But Moira was a part of the tempo of this fair maiden’s life as much as any other. She observed her lady day after day in the world that was Nicolette. Naturally, Moira’s thoughts wandered to a distant afternoon…
* * *
It was very early in the summer and dreadfully dry, even for this time of year. The farmers’ crops were struggling, threatening to wither before even setting their fragile roots into the soil. Ravan, the townspeople, everyone was worried. Famine had been a constant concern for as long as most could remember for several reasons: Adorno had been pitiless with his charity, cruel with his heavy taxation, and the years had been unusually cold, shortening the growing season considerably.
Lady Nicolette had every intention of establishing food reserves—that is what she claimed—but this was her first season as ruler of the realm. There was no reserve yet, and Ravan had just appeared a few months before. All were still getting to know the new rulers of the domain.
After the wedding, a mere month ago, the two of them had gone straight to work, swiftly establishing the granaries for anticipated stores. But if the weather remained so dry, it would not be this year that they were filled. Bad fortune lent to misgivings; Lord Ravan had expressed his concern that the trust of the villagers was at stake.
The baby was sleeping, and Moira was washing linen in the attached bathing chamber when she heard someone enter the bedroom suite. She heard Nicolette’s soft voice float on the air as she visited, murmuring to her sleeping baby.
Moira was yet unfamiliar with the Lord and Lady of this strange realm, for they were certainly a difficult pair to get to know, but she already had a fierce loyalty to both of them, especially to Ravan, for he’d saved her.
As her thoughts wandered farther down the trail of her memories, she blushed, for there was no denying what she felt—a visceral attraction to the mysterious mercenary turned ruler of the Ravan Dynasty. How could she not? He was so tortured, so wretched when he showed up at the inn with his fine horse. Then, he spent the better part of the evening in a state of transformation. When he stepped back downstairs, she’d scarcely recognized the man, brutally handsome, even with his scars.
Moira blushed again as she recalled seeing him nearly naked, walking in on him as bathed, shedding his past in the small room of the inn. He never spoke of what the terrible circumstances were that brought him to that horrid state, and she never asked.
Then, in a whirlwind of ferocity and amazement, he rescued her, holding her in his arms as he fled the inn. For nearly a week, they traveled together. In that time, he scarcely said anything at all, only that he had business south of Paris. He said he would help her, do everything in his power to make sure she had a new beginning, a better life. It was all the time Moira needed to fall deeply in love with the dark, brooding man.
She had no way of knowing if where they were going was safe, and she really didn’t care. It was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to her, to be rescued and swept away, like a dream. If she died tomorrow, she would be happy as long as she could ride with him, his arms around her. It was the happiest she’d ever been.
At long last, they reached the beautiful castle, and the fantasy for Moira was ended. In a flash, there was Nicolette and the mercenary’s newborn son. Of course! It all made sense! After meeting the mysterious beauty—the mother of Ravan’s child—Moira knew exactly why Ravan had been driven as one gone mad to return to the realm. They were meant to be together; it was destiny as purely raw and divine as it ever could be. Only, Ravan didn’t know that Nicolette had killed the dreadful Adorno. He thought he was riding to his death when instead he was riding into the welcome arms of a new and wondrous life!
Moira’s heart was immediately broken, but she could not have been happier for him.
This prompted a small smile from her, for she sincerely rejoiced in the reunion of these star-crossed lovers. How glorious it had been! And it’d opened up a new life for her as well. She was grateful for this, and it was what she thought about as she swirled the baby’s soiled linens in the wash tub, watching as the herb infused soap bubbles gathered obediently in lacy ribbons on the edge of the basin.
She heard Nicolette’s voice again, a soft conversation, and kept at her wash, leaving her Lady to her private moment with her infant son. Moira had come to recognize some time before that Nicolette seemed to prefer to remain undisturbed unless absolutely necessary, and so she continued quietly with her task—laundering the infant’s garments, believing that her mistress was perhaps retiring for a midday rest.
To her surprise, she now heard two voices—those of Nicolette and a deeper, agreeable male voice. She blushed. Of course, it must be Ravan. Standing, she at once meant to make herself known, but when she was about to step into their bedroom chambers, she caught a glimpse of the two of them just inside the balcony, facing outside, pondering the dry day.
Moira was uncertain what made her pause, but she did, unable to draw her eyes from the pair. It was a strange phenomenon, and it wasn’t just Moira who was affected by it. Most had difficulty pulling their stares from Ravan and Nicolette. There was just something so captivating about them, especially when they were together.
Instead of closing the chamber-bathroom doors, Moira did something very unprincipled. She peered from behind the heavy curtain and spied at the couple standing on the far side of the bedroom.
Nicolette was speaking softly, her hands clasped loosely behind her back, facing her balcony and the parched realm beyond. She was stunning in the red brocade dress Ravan had commissioned to be made just for her. He was, as he always was, in his battle leathers and appeared mildly distressed. Gesturing with one hand out the balcony to the sky, his tone wasn’t angry, more concerned as he articulated his frustration, obviously concerned with the continued dry spell.
