by Loki Renard
The mastiffs sprang forward at their master’s command, snarling and baying with bone-rending intent. Their mouths were open, their lips curled back to reveal their sharp teeth set in mouths so broad and deep they appeared almost like those of a shark. They engaged the horses first, causing them to rear. Two of the dark riders were occupied trying to control their thrashing horses whose hooves struck out like powerful anvils dangerously close to the heads of the hounds. Madeline shut her eyes tightly, unable to bear witness to the battle. There was no glory or honor in what she was seeing, it was stomach-churning and it continued to play out behind her eyelids and in her ears. She should have fled, but it was too late, Melyngar was stamping with anger, her nostrils flaring as she snorted. She was tempered for battle with as much care as any blade might have been, and she was clearly unwilling to leave Hexmark to his fate any more than Madeline would have left Sir Gregory to be cut down alone.
When Madeline opened her eyes again, a mounted dark rider was bearing down on Sir Gregory and Hexmark, his blade held high. It was not a fair fight or an even match. She knew that for she had watched many drills, seen many knights practicing the skills of war. Sir Gregory wore only mail; he did not have the heavy plate that would protect him from the sword blows. If he wished to best his foes, he would have to knock them to the ground, find the weakness in their armor, and use it to dispatch them. He was at a great disadvantage, for even though the mail would prevent him from being stabbed or cleaved in twain, it would not stop internal damage if he were to be struck directly. He needed help, and there was no soul around to give it, save the princess.
With a shout, Madeline urged Melyngar back toward the fray. Nosewise and Holdfast had sent two horses screaming into the distance by that point, but that still left one mounted dark rider and one on foot ready to engage Sir Gregory. The third man was beneath the mastiffs, unharmed but pinned by their jaws and paws.
Flying past at a fast gallop, Madeline reached out and shoved the mounted knight from his steed. He fell into his comrade, both knights tumbling to the ground under the weight of their armor. Sir Gregory seized the chance to leap from Hexmark, his blade flashed and both were dispatched before Madeline had the chance to bring her mare about.
“Flee!” Sir Gregory mounted his stallion and headed at high speed toward the north. Madeline and the hounds followed in his wake as they put distance between themselves and the scene of the skirmish. They rode hard and fast for what seemed like a very long time; only when one of the hounds stumbled did Sir Gregory come to a halt.
Nobody had seen the moment of its happening, but Nosewise had been wounded. One of the dark riders must have slashed at him, leaving a puncture wound in his chest. In spite of the injury, the brave hound had followed after them until he could do so no more and lay collapsed at the side of the forest path, barely breathing.
“Nosewise!” Madeline drew Melyngar to a halt and jumped from the saddle to comfort the stricken hound. He managed to lick her face as she cradled his giant head in her lap and stroked his back.
“Let me see him,” Sir Gregory said, going to his knee on the other side. He gently checked the wound. “It is not too deep,” he said. “But I have no doubt it is causing him pain. He need walk no longer.” He tenderly picked up the wounded hound and draped him over the horse’s back where he lay without complaint. The valiant Holdfast had not been harmed, though her jaws were bloody; she wore a broad panting grin as she went to her hind legs and licked Nosewise’s muzzle.
“Poor Nosewise,” Madeline said, petting the hound’s cheek. “Do not worry, we will tend you and make you well.”
“Forget Nosewise. You and I have much to discuss,” Sir Gregory growled. He took her by the shoulders, turned her, and gave her a shake. “I told you to ride at the outset, not throw yourself into battle!”
“I thought you might like to live!” Madeline shouted back. Adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, making her feel a strength she did not in truth have. “There were three of them and one of you. It was not a fair fight.”
“I have bested far greater odds, princess,” Sir Gregory informed her. “It may have looked insurmountable, but believe me, it was not. You needed not leap into the fray.”
“There were three,” Madeline repeated, her eyes full of tears as she defended her actions. “They were in full armor. You have but mail. The match was not even.”
