Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  Erik made a sound that might have been wrought of amusement, but Vivienne did not turn to see the expression on his face.

  “A jest!” Ruari cried. “And what is amusing about striking terror into the innards of an old man? I thought you a fetching lass, but your heart, it seems, is shadowed.” Ruari shook a finger at Vivienne. “It is said that there is no wind colder than a fair maiden’s heart. Do you mean to prove the truth of it?”

  “I erred!” Vivienne protested. “It was not my intent to harm either of you. You and I are in agreement about matters unseen: I meant only to challenge Erik’s convictions.”

  “Ruari, there is no harm done,” Erik said firmly.

  “No harm,” the older man snorted. “Do you think I have no eyes in my head? I saw how you mounted your steed. You may not wish the lady to think you wounded, but I discern the truth of it. You would be best away from this foul land, back in the north when friends and foes are not only known to us but devoid of any unholy powers…”

  “Ruari, let us leave the matter be and ride,” Erik said.

  “Ride, indeed we should ride. I counsel that we ride directly for Queensferry, since you hold my advice in such high regard, and that we should not halt until we stand upon a boat and its sails are unfurled and the tide is carrying us away from these lands. Let there be the width of the Firth of Forth between ourselves and Ravensmuir before we sleep is what I say. Let us find ourselves in more familiar—and less traveled—country before we rest our weary selves, the better that we do not have to awaken at every sound. Fife would suit me well enough. Aberdeenshire would be better.”

  “It is too far to Queensferry,” Erik argued, his tone revealing that his patience was strained. “The horses will be pressed overmuch.”

  “It is two days’ ride,” Vivienne said, wanting to add weight to Erik’s view. “Even if we rode without cease, we could not arrive before Monday morn.”

  Ruari shook his head, unpersuaded. “The horses are fresh enough, if I may say as much, and they are doughty steeds well capable of a long run when the circumstance demands. If ever circumstance demanded, lad, it does on this night! There is a shiver in my very marrow, which is as reliable a portent of bad fortune as ever a man has known. I felt that shiver the night you were summoned to aid Thomas Gunn and I felt it again the night your father breathed his last. A man must listen to the warnings of his very bones.”

  “But mine offer no such warning,” Erik said.

  Ruari shook his head. “We will be ill-advised to remain on this side of the Firth longer than we have need of doing so, upon that you can rely, lad.”

  “We will not ride during the day, Ruari,” Erik said. Vivienne felt him adjust his pose in the saddle. His hip would not be served well by more time in the saddle.

  “There will be much activity upon the road to Edinburgh on the morrow for the market,” she said, not being certain of any such thing. “We will not make good speed within a crowd.”

  “All the more reason to let the horses rest,” Erik concluded. “For neither of them are accustomed to a busy thoroughfare.”

  “It is folly, lad!” Ruari flung out his hands. “How can I make the matter clear to you?”

  “You cannot,” Erik said finally and much to the older man’s displeasure. He then leaned toward Vivienne, granting Ruari no chance to further complain. “Were you not going to recount a tale? Ruari is fond of tales, as I recall, and the telling will pass the time more quickly.”

  “Of course.” Vivienne noted that Ruari settled into a disgruntled silence, knowing that his counsel would not be heeded and not satisfied with that in the least. Wanting only to leave dissent behind them, she cleared her throat and began to sing.

  “True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,

  When he espied a fairy lady;

  This lady she was brisk and bold,

  and she rode to the Eildon Tree.

  Her skirt was of the grass-green silk;

  her bridle of gold most fine;

  and woven into her horse’s mane,

  were fifty silver bells and nine.”

  “A tale of a fairy, is it then?” Ruari asked, his expression brightening in his interest. “I like a tale with beauteous women, to be sure.” He spared Vivienne a telling glance. “Doubtless she has a heart wrought of ice, though.”

  “True Thomas he took off his hat,

  and bowed him low down till his knee.

  ‘All hail, Mary, mighty Queen of Heaven!

  Your peer on earth I ne’er did see.’

  “‘Oh no, oh no, True Thomas,’ she said,

  ‘That name does not belong to me.

  I am the queen of the fairy realm,

  Come to hunt with greyhounds three.’”

  Thomas then spake bold to her,

  Her fairness unfurled his words:

  ‘Lady, you have claimed my heart,

  Come lie and hear the birds.’”

  “A tale of a fairy bedded by a mortal man!” Ruari chortled. He winked at Vivienne. “You bear more than one surprise, lass, that is to be certain.”

  Vivienne did not know what to say to that, so she sang.

  “‘Thomas, you know not what you ask;

  You care only your will.

  For if I should lie abed with you,

  My beauty will be spilled.’”

  ‘Lovely lady, rue on me,

  Know I will serve you well.

  Alight with me, lie with me,

  I will ever with you dwell.’”

  “Persistence is the key,” Ruari muttered. “Therein lies the way to success in any endeavor. This Thomas, he refuses to accept that she declines his suit and I predict that he will see a reward for his stubborn regard.”

