Chalice of Roses

by Jo Beverley

  “I understand the need to secure the Grail and the spear to their proper places. I understand my disappearance from home—in the company of Mr. Front-de-Boeuf and Mr. Waldo, and now you—has endangered my reputation. But if you think these circumstances will force me to marry you, you are mistaken. All we need is to hire a maid when we come to the next inn; she will sit behind us in the tiger’s seat, and accompany me from now until our task is done.” I crossed my arms. “I am surprised Mama did not offer to accompany you here herself.”

  A brief grin flashed across his face before he grew solemn again. “She did, but I convinced her—truthfully, as you know now—that it would be too dangerous. By the by, I have already sent ahead for a maid to accompany us, so you need not worry about that. Oh, and speaking of maids, it was clever of you to leave a note with one not far from London. It helped a great deal in locating you.”

  A blush again warmed my face at his praise, but soon left me, for I did not feel any better when he looked relieved that a maid would solve the problem of my reputation. Nonsensical of me, of course, for I did not wish to marry him, either. If he were indeed the Grail Knight—well, I could not have any doubt about that now—then it seemed he would be in far more danger than Papa ever had been on his missions.

  I do not think I could bear that.

  It was dark when we came to the inn, and I was too conscious of the curious looks given us when we entered, I without a maid to accompany me. Will has gone to ask about the maid he had hired for me.

  We must push forward without delay to where the Grail—and the spear—will be well guarded against Britain’s enemies. Even stopping to take on a maid is more time than we can afford.

  I am now having dinner, but feel I must eat in haste and be gone from the inn as soon as possible. I will end my writing here for now—I am tired, and most of all confused. I feel I cannot think of my reputation and the Grail and Bonaparte’s spies all at once . . . and of Will and his fate as the Grail Knight.

  —Arabella

  Chapter 4

  IN WHICH THE KNIGHT AND THE GUARDIAN OF THE GRAIL MAKE DISCOVERIES.

  April 15, 1806

  The maid for whom I had sent ahead is not at the inn. Dear God, it needed only this. The situation is bad as it can be, for now Arabella’s reputation is more at stake than ever. She is the Guardian of the Grail, and it has ever been the legend and tradition that the responsibility for shielding the reputation of the Guardian falls to the Knight.

  The innkeeper would not release any of his chambermaids, even when I tried to pay him for one to be Arabella’s. The best I have been able to do is to ensure that a chambermaid stay with Arabella at night. Even this accommodation makes me uneasy: There is no guarantee this maid cannot be bribed to give information as to our direction after we leave.

  I pledged to Lady Templar I would do my best to protect her daughter. I do not know if her ladyship knows all that the pledge of a Grail Knight implies, but it is not necessary that she does. I am committed to protecting Arabella body and soul, and to forfeit my life if need be.

  It occurred to me that it would be gratifying if Arabella were aware of it, but it seems her education in Grail matters has been sadly neglected.

  There is no time to dwell on the lack, however. At first light, we must depart, maid or no maid. It will be faster without one, and speed certainly is of the essence.

  April 15, 1806

  I look over the words I wrote last night, and their practicality is no comfort after I saw the dismay that appeared on Arabella’s face once I relayed the news regarding the lack of a maid to accompany her on our journey. I do not blame her, and feel my failure acutely. But my admiration for her rose when she lifted her chin and ignored the speculative looks the innkeeper and other guests gave her when we departed from the inn in my curricle.

  She said nothing as she sat herself in the carriage, and nothing for the first half mile we traveled. Instead, she gazed out at the countryside, the green and brown hills barely showing the first blooms of spring. I saw her hands twist in her lap, and I was sure she must be feeling the burden of society’s eventual speculation and the uncertainty of her future. A look of sorrow flitted across her face, and it made me glance away from her; I felt ill at the thought that I had caused whatever sadness she might feel.

