by Jade
Today, the dream was different. For a moment, she was a briar, defending herself from a fool who would bring plague to the kingdom, and the next, she had the limbs of a woman again, and eyes with which to see that he was no fool, but Sir Warin, brave knight that he was, trying to save her.
While she held him fast to the wall, out of reach, she directed her thoughts inward. If a single mote of the insidious plague lived inside her, she could not allow him to touch her and infect himself and others. But if the plague was gone and she yet lived...
Deep joy warmed her heart as she felt no trace of the disease within her.
Of course she would not. For she was dead, and this was merely a dream, like all the other times she had seen Sir Warin.
A dream where she could finally indulge her feelings for the knight whose life she'd saved.
With a thought, she released him from his bonds, healing the cuts the briars had inflicted, for she could reach through plants now without needing to touch him herself. She could do little with his shredded clothing, and she rather admired his well-muscled flesh she glimpsed through what remained of his tunic and hose.
What was it Queen Margareta had said? Let a man glimpse you naked, for he would do anything to see such beauty again. Rosamond had not realised the desire would run both ways – that she herself would want to see more of the man.
There was only one course of action, then.
"Come, my love," Rosamond said. "I have been waiting for you, for this moment. Take me as a bride on her wedding night, for soon we will be wed, and we have waited far too long already. The responsibility of the throne awaits, but for now, we should take pleasure in each other's arms. We must become one before others try to tear us apart."
He stumbled toward where she lay on her bed of roses, then took her hand and kissed it.
Rosamond tingled delightfully at his touch. Much better than their first awkward kiss by the campfire. But she burned for more. "Come to my bed, and love me," she said.
Warin climbed into the fountain beside her, then took her face in his hands and kissed her. This was no awkward peck like the first time. No, his lips moved with hers, parting so that they might share a breath before their tongues danced like the lovers they would soon be.
Warin paid no attention to the briars tearing the rags of his clothes from his body, until they both lay naked, and the desire burning between them was too much for either of them to resist. In her dreams, she had seen many things, including how a husband made love to his wife, and she wanted all this and more from her valiant knight.
"Love me," she commanded, parting her legs as she invited him inside.
Rosamond felt a sharp sting as he entered her, but it was no more than the prick of a thorn amid the overwhelming pleasure he gave her. Kisses and caresses were nothing...nothing, compared to this.
He made love to her as the sun set, and twilight settled over the land, so that when the first star sparkled in the sky and she cried out for joy once again, she could truly say she flew among the stars.
If only every awakening could be so joyful, but in her heart, Rosamond knew this could only be a dream.
THIRTEEN
Siward woke from a fevered dream. What kind of man dreamed he made love to a statue come to life? Or plants that moved like snakes, snaring and trapping him before the statue commanded them to stop?
He must have taken a stronger jug of wine than he'd thought. For only in his cups could he possibly place himself in such a silly fairy tale.
He stared up at the sky for a moment, reaching for the jug he knew should be beside him. All he touched were leaves, before pricking himself on a thorn. He had slept in a rosebush, then, instead of rolled in his cloak on the ground. He must do this again, for it felt far softer than the unforgiving ground. In fact, he could almost imagine the woman of his dreams beside him, pressing her breasts along his side as she reached for him once more.
"I see you are ready for me again, beloved," a distinctly female voice said, sounding amused as a warm, soft hand wrapped around his shaft. "Good. I wish you to love me again, just as you did last night."
Siward swallowed, then turned his head to meet her green eyes. The green eyes of a goddess, a divine statue come to life.
He bolted out of the bed, which he now saw was a fountain full of roses. He should have been covered in scratches from the thorns, but he was unscathed. A minor miracle, seeing as his clothes were little more than rags as he stood naked before a woman...nay, little more than a girl, who he had deflowered scant hours before.
Oh, he had done so at her command, which he could not refuse at the time, but now...honour demanded he make this right by her. That meant making her his wife.
