The crowd cheered again, and Ser Estienne offered the royal family a second bow before departing. With all ceremony concluded, the spectators made their way back into the castle to prepare for the evening's festivities, while the knights did likewise inside their pavilions.
In his court attire once more, Ser Hemming entered the Great Hall and observed the scene. Although King Wybert was not yet present, it seemed a few people had commenced the reveries ahead of time. Raucous laughter filled in the air, and servers scurried back and forth with wine. Ser Hemming's own throat was parched, but he chose to await the arrival of his liege lord.
Luckily, King Wybert made his entrance not long after and the celebration commenced in earnest. From his place a short way down the hall, Ser Hemming sipped his mulled wine and surveyed the Great Table, and the one beside it, where the foreign knights held court. Despite his best intentions to the contrary, his gaze kept returning to Ser Estienne, who rightly occupied the place of honour at the head of the table.
Ser Estienne laughed along with the others, a broad grin ever in place, yet he displayed no conceit over his victory. Rather, he accepted the acclaim with modesty, and Ser Hemming decided he was happy at Ser Estienne's victory. If King Wybert intended to marry Princess Isabel to a foreign noble, at least it was one who, in Ser Hemming's admittedly humble estimation, appeared deserving of her. One whom, in another lifetime and a better world, he might wish himself to wed. Even so, he wondered what his duties would be once Princess Isabel departed with her new lord. At present, he was amongst those who made up the princess's personal guard and spent half of his time either escorting her around the castle or standing watch outside her chamber. This was work he loved, for it gave him rare opportunities—such as earlier today—to indulge his fantasies in relative safety. Where would they post him now?
He shook his head and took another, deeper swallow of wine. These were idle questions, the answers to which he could not hope to discover. Doubtless, King Wybert would advise him of his new duties in the coming days. In the meantime, he should enjoy this evening of celebration. He was not on duty again until the afternoon on the morrow, due to his participation in the tourney, so he could afford to relax.
The revels lasted into the night, continuing after the royal family retired. For a while, Ser Hemming believed they would never end; however, the lead participants finally succumbed to the wine's effects, falling asleep where they sat, and the celebration drew to a close. Ser Hemming was on his way to bed when a young squire appeared, out of breath.
"Please, Ser Hemming, you're needed outside the princess's chamber."
"Why? Has something happened?"
"Mine own lord, Ser Robert, was s'posed to be on duty, but he's drunk more than's good for him and cannot leave the garderobe. I was told to find you and instruct you to replace him."
Ser Hemming loosed an oath beneath his breath. How could Ser Robert neglect his duties in this way? Although still on his feet, unlike some, Ser Hemming had consumed more wine tonight than he deemed proper under normal circumstances. He was in no fit state to stand watch for hours; he could barely keep his eyes open. Yet what choice did he have? He could not refuse an order. Not without dishonour.
He nodded, and the squire breathed a visible sigh of relief and hurried back the way he had come. Ser Hemming watched him go; then he turned his own steps toward Princess Isabel's private chambers. The squire's assertion proved correct, for there was no one posted outside the door. Ser Hemming was about to move into position and make the best of it when he paused. The door to Princess Isabel's bedchamber was not only unguarded—it stood ajar.
Ser Hemming crept forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. There was no sound from within, nor any sign of movement, and he hesitated. Entering the chamber unbidden when he knew it to be empty was one thing; proceeding inside without instruction when the princess lay sleeping within was quite another. Yet, suppose she was in trouble. Surely duty dictated he should investigate.
His mind made up, Ser Hemming slowly pushed against the door. It creaked as it opened, but no other noise reached his ears. He stood on the threshold and peered into the gloom. There was no movement and he saw nothing out of the ordinary; however, his senses were hardly at their finest after so much wine. Again, indecision held him prisoner. Should he retreat or press on? No, he could not go back without ascertaining Princess Isabel was well. He would confirm she was safe in her bed; then he would leave.
