Shannon felt her nerves rattle as she thought of how he had barged uninvited into her life. She had made it clear to him that her fidelity was for her future husband, and that his pursuit of her company was uninvited and disrespectful. Her struggle, however, was that she wanted him to be with her! He was articulate, handsome, attentive, strong and mysterious. What innocent young woman would not be attracted to a man with those traits?
Marta pointed to the center of the room, ordering the servants to place the wooden tub down and fill it with the buckets of near boiling water. She threw handfuls of dried lavender, myrrh and rose petals into the steaming liquid, and then looked in dismay at Shannon.
"You may help me undress and clean my gown as I soak the salt and sea from my body," Shannon said, turning her back to the woman to untie her laces. Marta gasped in another fit of horror when Shannon's gown fell away, leaving her standing in a short smock and men's undergarments.
"Mistress! This is obscene! The king will forbid such clothing. I know he will! He will whip you for wearing such improper items."
"No man will tell me what I may wear under my kirtle, Marta. Nor will I permit him to beat me for it. Why do you fear this king so much? Are the rumors about his cruelty true? What does he do to those who disobey?"
"There are many rumors. Some say His Grace bites the heads off bats to send the message of his fearlessness to the world. Others say he is a sorcerer, and that he uses charm and wit to force his enemies to walk off the sides of cliffs to drown in the sea. He is not a man to be reckoned with, Mistress. Those who have challenged him have died. Or worse."
"I am not afraid of him. He will learn that I am not a woman to be reckoned with, either. He has met his match if he thinks he can lock me in a cage like a pet monkey and order me to do tricks. My dress, Marta. Please have it cleaned," Shannon said, stripping herself of her undergarments and standing proudly before the shocked eyes of the maid.
"You have no pelt," Marta whispered.
Shannon looked down. "Nay, I do not."
"You do not tweeze? Many ladies perform that act."
"No, not my brow either. Is this unusual?"
"Yes, Mistress. Have you bled? Mayhap you cannot bear children."
"Should I choose to have children, I will be able to bear them. Help me into the tub, if you please."
"Perhaps it is bathing that has stripped the hair from your body, or some sickness that has overcome you."
"I doubt that, Marta. Please, bring me something to eat and some ale, and clean my dress. I wish to be alone."
Shannon rolled her eyes as soon as the maid departed, and then began to scrub her wet hair with castile soap and wintergreen. It was bad enough to have to repeat her requests multiple times, but to have a maid stare at her body and comment about her lack of body hair was inappropriate and humiliating. She clenched her teeth as she thought of Marta's bold assumptions. After being brought to the abbey, she had never taken ill, except when over-indulging in sweets. The only blood injury upon her flesh that she had ever suffered, in fact, was that delivered by the birch as she trained. There was no explanation for this 'oddity'.
Shannon closed her eyes and waited patiently for food to be brought to her. The scented bath water was pleasant and warm, but rapidly lost heat through the thick wood. Shannon inhaled deeply and lifted her hands above the water. She began to 'wish'.
She did not know how else to describe the conjuring. King Malkai used to tease her and call her gift 'wishcraft', for it required nothing more than an immense desire to have something. The Sisterhood had been diligently working with her gifts since the day she arrived, trying to teach her to control her temper and her earthly desires. They taught her right from wrong, and the means to determine each, and her childish 'desires' were quickly squelched by the strictly enforced instructions. Forced to live her daily life without the use of her gifts, Shannon would sneak in opportunities to practice whenever possible, where there were no eyes to witness her rebellion. She discovered that, as she grew older, her need to conjure grew as well. It was like breathing, a necessary part of her survival, and she felt empty when not summoning her power.
Her gifts were limited and allowed her to call upon the earthly elements in small intervals—transfer liquid items from one place to another, spin the wind and rain in small doses, and alter the temperature of liquids; a skill much appreciated when in need of a hot bath or a cold ale. She could also remove pain with a simple touch. Her keening, however, was immensely powerful, but also selective—for nature knew the right recourse for those who committed evil. For those who threatened or caused her harm, the glass shattering screams could take their lives. For others, the piercing noise only produced pounding headaches.
