The Lady's Choice

by Bernadette Rowley

  ‘That is enough!’ Benae simply could not believe she had to tolerate this but if she asked Alique to leave it might look as if she had something to hide. Or perhaps not. Alique’s words were insulting. ‘The arrangement between the prince and me is none of your business but be advised that there is real warmth in our relationship and I anticipate long years ahead of fulfilment.’ Even to Benae’s ears, it sounded less than ideal.

  Alique laughed. ‘Keep telling yourself that and you might believe it one day. I have seen the way you look at Ramón and he at you. If I know Ramón, it is he who holds you at arm’s length. He did always have too much honour for his own good.’

  Benae did not know what to say and so she stared at Alique, willing the girl to leave. The old dressmaker chose that moment to stick her with a pin.

  ‘Ouch!’ Benae was instantly distracted from Ramón’s sister. When she turned back to the lady-in-waiting she found Alique had left the room.

  ‘One more adjustment and we shall be finished, my lady.’ The dressmaker smiled at Benae. ‘You will be a picture on your wedding day. Return to me an hour after luncheon and we will make the final changes.’

  ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Benae said, ‘You have created a beautiful gown for my special day.’ Benae stepped from the gown, dressed and hurried out before the woman could see the tears brimming in her eyes.

  She strode back to her chambers, the need to flee building within her. Perhaps after her final fitting this afternoon, she might saddle Flaire and give the stallion a run along the beach. She sent the thought to her mount and felt his excited response deep in her mind.

  Ramón rode with his father along the narrow lane that wound between farms on the Zorba estate. The wind was strong and the crimson dress tunic he had worn to please his mother did little to stop the chill cutting through to his skin. He felt a driving need to be back at the castle. Benae would be anxious. Castle gossip had not been kind to them since their arrival four days ago. He had spent the past two nights with his parents and could almost forget the traumas of the past week in the bosom of his family. His older sister, Nyon, had visited yesterday with her husband and three sons, her belly round with their fourth child. She seemed content and was proud of Ramón’s position at Brightcastle. She had said not a word about Benae, nor asked him about her. Instead, she had sat with her arms encircling her stomach and listened as he related the story of Princess Alecia and the events leading to her departure from Brightcastle.

  Two evenings and a day in the company of his parents had eased his worries regarding the future, and now he was ready to return to Wildecoast castle. His mother had instantly known Ramón was changed from the man who had left her. Her eyes had glowed with pride at the broadness of his shoulders and the way he now carried himself. She and his father had set about gently probing the root of these changes and he had found himself confiding in them his goal of finding Alecia and of marrying her. His mother had helped him to accept that, though Alecia might one day return to her rightful position in Brightcastle, she would likely never marry him.

  He must face the fact that his future was with some eligible girl, possibly one of the queen’s current ladies-in-waiting. He would not stay in Brightcastle forever. The return of Princess Alecia would still be a priority and he would see that she was recovered, but he should no longer dream of her as his wife.

  His parents had drawn him out on the subject of the elven attack and the fears and guilt Ramón still harboured over that event. And just like that, a weight had seemed to lift off his shoulders and he could breathe easier once more. None of the distressing events were his fault and he could move on to the next phase of his life with courage, dignity and honour.

  The voice of his father washed over him, the honour and pride the man radiated so inspirational to Ramón. His parents believed he would make something of himself. He didn’t discuss his feelings for Benae but somehow he felt they fathomed his strong attraction to her for they kept talking of honour and the importance of Benae’s marriage to the kingdom of Thorius.

  He came to understand that he and Benae were only a small part of a great plan and that their sacrifices and sufferings were what made the kingdom strong. He had made the right choice in holding Benae at a distance and she would thank him one day. It was difficult for her to see that now, when she was in the grip of whatever feelings she had for him.

  A happy glow warmed Ramón despite the chill of the day. That a woman like Benae found him attractive boosted his ego. More than that, he had been able to save her from the dark elves. Next he would retrieve Alecia and the prince would never again doubt his worth. Steely resolve straightened Ramón’s shoulders. If he could save the lives of the prince’s two most treasured women, his worth in the kingdom would be beyond measure.