He moved through the chamber with quiet, slow steps and approached the bed. The curtains were drawn. What was best: to wake the princess or to open them? Mayhap he should wake her after all. Better that than have her awaken to find him peeping in at her—that might cost him his head.
"Your Highness?" he whispered. When no answer came, he tried again, a little louder. "Princess Isabel?"
There was still no response. He supposed she was deep in slumber after such a long and hectic day. She had not woken at his call, so perhaps he should take the risk and draw the curtains back. He feared he had no other choice, for he would not rest easy unless he knew she was well.
He reached out and plucked at the damask, tweaking it aside. The coverlet lay crumpled and twisted and the pillows scattered. Of the princess, there was no sign. Ser Hemming touched the sheets—they were still warm. He dropped the curtain and stepped back. His heart pounded, but he tried to calm his mind enough to think through the matter. The princess was not here. Very well. Where, then, could she be? Perhaps she was hungry and had departed in search of food. No, that was nonsense. No one could be hungry after such a feast, and besides, a princess did not wander about the castle on her own. That wily wench, Jocosa, would have brought her something had she expressed a desire to eat. That raised another question: where was Jocosa? She should be here, sleeping at the foot of her lady's bed. Had they gone somewhere together?
Ser Hemming glanced around the room. His gaze fell upon several dark flecks on the floor. They were barely noticeable; he only spotted them because of the way they contrasted the grey stone. He crouched and dragged his fingers through them. They were sticky to the touch. He raised his hand and sniffed. The scent was one he knew well—blood. A tremor of fear ran the length of his spine. Princess Isabel was missing and someone was wounded. He no longer believed she had left this room of her own accord, and it was up to him to raise the alarm.
He fled the chamber. There was no need for silence this time—he needed to wake the castle. He hollered and shouted, mustering those knights able to rise from their drunken stupors. He yelled for the squires and sent them to and fro with messages to wake the king and the other noble lords. When King Wybert arrived, he gave orders to search the castle from top to bottom. They omitted no room, no matter how small or lowly, yet they found no sign of Princess Isabel. However, another was absent too: the nameless black knight. The king questioned all the other visiting knights, but none knew the man's title or origin. Until one of the squires spoke up.
"If it please, Your Majesty, I've seen his coat of arms before. It was when Ser Roland went to fight in Burgundia."
"Burgundia! Long has the Duke of Burgundia hated Us." King Wybert buried his head in his hands. "May God protect Our precious child if she has fallen into his men's hands." He straightened, subduing his sorrow and reclaiming his regal stance. "We must effect her rescue, yet I would not have Our enemy learn of Our plans and find a way to thwart them. To send a large party of knights will draw too much attention."
"Your Majesty." Ser Estienne approached and dropped to his knee before the throne. "Princess Isabel is my betrothed. I will go in search of her and bring her back. I swear a solemn vow to give my life to save hers, and any who seek to harm her will feel my wrath. I ask only one thing. Your Majesty's country is all but unknown to me. Pray, send someone with me familiar with these lands."
An expression of keen hope lit King Wybert's face. "The entire kingdom thanks you, Ser Estienne. Well did you deserve your victory today, and I doubt not but that y
ou will succeed in your quest and bring Our daughter safely home. As for your request, it will be granted, and gladly." He looked around the room. "Where is the knight who first discovered the princess's abduction?"
Ser Hemming stepped forward and bowed low. "It was I, Your Majesty, Ser Hemming." He kept his head lowered and tried not to tremble. He remained unsure how the king viewed his discovery and whether he faced any punishment for entering the princess's chambers unbidden.
"You have Our gratitude, Sir Hemming, for your timely action."
Ser Hemming glanced up in surprise, but immediately lowered his gaze once more when he met King Wybert's eye. Relief flooded through him; however, it proved to be short-lived.
"Will you prove your loyal service once again and accompany Ser Estienne on this quest?"
