The Defiant Bride

by Leslie Hachtel

  Sometimes, over the winter months, she dared a small fire, gaining courage as she remained undiscovered. The first few weeks had been a nightmare. First, the loneliness threatened to envelop her. One evening, she sat down on the dirt floor and wept. Then boredom became the enemy. In the mornings, she would walk over the same ground, passing the same trees, until she wanted to cry out her frustration.

  When Humphrey arrived one afternoon, she confessed her angst.

  “What can I do to pass the time?” she asked. “I am bereft with lack of things to occupy me.”

  Humphrey shrugged. “You could cook. It would give you some variety and keep you busy.”

  “Cook?”

  Humphrey laughed out loud. “Yes, my lady. That’s when you combine food and heat it.”

  “I know what it means. I have simply never done it.”

  Humphrey had taught her how to make simple dishes like stew. Today, Dariana made a warm broth, then thickened it with meat and whatever vegetables had been supplied. She would huddle in her cloak and draw in the warmth as the food cooked, savoring the delicious odors while the orange flames danced. After her confession to Humphrey, Tamara had thought to send books, so when the light allowed, Dariana could escape into other places, other times. She would think about her father and how patient he had been when he taught her to hunt. She would daydream about skimming across the meadow on her beloved horse, Moonshadow. Sometimes her heart ached for all she missed.

  She had been well stocked and hunting hadn’t become a necessity yet, but she was prepared to contribute her own stores if Tamara became at risk for discovery. And, as the time passed, she adjusted to the cold, the wet, and the other miseries.

  It was on a sunny morning in early spring that Tamara appeared at the cottage bearing gifts of food and a new gown. Simple though it was, Dariana was thrilled with the garment, as her clothing was now worn.

  “You are quite pleased with something this lovely morn. Pray, share your news with me as I am hungry for it.”

  “The king is dead, long live the king.”

  “I don’t understand. Henry is dead?”

  “Aye, and his second son has succeeded him.”

  “What means this? Will things be different? Mayhap better?”

  “Well, certainly there will be no more of Henry VII’s tyranny. It seems, though, this new Henry wants nothing more than to please his father.”

  “But you said his father was dead.”

  “That matters little. His father never approved of him in life, but Henry wishes dearly to make him proud from beyond the grave. He is set on bringing about a return to Camelot just as his father desired. There will be pomp and ceremony and tournaments. There will be pageantry and rich clothes and—I am positively green with envy at the thought of the courtiers reveling in their celebrations.”

  “Why can you not attend? No one knows you aided my—death. You would be certain to be safe from any scandal or accusation. Why not travel to court and be part of the excitement? I can only imagine the coronation will be something to behold.”

  “Oh, I dare not even dream of such a thing. My Robert is too old and I could not travel to court without him. I have come to love my husband dearly.”

  “Well, I will go with you,” Dariana stated, partly in jest and more in vain hope.

  “You know that is not possible, love.”

  “I know. Tamara, tell me truly. Will I ever be able to return to my life as it was?”

  “We can always hope. You must remember we committed an act against the crown and such things are not so easily forgiven.”

  “I do so miss my father. Does he fare well?”

  “As well as can be expected. I paid him a visit some months ago and—I won’t lie—he feels the lack of your presence. But he is safe.”

  Dariana’s eyes filled with tears that burned down her cheeks. “I am so sorry I ran away. It might not have been so terrible a fate and perhaps I could have found some pleasure in life in Spain. Now, though, I have sealed my fate. Did I do right?”

  Tamara embraced her friend, then wiped away her tears. “Do not cry. The time for doubt has long since passed. Sometimes the hardest part of life is living with our choices. Think you this way. You have your freedom. And such a price as you paid is naught compared to what it might have cost, married to a man in a foreign land, among strangers, whose tongue you do not understand. I was told that your intended was to be the marques de Flores. It is said he is a misshapen, ugly wretch who wields his power viciously and without conscience. His first wife perished under mysterious circumstances, leaving him very wealthy. Therefore, the last Henry sought his favor. I have heard he is demanding a replacement for you from the new king. Count yourself among the truly blessed that your sacrifices are small in comparison to a life with such a man as that.”

  “You are right—I am ungrateful. You have risked so much for my sake and I am not unappreciative. Forgive me?”

  “Of course. Now let me tell you more of this new Henry. A traveling bard who had just visited court took his ease with us and had much to say. In exchange, I filled his belly and now wonder who got the better of the bargain. He stripped the pantry bare.”

  Dariana giggled. “Tell me all. What is the new Henry about? Does he, too, desire a stronger alliance with Spain? I would hate to think another might suffer my fate, or near fate.”

  “Nay. Unlike his father, he is content that his own marriage to his brother’s widow, Catherine of Aragon, has sealed that bargain. I wonder, though, that he does not feel like the red-haired stepchild. His brother’s throne, his brother’s widow. But he seems bent on celebration.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Retribution! The word exploded in Dariana’s brain like a battering ram. Fear coiled in her chest like a living thing and made it hard to draw breath. When she heard the first horseman coming, hooves pounding out her fate, she knew it was her end. She sprinted behind a thick tree and flattened her back against the hard wood. And waited for hands to reach out and drag her to hell. There was a sound almost as if someone had fallen to the ground, but the horse rode off.

