthless, and a whore, just like my mother. Once I asked him why he didn’t just kill me, as well. He told me there were other uses for a pretty young girl, even if he couldn’t make a marriage for me. That some of the lords were married to dried up old sticks, and would trade great favors to have a mistress like me at their disposal. That night I cried so hard I was sick, and I had to ride in a wagon the next day, I couldn’t even sit in my saddle.”

  “When we arrived in Inisle, I was given rooms, and maids, and dresses, and jewels, and I was also given a daily appointment with the king. My punishment, for daring to defy him. He spent the next year whipping me, waiting for it to heal, and then whipping me again. The daily appointments were so that he could check my back, and see if it was time to beat me again. I don’t know what he gained from it, aside from satisfaction. Nothing he could do to me was worse than what he did outside that farmer’s cottage.”

  “When he killed Thomas?”

  “Yes, he killed Thomas. But what really destroyed me was what he said. When I realized if I had left him alone, Thomas would still be alive. When I knew that his death was my fault.”

  ***

  Robin was silent a long while. The air in the cave grew chill, despite the fire’s warmth, and neither of them stirred. At last, when the light beyond the waterfall had faded, and night was upon them, Robin spoke.

  “Among my people, we have a mad queen. She has decreed that every child born must join her on a wild hunt, before they attain their majority.”

  “What’s a wild hunt?”

  “It is a midnight ride across the land, where we chase the hind and show no mercy. It is a thing of beauty, but it is also savage, and harsh, and cruel. It teaches each of us about our innermost selves, but it does so by ripping away all our comforting half-truths, and for each of us that comes through stronger and wiser, there are an equal number that come out broken, or not at all.”

  “That sounds terrible.”

  “It is. And fearsome, and breath-taking, and wondrous
. And, as you could imagine, there are those that beg to participate, and those that beg for some reprieve. But never, in all my years, have I heard any of them claim fault for what our queen, in her madness, forces upon us all.”

  “I was never forced to flee with Thomas.”

  “Were you not? To choose between love, or a life of misery? That is no choice at all.”

  Bianca ignored him, and asked a question of her own. “What was your choice? Does the queen kill those that refuse to hunt?”

  “Kill? No. But Mab rules the mists. And if we do not hunt she casts us out, never to return. To die would be one thing, but to fade away into one of the evil things that walk the outer ways—” He broke off. Bianca’s jaw had dropped open at the mention of Mab, and hung there lax. “What?”

  “Mab?” She was barely whispering. “Queen Mab?”

  “Yes; what of it?”

  “Mab is a fairy tale! Queen of the mists and all the Fae that dwell therein…” She trailed off, and looked at him, eyes wide.

  Robin smiled. He leaned closer. “Is it really so hard to believe?”

  “That you’re a pixie?!”

  His smile spread. “I am one of the Fae. Pixies are of the mist, but are quite different from us. For one thing, they have wings. For another,” he raised one eyebrow, “they wear very few clothes.”

  “You are making this up.” Her jaw took on a stubborn cast, which only increased his mirth.

  “I swear to you, I am not.”

  “Well I don’t believe you.”

  Robin rolled his eyes at her. “What fools you mortals be.”

  Chapter 11

  Robin snapped awake at the first soft touch on his shoulder. Bianca was leaning over him, her eyes dark with worry.

  “We need to go find birch and honey, if we can.”

  Robin looked at Isabelle. Her face was flushed with fever, but a sick, pallid grey around the edges, and her breathing was rapid, and shallow.

  “Should you not stay, and tend her?”

  Bianca was shaking her head before he’d finished speaking. “There’s nothing more I can do; I need the birch bark. The sooner we get it the sooner I can help her.”

  He wasted no more time in questions. Instead he snatched up Bianca’s empty herb satchel and hastened to the mouth of the cave. Gesturing for Bianca to wait, he stepped sideways, out from behind the concealing curtain of water.

  The forest was still, but not silent. Birds sang with a natural ease as they squabbled over mates and territory, and the bushes were rustling with the lazy movement of the ground animals. The forest creatures were at peace, going about their lives.

  He ducked his head back in the cave, and held out his hand to Bianca.

  “You may come out; there is no one here but us.”

  When Bianca eased out, trying to keep her dress from becoming soaked in the water’s spray, he held her hand, and helped her slip along the rock ledge to the edge of the pool. Once they were safely sinking into the soft bankside, he drew her back upstream, towards the more arid soil that lined the brook. After a short walk, no more than a quarter of an hour, they came to a place where young birch trees grew in dense clusters beside the stream.

  Bianca lost no time. She pulled her belt knife free and began stripping the outer bark of the tree, casting it aside on the ground. Once she had cleared a sizeable patch she began removing the young, inner bark in long strips and storing them carefully in her satchel.

  “Robin?” Her voice was distracted as she worked. “Could you gather some of the leaves for me?”

  “Fresh, or fallen?”

  “Well, fresh would be best, but…” She trailed off and looked over at him. Robin knew what she was thinking. The birches were slender, but tall, and the lowest branches were still well above their heads.

  He smiled.