  Benae stood again in the dressmaker’s fitting room, turning this way and that as the final adjustments were made. She had to admit her wedding gown was breathtakingly stunning. It hugged her curves from her breasts to her hips, scooping low across her shoulders to reveal a decent amount of cleavage. The sleeves were long, finishing in points over her hands, and the skirt flared out from thighs to feet. The entire gown was delicate lace over satin and the train extended five paces behind her. A gorgeous lace veil completed the ensemble.

  The fitting was almost completed when there was a knock at the door and the queen entered. The monarch was dressed in a body-hugging gown of crimson velvet that also left a good deal of breast on display. Her flashing green eyes lit up when they saw Benae.

  ‘My dear, you make the most stunning bride!’ She advanced and kissed Benae on both cheeks.

  Taken aback by Adriana’s display of enthusiasm, Benae curtseyed, wondering what Adriana would say next. This day had been difficult and the only thing that helped Benae hold her nerve at that moment was the thought of a ride in the wild wind with Flaire. Already she could feel his excitement building.

  ‘No need to curtsey when we are alone, Benae. You and I will soon be relatives, in fact, that is why I am here. I wish to give you some sisterly advice, as I fear there may not be another opportunity.’ She turned to the old dressmaker. ‘Leave us.’

  The woman curtseyed and left without another word. What did Adriana have to say that required dismissing the servants? Benae rubbed at the sudden tightness in the muscles of her neck.

  ‘I know you have a hankering for the squire – who could blame you? But Jiseve must not know. He is insanely jealous. There is no telling what he might do if he discovers your feelings for Ramón.’

  ‘Your Majesty, I have already explained that we are merely friends.’

  ‘Nonsense, Benae,’ Adriana said, a frown marring her beauty. ‘I have seen the way you look at him. You do not hide it but you must learn to. You must not give Jiseve reason to believe you have been unfaithful.’

  ‘But I have not!’

  ‘Perhaps that is so but it will not be the case for much longer, if I am any judge.’

  Benae turned and walked to the window. She could not bear this. It was not any business of Adriana’s. Or was it? Was she simply trying to safeguard Jiseve and the kingdom’s heir?

  ‘You are very much like me, Benae. You could easily be my younger sister. I understand your passion. Jiseve is an older man. You will stray or you will want to. You want to already.’

  Benae spun to face her. ‘We would never betray Jiseve as you describe. Please, I do not wish to speak of these matters.’

  ‘Take Ramón as your lover, Benae.’

  Benae gasped. Why would the queen say these things?

  ‘I know that is what you wish. You are driven by your passion and Ramón is an easy man to love. It is my belief that, until you and he are one, your hunger for the squire will be there upon your face for all to see, including Jiseve. Find a way to sate that passion, that longing and you will disguise it more easily.’

  ‘That is outrageous, Adriana. I will not speak of this any longer with you.’ A flash of intuition came to her. ‘Yo
u have taken lovers, yourself!’

  ‘Of course I have. Beniel, the Goddess bless him, is not always able to perform and our childlessness is no secret. I blame him for the lack of an heir even though officially I am barren. When the urge takes me, I have several friends I can call upon.’ A far-off look entered the queen’s gaze. ‘Anyway, I see a deep sadness within you, Benae, and I wanted to assure you that, despite your marriage of convenience, there is no need for you to be unhappy or to settle for Jiseve.’

  Benae stared at Adriana, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had heard of the fairytale marriage of the King and Queen of Thorius and now she knew it was pretence. Oh, Adriana was very fond of Beniel, perhaps even loved him in her own way, but the superficial nature of the queen’s life depressed her. Could she enter into the same sort of marriage with Jiseve? Was he impotent and was that the reason he had not yet bedded her? When she thought back, she could not remember his rod hardening in any of their romantic interludes. Fear gripped her heart. Had she promised herself to a man incapable of satisfying her sexual cravings?