He didn't even know her name.
"Are you real?" he asked.
The girl laughed. "I am no more or less real than you. Are you real?"
"Of course," he said firmly, trying not to be distracted by his body's response to her nakedness.
She was not so restrained. "Prove it. Come back to bed and love me again in daylight, or I shall fear last night was but a dream."
Siward shook his head. "I cannot. I should not have...I dishonoured you. I will make this right. I will take you as my wife, if you wish it."
"I do wish it, but I also wish for you to take me as you would your wife, here, now," the girl commanded imperiously.
No one in the kingdom commanded Lord Siward. Who was this slip of a girl who thought she could?
"Who are you?" Siward said.
The girl tossed her hair. "As if you do not know. I am Rosamond."
Named for the lost princess, like so many other girls in the kingdom, Siward thought. Every third woman under the age of fifty answered to the name Rose, for the princess had become legend.
He gave a wry smile. "Lying there like that, you look more like a goddess of love than a princess. You should be Freyja or Venus, not a mere princess."
Rosamond blushed redder than the roses around her. "You give pretty compliments. It is one of the many things I like about you. Of course, there is also your strength, your sense of honour and duty, your prowess in battle, and now your prowess in bed. I shall list your virtues when we see my mother and father, so that they will consent to our marriage."
Siward almost smiled at her naiveté. No parent in the kingdom would refuse his offer of marriage for their daughter, especially once he claimed the throne for his own. Even if he hadn't deflowered their virgin daughter. He sighed. When he'd thought of taking a queen yesterday, he had not thought to make a decision already.
"Where are your clothes?" he asked.
She laughed softly. "You can probably answer that better than I can. I never took care of the horses."
Puzzled, he opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, but he closed it again when he realised his spare clothes were with his horse, too. Climbing out of here naked, with the walls full of briars, would not be without pain. He could save her a little of that, though, if he lifted her to the top of the wall. "Come here," he said. "I will help you get out of here, and then we can find you some clothes to wear."
Reluctantly, she sat up, wincing a little as though not accustomed to being upright. She shook her head slightly and slid her legs over the side of the fountain, so they dangled above the mosaic floor. Rosamond took a deep breath before she stood up. She remained on her feet for a moment, before her knees buckled and she would have crashed to the tiles if Siward had not leaped forward to catch her.
"I am sorry," she murmured, closing her eyes. "I must still be weak from lying so long abed. Forgive me."
Realisation dawned on Siward, and it was not a pleasant feeling. Her weakness was his fault, for last night had been her first time and he had not held back. No wonder the girl was weak. He'd been a brute. He lifted her in his arms, like the bride she would soon be, he swore. "If I lift you to the top of the wall, do you think you have the strength to stay there until I climb up to you?" he asked.
Rosam
ond rested her head against his chest. "Why are we climbing walls? The way out is that way." She pointed at a gap in the briars Siward had not seen before. Not that he'd been looking, he admitted, for his eyes had been too busy feasting on her beauty to notice anything else. She directed him through the ruin, following a path that was miraculously free of the briars that covered everything else. Almost as though someone had cleared it deliberately.
Surely delicate Rosamond had not done it. "Do you come here often?" he asked her.
She stared at him, as if he had made a joke. "No, this was my first visit."
"Do you live nearby?" he persisted. If she did, he could ride by her parents' cottage to ask for her hand today. It would ease his conscience immeasurably.
"Of course not. I lived with my parents in the castle."
In a bigger kingdom, there might be more than one castle, but in a place this small, she could only mean the late king's castle. The one Siward's grandmother insisted should be his.
"Why have I not seen you there?" he asked.
"Perhaps because your duties keep you busy, and I prefer to spend as much time as possible in the gardens."
Siward could not recall ever seeing the castle gardens. She evidently knew him better than he knew her. If he had ever seen her before, he would have been just as transfixed as he'd been yesterday. More, perhaps, for a living woman was infinitely better than a cold stone statue.