  Dariana’s breathing had barely slowed to normal before two more horses hammered in her direction. Her mind screamed that it had all been for naught. She held her breath and waited, terrified. The horses stopped a few feet from where she was concealed. Feet hit the earth as a rider dismounted. Dariana had to stifle the urge to cry out. She was shielded from them, but felt as vulnerable as a newborn babe.

  The still-mounted man spoke. “Is he dead?”

  There was another sound, like a boot kicking something solid. “Do you see him moving?” Dariana wished they were not out of her view.

  “You said your aim was true.”

  “As it was. We can claim the reward for this good day’s work.”

  The man remounted and the two rode of, sending clots of mud sailing through the air in their wake. She inhaled deeply, lightheaded. If they had not come for her, what then? They had said he was dead. He? They were not from the king seeking her capture? She was safe? Dariana’s breath rushed from her chest and she fell back against the sturdy tree in relief. Its solid strength felt good.

  Someone groaned. She strained to listen. The two men had declared him dead. Were they wrong? She peered out from around the oak and listened. Nothing. She stepped out and approached the sound as one compelled. There was no one there. Nothing. Perhaps she had conjured the noise from her terror. She turned to go and stopped. What if there was someone and he was hurt? Needed aid? What if it was a trick to ensnare her? She could not go without knowing. How could she live with herself if she left a man to die?

  Emboldened, she stepped into the clearing. A man lay motionless on the ground. The clothes he wore declared him as nobility. He was magnificent—a chiseled jaw, straight nose, and white-blond hair suggesting the Vikings of old. His body was strong and well-formed. In horror, Dariana saw an arrow rising from his shoulder. It took her a moment to realize his gray eyes were o
pen and focused on her.

  “Help me,” he croaked through parched lips.

  A scream rose in her throat. His eyes closed again, his lifeblood pouring into the earth. The two men had been right after all. The knight must now lay dead.

  She knelt beside him and placed her hand on his neck. Still warm, and there was a pulse of life there. She closed her eyes. This could mean the end. If he lived, he might tell others of her existence and her terrible secret would certainly be revealed. Then her father would die for certain.

  She could not save herself with the blood of another. It would be far worse than any act against the crown. If this man died because she turned away, how could she live, no mater the consequences?

  Dariana roused herself into action. She grabbed the dagger from its sheath at his hip and cut away his leather jerkin, the dark green velvet doublet, and the soft, white linen shirt beneath. She was careful to avoid the arrow that stood out in vivid relief, buried as it was in the flesh above his heart. She was quite near her cottage, but she would be unable to move the powerfully built man. In his current state, he could not be counted on to assist her efforts. She would do what she could to minister to his wounds here. Then she would fly before he woke. If, of course, he even survived.

  Dariana ran home and pulled some warm furs from the bed. She hurried back to the injured knight. She covered him with the skins and cushioned his head, each movement eliciting a moan of pain, although he appeared to remain asleep.

  She shifted him and examined the wound. The missile had penetrated deep into his flesh, the tip visible through the torn skin of his back. Dariana was grateful the assailant hadn’t had better aim. It was lucky, too, the arrow had gone completely through his shoulder. This would make the extraction easier, though perhaps no less painful.

  Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she snapped the arrow close to its entry, grimacing at the thought of the agony this must be imparting, grateful the man still lay unconscious. Summoning all her courage, she turned him over, then grasped the end of the arrow. Her hands trembled violently and she had to concentrate to steady them. With a prayer to God for aid, she grabbed the barbed edge and pulled with all her strength. The arrow moved forward, but it took three more tries before the thing came away.

  Blood flowed copiously from the wound. Dariana tore away pieces of her soft woolen skirt. She pressed the fabric against the holes to stanch the gore. The man fell back against the furs and his rest deepened. Convinced he was unconscious but still alive, she sought a bucket and hurried to the nearby stream.

  She returned and washed away his blood and cleaned the wounds. She tore more strips from her gown and made bandages. Satisfied with her work, she ran back to the cottage to put on a proper dress lest he wake and humiliate her for her improper attire. She laughed at herself, thinking how silly she was to care as to her appearance.

  Her old gown, once a lovely shade of pale gray wool, was ruined, but she tucked the scraps away under the cot in case they should prove of some use later. It struck her as odd that she had learned to value even scraps of fabric in her new life, wasting nothing, so unlike her other existence as the pampered daughter of an earl. She found another dress, the color faded to a soft mauve, and donned it. The new gown Tamara had brought was still tucked away, as though saved for an occasion. Then she returned to her charge and sat beside him as he slept.

  After some time had passed, Dariana realized she hadn’t eaten this day. The knight, too, would need some nourishment if he was to recover. She did not know how damaged he was or if he had sustained other injuries in his fall from the horse, but she prayed her efforts had been enough.