There were things she could not do. She could not bring death or destruction to the undeserving, or restore life to the lost; she could not produce something out of nothing; and she could not make anyone think or feel what she desired them to. She smiled to herself, thinking how grand it would be to be able to persuade people in that way.
Steam rose from the tub when Marta returned with her hands laden with trays and a pitcher of ale tucked under her arm. "Mistress! The water is too hot for you! You will scald your flesh."
"The water is warmer than the air, Marta, and that is why you see the steam," Shannon quickly explained, shifting her pink body. "Ale, please. I am thirsty."
Marta nervously handed her a stein and filled it with the lukewarm brew. "This ale is from the king's reserve. He ordered you to have it."
Shannon sipped and wrinkled her nose. What was wrong with this girl? She had specifically asked for the ale to be cooled, and had been ignored in this request as well. "You speak as though he is here spouting orders," Shannon said, trying not to allow Marta's unwavering stare to bother her.
"But, he is, Mistress."
Shannon sat up, alarmed. "He is here? Where is he?"
"He is everywhere. He can whisper his words in the wind. Can't you hear him?"
"Marta, are you ill? Your eyes just glazed over. Marta?"
"I must go. He calls."
Shannon sat with her mouth hanging open as the maid quickly left. What form of magic did this king call upon? Her bath water quickly chilled as she lost concentration. What if his gifts were stronger than hers? Would he overpower her and prove the rumors of his cruel and heartless nature as true? The image of the dark-eyed man who haunted her dreams flickered across her mind's eye. Was that her future husband, or a daemon sent to harass her?
Focus! Shannon berated herself. Do not give into fear! She quickly exited the tub and dried herself with the soft strips of linen on the dressing table. Her eyes fell to the package on the mattress and she untied the bundle to reveal a traveling gown of hunter's green, elaborately embroidered with gold thread. Soft, deer hide boots, leather riding gloves, and delicate undergarments were included. Shannon frowned, lifting a pair of silk braies into the air. Had his father advised him of her rebellious acts?
She crumpled the garment in her hands and stared at the door. Marta was adamant that the king would disapprove of her wearing such items, and had claimed that he would beat her if she pursued the wearing of such apparel. Was this gift meant to be considerate, or mockery? Something was definitely amiss.
Her worries increased as she dressed. The gown fit her figure perfectly, and required no lacing or ties. The bosom, although snug, lifted the swells of her breasts comfortably above the neckline. Material draped from under her chest, and opened to a wide skirt of modest length, only falling several inches onto the ground. The sleeves were wide and airy with immaculately draped petals, lined with brocade and artfully split to reveal a fitted inner sleeve that descended to a graceful point. Finger-loops, woven into the edge of the sleeve, covered the backs of her hands while keeping the material in place.
Shannon could not help but admire the craftsmanship and design, for it permitted full freedom of her legs and arms in the event that she wished to ride. What brought her the
greatest delight was that no hat was provided! Shannon found herself appreciating the thoughtfulness of the garments, for they were not only practical, but challenged the fashions favored in the royal courts. Was her secret benefactor one who rebelled against the feudal system and the division of classes? Or was this a plot to caused discord between her and her king?
Sudden guilt struck her in how she had spoken to both the peasant pirate and chamber maid in a haughty display of poor manners. King Malkai would have been both ashamed and angered by her behavior. He had always spoken firmly about honoring those who serve nobility for, one day, they could rise up and remove a king, or queen, from the throne. She shuddered, remembering the feel of his hardened palm as it landed across her bottom the last time he had disciplined her. She had hated that feeling; the disappointment that had come from him, and the humiliation that it brought to her. She missed the man greatly, and knew that he would want her to make immediate amends for her demeaning attitude.