Ser Hemming froze. He could not refuse, yet he doubted he was the kind of knight Ser Estienne had had in mind when he made his request. He was no fighter. Many others here exceeded him in martial skill. At best, he would slow Ser Estienne's progress; at worst, he would bring about failure. He risked a sideways glance at Ser Estienne. Rather than the horror he expected, Ser Estienne regarded him with a steady gaze, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips. Ser Hemming steadied himself and made his answer.
"Your Majesty, I am yours to command. I will gladly give Ser Estienne mine assistance, and I dedicate myself to him and to the princess."
"You show yourself worthy of your knighthood," King Wybert said, nodding his approval. "Now, my noble lords, to horse! There is not another moment to waste. God speed. All our prayers go with you."
Chapter Three
Ser Hemming and Ser Estienne left the castle accompanied by Ser Estienne's squire, Piers. Stace was nowhere to be found when the time came to depart, so Ser Hemming was forced to proceed alone. Not that he minded. In truth, he preferred to do things for himself. Aside from assisting with his armour during tournaments, he mostly found squires a hindrance, rather than a help; not least because they were generally gossipers and he feared his secret would be discovered those rare times Stace was around.
Ser Estienne proved a quiet companion. He made little conversation, save to impart information relevant to their mission. He was also, it seemed, an excellent tracker with keen eyesight, for he picked up the enemy's trail mere minutes after leaving the castle walls. Perhaps in daylight, Ser Hemming would have spotted the hoof prints too. However, he struggled to see them in the pre-dawn gloom, even when Ser Estienne pointed them out.
They maintained a steady pace. Ser Hemming had expected them to canter after their adversaries, but Ser Estienne advocated a more thoughtful approach. Once the sun rose, they would move faster; in this light, it was risky to speed off, lest they miss some important sign along the way. Ser Hemming guessed he was right. For now, their enemy kept to the road; however, were he to diverge from the path, he and Ser Estienne would want to know of it.
After a short ride, they arrived at a wayside tavern. Here, they dismounted and left the horses in Piers's care while they hastened to question the owner. They knocked, and the tavern keeper—a portly, red-cheeked man—swiftly opened to them.
"More knights! The roads are certainly busy this evening. A good thing I had not yet returned to bed." As if suddenly remembering his manners, he bowed as low as his girth allowed. "Good e'en, my lords. How can I help you?"
"The others of whom thou spakest—they awakened thee?" Ser Estienne's accent was thicker than usual, his words speedily uttered. "How long ago?"
"Not much time has passed since I heard banging on my door, my lord. I came down and offered to show them to rooms and fix them a light supper, but they declined. They wouldn't even let me water their horses."
"What did they want?" Ser Hemming stepped forward. "Surely they did not wake thee for naught."
"Nay, my lord. They wanted directions to the next inn. Ill-mannered, if you ask me, to stop at my tavern only to seek the road to another."
"They intended to stop at the next inn? How many of them?" Ser Estienne resumed the questioning.
"Aye. That's what they said. Not to me, mind, but to each other. I have the ears of a wolf, though, and heard well enough. They planned to stop for a few hours to rest and break their fast. Then, shortly after dawn, they would head for the coast. Only two approached the door, but four others travelled with them, two to a horse." He frowned. "They friends of yours, my lord?"
"Hardly. They are thieves and we are here to apprehend them. Thine help is appreciated and will not be forgotten or go unrewarded."
Ser Hemming wondered why Ser Estienne described them as thieves and not kidnappers, but on reflection, he saw this was wise and for the best. The king had requested discretion, and it would cause panic amongst the common folk if they learnt enemies held their beloved princess captive.
"Thank you, my lord." The tavern keeper made a second obeisance so low it nearly toppled him. "Right glad I am now that they didn't stay under my roof if they're vagabonds as you say, for I'm an honest man and loyal subject."
"Of that, I have no doubt, my good man. Pray, what is thy name?"
"Folks hereabouts call me Ned Flaggon, my lord," the tavern keeper said, maintaining a deferential bowed head. "Can I offer any further assistance?"
"Yes. We would like a room for a short while before we recommence our pursuit."
"Of course, my lord. One or two?"
