Quietly Making Noise

And so it went

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.

****
After midnight had come and gone, as Grissom made his weary way back to his tower, he found himself gritting his teeth again. Few torches were lit at this time of night; only the barest number glowed against the overwhelming darkness. But the mage needed no light to find his way. He felt better in the dark, where he could hope against his senses that he was in the midst of a dream.

His head pounded and his eyes burned. There was no delay to be found within the King’s heart.

In the previous months, the King’s advisers had made quiet and cautious inquiry of several lords of his own realm and minor princes of neighboring lands to see who had interest in a marriage to the Queen’s niece, should a dowry of land be available. Unsurprisingly, all had avowed themselves interested.

Several contenders were immediately rejected; either their lands were too far a field from the Sidle lands for the lord in question to be able to protect them. One of the princelings was rejected for being too ambitious, another for being too weak. One suitable lord was rejected due to his advanced age, putting into doubt his ability to defend and as the king so delicately put it, “He could very well drop dead on his wedding night and we’d be here all over again.”

Grissom had winced at the crassness of the idea, but it was the thought of the lady being forced to the marriage bed at the pleasure of whatever lord commanded the most value to the king that caused him real pain. His heart was sore, his mind heavy.

The King had, in the end, narrowed his choices to two. A princeling just over the border of the neighboring lands and a lord within a day’s ride. The prince was well known and well liked, commanded his army well enough, but was not known to be of particular intellect or wit. The Lord Vincent was well heeled, rich in land and men. His young wife had met a tragic end some months previous. Though it was said to have been an accident, there were few details and any who knew about it would say little of it and then only with eyes averted.

Could the lady be happy with either of these men? His heart rejected the idea. How could either make her happy when they knew her not? Would they take the time to know her? Learn what made her smile? Bring her books for presents instead of trinkets? Or would they merely bed and breed her? Use her to manage their home, warm their bed, bear their sons?

Wearily, he started up the stone steps to the tower.

Just lately he had convinced himself if her brother were to be found, he would attempt to woo her. He knew he was too old for her, but he could not bear the thought of another man holding her in his arms. Now, he had no choice. He must bear it without having ever had the chance to win her heart…without ever letting her see into his own heart.

As he approached the alcove on his ascent, he was so solidly wrapped up in his own thoughts that he nearly missed the slight scratch of fabric against stone. It only registered in his cluttered brain as soon he was upon it.

“Who goes there?” His voice was not raised over its normal conversational level, but in the quiet of the night with no one abroad it sounded, even to him, unnaturally loud.

“Tis I, m’lord.” Lady Sara stepped out of the darkness and into the faint spill of torchlight from the sconce at the next curve of the tower wall.

His stomach dipped. It seemed some sort of magic that he should be so consumed with the idea of her loss that he had conjured her here in his tower, in the alcove where she had first come to his notice.

“My lady.” Though he was unspeakably glad to be in her presence again, he felt the wrench of the night’s work rending his heart within him. “You should not be abroad so late.”

The light was faint and he struggled to see her well. He sensed more than saw the helpless and careless gesture she made in response to his words. “I did not realize it was so late.” Her tone was flat and slightly scratchy, her day of tears evident in her voice.

Silently, he cursed himself for a selfish cur. He had been so caught up in his own pain at the thought of her marriage he had forgotten her grief. He gentled his voice. “Is there some way I can be of service to you, lady?”

Had she been awaiting him? The thought held such tantalizing and forbidden possibilities his pulse increased with alarming rapidity.

She made a sound, something that he supposed was meant to be a laugh, but was actually a twisted, mirthless thing. “I did not deliberately seek the tower out. I went for a walk after the Queen retired for the evening.” He heard her draw in a shaking breath. “I found myself here where I spent so much of my first year in this place. I think it felt only natural to come back here now that I find myself grieving again.”

He remembered his own grief when his mother died; how the pain seemed not just a part of him, but that he was the pain, as sharp and burning as a flaming sword. The idea of her feeling such anguish made the center of his chest ache. He swallowed against the thickness in his throat. “Lady Sara, I…” What could he say to ease her sorrow? Was there word that was balm for mourning? What turn of phrase had he that could possibly be a solace for her pain and unhappiness? What comfort was there any where for her woe?

The sound of a small and piteous sniffle was his undoing. He ceased to think and simply did what propriety and his own wary heart forbade: he pulled her into his arms.

Startled, she stiffened for a moment, but in the space of a breath she relaxed against him, melting into his embrace. He felt her body shaking with her sobs, but she released them silently into his neck. Her body felt slight against his chest, his arms encircled her easily, holding her close for comfort, but not so tightly that she should feel frightened or trapped.