  Then he took a few quick running steps, and leapt forward. The birches bent out from one another, and by planting his foot against the sloping side of one sapling he could propel himself up and out, to find footing on another young tree. In that way he gained almost twice his height, before finding a branch and pulling himself up to sit serenely in the tree.

  Bianca looked at him with wide eyes, and he could barely contain his grin as he peered down at her.

  “Did I mention, the Fae are quite agile?”

  Bianca’s eyes narrowed. “For all I know, you’ve been practicing that move since you were a boy.”

  “Oh, indeed. I have spent years planning an elaborate ruse all so that I could trick you into believing in fairies.”

  She whipped her head around, and continued ripping the inner bark from the tree, with rather more vigor than she’d given the task previously.

  Robin harvested a fair number of the bright green new leaves, climbing higher and higher in the tree, before Bianca looked back up.

  “I’ve enough bark, if you’re ready to go.”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he dropped from the branch on which he was perched. Bianca gasped in alarm, but he caught himself on another limb after only a few feet. Drop and catch, drop and catch, until—several lengths above the ground—he let himself fall the rest of the way, to land lightly on his toes, inches away from where she stood. He straightened from his crouch and gave her a pleasant smile.

  “As I said. Agile.”

  This time she merely blinked slowly, and then shook her head, as though forcing her focus to return.

  “Honey. We need to find honey next.”

  He bowed politely, and offered her an arm, which she took in automatic response. “Then, by all means, allow me to escort you to the local hive.”

  A bemused smile came over her face as they walked through the forest, away from the stream. “I suppose you know exactly where a hive might be found?”

  “Of course.”

  “And is that because the Fae can speak to bees?”

  They broke out of the tree line, into a pleasant, flower-strewn meadow. Robin looked down at Bianca with mock disdain. “Don’t be ridiculous. Bees cannot talk.”

  “Well, of course.”

  “They dance, instead.”

  Before she could react Robin swept Bianca up, and began waltzing across the grass. After a moment of utter surprise, Bianca broke into giggles. She would have been a good dancer, had her laughter not ruined her timing. Robin smiled down at her in genuine camaraderie. Her eyes glowed like the night sky in summer, and her cheeks were pink against the pale beauty of her skin. He realized that, despite all their worries, he had never seen her look so carefree before. Perhaps that was to be expected, given what her life had been thus far. But he thought it a shame that this lovely girl, in the full glory of her youth, had laughed so little in all the time he’d known her.

  So, he spun her into a dizzying turn, and when she let out a happy cry of delight, he found himself laughing right along with her.

  Slowly he ceased their revolutions, and supported her while she caught her balance. When she could stand without wobbling alarmingly, he stepped back, and bowed low.

  “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

  “You are most welcome, gentle sir.” She curtsied, letting her skirts sink into the tall grasses. “It was my pleasure.” She rose, and glanced around while pulling her empty salve jar from her satchel. “Which way to the hive?”

  He pointed to an old stump on the edge of the meadow. “There it lies.”

  The oak must have been impressive, before nature brought it down. The remains of the trunk had settled deep into the earth, but the stump still stood, the rough surface covered in moss and lichen. It was clearly hollow, for around the sheared-off top thousands of bees flew in tight circles, their tiny black and yellow bodies bright and clear against the blue spring sky.

  Bianca grew still beside him.

  “They’re swarming.”

  He shrugged in response. “It is spring.”

  “I know, it’s just—” She blew out her cheeks in frustration. “I really wanted honey for Isabe
lle’s back. It works wonders to seal and cleanse wounds, and—”

  “Bianca.” He interrupted gently. “If you wish for honey, we shall have it.”

  She shook her head. “Swarming bees are dangerous. Even a small hive. And that is no small hive. We could both die a rather painful death in this lovely meadow, if we provoke them.”

  “And here I thought you had no concern for your own safety.” He was pleased, but she gave him a wry look.

  “Actually, I was thinking more about you.”

  “I should have known. It was too much to hope that you had developed a sense of self-preservation.”

  She rolled her eyes, then looked wistfully at the stump. “I suppose we should just go back to Isabelle.”

  “Oh, not just yet.” Robin lifted the crock from her hands, took a few steps forward, then turned back to Bianca. “Wait here.” He smiled at her merrily, while she stared at him in horror, and he ambled over to the hive.

  The bees flew in furious patterns all around him. His ears were full of their buzzing, but behind him he could hear Bianca calling him to come back. He ignored her. Instead he began singing in a soft undertone, a monotonous, droning song. His feet moved in a rhythmic flicker, barely lifting from the soft pad of grass underfoot, but falling precisely on the beat. He inched forward through the cloud of bees; letting them circle him, land on him, flick their tongues out to taste his skin. Then, as one, they rose to hover above their hive. Robin moved forward through empty air, and climbed up the root structure of the stump until he could reach into the dark, comb-filled interior. The queen and her drones huddled, quiescent, on one large expanse of honeycomb. Robin reached past them to harvest a bountiful, gleaming, golden comb. He broke off great chunks, depositing them into the jar to drain, until he thought they had more than they could possibly use. As he withdrew his hand for the final time, he murmured in a sing-song voice.