After quickly brushing her hair with her ivory comb and soothing her distressed spirit, she braided it over one shoulder and viewed herself in the polished metal plate with a sigh. Her long, red hair and freckled complexion would stand out like a conflagration among these pale skinned, fair-haired people.
"Yes?" she called, at the knock upon her door.
"Mistress McCleary, your carriage awaits," a man's heavily accented voice called. "Are you ready yet?"
"Aye. Why must we leave so early? The sun has barely risen in the sky," Shannon asked, inviting him in.
"We wish to make haste to our first camp before nightfall, Mistress," the knight answered. "We can rest then."
Shannon gathered her travel bag and rummaged through her small, personal items, which included her ivory comb, shawl, christening spoon, feeding knife, mending kit, a candle stub, and a pouch of herbs and spices. She frowned, pulling a swatch of white, silk cloth from the bag. She unfolded it and placed her hands over her mouth. Upon it was an embroidered map of Ireland and Eastern Europe, and the route of travel was outlined with gold. How had it got there?
She weighed the fabric in her hands, stunned by the softness and attention to detail in the images. Needlework was not her forte, but she could appreciate the skilled hand that had sewn this map. Looking closely, she noticed tiny pearls sewn along the route. Were these to be her resting spots? Why would he want her to know where she would be at all times? Was this a gift or a warning?
Marta stood waiting at the carriage with a basket of food and a jug of wine. She curtsied. "Your dress, hat, slippers and surcote have been beaten clean of dust and packed in your trunks. His Majesty stated that he will spare you the burden of wearing uncomfortable clothing for this journey, but to be prepared to adorn yourself as a proper lady should upon your arrival."
Annoyance flickered across Shannon's brow. She had had enough of the messages, and immediately forgot her intent to make restitution with the girl. "He said that, did he? Doesn't it disturb you to know you are nothing but a parrot to him? When you speak to him next, you can tell him to kiss my arse," Shannon said loudly, ensuring that the ten knighted men of her escort heard every word. "You may also tell the fool that I will dress as I please, I will do as I please, and if he wishes to question me, he may do so himself."
"Please, Mistress, do not speak thusly!"
The wind picked up as Shannon looked angrily at the simpering woman. "I will not be dictated to by anyone, especially one too cowardly to show his face. You may tell him that as well, since he seems to speak to you and no one else. You can also inform him that when he grows a cock big enough to be known as a man, he may approach me as his father did. On his knee."
Marta's face paled as the sound of thunder roared overhead. "He said that I was to accompany you."
"And I said you are not. I have no patience for being swaddled like an infant in either clothing or in words. Be gone with you, girl."
A crack of lightning raged across the sky. Shannon's hair lifted around her face as she stared at the terrified maid. Before another rumble was heard, Marta handed Shannon the basket and ran into the inn as fast as her feet could carry her. The sound of clucking behind her caused Shannon to investigate its origin.
"Do you make a habit of frightening ignorant maids, Mistress McCleary?"
Shannon glared at the man who was perched atop a dark brown horse. His eyes were dark with annoyance, and the backdrop of ominous storm clouds added menace to his handsome, lightly bearded face. She scanned the rest of him, mildly surprised to notice a billowing black shirt covering his wide chest, and that his feet were shod with long riding boots.
"Do you make a habit of asking ridiculous questions, Master Moarte?"
"I do. Why do you speak to that girl in that manner?"
"I have no patience for dictators or those who represent them."
"Are you suggesting the maid is attempting to be an authority over you?" he asked.
"I am suggesting that she is using words that she allegedly received from my future husband in order to insinuate herself. In addition, she has made some inappropriate comments that I do not take kindly to. I have little patience for personal intrusion."
"I harbor the same complaints, Mistress."
"What of you? Have you become a land pirate now, Master Moarte?"
Dom laughed, slipping off the horse and catching her hand. He kissed the back and bowed. "That I am. I informed you that I would accompany you on the journey back to my homeland."
"And I informed you that I do not think that the king would approve of such an escort."
"What the king doesn't know will not hurt me. Or you. I do not, however, think he would take kindly to how you speak to others, or the things you say about him."