  She could not help the tremor that shook her. She must think this through and now. ‘Please help me from this dress, Your Majesty.’ Benae reached behind herself to the dozens of buttons that ran up her spine and began to undo the uppermost fastenings. Adriana stepped forward to help her and they soon had the garment off and laid across a chair. Benae slipped into the sea-green riding habit that Adriana had loaned her.

  ‘You look exquisite in that, my dear. You may keep it. I hardly ever wear it anyway. I take it you plan to ride this afternoon?’

  Benae nodded, unable to trust her voice. She must hold herself together until she and Flaire were away from the castle and from the city, until they were flying along the sand and a few tears would not be noticed.

  ‘Take an escort and do not be away for long,’ the queen said. ‘There is a storm brewing.’

  Benae swept a curtsey and hurried from the dressmaker’s chambers. In her room, she paused only long enough to throw her cloak around her shoulders before taking the servants’ stairs to the stables. She had to be alone. She needed time to think more desperately than she had ever needed anything in her life.

  The stables were deserted, though she heard a murmur of voices from the rear of the building. She must be quick to saddle Flaire before one of the attendants insisted she be accompanied. Benae found her stallion and sent him a mind message for quiet. He scarcely breathed as she saddled him and drew on his bridle. Her insides quivered as they left the stable and walked agonisingly slowly past the other hoses. Flaire’s hooves made barely a sound on the flagstones but there were quiet nickers from some of the other horses. She could tell from Flaire’s response that most of the other horses were envious of the stallion’s chance to escape.

  Once out of the stables, Benae mounted and walked in a leisurely fashion through the castle forecourt and out through the gates, nodding to the guards on duty as if she rode out on her own every day. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sergeant send one of the guards running. It would not be long before an escort was dispatched to retrieve her, but she would make the most of the time she had. Ramón had shown her a trail down to the beach when they arrived at Wildecoast so she retraced her steps and found the steep descent to the seashore. Her spirits soared along with Flaire’s as they reached the sand and stared out at the wind-tossed waves. The darkening clouds seemed to touch the ocean and Benae spied a flash of lightning on the horizon. Flaire snorted, excited by the strange salty tang on the air. Neither of them had ever seen the sea but Benae had learned to swim in the fast-flowing rivers of her native northern lands. Looking down the beach to the south, she spied a rocky causeway that jutted out into the ocean.

  ‘Let us race to those rocks, Flaire,’ she whispered into the stallion’s ear and he went from a stop to a flat-out gallop in seconds. Excitement gripped Benae as the wind ripped at her hair and sent her cloak flying behind her like a flag, tugging on her shoulders as though it wanted to rip her from the saddle. They raced along the beach above the waves, past driftwood and exposed rocks, and Benae felt freer than she had been in a long time. This was living, not the stuffy existence most people knew. She hoped Jiseve did not expect her to live the life of a princess, stuck inside castle walls, embroidering and waiting to die. Jiseve would never expect that, would he?

  The waves swept in from the ocean and surged up the beach to ripple against Flaire’s hooves. The stallion shied to avoid the water and stumbled over a rock. Suddenly Benae was flying through the air. She landed on her back, the reins still in her hands and lay there, unable to breathe. Shooting pain slammed through her skull along with panic but she was momentarily confused–she wasn’t hurt, was she? A scream rent the air along with another burst of pain through her skull and she turned in time to see Flaire hobbling towards her, his left foreleg hanging limply.

  ‘No, Flaire, no!’ Benae cried, careening towards her horse as he again tried to place weight on the damaged limb. She threw her arms around his neck to ensure he stayed still, and great tremors wracked his body. He stood with his head down, blowing, sweat dripping from his neck and flanks.

  Gently Benae touched his injured foreleg, hardly daring to breathe as she probed the bones and sent a flow of spirit into the limb. Agony seared through her mind and she gasped. He had broken it! Benae fell to her knees, cradling the injured leg in her hands and placing her forehead against his leg above the knee.