“Oh, princess,” Sir Gregory sighed and pulled her into a close embrace. “You are sweet and you are brave, but you are so, so foolish.”
“I am a part of this,” Madeline sniffed. “Royals are born of valor and blood. I am the daughter of a king. Do you truly expect me to flee and leave you to your fate?”
“You are not armored,” Sir Gregory replied. “You have not even the lightest mail to protect you. The slightest blow could dispatch you. You could have been killed—nay, you should have been killed. Some angel watches over you, princess.”
“Yes,” Madeline replied. “And his name is Gregory.”
Blue eyes widened for a moment as he looked down at her with astonishment. “You humble me.”
“Humble you?” Madeline shook her head. “You were ready to die for me; should I not be grateful?”
“In the days I have known you, you have been rude, bold, misbehaved, flirtatious, and a great many things besides,” Gregory declared, looking down at her with great fondness. “But today you have made me proud.”
“Hold your tongue,” Madeline blushed as she pulled away from his embrace. “It is a queen’s place to be brave on the field of battle.”
“Yes,” Sir Gregory said. “I see it clearly now, that is your aspiration. Is that why you were so horrified at the notion of marrying me, princess? A queen needs a king, does she not?”
“Perhaps one day I will mold you into something like a king,” Madeline replied with a little shrug.
He laughed at her arrogance. “I have no doubt that you will try. And I am equally sure your sweet hide will pay the price for your ambition. Hear me now, princess. If we are to come across any further enemies, you will flee without a second look back.”
Madeline did not pretend to agree, for she could not. She had not been spurred by bravery, but by fear. Seeing Sir Gregory set upon had elicited a powerful desire to protect him as he protected her, and she knew that she could not promise to abandon him if need were to arise again.
“We must take care to avoid further encounters,” Sir Gregory continued. “I will not see you die at the sword of some ignoble outrider who knows not who he slays.”
“Quite,” Madeline said dryly. “It is inconvenient to be killed, of course, but a tragedy to be killed by someone who does not appreciate the killing for its full significance.”
“Your jests are dark, princess.”
“You and I fall the same as any sparrow,” Madeline replied. “We breathe and bleed as any other animals. What does it matter if a dark rider kills me thinking I am a squire or if he kills me thinking I am a princess? I am dead just the same.”
Sir Gregory gave her a long, searching look before ignoring the second part of her question entirely. “Speaking of animals, there is a convent not far north,” he said. “The nuns will tend Nosewise.”
They rode further north for three hours until coming upon a stone convent and church somewhat hidden from the main road. They were met there by the abbess, who greeted Sir Gregory as an old friend. Madeline was surprised by how welcoming the nuns were, especially when it came to the great and unwieldy Nosewise. Sir Gregory carried the mastiff inside, where two nuns immediately began applying poultices and salve whilst others fed the hound with the finest ground venison. Though wounded, Nosewise still had his appetite, and his great tail wagged each and every time the nuns spoke to him with sweet words and gentle petting.
“Better care than a king would receive,” Madeline observed.
“A hound acts not out of desire for power, but in defense of a greater power, their master,” one of the n
uns said in passing. “This brave creature is deserving of the very best treatment.”
“Oh,” Madeline smiled. “Not a lover of the monarchy?”
“A monarch has his place,” the nun replied diplomatically. “All things are right under God.”
“Come,” Sir Gregory said, drawing Madeline away before she could start an argument with a nun. “We must speak to the abbess.”
* * *
The abbess was a tall, haughty-looking woman of undoubtedly noble blood. She was elegant and graceful even in her habit, and she received Sir Gregory and Madeline with as much warmth as was hers to muster.
“This is Princess Madeline of the de Griffons,” Sir Gregory introduced her. “We have reason to believe the Dark King is moving on the kingdom.”
“The Dark King,” the abbess said. “Too good a title for a gruesome and cruel man. He must be stopped.”