"One will suffice." Ser Estienne held out a gold angel. "I trust this will be suitable payment."
The tavern keeper's eyes widened as he took the coin. "Aye, my lord."
"I would also like water and feed for our horses. My squire waits with them outside."
"It will be done, my lord. Please, follow me."
Ser Hemming's instinct was to protest this delay. He itched to get back into the saddle and press on. Still, Ser Estienne seemed an intelligent man. If he wished to stop, Ser Hemming had to assume it was for some purpose, so he held his tongue and followed Ser Estienne and Ned up the stairs to a simple bedchamber. He waited until Ned left them to attend to the hay; then he loosed his questions.
"Ser Estienne, what, pray, are we doing here? We know the fiends are resting in the next inn. Why do we not use this time to catch up with them?"
"Because, Ser Hemming, we, too, require rest. I had not yet found my bed before King Wybert summoned us, and I know you had no repose since it was you who discovered the abduction. Once we reach the next inn, we need to be ready to fight. We are few in number. Why give them further advantage over us?" He studied Ser Hemming, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. "Try to rest awhile. I do not plan to stay here long. Let us close our eyes while Piers tends to the horses. He will wake us anon. We have yet time aplenty in which to gain upon our foes. Mine hope is to catch them soon after they leave the tavern. Better a brawl on the open road where no innocent bystanders may fall foul to a stray blade or arrow."
Ser Hemming could not fault Ser Estienne's reasoning, no matter how much the delay irked him. Now he stopped and thought about it, he was deadly tired, and he would need his wits about him in a skirmish. However, a new and far more worrisome problem quickly presented when he looked around the small chamber.
"There is only one bed."
"Yes. I saw no need to cause the tavern keeper twice the work when we would stay for so short a time. There is sufficient room for us both if we lie side by side."
Ser Estienne removed his outer layers and stretched out upon the bed, but Ser Hemming stood locked in place. He had never shared a bed with another since he became a knight. As a youth, he had, perforce, slept alongside his siblings, and later fellow squires while still in training, but these days he slept alone. That it was the handsome Ser Estienne beside whom he must lie only made it worse.
"What delays you, Ser Hemming?" Ser Estienne said, propping up on his elbow. "If you do not hurry, the time will pass before we have so much as shut our eyes."
He had no choice. If he dallied, Ser Estienne would realise some
thing was wrong and question him further. In complying, he ran the risk of alerting Ser Estienne to his strange state, but he judged that less likely than betraying the truth under close scrutiny. Therefore, he disrobed, threw his outer garments over the back of a nearby chair, and slipped between the sheets.
*~*~*
It was wonderful—the heat of another body pressed against her own. Though still half lost in slumber, she was aware of sturdy thighs and strong arms, and she reached for them, desperate to close what little distance remained between her limbs and these others. She wrapped her arm around a solid torso and held tight. Was this what it was like to lie with a man? To feel safe within another's embrace. To experience this surge of desire that flooded her body and pooled between her thighs. If so, it was the most remarkable thing she had ever known. Who cared if it was no more than a dream? She would never know this in the waking world; dreams were all she had.
"Ser Hemming."
She stirred at the name but clung to the vestiges of sleeping, as yet unwilling to relinquish her happiness and return to the real world.
"Ser Hemming."
There was something about that voice—the accent—that prompted her to heed it. It was a voice she knew, was it not? A voice to which she should respond. Why was that voice present anyway? It had no business being here in her chamber, disturbing her rest and her dreams. Then, like a thunderbolt, the truth hit. This was not her room.
Ser Hemming startled awake and tried to pull back; however, his arms and legs were caught, entangled with Ser Estienne's. It took a little manoeuvring, but at last they were free, and Ser Hemming found himself staring into Ser Estienne's beautiful blue eyes, which regarded him with surprise and the faintest hint of alarm. It was only then that Ser Hemming realised his organ stood hard and ready, pressed against Ser Estienne's stomach. This... thing, which had never truly felt a part of him, had betrayed him.
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