"Are you telling me that you know him as well?"
"We are very close, he and I," Dom said, with twinkling eyes.
"Did he send you to spy upon me?" She stepped back, her eyes flashing with anger. "A true man would have come himself and seen his betrothed first hand."
"Ah, yes," Dom chuckled. "But a wise man would send a friend, so that the truth would not be diluted or swayed. I lead this journey in his name."
"An honorable man would have led this expedition himself. Your king is a swag-bellied, dimple-arsed, craven halfwit fool."
"Careful, lass," Dom said in a low voice, "There are many here who would kill you for those words. You ought to behave as though he is always in your presence. View me as his representative."
"His representative? Very well. Let him know that this is my response to his cowardice and foolery," Shannon said, slapping her palm as harshly against his cheek as possible.
Dom's eyes widened, and then narrowed. He held his hand up to the armored men who had drawn broadswords. "Why did you strike me, woman?"
"Because, as the king's representative, I hold you responsible for my discomfort, starting with assigning that simpering buffoon of a maid to try to frighten me."
"Discomfort, my lady, comes in many forms. Starting with this!"
Shannon screeched as Dom quickly laid her over his outstretched leg and lifted her skirts. He ordered the men to turn their backs and act as a barrier to prying eyes as he, still standing, bared her pale backside right there in the middle of the street. A shaft of early morning sunlight escaped through the dark clouds and glowed upon her bottom, pinpointing the region of chastisement.
"Release me this instant!" Shannon ordered, struggling against his iron hold. "I warn you…"
"I do not fear your warnings, good woman. But I do fear your temper. You shall learn to mind your manners and exercise restraint in your words," Dom said firmly, splattering his hard hand across the jiggling cheeks of her soft posterior. "Nor will you ever raise your hand to me again, young woman. Never! Apologize, or I shall continue with this thrashing."
"I shall do no such thing!" Shannon shouted.
His hand smacked effortlessly against her tender, young flesh and sent a scorching burn through her nether parts.
Shannon's fight against her tears failed. Yet, so great was her pride that she refused to utter an intelligible word. She sank her teeth into his side instead.
"Guardsman! Hand me a plank from the wood pile!" Dom commanded, shifting his position to sit upon the steps of the Golden Herring. Shannon caught the ground with her hands, her flailing legs wildly exhibiting her hidden valleys. She felt the cold, damp wood being laid across her buttocks.
"I ask you again, Mistress McCleary. Do you choose to apologize, or receive a paddling?"
"I will never apologize to the likes of you," Shannon hissed. "Touch me and you will die!"
"I think not, dear lady."
Shannon gasped, arching her back as the plank landed cleanly against her skin. She tried to release a scream, only to find it caught mutely in her throat. She struggled wildly against the clapping wood slate that threatened to forever tenderize her bottom.
"No!" she cried out. "I beg of you to stop!"
"Apologize."
Shannon sobbed, unable to bring forth her banshee cry against him. Why could she not protect herself from the cruelty of his punishment?
"I beg you. Please." Shannon's frantic kicking began to slow. "I apologize. Please, no more."
"There, now that was not difficult, was it?" Dom asked, tossing the plank aside. He adjusted her braies and chemise to cover her smoldering bottom and smoothed down her skirt over the undergarments. He grabbed the underside of her upper arm and pulled her to stand before him. "Should you display anymore bouts of temper, high-handedness, or slap me again, I will use a set of reins upon your backside. Am I understood, woman?"
Shannon nodded, staring at the ground. She resisted the firm hand that lifted her face. "Do not struggle against me. I am here to protect you. My impression of you is something that the kingdom will consider when it weds you."
"I am marrying the king, not the kingdom," Shannon sniffed, still looking down.
"Lift your eyes to me, lass. When you marry a king, you marry his land, his subjects, his family and his politics. I will groom you for your place as queen during this journey. During that time, you will learn how to please your husband and your people."
King Dom Comes Page 6