A gentle laugh escaped Nicolette’s lips, and she motioned with one hand almost as though the drought should somehow be of no concern to them. Looking beyond, her other hand went up to brush the cheek of the man standing next to her.
Ravan’s response was immediate. Obviously distracted from those things that might have troubled him a moment before, he turned, reached an arm about her waist, and drew her near. His head dropped so that his lips touched the white of Nicolette’s throat, and he moved into her, running the kiss down her neck to the back of her shoulder.
Moira could not stop herself from watching, most significantly because the clear, blue day beyond was immediately clouding over. The lovers’ passion grew, right on the step of the balcony as Nicolette returned the kiss. Ravan pulled her more into himself, a gesture so sincere that Moira believed the two would truly become one.
Outside there fell the first flakes of snow. Snow…in June! Beyond the small storm was sunshine in the distance, but the clouds were expanding very quickly, and soon what was left of the blue sky would be entirely gone.
Moira blinked as the snow swirled delicately, becoming slower and heavier, gradually turning to rain. And with that, the drought was lifted. Ravan, as though entirely oblivious of the brewing storm, focused entirely on Nicolette. He guided her, and the lovers made their way to the bed. Moira silently retreated farther within the washroom, drawing the door partially closed behind her as she did.
She sat unmoving, her singular eye pinched shut as she heard the lovers just beyond the door. With scarcely a sound, she listened, drawn into the beautiful carnality of it, herself filled with the sensuality of the moment. When the lovers were finally still, and all was quiet, Moira left what remained of the laundry, escaping through the servant’s door at the back of the washroom.
* * *
“I wish you to bring to me nine things.” Nicolette’s request slammed Moira back to the present. “I have need of them, and you might gather them more easily than could I, with discretion.” Nicolette rose abruptly from the bench. “And have Moulin help you.”
The words drew Moira from her happy memory to the stark present, and she was surprised for her lapse.
“Anything, my Lady. Whatever you need, I would do it for you…and Risen.”
Nicolette listed the items, and Moira’s eye widened.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
†
“Who are they?” Sylvie asked softly, meaning who’d attacked the realm.
Her question surprised Risen. They’d been quiet for some time, and he was wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’re French. Father is on good terms with the King, and he says the neighboring realms are stable.”
“Are they English, the war perhaps?”
Shrugging, Risen replied, “I’m not sure. I don’t think so. They don’t wear a coat of arms, which is unusual.” He wondered if he should say anything else, if it would be too raw, but she seemed to expect more. “They almost appear to be rogue. But, it makes no sense.”
This was foremost on his mind as they wound their way through the woods. Why had they been attacked? And by whom? Who’d have such a grudge against his father to wage battle against the Ravan Dynasty? Risen couldn’t know that he would have the answer to these questions sooner than he thought.
He heard horses long before seeing them. This surprised him, for it made no sense that the enemy might be coming back for them. But there was no mistaking it. The sounds were coming from the north, from deeper in the forest, not from the direction of the castle. At least this was what he reasoned from the direction he believed they were traveling.
“This way,” he said urgently, quietly. “We must turn south, try to get to the edge of the forest before they catch us.”
At first he tried to convince himself that the enemy was lost, that they were simply altering their own course because they were being chased by his father’s troops. Yes, that must be it, and any moment now, Father would catch up with them—save them from this awful day. Then he would take Sylvie to the castle to live with them now that her family was…gone.
True, Risen believed himself a warrior already, but his good conscience also told him that they were only children in the eyes of others, especially enemy soldiers. As precious minutes passed and his father was nowhere to be seen, he wondered again, What do these men stand to gain by wasting time and risking being discovered just to sport with the lives of two urchins? Surely they could not know that he was the son of Ravan—Lord of the Dynasty? Risen hadn’t worn his robes to indicate such a thing. He’d simply dressed warmly and in his common clothes when he’d gone to see the colt this morning. That was a good fortune, he believed, for he would blend in and be ignored on his secret quest to save Sylvie and her family.
Just like that, as though someone had clubbed him with a rock, he was reminded of what happened this morning. It struck bitterly at his resolve, for he believed he’d failed her family. Illogically, he thought he could have done more to save them, to rescue them from their awful fates.
This haunted Risen as he ran, his impotence in all of it. Never, in all the trials his father had put him through, had he failed, at least not to the point that he couldn’t recover and try again until he could succeed. But there was no try again this morning. Murder and death could not be reversed. Of this he was painfully aware.
It was much too dreadful to think of Tobias. It made his breath short and his eyes blurry to consider his best friend and the terrible pyre that must have taken him. And Sylvie! How horrible must it be for her?
He felt her small hand in his, shook his head. It was just too much, and it was also terribly distracting. No, he must not allow these thoughts to draw him away from the obstacles they faced.
Distraction can get you killed, he remembered his father teaching him. Distraction can be a greater enemy than a blade, he’d cautioned.
Risen never really understood, had only nodded obediently. He so wanted his father to think he comprehended all the lessons he meant to share. Some of them, however, just seemed so ambiguous.
His father had taken his chin harshly, forced him to look him in the eye. “Risen, this is important. Do not lie to me. Do you understand?”