  “Miss Templar, I would consider it a deep honor if you would consent to give me your hand in marriage.” I blurted out the words awkwardly, and mentally cursed myself for a fool.

  She turned, her curls flying about her face as she fixed her startled eyes on me. “I beg your pardon?”

  She need not have looked so shocked, I thought. I focused my gaze ahead of me, gaining better control of my thoughts. “Miss Templar, I respectfully ask the honor of your hand in marriage.”

  She eyed me with disdain. “And I respectfully refuse,” she said. “If you think I would accept anyone’s marriage proposal under such circumstances as this, you are sadly mistaken.”

  “It is in such circumstances as this that you should consider it.” I glanced at her; her set jaw and angry expression did not encourage me, but I pressed on. “Think, Arabella. You have been gone two days, with no chaperonage. You have defended yourself well, I know. Excellently, in fact. But this means nothing to the world at large. Even if I had returned you to your mother immediately, you would still have spent more time without a maid than is acceptable. Society will judge you harshly, regardless of your innocence. I cannot let that happen to you.”

  She looked swiftly up at me, her lips parted, her eyes suddenly alight, and once again I was seized with a desire to kiss her. I closed my eyes; I could not. It was not right. I felt it was my duty to protect her, even from myself.

  “It is my duty to protect you,” I said aloud. “As the Grail Knight, I cannot let your reputation be ruined.”

  “As the Grail Knight.” Her voice sounded flat. I looked at her again, but she had folded her hands in her lap and was looking down at them, as if considering my words.

  “It will take at least six to seven days to reach Rosslyn Chapel,” I said as gently as I could.

  “A week.” She looked at me, and again I could see the sorrow in her eyes. I took her hand, ignoring the slowing of the horses as I did so.

  “I know you cannot like the circumstances of my proposal. If it is any comfort, your mother has agreed to it if it proved necessary.” I fished inside of my greatcoat pocket for the note Lady Templar had given me, and then held it out to Arabella. She stared at it for a moment, then took it from me and read it.

  “Oh,” she said. “I see.” She bit her lower lip for a moment, then sighed. “Well . . .” She took in another breath and looked at me squarely. “Well, may I think about it for a while before I give you my answer?”

  I knew from the expression in her eyes that she knew she had little other choice, as did I. But the circumstance in which we found ourselves could not be what a lady would want in a proposal, and the least I could do was let her have the temporary pretense that she had the option of refusal without damage to her reputation.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “It would be more convenient—faster to Scotland—if we were married and did not have to have a maid,” she said.

  “It would.”

  “And it is our duty to put the Grail in its rightful place, and to keep the spear from our enemies’ hands.”

  “Yes.”

  “I do not like duty very much,” she said.

  “Neither do I,” I said.

  “Oh, William! We are in a terrible mess.” I heard a watery chuckle. I looked at her sitting on the seat beside me, her back straight as an ensign’s at military inspection, her lips turned up in a wry smile, her eyes wet with tears.

  I was instantly lost. “Ah, Arabella,” I said, and then took her in my arms and kissed her.

  She did not resist, only let out a sigh and let me bring her closer. Her lips were soft and sweet, sweeter than wine, her breath like honey. A chill bre
eze blew into the shelter of the curricle’s hood, but it did not matter to me; her warmth was enough, her willingness to let me touch her and hold her. I dared deepen the kiss, and still she did not resist. Instead, she put her arms around my neck and pressed herself closer to me. In that moment, I knew she was more precious to me than the Grail.

  The Grail.

  For the first time in my life, I nearly cursed its existence and my duty toward it. I drew away from her, and the dazed look in her eyes almost made me kiss her again.

  “What . . . ?” she said.

  I cleared my throat. “We . . . we must be going.” Hoof and Thunder had obediently stopped though I had let loose the reins; they knew my mind better than I had myself, it seemed.

  “Oh—oh, of course,” she said.

  Perhaps only a few minutes passed—it seemed like hours—before Arabella suddenly said, “Yes, I will marry you.”

