He scrambled out of the bed and reached for his clothes. He kept his back turned, not daring to meet Ser Estienne's eye, all the while trying to will his appendage down. That proved a difficult feat, however, since all he could think of were the remnants of his dream. It was a dream that had become a nightmare, yet the memory of its momentary bliss persisted, defying his attempts at calm.
"Ser Hemming."
He froze, tunic half on, and waited. The fabric obscured his sight, but he heard approaching footsteps and then a hand brushed his shoulder.
"I did not realise you were a man who... seeks the company of other men. Had I known, I never would have suggested we share a bed. The fault is mine." He helped tug Ser Hemming's tunic into place. "Pray, do not be uneasy. I will not betray your secret, I swear."
Ser Hemming turned and met his eye. "I am not."
Ser Estienne swept his gaze down to where Ser Hemming's manhood still tented his braies. The action was swift and his gaze quickly returned to Ser Hemming's face, but Ser Hemming had caught the movement, and he flushed and angled his body away.
"It's... complicated," he said to break the silence when Ser Estienne continued to stare.
"Tell me."
Ser Hemming floundered. There had to be a way to end the discussion without offending Ser Estienne. Then it came to him and he cleared his throat. "What about Princess Isabel? She needs us."
"We have a little time. I woke early, and Piers has not yet arrived to call us."
Ser Hemming's heart sank. It seemed there was no way to avoid the humiliating scene. He had never spoken to anyone of his strange affliction. He believed he could trust Ser Estienne—he seemed a man steeped in honour, and he had already sworn not to betray him—nonetheless, he agonised over how to express the things he felt in a way that would make any sense to someone who had never experienced the like.
"I look like a man. I have all the parts belonging to a man. Yet I have never felt like one in here." He tapped his head, then hesitated, uncertain how, or whether, to proceed.
"Go on." Ser Estienne motioned him to the chair, and he sat upon it, only then noticing how badly he was shaking.
"In my mind, I am as a woman. My dearest desire is to assume a woman's form and live a woman's life, with a husband at my side."
"So you do desire men," Ser Estienne pressed.
"Yes, but it is not the kind of desire of which you speak." He wondered how to express it. "To me, I am a woman desiring a man."
A knock sounded on the door and Ser Hemming jerked, turning toward the noise. Ser Estienne crossed the room and opened to Piers, who informed them all was ready for their departure. They spoke in their own language for a moment, and Ser Hemming tensed, wondering what Ser Estienne was telling his doubtless loose-tongued squire, but then Piers departed without a single glance in his direction and Ser Estienne turned back to him, his expression thoughtful.
"I should like to discuss this matter with you further, but now is not the time. Come, let us to horse and continue our quest. Once the princess is safe, we will find an opportunity to talk."
Ser Hemming was uncertain whether he should feel relief or horror at this suggestion. The thought of sharing his intimate secrets with someone of whom he knew so little filled him with ug. On the other hand, Ser Estienne displayed no revulsion at his revelations. Perhaps it would help him to have a friendly ear to which he might divulge his story. He had hidden the truth for so long; maybe it was time to reveal himself—even if it was only to one man. Besides, once the wedding took place, Ser Estienne would return to Frankonia with his new bride. Ser Hemming could share his story and then rest easy in the knowledge it would not be revealed to others in a drunken moment—to none who knew him or were like to meet him anyway.
With his fears if not allayed then at least subdued, Ser Hemming finished dressing; then he and Ser Estienne descended. Piers stood ready with their steeds—his Flightfoot and Ser Estienne's Nobilus—and they mounted and set off at a canter toward the next tavern. To the east, the sun peeped over the horizon in bursts of pink and orange. Before it set again, Ser Hemming prayed they would be back at the castle, Princess Isabel rescued and their foes vanquished.
Chapter Four
Tirelessly, on and on they rode. Well, perhaps not quite tirelessly, for Ser Hemming's thoughts strayed, now and then, to the warm bed behind them; although, he tried to quell these reveries as soon as they occurred since they brought with them others upon which he would fain not dwell. Nonetheless, despite their fatigue, they made good progress and soon reached the inn. A brief exchange with the innkeeper confirmed their quarry had departed not half an hour prior and they hastened on their way.
