Madrigal-Chapter 6
Disclaimer: As if. Nope. Not mine.
In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand’s Renaissance wedding.
I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth. For her and so many other things, I am blessed.
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And so it went. Minutes passed into days. Days became weeks. Weeks became a month. Midsummer came and went. Time passed, but it passed in mostly the same manner. Mornings were spent in his tower with the lady Sara…sometimes in lively discussion, others quietly working or reading. She would slip away with a quiet word or a smile in the afternoon. He saw her every evening in the Great Hall, but he felt they were different people then. He would nod, she would curtsy if standing, incline her head if seated and he would count the hours until the morning when he could hear her voice, see her smile again.
He knew well that he, who was rumored to be able to perform enchantments, was himself, enchanted by the slender young woman.
On days when he feared he would have to not only watch her wed, but help to choose her husband, he felt his heart harden and wished she had never come. He cursed her sparkling eyes and hungry mind; her husky voice and lovely smile. He cursed himself for thinking what those long fingers might feel like running through his hair, for wondering how soft and warm her lips might be. Most of all, he cursed himself for having lived too long alone, for knowing little of social graces or political maneuvering and even less of women. He only had his work, his duty and honor.
On those days, he was as foul as she was fair, he knew. He would snarl that Sara and Gregory had nothing better to do than fill the air with their chatter. He would grimace and growl and speak nary a word. Occasionally, he would send her away from the tower earlier than her accustomed leaving time, on the pretext of work to be done, and then spend the rest of the day staring morosely at the empty bench under the window he had come to think of as “her” place.
On days when he forgot his duties to king and kingdom, forgot her plight and station in life, he vacillated between being completely male, making plans to woo her, sure he could and dizzy with the very idea that he could even try to win the heart of one so young and beautiful. He charmed her with words and smiles, made her laugh with jests of words, searched for more to teach her to keep her leaping brain occupied. He cherished her smiles, contemplated her blushes and wondered at her feelings and what she would look like asleep in his bed.
But the worst days were those when the King commanded an audience when they might counsel, amongst other matters, a potential husband for the Lady Sara. The mage was no fool; he well knew the longer the time went without word of the young lord, the less likely it was he lived. The King seemed already convinced the boy was dead and impatient with himself for having made a bargain with the Queen that bade him wait so long to arrange for the marriage of the lady to whatever lord proved most politically valuable. Those were the days honor rested like lead upon the mage’s shoulders, when duty tasted like dust in his mouth. There was no ill humor then, no anger…just a deep and heavy sadness that made it difficult to breathe.
Through it all, the lady remained a constant. She bore his ill moods quietly, oft times attempting to soothe him, though that mostly caused his already ill humor to blacken. On days when all things seemed possible, she laughed with him, learned from him, spoke kindly to him (even affectionately, his eager heart hoped).
She again took up the small jobs he had allowed her as his pupil when she was a mere slip of a girl. Even now, he could not believe he had taught and trusted one so young, but his faith had never been misplaced. She was careful and thoughtful, seeming to understand the purpose of many of the tasks without having them explained. With quiet surety, she began speaking to Gregory as she explained the tasks, step by careful step. Never losing patience with his puppy-like exuberance she gently calmed and corrected him, slowly guiding him through each process. The mage could not help the swell of pride as he surreptitiously watched her teach his young assistant. She never asked his permission to show Gregory the work, and he never commented on her making an apprentice of his assistant, but it worked well as she seemed to have a patience for the young man he himself lacked.
The apple harvest was in full momentum when the unlikely trio took to the forest one morning to search for wild plants to be dried for later use. The day was cooler than the summer days had been, the scent of fruit was in the air and the dappled sunlight played gently through the trees, pervading the day with quiet contentment and peace. The mage listened with wonder and pride as the Lady Sara explained to Gregory the benefits of ginger ingestion. “It helps babies that suffer from the colic and those with difficulty in digestion. It also aids in digestion for adults.”
The helper’s eyes widened as he made the connection. “That’s why the honeyed ginger is passed round the table.”
“Aye; it is more than just a sweet. Of course, one wouldn’t give a babe solid ginger, even honeyed. What say you to be the best way of administering to a babe unable yet to chew?” She bent and picked a clover flower, bringing it to her nose, then idly tucking it behind her ear, seemingly unaware of Lord Grissom’s attention to her actions.
“Perhaps,” Gregory slowly began, “a tincture or tisane?”