  She shifted herself closer to me and put the blanket across both our laps. I was glad of the warmth, more glad that she was the source of it. For this short while, I would take comfort in it.

  —W. Marstone

  April 15, 1806

  We were married today, Will and I.

  I should have wished for something more than a special license (he had to prove to Mama his intentions before he left London, and nothing but a special license would do), witnessed by strangers in a small country church, but I suppose I must be more eccentric than he, for I could not help thinking it much more romantic to be married while traveling ventre à terre from villains bent on destruction and the capture of mystical relics of power.

  It was faster not having a maid tagging along, for we needed to leave on a moment’s notice, and we were on a dangerous mission—I could not allow someone not dedicated to the Grail or other powerful relic to be put in the danger we had to risk.

  Our situation was still, unfortunately, awkward. I went to the rooms reserved for us, and a chambermaid helped me undress and put on my nightgown. But when I answered the knock on the door soon afterward, I discovered that it was not “rooms,” but “room,” for it was Will, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he e ntered.

  “We are married, so the innkeeper assumed . . .” He stood near the door, his posture stiff and awkward, and looked at something past my left ear. I turned and looked behind me; there was nothing on the wall but a crookedly hung, badly executed still-life painting of overripe fruit in a bowl. I looked at him again, and noticed heightened color in his cheeks.

  I realized what he had already understood: We would be spending the night together in this bedchamber. I could feel the warmth creeping into my face as well.

  I could not bear that he be embarrassed on my part. “Well, and the man assumed correctly. We are indeed married, and I understand it is not at all unusual for married people to share the same bedchamber.”

  “It is awkward. . . . It is not what either of us had intended—”

  “Intended or not, we are where we are,” I said stoutly. “I—I do not mind it.” I thought of the risk we were taking, how Will had pledged himself to protect me, the Grail Guardian. I knew what kind of risk that could entail. Did not my father also go on missions for the Grail Council? And look at what had happened to him! I felt, suddenly, that I would seize what I could of being with Will, just in case, just in case. . . .

  His expression lightened for a moment, but he then shook his head. “You don’t understand, Arabella. As the Grail Knight and the Grail Guardian, we must be pure and chaste.”

  I was conscious of more disappointment than I expected. I admit, I was curious as to exactly what occurred in the marriage bed, for though I had a vague idea—and of its outcome—Mama had not of course told me much about it, other than it could be pleasant, for she had not expected I would be married this soon. “Oh,” I said. “Well . . . well, there is not anything to sleep on other than the bed.”

  “I shall sleep in the common room downstairs,” he said. He turned to the door, but I ran to him and took hold of his arm.

  “But will not that bring too much attention to us? Especially after we have taken such care to obscure our whereabouts?” We had even taken on false names: We were registered at the inn under the names of Mr. Wilfred and Mrs. Rowena Evanhaugh. I never did like the name Rowena, but it is my middle name, and thus it was more likely I would answer to it than if the name was totally false.

  His expression grew frustrated. “You are unfortunately correct.” He looked toward the hearth. “I will sleep by the fire.”

  Suddenly I was tired of honor and purity and the Grail and being the Guardian—all of it.

  “Don’t be silly. We are married.”

  His expression grew stormy. “By God, Bella, do you not understand? I should have kept the Spear of Destiny instead of discarding it, but dropped it into the Thames because I was so unfit a Knight that I could not properly keep it safe, leaving it to be found by Bonaparte’s agents. I managed to be wounded and disabled in the course of my duty—which I have not yet accomplished. I did not keep you from your kidnappers; indeed, I no doubt led them to you. I have failed at being the Grail Knight. And now, when all I have left to redeem me is taking the Grail to its proper place with enough guards to ensure its safety, and the purity to which I have tried to dedicate myself, as is fit for a Grail Knight, you tempt me beyond bearing.”