The knowledge they were closing in bolstered Ser Hemming's spirits and renewed his vigour. The last remnants of sleep fled and he focused on the task at hand. He knew he was no great fighter; however, they would have the element of surprise. Doubtless the enemy did not expect anyone to discover the princess's absence until now, when the rest of the castle roused to break their fast. Therefore, they would be taken aback to find pursuers already upon them.
It was not long before they spotted their foes: four midnight steeds bearing six riders, exactly as the first tavern keeper had told them. Ser Estienne reined in his horse, easing back to a walk, and Ser Hemming did likewise. However, they kept the other riders in sight, not allowing them to pull too far ahead.
"How is your skill with a blade?" Ser Estienne asked, never shifting his gaze from their prize.
"I was deemed good enough to pass my training, but I fear I am no paragon." It was an honest answer, and therefore the only one he could give.
A frown line creased Ser Estienne's brow as he considered this news. "Then I suggest you leave the two solo riders to me, for they are like to be the most skilled of the group. You and Piers focus on freeing Princess Isabel and her maid. Though only a squire, Piers is adept with a blade."
"You do not wish to be the one to rescue her?"
"It makes no difference, so long as we emerge victorious."
"Do you love her? Princess Isabel, I mean." Ser Hemming glanced at Ser Estienne, looking for a reaction to his words. "You came here to win her hand, after all. She is beauteous and possesses many talents." Why was he praising her so highly? Of course Ser Estienne knew her worth.
"My father sent me here. He thought the alliance a good one, both politically and financially. Naturally, I am gratified to have won, for he will be well pleased when I return. As to love...." He took his eyes from the road to look at Ser Hemming. "I hope that will follow in time. Although, I confess I find most women infuriating and dull. It is not their fault. Their fathers raise them to be nothing but attractive ornaments. They may create the most beautiful needlework and sing like an angel, but beneath the outer layer, there is nothing of substance. I would rather a woman had mettle. By that, I do not intend she should fight like a man, but she should be strong and know her own mind. She should have her own opinions and make her own decisions. I would wish to have a partner in life, not a slave or, worse, a toy." There was a strange spark behind his eyes—an emotion Ser Hemming could not read—but then he returned his attention to the road.
Silence fell, and Ser Hemming wondered what to say. Several comments sped through his mind, but he rejected each in turn as unsuitable for one reason or another. At the same time, he experienced an odd glimmer of hope. Why he should feel that way, he did not know. Ser Estienne may feel no romantic attachment to Princess Isabel, but that did not mean he would not marry her. Nor did it imply there was any chance Ser Estienne could feel anything for him. True, he had been considerate upon learning of Ser Hemming's unfortunate dilemma; that did not indicate any higher feelings. In any case, Ser Estienne could hardly return to France with Ser Hemming and not Princess Isabel on his arm and expect a warm welcome. Not everyone would understand—and they would judge.
In the end, it was Ser Estienne who spoke first, and his words recalled Ser Hemming to their true purpose
. "Let us increase our speed. I wish to gain on them slowly. If we move too fast, they will flee. Keep your cloak drawn about you too. Let us disguise our arms and apparel as long as we may."
Ser Estienne's plan was perhaps not without a type of subterfuge at which Ser Hemming shuddered; however, it was for the best, so they followed it and made a steady approach. Ser Hemming saw one rider turn in his saddle to assess them, but the man obviously thought them no threat, for he said nothing to his fellows and made no change to his speed or course.
Soon they were upon them. Ser Hemming gripped his weapon, ready to draw. Meanwhile, Ser Estienne urged his horse forward, intent on overtaking the front riders, cutting them off. This action at last alerted their foes to the danger, and cries filled the air, accompanied by the clang of steel, as they halted and drew their blades.