“Yes,” Madeline agreed, fear and discomfort turning to sarcasm. “He should be stopped. Why has nobody thought to do that? Seems like rather a careless oversight.”
Sir Gregory swatted her britches. “I apologize,” he said. “The princess thinks little of propriety and quite forgets herself more often than not.”
The abbess lifted her nose so as to be able to look down it at Madeline. “I assume her attire is a disguise to keep her identity secret.”
“The Dark King’s methods are as vicious as they are predictable,” Sir Gregory explained. “He leaves no members of a royal family alive. If she is found, her life is in serious danger, which brings me to the next order of business. We need a priest to marry us as soon as possible.”
“Yes,” Madeline said. “Sir Gregory has decided to relieve me of my royalty through marriage.”
“You will remain a princess,” Gregory replied. “You know that well enough.”
“A princess, yes,” Madeline said. “The royal equivalent of a cat to a lion. I shall have to content myself with balls of yarn, I suppose.”
The abbess looked on with no small measure of surprise at Madeline’s attitude. “Are you certain the match is a good one?” The good woman made the inquiry mildly. “I know a few shrews with less acidic tongues and duller claws.”
It was an insult to be sure, but Madeline did not take it as one. The abbess had recognized her for what she was, and Madeline was pleased for it. She held her head high and smiled. “Be careful, abbess, this shrew will one day wear the crown.”
“Ambition is rare in a woman,” the abbess replied. “At least, ambition of this kind. Princess, you do know what the wages of crowns and kingdoms are?”
“The power to do as one pleases, to make decisions for one’s own life, and to direct the lives of others.”
“No, dear girl. Wearing a crown means constant concern and being assailed from all corners by all comers. A monarch has not a moment’s peace. You would be well advised to marry your knight and take your place by his side without further dreams of power. It is not the gift it seems to be.”
Madeline frowned, frustrated. The old woman was trying to scare her, but she would not be dissuaded. “What would you know of such matters? You preside over a gaggle of geese, honking black and white.”
“Madeline!” Sir Gregory’s gruff tones reached her ears a split second before his palm reached her bottom in a hard slap that echoed around the convent’s stone walls. “Apologize for your rudeness.”
“I will not.”
“Do not concern yourself with assuaging my feelings,” the abbess said. “Worry for your own health, Sir Gregory. I cannot imagine that you will find much in the way of peace once you wed this one. We have a priest staying with us. I have no doubt that he would marry you this very evening if you so desired.”
“We do so desire,” Sir Gregory replied. “Her father has already given his permission.”
“Not so much permission as orders,” Madeline said. “I have shamed him, you see.”
The abbess pressed her lips together, perhaps in an attempt not to show any sign of amusement. “I think your life together will be most eventful.”
* * *
The ceremony took place at midnight. Madeline wore a simple white dress and held a bouquet of pale daisies as she and Gregory stood under an ivy wound arch and promised their troth to one another. The union was witnessed by the abbess and by Holdfast, who had been bathed for the occasion and who wore a wreath of flowers about her powerful neck. Both hounds had been tended most carefully by the nuns, who showed no fear of their jaws and instead treated them as if they were little lap dogs, flattering them with kind words and stroking their fur until it shone. Nosefast was already showing signs of recovery under their tender ministrations.
There was none of the pomp and ceremony Madeline had dreamed of when thinking of how her wedding day would be, but the bright bath of stars and the bold shining of the moon made up for it somewhat as she and Sir Gregory were joined as husband and wife. The priest’s words floated by, droned in the old tongue in a way that was most soothing and almost magical.
“Kiss your bride, Sir Gregory, claim her as yours…”
“He has already… mmmmphh…” Madeline’s words disappeared under the pressure of Sir Gregory’s lips as he kissed her most thoroughly and passionately. The deed was done, the bond was forged, and she now belonged to the bold knight in body and soul.