  “Do not even think of arguing in this moment for riding directly to Queensferry,” Erik said. “That matter is resolved, and your persistence will only be irksome.”

  “It is like casting pearls before swine,” Ruari declared to no one in particular. He beat a fist upon his chest. “I conjure counsel from the weight of my experience, I urge wise courses through the goodness of my heart, I do this purely to ensure that those upon whom I am dependent do not err in ignorance.”

  Ruari gestured as if offering riches to the poor. “And yet, and yet, my sage advice, culled from decades of experience among men foul and fair, is discarded—” he cast out his hands “—like the dung of chickens.” He sighed in forbearance, turning his gaze heavenward as if seeking strength to bear his earthly burdens. “Do not hold matters against me, my lord William,” he said, apparently appealing to the ghost of Erik’s father. “A mortal man can but try to make others see sense.”

  “You could break your word to my father instead, and abandon me to my folly,” Erik suggested, earning a baleful glance from his companion for daring to tease him thus.

  “Never!” Ruari declared.

  “Then we shall make the ferry by Tuesday.”

  Ruari visibly grit his teeth.

  Vivienne sang.

  “‘Thomas, Thomas, you speak folly,

  A price be there for this ride.

  Your lust leads us astray this day,

  But I see you will not be denied.’

  Down then came that lady bright,

  underneath the Eildon Tree.

  As the story tells full right,

  Seven times with Thomas she did be.”

  “Seven times!” Ruari chuckled at that, the tale clearly distracting him from his disappointment with Erik. “There is a lusty maiden, to be sure, though fairies are said to have unholy appetites. And Thomas!” He whistled through his teeth. “Seven times. Seven! There was a man of persistence and uncommon fortitude, to be sure.”

  Vivienne found herself blushing. She had forgotten the earthy nature of these first verses, or perhaps she had not fully understood them when she had heard them last. She had learned much these past two nights, to be sure. Worse, she was curious whether she and Erik might be able to couple seven times in rapid succes
sion. She felt an indication against her buttocks that his thoughts might be following a similar course and her heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

  Then she recalled the next verse and did not know whether she could sing it in this company or not.

  “Is there not more?” Erik asked. “It seems a short tale otherwise, with little evidence that Thomas truly visited the fairy realm, as you insisted it would prove.”

  “I merely had to recall the words,” Vivienne lied, then raised her voice again. She tried to brace herself for Ruari’s response, for she expected he would laugh merrily at this verse.

  “She said ‘Thomas, you like this play.

  What lady could sate thee?

  You would couple all this day,

  I pray, Thomas, now let me be.’”

  Ruari did indeed roar with laughter. Indeed, he laughed until the tears ran from his eyes, but Vivienne sang on, granting him no chance to make a bawdy comment.

  “Thomas looked then with merry heart,

  Upon that lady who was so gay;

  But her hair hung dull about her face,

  Her flesh had now turned to grey.

  “Thomas cried out ‘Alas, alack!

  This is a doleful sight!

  Beauty has faded from your face,

  That once shone as sun so bright.’

  The lady stood, her manner dour,

  ‘Is this not as I foretold?

  A price we both must pay for this

  To your lust my beauty has been sold.’”

  “And is that not oft the truth of it?” Ruari said then shook his head at the sad way of matters. “The fairest maid looks less fair after her conquest, upon that you can rely. Many a man has awakened after claiming a maiden whose merits left him blinded by lust, only to perceive her flaws the following morn.”

  Vivienne fell silent, struck by the similarities between this tale and her own. She had thought Erik come from the realm of fairy and he had persuaded her to meet him abed. He had been curt the following morn. Had he been disappointed with the sight of her? Did he see flaws in her nature now, after her jest had gone so awry? Did her fears that she was not as composed as Madeline have any merit?

  There was no denying the similarity between her agreement to accompany him for a year and a day and the wager that Thomas made with his fairy queen.

  Feeling some disquietude, Vivienne sang.

  “‘Now you must ride with me,’ she said;

  True Thomas, you must come with me;

  For you must serve me seven years,

  through well or woe as chance to be.’

  She mounted then her milk-white steed,

  and took True Thomas up behind;

  With every ring of her bridle,

  Her horse ran faster than the wind.

  It was a dark dark night, with no light;

  they waded through red blood to the knee:

  For all the blood that’s shed on earth;

  Runs through the rivers of Fairy.

  Then she led him to a fair arbor;

  Where fruit grew in great plenty.

  Pears and apples, ripe they were,

  Dates, roses, figs and wineberry.

  ‘Dismount now, my Thomas True,

  And lay your head upon my knee,

  And you will see the fairest sight

  That ever a man did see.’”

  Ruari laughed. “Aye, there is a fine sight to be seen whenever a man rests his head upon a lady’s knee!”

  Vivienne gasped, never having understood that interpretation of the tale. Erik’s hand curved around her waist as if in reassurance. “He is merry,” he whispered into her ear. “That is all I hoped of in the telling of your tale. Do not take his comments to heart. You must have noted already that he talks overmuch, and is happiest when talking.”