Ser Hemming recognised Princess Isabel at once. She sat before another rider, her face a mask of terror. Though he could not see from this angle, he assumed the front figure in the second pair to be Jocosa. The knight behind the princess brandished his sword, and Ser Hemming drew and stormed toward him. On reflection, he wondered if Ser Estienne had not assigned him the wrong role. While he had but one opponent to Ser Estienne's two, he must defeat his man without harming the princess, and at present, a stray blow could easily catch her. There had to be another way.
An idea formed and Ser Hemming slowed. He kept his eye on the rider but lowered and sheathed his blade. The rider laughed and yelled at him. Ser Hemming did not speak the man's tongue, but from the tone of voice, he assumed the words to be insults. Let him mock. They would see who had the last laugh. He walked the horse forward, his hands raised in submission. He drew closer and closer, until he stood alongside. Then he shot out his hand.
Princess Isabel squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her arm. Before her captor could react, he jerked her off the other horse and onto his own. It was not a dignified position—she lay across his lap like a sack of grain—but she was in his possession and the knight who had held her stood exposed. The man brought his sword down, but Ser Hemming moved fast. Though lacking skill in combat, he was, nonetheless, an excellent horseman, and Flightfoot a well-trained steed. The blade cut through nothing but air and the force of the strike knocked the foreign knight off balance. This gave Ser Hemming time to draw and strike, and his blade pierced the other man's breast and toppled him.
Ser Hemming turned in time to see Piers conquer his opponent, with, it seemed, help from Jocosa, who spat on her fallen foe before gathering up the reins. She winked at Ser Hemming, and it was a struggle to hold back the smile that tugged at his lips. He no longer believed the blood in Princess Isabel's chamber to be hers or her maid's. Clearly Jocosa kept more sharp things than just her tongue about her person. He twisted in the saddle to see how Ser Estienne fared, and in an instant, all his joy at their initial victory fled.
Ser Estienne was unhorsed and in peril. Though bloody wounds to his opponents' bodies attested to some early success, his foes had rallied and now clearly had the advantage. They pressed in on him, and Ser Hemming turned Flightfoot, intent on riding to his aid.
"No!" Ser Estienne called. "Look to the princess." He raised his blade to block another blow. "See her safely home."
Ser Hemming hesitated. The order was clear, but how could he turn away and leave Ser Estienne in trouble?
Piers approached and grabbed his arm. "Ser Estienne's will is mine. Come, we must go." He turned his horse and cantered away, Jocosa following close behind.
Still Ser Hemming paused, but then Princess Isabel wriggled on his lap, and this reminder of her presence decided him. He could not answer the call of his own feelings; he was duty-bound to return Princess Isabel to the castle.
He hurried after Piers and Jocosa, but every hoof fall was agony, rending his soul in twain. They reached the crest of a hill, and Ser Hemming could not resist a look back. What he saw made him tug hard on the reins, halting Flightfoot. He had braced himself to see Ser Estienne dead upon the ground. Instead, he saw the two knights bind him and heave him onto one of their steeds—not slain but taken prisoner.
"Piers! Stop!"
Piers slowed to a walk and made his way back to Ser Hemming. "What is it? We must continue."
"Take Princess Isabel with thee."
"What?"
"Your Highness, I need you to switch horses and ride with Piers."
Princess Isabel harrumphed, and it was only then Ser Hemming realised he had failed in gallantry. She still lay draped over his lap in a position that had to be as uncomfortable as it was undignified. He gripped her arms and carefully lowered her to the ground. Once he was certain she had her footing, he let go and bowed his head.
"I apologise for the rough treatment, Your Highness, but you are safe now, and Piers will see you back to the castle, where your father anxiously awaits your return."
"Where are you going?" Piers said, a note of irritation in his voice. "It's hardly appropriate for a squire to escort Princess Isabel home."
"Her maid rides with thee to ensure propriety. As for thy position, think of it this way—perhaps it will earn thee a knighthood."
"Where're you going?" There was a twinkle in Jocosa's eye that led Ser Hemming to believe she already guessed the answer to her question, and he trembled to think what conclusions she had drawn.
"To rescue Ser Estienne. He is their captive. I saw them take him away but moments ago."
"On your own?"