They left the ceremony and went to a private room that, though small, was decorated with rose petals and scented water and had the benefit of the full moon shining on the bed. For chaste women, the nuns certainly knew how to create a romantic mood.
“What now, dear husband?” Madeline asked the question as Gregory drew her down toward the bed, a lustful look in his eye.
“You know what now,” he said, kissing her again, his lips searing kisses across her face. His ardor was undeniable, his erection already prominent against her thigh.
“I mean what next in life,” she said, pulling away. “What will you do with me now that I am yours?”
Gregory took a breath and answered her question. “Now I will take you to my home, where you will remain safe, and I will return to support your father. You will grow your hair long, practice your embroidery, and bear my progeny.”
Madeline gave him rather a dark look. She did not much like the notion of sitting in some backwoods hut whilst her husband was off dying. With the Dark King at the door, there was every chance that she would be widowed before the next moon, left without kingdom, home, or husband. And that, she would not stand for.
“I will embroider when the Dark King is dead,” she said. “My mother and my sister have refuge in the Navarre court, but I have married you. What fortifications does your home have? How many men will stand ready in its defense? Is it a kingdom? Or is there barely a courtyard?”
“Your father has been quite generous in his gifting of land,” Gregory replied. “There is a full staff, and though there is no castle, there is a grand house.”
“Oh, a grand house, you say? And what when the Dark King comes for that too?”
“You will not involve yourself in matters of war,” Gregory replied, his expression thunderous. “Do you hear me, Madeline?”
“I hear you,” she replied in tones that indicated she did not much care for what she had heard. “But this is not a matter of war. It is a matter of life. You expect me to sit and sew whilst my kingdom is put to the sword?”
“It is not your kingdom, princess.”
“It is whoever’s kingdom who fights for it,” Madeline disagreed. “Please, let me take my place by your side.”
Gregory shook his head curtly. “It is far too dangerous.”
“If I promise I will stay clear of the battles?”
“A war is all about battles.”
“No, it isn’t,” Madeline argued. “A war is won or lost on information. The Dark King moves in shadows, approaches his enemies unawares. He does not come in force. His units are small and highly mobile. His is a war of attrition, not might.”
/> “You know a great deal about this threat,” Gregory said, removing his shirt as they spoke. She found the sight of his increasingly naked body distracting, but she would not be distracted from her purpose by any display of masculine flesh. They were married and she was his, but she could not give herself until she knew what her future held.
“I have used my ears,” she said.
“Yes, and your nose. You have stuck that appendage all manner of places it did not belong,” Gregory replied. “You are my wife now, Madeline, I will not allow you…” His voice trailed off as her expression became more determined than ever and when he spoke again it was in a deep growl. “Mind me, Madeline.”
Madeline glowered at her husband. Surely he did not think she would do as he was telling her to do. Surely he did not think that a single ceremony in the moonlight would have changed her essential nature.
“Very well,” she said. “Take me to your home and leave me there.”
Narrowing his glittering blue eyes, Sir Gregory let out a deep sigh. “You will no doubt take a horse and escape if I leave you alone there. If I have you locked away, it might take you a day longer to find your way free. All I truly know is that unless I have my eye on you, you will do as you please. I will keep you by my side, Madeline, but I am not happy about this. You will obey my instructions immediately and without question, or you will pay the price, you understand me?” He towered over her, his finger nearly touching her nose as he shook it at her, his chest flexing with the motion in a way that made her loins quiver in response.
“I want what you want,” she reassured him. “I want to rid the world of the Dark King…”
“No,” he said firmly. “You will not be ridding the world of any kings. You will be tending the horses, staying far from battle, and feeding the dogs.”
“With the flesh of the enemy?”
“Madeline…” he growled her name again. “There are no jests in war. I do not wish to see you harmed, but you insist on throwing yourself into the jaws of mortal danger. I fear for you, Madeline. I fear for your mind, your body, your very soul. The Dark King would rend all three if he got hold of you.”
