Loyal and Free - Chapter 6

Chapter 6





Alfreda knocked cautiously on the heavy door, her sharp ears listening intently for a noise from her mistress within. When no such sound came, the maid slowly pushed the door inwards, the well-oiled hinges making not a noise. The thick black curtains had been closed and Charmia sat beside the unlit fire, her thin arms wrapped around her naked legs as she rocked back and forth. The beautiful gown that she had worn for her stroll with Princess Edlyn was strewn across the cold floor, the undergarments ripped in half beside them. The maid quickly closed the door as she heard laughter approaching down the corridor before rushing to light the fire in the freezing room.

“My lady, are you well?”

The girl turned her pale face to her loyal servant. Her blue eyes stared blankly in Alfreda’s direction as her full lips quivered.

“He knows.” Alfreda knelt beside her mistress, throwing Carter’s fur coat gently onto her naked back. “He knows, Alfreda. He knows.”

The Basmarian girl shook her head. “Who knows what, my lady?”

“Burne. Burne knows.” Charmia’s white teeth bit into her wobbling bottom lip as she wiped her arm over the crystal drops that fought their way from her icy eyes. “Burne knows about Cuthbert and I.”

“My lady,” the maid exclaimed, “I knew that you and Sir Cuthbert had a connection, but I had no inkling that it went further than thought!”

Charmia tried to laugh and laid her shaking hand in Alfreda’s.

“My dearest friend, you would be the first to know if I had ever been unfaithful to my husbands, and I should hope that you would have the decency to make sure that it was kept discreet.” She sighed, closing her frail eyelids. “No, Alfreda. There is nothing between Cuthbert and I in that sense.”

“Then, my lady, I don’t understand.”

“You know the tale of the Battle of Marbank, do you not?”

“Of course, my lady; it is such a significant part of recent Rasoulian history. I believe that you would have to live under a rock not to have heard the stories.”

“Yes, the stories fed to the public by King Burne. Let me tell you another version, one that you could be executed for for even thinking about.” She stared ahead as Alfreda gently rubbed her ebony hand over her mistress’s. “Queen Belladonna was pregnant when the third and final day of the battle began. Lord Dunn, King Daryl’s closest friend and confidant, had been given orders by His Grace that, if he were to lose, Lord Dunn would see that Queen Belladonna reached Bynflyd where her brother, King Silus, would protect her and her unborn child. When Her Grace and Lord Dunn were not amongst the captives or the dead, Burne knew that they would head south to her homeland and so he created blockades. Instead, Lord Dunn led Her Grace north. They were dressed as peasants, with her beautiful red curls chopped away. She died giving birth to a son and a daughter in an old woodcutter’s cottage just outside Griffold. The girl was given to Lady Clarice, the sister to Lord Amon of Ladymede, whose own baby girl was stillborn. Lord Dunn gave the boy to his own wife, who had given birth to her own son not a month before.” She closed her eyes once more and rubbed her pulsating temples with her fingertips. “Garret has kept his word to my father and is massing an army as we speak, but what good will his efforts be if Burne knows?”

The pair sat in silence for a long while as the logs cackled behind them. The afternoon sun began to sank outside and the cold air grew chillier still.

“My lady, did His Majesty say that he knew Cuthbert’s secret or just your own?” Charmia stared blankly at her maid, the fear slowing her mind. “All of the stories that I have heard, the rumours saying that the queen is alive and has a child that will take back the throne, they only mention one child. Does the king know about you both?”

A smile crept across Charmia’s pale face, her cheeks beginning to return to a healthy glow.

“Alfreda, I cannot explain to you how grateful I am for your company.”

The maid blushed. Charmia leapt to her feet, holding Carter’s fur close to her bare shoulders. She bounded to the parchment and pen on her mahogany bureau, scribbling away quickly before pulling a stick of blue wax from the top draw. She pressed the silver ring embossed with a peacock’s head into the boil wax, counting slowly to three before stepping back and handing the letter to her maid.

“Find someone that we can trust and see that this gets to Cuthbert or Carter. They need to know that the king knows my secret. Quickly, Alfreda.”

Alfreda curtsied and left quickly, her beady eyes more conscious of her surroundings than ever.