  ‘Oh Flaire,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry.’

  Flaire nickered softly and nuzzled her head. He was always more concerned about her than about himself. Tears sprang to her eyes in response to the surge of love and confidence that flowed to her from the horse. He believed she would fix the leg! Her heart skipped a beat as she contemplated the extent of the injury. Could she heal such a catastrophic break? She had never attempted a bone repair of this nature before. A sob tore through her. She had to try even though her recent record was abysmal; even though the largest break she had fixed on anyone before had been a finger bone.

  ‘What was I thinking, Flaire?’ she grumbled. ‘We should never have been galloping where we were not sure of the footing. I am so sorry.’ She let his leg down gently and rose to kiss his forehead. He pressed it against hers. If the horse died because of this . . . she simply would not allow herself to imagine that.

  Drawing together the shreds of her courage, Benae dropped once more to the sand and clasped both hands around Flaire’s injured cannon bone. She constructed a weave that would numb some of the pain from the damaged limb and Flaire relaxed. Benae closed her eyes and formed the delicate weave of spirit that would knit bones, moving the displaced bone fragments back into place with the help of pressure from her hands. One fragment was stubborn, refusing to move. Flaire pulled his leg away but Benae soothed him with words and thought.

  ‘Be strong, my brave stallion.’ She took a deep breath, swallowing the fear that rose in her. She would succeed, she must. She could not lose Flaire too!

  The fragment clicked into place and she let out her breath, forcing the tremor from her fingers, willing her heart to beat slowly, concentrating on knitting the bones. Sweat poured from her, wetting her gown and making her shiver in the blustery conditions. Flaire nudged at her shoulder, his love and faith bringing fresh tears to her eyes. What if she could not make the healing firm enough to walk on? Injuries like these were disastrous, unhealable, weren’t they? She closed her eyes, delving into the wound, checking the bones she had knitted. They were not full strength but perhaps it would be enough to get him back to the castle. Benae wove one last healing and placed the hoof gently back on the ground.

  Flaire gingerly tested the leg. Benae registered a dim ache from the injury but not the shooting stabs of agony that the stallion had experienced before. She breathed a ragged sigh as relief crashed over her. That suffering had nearly been her undoing.

  ‘All will be well, valiant friend,’ she said, calming him with her
hands, ‘but I will not ride you until strength has returned.’ Perhaps her skills remained intact? Perhaps Ramón was right? There were some things she could not heal. She had done her best with her parents and her brother but she was not a worker of miracles.

  The thought of Ramón shot a spear of anxiety into her heart. She could not bed him and stay true to Jiseve, and Ramón would not agree anyway. He had too much respect for both her and Jiseve to allow it. He was strong where she was weak. She listened to her desires while Ramón carefully thought through his decisions and sought the best course for all. The queen was wrong. Benae could not have both Jiseve and Ramón. It was just not right. Benae knew that she must choose one or the other but could she live without Ramón? Could her people survive without her alliance with Jiseve?

  She howled in frustration. Casting her eyes to the heavens, Benae began a prayer to the Goddess.

  ‘Holy Mother, look down upon your daughter and give her solace. Bless her with your wisdom so that she might make the right decision for all. Guide—’

  A strange keening interrupted Benae’s prayer and it seemed to be coming from the sea. She looked out to the waves, realising Flaire’s accident had occurred close to the rocky causeway that jutted out into the sea. Yes, the sound was coming from the waves. Fascinated, Benae led Flaire out onto the rocks, ignoring the part of her mind that urged caution. The sound could not go unheeded. She turned her head this way and that in an attempt to judge the direction of the keening. The strange song seemed to come from the very waves themselves. A larger wave rolled over the causeway, startling Benae and wetting her slippers. The waves had become angry cliffs of foaming whitecaps. The advancing storm rolled out of the south, dark grey clouds that seemed to rear over her. But the song continued. Benae could not be concerned for the storm or her safety when such notes trembled in the air, apparently formed of her very emotions: grief, anxiety, frustration, fear. They were all there in the song.