"You must be right," he allowed.
Rosamond laughed. "I usually am."
She had the prideful manner of royalty already. Not a bad thing in a future queen. Perhaps destiny had led him to her yesterday, and played a hand in kindling their lust. Nothing else could explain his complete loss of control, Siward was certain of it. The only other explanation was...magic. And how could a girl so young be a witch? Siward wanted to laugh at the thought.
Destiny it must be, then. At least destiny favoured him.
"Where is my horse?" she demanded.
Siward had the distinct feeling that destiny was laughing at him, too.
FOURTEEN
Rosamond didn't want to admit it, but her illness had left her so weak she could scarcely walk. Delightful though it was to be carried in Sir Warin's arms, she had no desire to be known as the princess who swooned at the slightest excuse. As she'd slept, she'd mastered her gifts, so that she'd healed Warin's scratches even as he made love to her.
If only he'd taken the time to do it again this morning, once she realised this was no longer a dream. She lived, and she had successfully persuaded him to make her his wife. A wife who intended to take great delight in her marriage bed, for her husband knew how to please her.
Her return home should be proud and triumphant, as befitted a betrothed princess, but between her own frailty and the absence of her horse, she wasn't sure how she would achieve such a spectacle. Least of all in the hose and tunic Sir Warin tossed to her.
Of course she could hardly ride naked, but she'd had countless new gowns made for Queen Margareta's coronation. Surely Sir Warin could not have burned them all.
Yet...it seemed he had. Not only was all the cloth gone, but all her clothing, too. She toyed with the idea of sending him to the nearest town to procure something proper for a princess to wear, but that meant he would have to leave her alone here, for who knew how long?
No.
It was a set of his own ill-fitting garments or nothing. When they reached a town, then she would insist he find something to replace what he had burned.
He helped her dress, then lifted her onto the back of his palfrey. For a while, he walked beside the horse, with the reins wrapped around his hand, but when Rosamond came close to fainting in the summer heat, he mounted up behind her, and only his strong arms kept her from slipping out of the saddle.
"Rest, Rosamond. I shall keep you safe," he promised.
Sleepily, she nodded, and the rest of the journey passed in what she described as a blurry doze. Sometimes she opened her eyes to bright sunlight, and at others to starry darkness. The one constant was Sir Warin's reassuring presence, for even at night, he held her in his arms. Though his hands did not slide under her tunic even once, to her disappointment. She was too weak to properly enjoy the attention, she told herself. Once they were home in the castle, and she had recovered properly, then she would tell him to take her again and again until she was sated.
She drifted from dream to dream, waking only to dream again, until one morning she opened her eyes and saw the wooden beams of a ceiling instead of the sky above. Now she woke fully, aware of being alone in a bed, with no idea of how long she had been there.
"Hello?" she called, annoyed. "Monika? Sir Warin? Anyone?"
The door to the room opened and a maidservant entered, bowing her head. She was too young to be Monika. "They are not here, my lady," the girl said. "I have orders to serve you and see that you are well when the master returns. Is there anything I can bring you, my lady? Some wine, something to eat, or a physician? The master thought you might be ill."
"I am not ill," Rosamond snapped. As a healer, she was far more knowledgeable about such things than some stupid physician. "Bring me fruit, and meat, and yes, some wine. Then fetch me my clothes."
The girl dropped a deep curtsey. "Yes, my lady."
She returned some time later with a tray of food and drink. Rosamond did her best, but she could barely eat more than a few mouthfuls. The wine was much too strong, threatening to turn her stomach. She had eaten little on the journey, and she estimated that she had stayed in the ruined convent for perhaps a week, so perhaps her stomach had shrunk from eating so little. No matter. She would be back to normal in no time.
When she was certain she could not eat another bite, Rosamond said, "Where are my clothes? I must dress. I wish to sit in the garden."
