Chapter 8.3.2

Oh, no. No, my lord, no, no. But I could see in his face that the idea was set. I signed, "We can’t just walk in. I’m well-known there, and your reputation precedes you."

"We’ll be in disguise." He leaned back and regarded me with half-closed eyes. "We could grow beards, and dress as commoners. Wait – we could be Bards! Yes!"

"You can’t." My hands sliced the air. "You don’t play any sort of instrument, and you don’t know the songs and stories. As for me, I can’t sing – the most I could be is a Silent Monk!"

He smiled. "No one would ever suspect a Silent monk of kidnapping. And I’m sure I learned enough in Slatten to pass for a Bard-in-training."

"You’re too old for that."

"I was a late convert."

"I was a late convert, and many years have passed since then."

"And I’m a slow student."

That was believable. Still, "No Bard-in-training would be wandering during the winter. Not unless he were in the service of a full Bard."

Lord Reinard paused. "So we still need a full Bard. I’ll send my soldiers out to look for one."

"You not find a Bard within miles of this castle."

"But a minstrel would do just as well, right? We could paint a harp on his hand, or have him wear beggar’s gloves. He wouldn’t need to fool Lord Guerney – just the common people would be enough."

"The Heathens will be much harder to fool."

He ignored me, caught up as he was in his dream. "I thought I saw such a minstrel in the market square. Sir Charles, take Ison and James and find this man."

They left, and my lord turned to me. "Now, shall we have some music?"

"My harp is still packed away."

"Then tell me a story."

My hands were tired, but I thought to try one last time to dissuade him. And so I told the tale of Heart of the Heart of the Eastern Green Forest.

*****
This story is available in its entirety by following this link. It is an original story of mine, and is available as free web fiction.

Chapter 8.3

Lord Guerney’s letter lay among the scattered remains of our dinner. It began with a vague, non-committal missive, but ended with an assurance that the wedding would take place soon – no later than the next spring. With my hands I wove my version of events, and concluded with, “Marriage to Lady Laurice would result in your joining to a cruel and treacherous people. I think you should consider this before pursuing the matter.”

My lord smiled tightly and said, “Don’t forget, Gerard, that cruelty runs in my blood, as well.”

I was reminded of this every day. I chose my next words carefully. “It is their treachery which is most worrisome. The lady is more likely to find a child than admit to this falsehood. Lord Guerney will swear that this child is your son and heir, conceived after the legal betrothal. But he would raise the child to be loyal to himself, and when he is old enough, the child will come and kill you as you sleep. The the Lady Laurice...”

“What?” Lord Reinard shouted, startling Elise. “Where did that idea come from?”

“The Ballad of John Marks.”

Lord Reinard waved me off. “That wouldn’t happen. But he could use the child to embarrass me, should I try to break the betrothal. Which I will not do, because I will not lose the Eastern Green Forest.”

“Why, my lord, why do you want that thicket of half-dead trees and mud-clogged creeks? It is inhabited only by night monsters and the Silver-eyed.”

He scoffed. “You pagans are always running from your fairy tales. That wood had nothing worse in it than good hunting and good winter fuel. And control of it would shelter this castle from an attack from the north.”

Behind me, Elise muttered, “He hasn’t lived beside it, has he?”

“Still,” he went on. “I don’t care to have this seed of trouble waiting to grow. I must expose the Lady Laurice before he story bears fruit. How might we get her to come here?”

“Other than going to Rockridge and dragging her out, I don’t know.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And how shall we do this?”

Chapter 8.2

#

As the carriage entered the courtyard, Lord Reinard bolted from the doorway with one fair hand fumbling with the clasp of his cape and the other reaching for me. I had barely stepped onto the ground when he enveloped me in a welcoming hug.

Had he missed his music that much?

"How was your trip? Learn any news? Any new songs? God, how I’ve missed you, Gerard – it’s a lonely supper without a dessert of music. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can’t wait to hear you play. Oh – and any news of the Lady Laurice?"

I pushed him back to free my hands. "You would be wise not to marry her."

"What?" His blue eyes opened in astonishment. Snowflakes collected on his long, blonde lashes, and – I noticed disrespectfully – on the tip of his nose. "What do you mean? No – don’t tell me now. Don’t tell anyone until you’ve spoken to me in private."

I had a choice?

He glanced back at the carriage, where Charles was helping Elise step down. "Who is this?"
"My lady," I signed quickly. "I beg that you allow her shelter here."

"Oh. Of course." He turned to her, and bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Elise. I am Lord Reinard, and I pray you will find my humble castle a comfortable home."

She blushed. "I beg yer pardon, my lord. I thought you’d be much older."

"My mother was my father’s last wife," he explained smoothly. "The only one to give him an heir. Come inside, my lady, where it is warm and we can feast on fine food and music."

She gave me a worried glance. "I’m Gerard’s lady, but not the high-born lady you think. I’m but a kitchen maid."

"If you are the wife of my friend and advisor, then you shall be a lady of my castle." He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her in.

I blew out my breath. Wife, my Lord Reinard had just pronounced. Now she would not rest until we had been properly sung together – but the Bard Hall here was only bitter ashes, and I did not see myself leaving any time soon.

Chapter 8.1

We did not rush back to Songless Castle. None of us was anxious to account for ourselves to our lord, or to explain why his betrothed refused to come to him. The inns along the way were much more comfortable than the carriage, and I had my harp and my lady to occupy me. Jason and Ison had their dice and the beer, and Charles had his prayer book. When the storms rolled through, we stayed longer than we had to in rented rooms.

It was with regret that we rolled up the road along the Gateway River and into the town below the castle. Snowflakes danced in the air, and the puddles in the street were crusted with ice. On the motte above us, the castle towers thrust up into the cloud-filled sky.

"Is that Songless?" Elise asked, peering out the window.

I nodded.

"It’s small, and quiet."

It did seem so, after Rockridge.

"We’ve only got the river to guard," Charles explained.

We turned a corner and trundled past the church. The doors were still tied shut with black cloth, though it was ragged with age. Elise looked at this, then peered up at the bell tower, muffled in swaths of black cloth. "Why is that building in mourning?"

"It’s our Cathedral," Charles said solemnly, though Cathedral was much too big a word for the building. "It’s closed to worship, until the day that the Old Lord makes his amends with the Bishop of Slatten. Though that may be hard, what with him being judged by a higher judge now."

"Did you ever go there?"

He nodded. "I was baptized properly – but it was closed before I could take communion."

"And where’s the Guildhall?"

I pointed to the other side of the street, where snow-draped bushes covered the rotten remains of scorched timbers.

She frowned.

"That was the Bard-killers best work," Charles said, but his voice was sour. "That’s what upset the church."