Smiling, the lady nodded. “Either of those would work very well. And it can also be given with a bit of wine, though it should be well…”
Her voice was cut off by the sound of a horse being hard ridden along the forest road. Wide eyed, she turned toward the oncoming horse and rider. The horseman was bent low over the neck of the animal and both rider and beast were sweating and panting. He appeared not to see the three figures standing at the edge of the road as they galloped past, the horse hooves pounding out thunder on the road as the rider urged him on at an ever quickening pace.
Silently, the three watched the rider pass out of sight.
Lord Grissom recognized the rider. He had been one sent in search of Lord Sidle.
Though they had never discussed the riders in his rooms that day, it was clear from her pallor Lady Sara also recognized the rider and knew of his mission.
“My lady?” He came close to her, lest she faint. “Are you unwell, my lady?”
She turned round, anxious eyes on him. “I am well, m’lord. Let us back to the castle posthaste and hear what news the rider brings.”
Gregory was looking at them both with curiosity, oblivious that the rider might as well have been fate itself flying through the quiet forest.
In a gesture too familiar for propriety, but meant only to comfort, the mage briefly rested a large hand on the lady’s shoulder. Quietly he spoke, “We will make haste, m’lady.” Ordinary words, but they were fraught with feeling of every thing left unsaid between the two of them.
Her lips trembled in a ghost of a smile that he feared would melt into tears. Instead, she turned and headed down the road as fast as her feet and gown would allow.
As they had been in the very heart of the forest, the rider had been at the castle at least half of an hour or longer by the time they reached the gate. All of those they passed along the way wore solemn looks and refused to meet the eye of Lady Sara. He could feel her agitation grow with every step until they reached the Great Hall and the sound of weeping could clearly be heard in the chamber beyond.
Robbed of the strength to stand, the lady sank onto one of the benches, wilting as a paper in fire. The mage crouched in front of her and grasped both of her hands in his, immediately noting how cold they were. Her breathing was shallow, her gaze unfocused. He began rubbing her hands and fingers, attempting to warm them, hoping to offer some comfort no matter how small. “Lady Sara?” His voice was grave and gravelly, nearly a whisper, but her eyes rose to meet his. The pain and sadness he saw there felt like a blow to the center of his chest. “Should I fetch wine for you?”
Her lips were nearly as pale as her face and she shook her head. “My…” she cleared her throat. “I need to go to my aunt.”
At that moment, the King came through from his chambers. “Lady Sara.” His voice was soft and gentle as he approached them. “I was just going to send for you.” He placed a hand against her cheek in awkward, but obviously sincere affection.
Her eyes swam with unshed tears. “You have news of my brother, Uncle?”
His look was one of grief and regret both for the news and having to deliver it. “I am sorry, child. He is lost to us. His body was found in the South. It appears he fell into a ravine; an accident most likely, as all of his papers and possessions were with him.”
She blinked once and a tear overflowed the rim of her eye. Her lip trembled for a moment, but then she stood. “Thank you for searching for him, my liege.” She made to dip into a curtsy, but the King placed his hands on her upper arms and brought her close in a comforting embrace.
The mage heard what could have been a stifled sob from the young woman as she rested for a moment in her kinsman’s arms. Then she straightened and swallowed. “May I see the Queen, majesty?”
“Of course, Sara. Comfort each other as best you can.”
“Thank you, majesty.”
The monarch, the mage and his assistant all watched the young woman as she crossed the Great Hall and into the chambers beyond, her back straight, her step measured.
When she was out of sight, the King turned to Lord Grissom, his face weary and solemn. “We must see the girl wed before winter is upon us, m’lord mage.”
The pain of watching the lady’s grief faded under this new weight and fear become reality. The mage protested immediately. “Majesty, the lady just learned of her brother’s death…”
“And as she learned of it, so do others. Her brother’s lands have stood without their lord for many months. Their defenses have weakened.” His voice was resolute, but aggrieved, nonetheless. “I feel for the girl’s pain, and I wish her to be happy, but the security of this land and the well being of its people have more value than the cares of one young woman.” He glanced toward his chambers where a fresh round of weeping could be heard. He sighed. “Betrothed within a fortnight, married by the equinox. After the evening meal, we will meet and decide the likeliest candidates.”
“Aye, majesty.” Gritting his teeth, the mage bowed as the King turned and quit the room.
Madrigal-Chapter 1
Madrigal-Chapter 2
Madrigal-Chapter 3
Madrigal-Chapter 4
Madrigal-Chapter 5
Madrigal-Chapter 6
Madrigal-Chapter 7
Madrigal-Chapter 8
Madrigal-Chapter 9
Madrigal-Chapter 10
Madrigal-Chapter 11
Madrigal-Chapter 12