  Darkness would be upon them all too soon, so she walked back to the cottage for some dried strips of meat and a pot. She filled the vessel from the stream, gathered some wood, and built a small cooking fire, hoping this time it might actually attract his vassals looking to find their lost lord. Certainly someone would come. His attackers thought they had succeeded, so she was certain he was safe from them.

  When the food was ready, Dariana sat behind him and lifted his head. His eyes opened, but they appeared unseeing. She held a spoon with some broth against his lips and he sucked greedily. His parched lips softened and the tension in his face eased. Once he had swallowed a fair amount, she lowered his head again and he slept.

  After having taken such care with fires for so long, Dariana felt an almost joyous sense of freedom to have the crackling flames visible. It was comforting to have another beside her, even if her guest was unaware of his status as companion.

  Tamara had not been for a visit of late. Dariana hoped she would come soon. If her friend could take the man from the forest before he was aware of his surroundings, her secret would be safe. Those at Tamara’s castle could tend him until he recovered. Of course, Dariana could never see him again. The thought brought an odd ache to her chest. She curled up next to her charge and slept.

  Dariana was suddenly wide awake. Daylight had not yet penetrated the leafy canopy and no birds’ voices pierced the quiet. She leaned over to check her companion. His chest rose and fell easily in the depths of sleep. She was fascinated by the play of light from the fire on his chiseled features. Perhaps he was her knight come to save her. She laughed at her own silly turn of mind. Too many fairy tales.

  Dariana’s back ached from the too-hard ground and she rubbed it to ease the tightness. It took a moment for her to remember she was still in the forest and near her cottage. Her dreams were fading and the morning wind now freshened the air, as if attempting to banish any possible bad thoughts. Alert, she gazed at ‘her” knight, as she now considered him. He remained in the arms of Morpheus and lay peaceful. Satisfied he was at ease, she rose and slipped into the trees, blending into the foliage.

  She hesitated at the sound of approaching footsteps. What to do? Certainly it was his own men come for him. It was with a sigh of relief that she recognized Tamara in the distance and ran to meet her.

  “Tamara,” she whispered. “Thank all that is holy.”

  Tamara started as Dariana’s disembodied voice reached her. “You frightened me. It is unlike you to come to meet me like this. Is something amiss?”

  “Not exactly. But, yes.”

  “That is not exactly clear, love. What is wrong?”

  “I have a visitor from the court.”

  “What?” Tamara’s horror was obvious.

  “It is not what you imagine. I am safe and as yet undiscovered. But I need your help.”

  “Again, you speak in riddles. Tell me all in a way that makes sense.”

  “Near the cottage on the north side a knight was riding through the forest yesterday. As I watched from the shadows, the knight was pierced with an arrow that felled him from his horse. I could not leave him thus—”

  “What means this? Could not leave him? What have you done?”

  “I tended his wound and even now he sleeps not far from here.”

  Tamara took a deep breath. “Will he die of his wounds? Did he see you?”

  “He will not die! And yes, he saw me.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “I know not his colors, but there is no doubt he is nobility. I was thinking I could create a story for my existence here. Would it be believable that I was the daughter of the old caretaker of the cottage?”

  “Nay, I think not. You are far too fair. And it is obvious that you are not of common stock. Your dwelling is old and obviously spent many years abandoned. No, that will not do.”

  “He is not in his right mind and he is a man after all. They are so easy to confuse.”

  “You are right. They are easy to bewilder. However, I think it better to try and convince him he imagined you in his injured state. I will have him brought to the castle and when he can ride, send him on his way. In the meantime, I will dispatch some messengers to see if we can discover his identity.”

  “He is so handsome.”

  “Do not even think to entertain
yourself with such notions. He could be the instrument of terrible punishment for all of us. Forget that not.”

  The bright sunlight streamed in through the window, waking William from a dream of dragons and villains. He shook the sleep from his eyes and struggled to sit upright, the pain in his left shoulder halting his progress. He was in a soft bed with clean white linen and he was naked. A sturdy bandage was wrapped around his left side. It reminded him there was a villain in this piece who had tried to see him in his grave. How had he come to this place? Surely he was among friends who had seen to his care. He was searching his memory when an image of an angel filled his thoughts, an angel with blackest hair and fairest skin whose eyes were were the color of an emerald meadow. He was so intent on the vision he did not notice a woman approach his bed. He jumped when she spoke.

  “My lord, you should rest. I have brought food, and once you regain your strength, we must see to a safe return to your own lands.”

  William was amused. He looked the girl up and down. A young servant, certainly less than a score in years. She was built for the work she did, but there was a simple prettiness there. Certainly not his angel. “Who might you be? Oh, and where am I? How long have I been asleep?”

  “My name is Alyssa and I serve the countess of Westonbury. You are in the castle of the earl. You were brought here from the forest where you were discovered injured. You needed aid and it was feared that the one who attacked you might return to see his evil deed confirmed. That was two days ago and you have fought the demons of the fever ever since. Blessedly, you have won the battle. It attests to your strength and will to live.”

  “Do you know what did occur in the forest?” He lay back against the soft pillows. “I only have flashes of memory.”

  “My lady told me she removed an arrow from your left shoulder and dressed your wound. It appears you were attacked and left for dead.”