"I will ask the housekeeper, my lady. She was still searching for your clothes when I brought your breakfast." The girl took the barely touched tray and hurried out.
When the girl returned, Rosamond had fallen into a doze, but she roused herself quickly. "Well?" Rosamond demanded.
"Draga says you had no things with you when you arrived, but she is looking through some of the chests of old clothes, to see if we have anything that will fit you, my lady."
Old clothes. Rosamond sniffed. When she was well once more, she would summon a dressmaker to make anew all the garments Sir Warin had burned. In the meantime...she would accept the housekeeper's charity, for it was surely the best the woman had. When she saw Sir Warin again, she would instruct him on how to treat a princess when she was a guest in his home, for she guessed she was in his house. She was certainly not in her parents' castle, for there was no stonework to be seen.
Two menservants entered the room, bearing an enormous chest between them. An older woman, who Rosamond assumed was Draga, the housekeeper, followed them.
Draga stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing Rosamond as though she was a piece of meat. "Skinny, with no hips to speak of. A poor choice in a wife, and I shall tell the master so."
Rosamond's temper flared. "Your master has better judgement than you. There is nothing wrong with my hips, as your master knows well." In fact, his hands had held her hips fast as he thrust deep into her, and she longed for him to do it again. "I hope you brought clothes befitting someone of my rank. I will not dress like a peasant, nor a man."
Draga's eyes flashed. "The clothes in that chest belonged to the Lady Schutz when she was a girl. Nothing else in the house will fit. If they are not good enough for you, then I suggest you return from whence you came and leave the master to find a proper wife, not one so full of airs and graces." Her eyes narrowed. "With no hips." She waved at the young maidservant. "Agnna, you take care of her highness. I have more important things to do." The housekeeper strode out of the room before Rosamond could form a reply to such breathtakingly bad manners.
At least the housekeeper had recognised her as a princess, Rosamond consoled herself, though the honorific had sou
nded more like an insult on Draga's lips. No matter. As the lady of the house, Rosamond could dismiss the woman and engage someone more appropriate, if she wished.
Agnna didn't seem to have noticed the housekeeper's rudeness. Perhaps the girl was used to it. She fell to her knees beside the chest and lifted the lid. "Lady Schutz always looks so lovely. I'm sure these gowns will be everything you could want, my lady," she breathed, drawing out the first one, a simple dress of black linen. Or was it dark grey? Rosamond could not be sure. The second gown the girl lifted out was a much more becoming shade of pink, though it, too, looked like it might have faded. "This is beautiful. I have never touched cloth so smooth."
That got Rosamond's attention. "Is it silk? Bring it here." She reached for the dress and was relieved to find that it was indeed silk. As were most of the dresses in the chest. Rosamond selected the gowns in shades of pink and green, before dismissing the rest as unsuitable. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least she would have something to wear until the castle dressmaker could create a new wardrobe befitting both a princess and Sir Warin's new bride.
For a bride she would be. He had asked, and she had accepted, and they had already consummated their union beneath the moonlight.
Her father would not refuse this match, she was certain of it. Especially not if she announced it to him herself before Sir Warin asked for her hand.
"Does my father know I am here?" Rosamond asked.
"I do not know, my lady. I can send word to him, if you wish. But surely he must know, for if you are to marry the master, he would have your father's blessing. He is very strict about matters of honour, is the master. There are tales of maids in other households being...dishonoured, but you will never hear of such a thing here." Agnna sounded quite proud of this.
"Is that because the dragon of a housekeeper does not allow the servants to spread such vicious rumours?" Rosamond asked.
Agnna clapped a hand to her mouth to smother a giggle. "No, my lady, and her name is Draga, not dragon, though when she is angry, sometimes I think she might breathe fire, she is so fearsome. They are more than rumours. Why, Lord Vamos has sent away four kitchen maids this year alone. All pregnant, and all unwed. Some say it is the lord himself who does the deed, but others whisper that it is his son, Fodor."