  “I do?” I felt considerably cheered by his admission. “What a pretty thing to say. I have never had anyone tell me I am tempting.” I smiled at him, for I do believe it was the first time I had heard him say something complimentary about my looks. I moved closer to him and put my cheek against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat—and it sped up when I put my arms around him.

  “Bella, don’t—”

  “Why not? We are married. Is it not a blessed union? What could be more pure than that? As for chastity—surely you do not intend to be false to me?”

  “No, never—”

  “Good,” I said, and shamelessly pulled him to me and kissed him. He groaned and put his arms around me, deepening the kiss, and it was more glorious than the kiss we had shared in his curricle.

  He took me to the bed, and it did not take long before he had discarded his clothes, and I my nightgown, and we were under the bedcovers, kissing lips and cheeks and napes of neck. And, oh, his hands, his hands, featherlight and strong, discovering me like an explorer in a new land.

  I laughed and wept with joy as he came into me, and suddenly, suddenly, there was light about us, brighter than the glow of the spear when I had last held it before me. I gasped then, and cried out, for the light that surrounded us pierced me with an intensity beyond anything I had ever experienced. Will’s grasp on me tightened as he pressed himself deeply into me, and he must also have felt the light, for he groaned as if from his very soul, and he kissed me again.

  We slept. When we awoke, it was not yet dawn, and the inn was silent. Once more Will moved upon me without any persuasion from me at all, and once more there was the light, brighter than the moon that shone through the window.

  The next time we awakened it was dawn, and we needed to be on our way. I could not help peeking at Will as he dressed, and found he also was looking at me. I grinned at him, which caused him to come to me and take me in his arms again, kissing me breathless.

  But he put me away from him after a while, and shook his head. “We need to leave, Bella.” He nodded toward the bed. “And we cannot forget to take the Grail and the spear with us.”

  I had taken the precaution of stuffing the Grail and the spear inside pillows at the headboard, and carefully took them out. I blinked as I placed the Grail on the bed.

  “William . . . does the Grail look different to you?”

  He looked at it and shrugged. “It looks as it ever has, beautiful and full of light.” He frowned as he looked at the spear in my hand. “However, the spear has changed.”

  I did not understand it. The spear looked as glowing and as noble as I had first seen it, bu
t the Grail . . . had changed. It looked less like a tin cup and more like a gold—though simple—goblet.

  I frowned at him. “How different does the spear look to you?”

  “It had been a dull, rusty thing that would not take a polishing no matter how much I tried, but now . . .” He gazed at me. “Did you polish it?”

  “No,” I said. “There is no need, as it shines bright with silver and gold.”

  He also frowned. “It does not shine silver and gold to me, but it has lost the rust it once had, and the blade has a mirrorlike shine.” He paused. “Did the Grail look different to you before you put it in the pillowcases?”

  “No, it did not.”

  He shook his head. “It is a mystery, and I wish I knew what it meant. Another mystery on top of the fact that you and I see these relics differently and not as we should.” He shrugged. “We have no time to ponder it, alas.” He picked up his pocket watch and looked at it. “We must leave quickly. I shall order food to be taken with us, and a bottle of ale.”

  He finished dressing faster than I, and went down to the taproom for our food. I wrapped both the Grail and the spear separately, careful not to let them touch each other, as Will told me to do. I shook my head as I set them into the trunk of clothes that Mama had packed for me. I felt sure the change in our perceptions of the Grail and the spear meant something significant. I only wish I knew what it was.

  —Arabella

  April 17, 1806

  We have been blessed with good weather so far as we have traveled, and I have not seen nor heard any suspicious characters following us. This means nothing, however; a clever enough spy could keep himself unseen and unheard.

  We had, by necessity, tied up the villains who abducted Arabella, and not with stout rope, as I could have wished, for we had to make haste, and the bedsheets were all we had. We could not kill them, of course; their blood would have been on our hands, and we could not then put the Grail in its rightful place. As a result, I would not be surprised if the two endeavored to follow us.