He wanted only to soothe her, to help ease her pain, but even as he reminded himself of this, he breathed in the scent of lavender from her hair, felt the warmth of her body seeping into his through his tunic. When her tears subsided and she made to step back, it was difficult to let her go.

“I beg your pardon, m’lord mage,” she whispered.

He did not know if she could see it, but he shook his head impatiently. “You have nothing to ask pardon for. I am aggrieved there is so little I can do to offer you solace from your heartache.”

Briefly, he saw the flash of her wide smile in the darkness. “You have always been so kind to me. I would that…” She stopped and turned from him, looking out the alcove’s window into the dark and moonless night. “I wrote to my brother of you when first I came to be fostered by the Queen. He told me to not make myself a nuisance, but he knew how much I longed to learn. It was his suggestion I should come to the tower. He thought perhaps I might be able to see things, learn things just from being near you.”

She rested her forehead against the cool stone along the window’s edge. “When you agreed to teach me, he was overjoyed. He knew what a boon and a blessing it was to me.” Reaching up to brush away a tear, she continued. “From my youngest days, he was always my protector, my champion. He wanted nothing more than I should find happiness.”

His heart was softened by her words and he spoke before thinking, “I would that I had known him.”

Another smile, this one smaller and softer, touched her lips. “That you two should have met was my fondest wish.” Again, the smile faded. “It was not to be.”

He wanted to take her into his arms again, but he dare not. “My lady, how can I help you? Is there anything…”

She held up a staying hand. “I thank you, my lord. Sadly, I think there is naught that can be done for me. I know not what is to become of me now, but all must be faced in time.” Moving lightly, she slid past him towards the stairs. “I will wish you a good night.” Without waiting for an answer, she slipped down the stairs, into the darkness and away.

Not surprisingly, in the days following the news of the young lord Sidle’s untimely end the lady did not come to the tower. Gregory was quite subdued in her absence, doing his chores as well as the duties Lady Sara had assumed with a solemn and quiet air.

After the first night, the Queen appeared again in the evenings in the Great Hall, but her niece was absent. Grissom tried not to notice how disappointed he was when every night the alcove along the tower steps was empty.

The truth was, Grissom vacillated between missing her presence and the relief of not having to face her with a better knowledge of her ultimate fate than she possessed. Her absence from his rooms during the days and the Hall at night was a wrench, but he told himself to acclimate himself to being without her, and berated himself for ever allowing himself to feel more for her. She would marry and leave the castle. All of his learning, his knowledge and cunning was useless against that inevitability.

He told himself she would eventually be happy; whoever the King chose for her would be more suitable than he. He was too old, too wrapped up in his work, too inclined to forget everything around him when experimenting with the elements of natural philosophy to have a young wife. His means would not be enough to provide her with all she deserved, with all of the things a lady so fine should have. Anger that he should ever have considered any possibility of a life with her became his constant companion.

His mood was constantly black; the only form that altered was the reason. Sometimes it was from his self-loathing and anger and others simply from missing her and sorrow at knowing she was somewhere in the castle wrapped in pain and grief and he could do naught to help.

And then one morning, she was in his rooms in the tower when he returned from his walk. To be sure, her countenance was somber and Gregory was not indulging in his usual buffoonery but rather speaking quietly with her as they performed the morning’s tasks together.

The mage stood at the entrance and watched her; the graceful movement of her hands as she raised a vial, the unconscious downturn of her mouth as she concentrated on a measure. His heart stuttered and his stomach dipped at the sight of her. She was dressed in a dark surcoat as a depiction of her mourning and it provided an unexpected foil for her fair skin. Her hair, as was her custom during the days, was uncovered but gathered loosely at her neck and plaited down her back, tied with a black ribbon.

She caught sight of him and a soft, slight smile touched her lips. He knew not logic and reason in that moment. He knew only love.

“Lord Gilbert.” She dipped and rose in a casual curtsy without putting the vial and pitcher in her hands down.

“Lady Sara.” He was robbed of words, for what was there to say? It was a joy to be in her presence again, yet grief and loss snapped at the heels of that joy. Still, he was unable to do anything other than say what was foremost in his mind. “I am glad to see you again. We have missed you these last days.”

Her smile was a shade softer as she replied, “And I have missed you.”

It was enough to make him dizzy, make him forget the impediments that loomed between them and make him glad to be within her sight and have her within his. It was with a smile of his own that he came to the work table, perhaps standing a shade closer than he had in the past, perhaps not quite as focused on the codex in front of him. Still, comfortable familiarity pervaded the air and he reveled in it. To be sure, they were more solemn than in times past and Gregory was in no hurry to quit the room, but still he felt the peace of her presence and allowed himself the folly of being happy in those moments.

Later, he would look back on that quiet morning as the last day before everything changed forever.

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

Back to Main Page