Piers's scepticism shone through, and Ser Hemming thought to reprimand him for addressing a knight in such a manner; however, he had to admit Piers was right—he was the last person anyone would send alone on such a mission. Nevertheless, he could discern no other option. It was true that they could return to the castle and set out again with reinforcements, but then they risked losing their quarry across the sea, and Ser Hemming had no intention of letting them take Ser Estienne aboard a ship. Not while a single breath of life remained within him. In that moment, he made himself a sacred vow: he would rescue Ser Estienne or die in the attempt.
He met Piers's gaze. "Yes. Alone."
Piers studied him a moment, then nodded. "Very well, Ser Hemming. You have my word I will protect Princess Isabel with my life. Once we reach the castle, I will explain your absence."
"I thank thee." Ser Hemming turned to Princess Isabel and leaned forward in a bow. "God speed, Your Highness. I hope to soon return your betrothed to your side." With that, he spurred his horse and bounded back down the hill in pursuit of his foes... and Ser Estienne.
Chapter Five
His foes were at present out of sight, yet Ser Hemming remained steadfast. He knew they were not far ahead, and he did not wish to come upon them too soon. The two remaining riders had bested the valiant and strong Ser Estienne, so Ser Hemming knew he stood no chance against them in open combat. In this, he must exercise cunning.
The sun journeyed across the sky, peaking overhead before descending to the west; and all the while, Ser Hemming and those he pursued drew closer to the coast. He maintained his distance, but occasional glimpses of his quarry assured him his course held true. His hope rose in tandem with the sinking sun, for it was clear they would not reach the shore before dusk, and no ship would set sail at night. Therefore, he would have several hours in which to find a way to free Ser Estienne.
His assumptions proved correct not long after, when the two knights left the road and proceeded to a small seaside inn. He stayed back, observing from a safe distance as they dismounted. He wondered how they would account for their prisoner, but when they cut his bonds and carried him, wedged between them, into the inn, Ser Hemming guessed they would present him as a wounded companion.
Ser Estienne made no attempt to escape once free of his restraints, so either he doubted his ability to overcome his captors at that time or he was insensible. Ser Hemming prayed for the former since he did not think he could carry Ser Estienne unaided.
The sun set, leaving in its wake a chill
that bit to the bone. Lights within the inn shone through the unshuttered windows, bright and welcoming, but Ser Hemming held his position. His stomach growled, reminding him he had not eaten since the feast, and fatigue threatened to pull him into sleep. However, he fought against both. Hunger. Exhaustion. What were these compared to Ser Estienne's safety and freedom?
He waited until the lights inside extinguished. Then he crept forward, leading Flightfoot by the reins. At the stables, he set Flightfoot in a stall and saw him fed. He moved slowly and quietly, but judging by the stable boy's monstrous snores, there was no risk of him awakening and sounding an alarm. It was worth the danger in any case. Flightfoot was as starved and tired as he; one of them at least should benefit from a moment's rest. Besides, they may well need to rely on Flightfoot for their escape.
This task accomplished, Ser Hemming stalked toward the inn. The front door was barred, but he gave a soft knock. A young girl drew back the bolt and opened to him. Her affrighted face was as white as a ghost's in the darkness; however, she relaxed when her gaze dropped to the coat of arms upon his tunic.
"You journey late, my lord."
Ser Hemming pressed a finger to his lips, and the girl nodded and stepped aside to grant him entry. He led the way to the darkest corner at the rear of the main chamber and picked up the conversation in a hushed whisper.
"Thy master is abed?"
"Aye, my lord. Shall I wake him?"
"Nay. Thine help will suffice. I believe three other knights arrived this night."
"That is so, my lord."
"One is my companion. The others are his captors. Ser Estienne is betrothed to the Princess Isabel, and I intend to rescue him."
Even in the low light, Ser Hemming caught the excited gleam in the girl's eyes. That was good. Excitement was of greater use to him than fear; although, he hoped her enthusiasm would not gain supremacy over her common sense.
"I can show you where they rest, my lord, but all three share a single chamber, and I overheard them say one would stand guard while the others slept."
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