  Vivienne turned to grant Erik a smile and found encouragement in his steady gaze. He was smiling slightly himself, and the expression made him look less formidable.

  “You should smile more often,” she bade him, then turned when he sobered in surprise. This was the part of the tale that she loved and she sang the fairy queen’s words with gusto.

  “‘Oh do you see yon narrow road,

  so thick beset with thorns and briars?

  That is the path of righteousness,

  though after it but few enquires.

  And do you see that broad broad road,

  that lies across the little leven?

  That is the path of wickedness,

  though some call it the road to heaven.’”

  “She grants good counsel, does this fairy queen,” Ruari declared. “One has no fear of encountering a crowd on the road to righteousness, to be certain.”

  “‘And do you see that bonnie road,

  which winds about the ferny slope?

  That is the road to the Fairy court,

  where you and I this night will go.

  But Thomas, you must hold your tongue,

  whatever you may hear or see;

  For if a word you should chance to speak,

  Never will you return to your own country.’

  ‘Whatsoever men say to you,

  I pray you answer none but me.

  I shall tell that I took a toll,

  And I wrest your speech from thee.’

  Thomas looked in that place,

  And saw his lady once more gay.

  She was again so faire and good,

  Rich adorned on her palfrey.”

  “And how might this be?” Ruari demanded. “Was it the return to her own abode that restored her beauty?”

  “I asked the same and was told that there is another variant of the tale,” Vivienne explained. “And in that tale, the queen was wedded and her husband has cast a spell upon her that any infidelity would cost her beauty.”

  “Ah, so he could tell the truth of it with a glance.” Ruari nodded. “There would be a useful spell for a mortal man with a beauteous wife,” he said, without explaining himself further. He cast a glance at Erik, who said nothing.

  Vivienne did not understand Ruari’s import. If he spoke of some past marriage of his own, it would be rude for her to demand details, so she sang.

  “She blew her horn, took the reins,

  And to the castle they did ride.

  Into the hall rightly she went;

  Thomas followed at her side.

  Harp and fiddle there they found,

  The gittern and the psaltery;

  The lute and rebec there did sound,

  And all manner of minstrelsy.”

  “Puts me in mind of a wedding, that does,” Ruari said with a sigh. “Your wedding was a merry celebration, lad, to be certain. I fairly danced holes in my shoes, the minstrels were so fine.”

  Again, Erik made no reply, though Vivienne was certain she felt him straighten behind her. And why not? Erik yet mourned his wife, it was clear to any soul who paid attention to his manner whenever she was mentioned. Doubtless, he recalled that merry event himself and the sadness of losing his beloved bride afterward.

  Indeed, Vivienne thought that Ruari showed a lack of tact in making such ready reference to Erik’s wedding. After all, he had to know that Erik mourned his lost wife deeply. It was unkind to remind Erik of happier days, to her thinking, though Ruari clearly uttered any words that rose to his lips. There was no harm in him, but he was not an overly discreet soul.

  She sang lest he choose to say more.

  “One morn, his lady spake to him;

  ‘Thomas, here you may no longer be.

  Hasten yourself with might and main,

  I shall take you to the Eildon Tree.’

  Thomas said with heavy cheer,

  ‘Lovely lady, let me take ease,

  For scarce have I savored this place;

  Merely seven nights and days.’

  ‘Forsooth, Thomas, I tell you true:

  You have danced seven years and more!

  You must here no longer dwell;
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  I shall take you home therefore.’

  She brought him to the Eildon Tree,

  Underneath the green wood spray;

  But Thomas did not wish her to part:

  ‘Grant me some token, lady gay.’”

  ‘Harp or carp, Thomas, you choose…’”

  “Harp or carp? What is this?” Ruari demanded.

  “Surely you must know,” Erik said, his tone unexpectedly teasing. “You with such a fondness for tales.”

  “Surely I do not! What choice does she grant him? A harp or a fish?”

  Vivienne laughed. “He can choose the ability to play music or the ability to speak. He will excel at whichever he chooses.”

  “Ah! A silver tongue or silver fingertips. Aye, it is true that fairies oft grant the gift of music, though never have I heard of them offering a gift for telling tales.” Ruari nodded. “Seems to me as those they choose to capture oft have that gift already and in plenty, if you understand my meaning.”

  “Aye, I understand it well,” Erik said. “Perhaps you have such a belief in matters unseen because you too have been captured by the fairies.”

  Ruari laughed at that prospect and Vivienne understood that neither man believed the veracity of her tale. She resolutely sang on, knowing that Thomas’ prophecies would change their conclusions.

  “‘Harp or carp, Thomas, you choose,

  You will have whiche’er you will to be.’

  ‘To carp choose I,’ said Thomas True.

  ‘For tongue is chief of minstrelsie.’

  ‘Then when you speak, from this day hence,

  And tales you choose to tell,

  You shall never loose a lie,

  Whether you walk by wood or fell.’

  ‘My tongue is mine own,’ True Thomas cried;

  ‘A goodly gift you would give to me!

  With it, neither I could buy or sell,