Charmia was once more left alone in the darkness of her chamber. She reluctantly removed Carter’s cloak so that she could pull on her cream nightgown, but the fur was returned to its home on her shoulders immediately. She began to pace back and forth, her fears once more becoming evident on her face now that her maid had gone. The lady refused to eat the food that her maid offered when she returned, but insisted on walking back and forth along the creaking floor boards. Lords and ladies made their way toward the great hall along the corridor outside, their laughter penetrating through the heavy door but their joyful countenances unable to cheer the preoccupied lady.

A hard knock from a heavily jewelled hand echoed through the door into the silent room. Alfreda snuck out whilst her lady continued to pace, muttering inaudibly.

Prince Dudley stood arrogantly before the bolted door. His face fell when he realised that it was the maid and not the lady that stood before him, but he cleared his throat and spoke loudly.

“Tell Lady Charmia that I am here to escort her to the feast.”

“Forgive my impertinence, Your Highness,” Alfreda whispered, remaining in the position of her low curtsy, her strong abdominal muscles tensing beneath the many layers of her poor russet gown, “but my lady is unwell and is unable to attend the feast tonight.”

The prince barked a laugh, a smirk placed firmly on the right-hand corner of her thin lips. He was well versed in the many coy methods of the young ladies at court whom wished to start the chase. And he had had enough practice to be confident that he would, as always, get win the game of charms.

“Your mistress is perfectly well and I shall not be kept waiting. Go, fetch her.”

Alfreda made to protest but Charmia appeared in the doorway, causing both her maid, the unwanted prince and his two armour-clad guards to stare in disbelief. The white cap that covered her thin crop of ginger hair was skewwhiff, although still hiding the unique colouring from the prince’s prying eyes. The smooth skin of her face was bare of the make-up that made it appear darker and grey rings underlined her bloodshot eyes. Her lips quivered and her hands shook but she just managed to maintain her balance as she bowed to her princely cousin.

“I hope that you shall accept my sincerest apologies, Your Highness, but I am not quite myself this evening. I pray that you shall enjoy the night’s festivities enough for the both of us, my lord.” She curtsied and once more disappeared behind the heavy door, Alfreda scuttling back into the chamber behind her mistress.

Dudley, having dressed brilliantly in gold, black and crimson brocade, turned toward the marble stairwell, storming off with a face of thunder, his guards rushing to keep up. He returned once more after the feast had ended, only to be told once more that Charmia was unable to see him. The following few days passed in much the same way. He would have a single burgundy rose cut from the garden and would wait outside Lady Charmia’s bolted door, only to be sent away by the dutiful maid.

Charmia ate nothing and hardly slept. She spent the days and nights locked away, pacing back and forth and muttering, or rocking whilst hugging her knees beside the warm fire, and a very few brief moments huddled beneath the furs, sleeping but hardly resting. Alfreda spent the hours fretting in her rocking chair beside the door. They were visited many times by the prince, princess and Milda, all curious about the state of Charmia’s health, all being sent away with no answer from the mad lady.

“My lady, please, you must eat.” Alfreda finally whimpered after five days in the same room with not a single word of sense escaping from her mistress’s lip. “Please, my lady, I beg you.”

Charmia halted her long strides and stared at her loyal maid. Alfreda’s dark cheeks were streaked with fresh tears. Her striking face had lost its usual gleam and her eyelids began to grow weary after so long without a decent sleep.

A hard knock came through the thick door moments before a pair of hooded figures burst through the door, closing it softly behind them.

Carter threw back his black hood and ran to embrace Charmia. Her knees buckled beneath her, but his strong arms kept her upright as her hands held him tightly to her. Alfreda and Julius pretended not to watch from the shadows beside the door.

“I’m sorry, Charm; I should have come sooner.”

“Don’t worry; I’m fine,” the lady muttered into Carter’s shoulder.

“Bert and I got caught up in a few riots. Nothing serious yet, but we have to be careful. Burne will be quivering in his breeches soon.”

“Cuthbert?”

Carter smiled, holder her chin gently with a black gloved hand as he looked into her frightened eyes. “He’s perfectly safe. He and a few of our best mercenaries are waiting with him in the trees just outside the city wall. Julius and I shall meet you and your maid in the gardens with two horses. Go through the library; everyone is at the feast so it is the safest way. It’s cold out and we will be riding fast to meet my father and the men that he’s gathered.”