He lied. “Of course, Father. I understand.” It hurt his feelings that he’d been so urgent, and what did it matter anyway?
But, he’d not understood—had been incapable…until today. Suddenly it was all clear, in all its awful truth. He was running for his life, and all he could see were the faces of those fallen and left behind. Shame washed over him. Father had only meant to give him strength, to save him.
Focusing, he forced the images of Herluin’s body and Sylvie’s charred home from his mind. He was his father’s son and would do as he’d been taught, as Father would wish him to do! This, he knew he must, or he and Sylvie could die.
Concentrating, he tried to conjure up the deep, throaty voice of his father—so strong and certain—in his mind. He tried to recount the harrowing moments when he believed nothing could possibly defeat him as long as Father was there with him. Risen believed Ravan could defeat the rising sun if he meant to, and so had all the men who stood with him, at the ready each day.
Now he understood, realized why these men attached themselves to Ravan, why they were so loyal, why they would fight for him until they could fight no more. It was because of the man Ravan was.
Risen held a new and profound respect for his father. Thank you, he thought to himself as tears threatened. These only made him feel weaker, and he swiped at them with the cuff of his jacket. He believed himself inadequate compared to who his father would have him be, falling so short of the mark. I tried, I really meant to save them, he swallowed heavily in his silent dialogue with himself and tried to focus. It is what Ravan would say to do. It is what Ravan would want of him.
Her soft voice interrupted him at a terribly weak moment. “Risen, I’m sorry I’ve put you in harm’s way,” she said so sincerely.
“Don’t say that!” He was embarrassed and too cross with her. Then he regretted his words, especially when she became quiet again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so short. But you don’t ever have to apologize…for anything.”
At that moment, he vowed that he would not be caught by surprise again, that he would, if he ever saw his father again, do exactly as he was instructed, pay better attention. He was, at that moment, determined to be his father.
Staying calm as he could, he ran through his head things Ravan had insisted he learn—tracking, hunting, surviving. And survival deemed that he must force any unproductive thoughts from his mind. It only served him and Sylvie to concentrate on their current state of affairs, to calculate their every move.
Sylvie was smaller, even though she was nearly a year older, and she clutched her kirtle in one hand so that she might not stumble as they ran. Risen glanced back at her and briefly wondered if she wished for trousers to run in. It almost brought a smile to his face.
They’d played that once, at her insistence. Tobias and Risen argued against it, but in the end they caved for, weak as she was, there were ways that he believed Sylvie was the strongest of them all. Giving Sylvie a set of his own worn play clothes, he’d risked their friendship and happiness, should they be discovered by someone. It was simply not allowed.
But they weren’t discovered, and Sylvie changed into Risen’s clothes behind a tree. It did something odd, something very visceral to him when he spied a flash of her pale arm as she changed, knew that she was in only her undergarments behind the sheltering tree. That altered things for him, set something in perfect motion in a very profound way. Then, when she stepped from behind the trees, he was changed forever. Never had he seen anything more beautiful in all his life.
Thick blond hair cascaded freely, escaping where it could to frame her face in a simply perfect way. Her eyes, so pale and lovely, were enormous and shined with excitement at what she was doing. She clasped her hands together in front of herself and shook them up and down in delight.
“Look! I’m a boy!” she squealed, an enormous grin crossing her features.
Risen knew at that moment, beyond anything, that he was in
love.
That day had been splendid. They galloped about in the forest, slaying imaginary evil and leading armies into battle, Sylvie in Risen’s clothing. She insisted that she was the king, King Sylvester, and commanded her charges brilliantly.
The entire day, Risen could scarcely take his eyes from her. At one point, he was the villain and was perfectly undone by her and Tobias. Flat on his back on the forest floor, he conceded defeat, Tobias sword at his throat as he lay supine.
Approached by the king, Tobias asked, “Shall I behead him for you, my liege?”
Sylvie took the sword from her brother, held it at Risen’s throat for what seemed an eternity, their eyes locked in something he was unable to define and dreaded would end.
It took Tobias clearing his throat before she said, “No, I will spare his heart today,” her eyes never leaving Risen’s
“Oh, come on!” Tobias complained. “Where is the fun in that? Let’s kill him!”
Sylvie held Risen’s gaze, a smile playing on her lips. “No, he is mine to do with as I wish. He will live.”
Risen believed it was a sign, something she was meaning to say only to him. He thought his life perfect, a dream, one from which he hoped to never awaken. When their adventures were done that day, and she changed back into her own clothes, she hugged him. He endured it stiff-armed, unable to hug her back, terrified she would sense, feel, what was happening to him. From that second forth, she was all he could think of.
But today was not that day. There was no beautiful, sunny moment with Sylvie’s blade to his neck, no deep stirring in his soul.
The children ran for only a short distance more before it became fast evident that with Sylvie at his side Risen would never outrun the men. He knew he might escape if he were alone—it couldn’t be too much farther to the castle if he ran on without her—but leaving her behind was simply not an acceptable option. He’d saved her at the farm, and he could not grapple with the idea that it might be reasonable to abandon her, run to get his father, and then chase back after her. To him, this was not even a remotely passable idea.