The young knight turned to leave, pulling the dark hood over his thick golden hair once more.

“Carter.” He turned at Charmia’s soft voice. “Don’t leave me.”

He knelt before her, taking her shaking hand in both of his and gently kissing her soft palm before folding her fingers firmly over the spot. “My sword is my courage, my lady.”

Charmia watched him leave with his faithful squire, a shy smile playing on her lips.

Alfreda pulled three beautiful gowns from the wardrobe, each of fine blue silk and satin. They were the most expensive of Charmia’s gowns, with seed-pearls and sapphires and diamonds sewn into the spiralling silver patterns.

“My lady,” the maid said, pulling the first dress over her mistress’s ginger head, “what did Sir Carter say?”

“It was the vow that the bodyguard made to the ancient kings of Scorpia when they became his sworn sword. Legend says that Carter’s ancestors came from the hidden island just before flood. Few people speak the language now.”

“But what did it mean, my lady?”

“My sword is my courage.”

Alfreda pulled the corset tight and lifted another dress over her mistress’s head, then the third before laying the thick fur cloak over the lady’s shoulders. She herself pulled on three extra dresses and a cloak whilst Charmia arranged a blonde wig over the soft copper stubble of her hair.

The corridor and stairwell lay deserted before the two women, with every lady and lord enjoying the feast in the great hall. They hurried over the stone floors, down empty corridor after empty corridor until finally they came to the close doors of the library. It was a room that Charmia had only briefly been shown by Princess Edlyn on the first morning, but now, as the small doors opened at her light touch, she was awed by the vast number of manuscripts and scrolls that lined seven of the octagonal walls. The vaulted ceiling loomed high above them, the shelves covering every inch of the walls. Small stone cherubs, dressed in garments of solid gold, were sculpted into the walls held lanterns to light the giant room.

“Lady Charmia.”

The girl’s heart stopped in her chest as she turned slowly to find Dudley, his fine black shirt untucked and his hair tousled, standing beside the fireplace. A lady of minor nobility whom Charmia had not had the pleasure to meet, lurched for her black and gold dress that lay at their feet.

Charmia kept her blushing face low as she curtsied in Dudley’s direction and made her way to a window seat as Alfreda chose an old leather-bound book from a nearby shelf. They made themselves comfortable and pretended to read as Dudley and his companion slowly dressed, the girl’s giggles sending shivers down Charmia’s spine. She saw three hooded figures with horses in the garden, one of the strangers pacing nervously in the moonlight as one sat atop his horse and the other crouched on the cold winter ground. Quietly, she closed the book and stood, keeping an eye on Dudley as she and her maid made their way to the glass doors that led to the grey stone steps that descended onto the garden.

“Stop!”

At the sound of Dudley’s stern voice from behind her, Charmia bolted into a run toward Carter, Alfreda’s long legs striding to keep up. Dudley ran down the steps behind them, guards streaming out of the library doors. Carter vaulted onto his impatient stallion. The tallest of his companions threw Charmia into the high leather saddle behind Carter before lifting Alfreda into his own saddle and mounting behind her. The small company galloped down the cobbled lane toward the castle gates, armed soldiers gathering in the courtyard.

Burne, his temper up, stormed from the open doors, his personal guard close behind him. He stopped beside his hot-blooded heir. Dudley’s sharp sword was still sheathed.

“I gave you one task, boy,” the king bellowed in the unflinching prince’s ear, “one bloody task, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“Your Grace,” his son said through grinding teeth, his fingers gripping around the golden hilt of his sword, “she caught me off my guard.”

“Precisely why you are a disgrace to my family. My father would turn in his grave if he knew that I had sired an incompetent coward. Dudley tensed, clenching his square jaw and standing tall. Such outbursts between the king and his son were common, but the surrounding soldiers were still unnerved. The king raised his high;y jewelled hand, but stopped moments before the fist reached his son’s handsome face. Instead, the king spat at the child’s feet, his venomous words ringing loud through the frozen air. “Bring her back or send me your head.”

Dudley remained grounded as the drunk king returned to the feast, his guests feigning merriment.