Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
“You are welcome, Princess,” he said, offering a single nod.
“It is my favored gift…of all the gifts I have ever received,” Monet said. As she moved past him, she added, “Save one.”
Monet smiled—for she thought she sensed a blush rose to his cheeks at her implication that his kiss was her true favored gift.
The Minstrel’s Message
Monet feared Broderick would withdraw—that he would now find necessity in keeping from her company. All through the long dark of night following their shared moments of passionate bliss, she had lain awake in worry over it. He already labored sore for all the hours of the sun. Though she thought he could not labor worse, she worried he would endeavor to do so—that he might avoid her company. Further, she feared he would find reason to be angry with her for being the cause of their exile—of his imprisonment in Ballain.
As she lay awake, gazing into the dark nothing of the cottage at night, she thought she could not endure were he to withdraw from her company. Were Broderick to cease in joining in conversation with her, cease in his playful teasing, cease to be the best of company she could imagine, then she could not endure. She thought of the other knights of Karvana—considered each great man at her father’s table round of conferring. Monet knew she could not have lived so content in exile had any other knight been given the charge to protect the heart of the kingdom. She knew her father knew it.
All manner of doubt, uncertainty, worry, and fear began to plague Monet’s mind there in the cold dark of night. Would King Rudolph join King James to fight against Karvana? Was her father yet safe? Were the novice knight Sir Eann Beacher and his squire, Richard Tailor, yet well and fighting with the legions battling to the north? Did Sir Alum Willham yet survive? Were many men killed? Would Bronson the blacksmith keep his secret of being one of the banished Knights Exemplar? Would Sarah see her sons well married to sweet wives? Would Stroud win the heart of the miller’s daughter? Would the village’s new babe, Dacian, be strong and healthy through winter?
For hours did Monet worry and weep, for it was the way of night’s darkness—to bring doubt and worry through weary minds and frightened hearts. Still, somehow—in some moment before sunrise—Monet did find sleep. When she at last awoke, it was near midmorning. She rose, and from the window she could see Broderick with the horses—with Tripp—currying the favored animal and speaking low to it as he did so.
She would not call to him through the window. She would not go out and intrude upon his solitude. Yet as she studied him, watching the manner in which he pampered the animal, her thoughts were whisked back to the night before—to Broderick’s gift of a warming pan—and to his kiss! As gooseflesh blanketed her limbs, as her heart swelled with the overwhelming love it hid for the Crimson Knight, she turned from the window. She could not allow her thoughts to linger on love, hope, or passion. She was a princess in exile—a princess whose kingdom was threatened—and she must remember it. Though she wished with all her heart she could be simply the wife of the horseman of Ballain, she knew she could not. It was not her lot in life to know the contentment borne of owning the true desire of one’s heart, and she must renew her acceptance of the truth.
“Sarah!” she breathed aloud. A visit with Sarah would divert her frightened and hopeless thoughts.
Quickly Monet dressed and prepared a simple breakfast. She did not even pause to eat at the table—simply placed a piece of linen over a plate she had prepared for Broderick, took two bites of ham for herself, and left the cottage.
As she neared the center of the village, she was curious, for there seemed to be far more people astir than was common. Monet smiled as she walked, delighted at seeing several of the miller’s daughters placing garlands of holly and pine boughs about the shutters of the mill.
“Hello, Prissy!” one of the girls called. It was Merry, Miller Aldrich’s daughter whom Stroud fancied.
“Hello, Merry!” Monet called in return. “Are you girls adorning the mill for winter celebrations already?”
Merry smiled. “Today is the birthday of Princess Monet…of the Scarlet Princess of Karvana! Did you not know?”
Monet forced a smile. “Of course! Of course! I had quite forgotten it was come upon us so soon.”
“You and your Broderick must come for the fire tonight,” Merry said. “There will be singing and dancing and pastry aplenty!”
“We will most assuredly be there,” Prissy said. She waved at the girls, who smiled and waved in return. She wondered what it would be like—to be able to join the revelry of a birthday celebration in honor of Karvana’s princess without having to smile for near the whole of the day, all the while having to express gratitude for a hundred different gifts given of obligation.
The thought of gifts led Monet’s mind to the brass warming pan Broderick had gifted her the night before—of the intimate kisses they had shared. Whether for the cold of midautumn or the delight at the memory, Monet’s arms prickled with gooseflesh, and she hastened toward the cottage of Bronson and Sarah.
“We are baking pies for the celebration this evening!” Sarah exclaimed as Monet passed the threshold into the cottage. “All manner of pies…any we can concoct.”
Monet giggled at the expressions of pure loathing and humiliation blazoned on the faces of Carver and Dane. No doubt they were in deep wishing they were not the youngest of the blacksmith’s sons, for then they could be out sparring or splitting wood—instead of baking pies with their mother.
“And it seems you are having a marvelous time of it,” Monet said.
“Indeed,” Sarah giggled. She bent then, placing a tender, motherly kiss on one cheek of each unhappy boy. “However, if you are willing, Prissy, perhaps you could help me for a time…and Carver and Dane could away to the forge to check on their father for me.”
Instantly the boys’ faces brightened.
“Truly, Mother?” Dane asked.
Sarah nodded. “Yes. Off with you both. I too am a bit weary of baking.”
Monet laughed as she watched the boys race from the cottage, as if the Reaper himself were at their heels.
“What a cruel mother you are, Sarah,” Monet began, still smiling, “forcing them into baking pies.”
“It is true,” Sarah said, embracing Monet in a warm greeting. “I have learned well the art of torture.” She brushed flour from her apron and asked, “And are you enjoying your birthday, Miss Prissy?”
Monet shrugged. “I did not know the outer villages celebrated my birthday. I thought only Karvana made such a commotion.”
“Oh, no!” Sarah exclaimed. “It is a reason for frolic…and we commoners love to frolic. It keeps our spirits high, particularly in the colder seasons when oft life does not hold as much natural cheerful merriment.” Monet watched as Sarah went to a small wall cupboard nearby and retrieved something from within.
“I have a gift for you,” she said.
“Oh, no,” Monet whispered, shaking her head. “Please do not tell me you—”
“It is only a small token, kitten,” Sarah said, offering a lovely linen kerchief to Monet.
Monet smiled, delighted by the lovely stitching upon it. Tiny scarlet flowers adorned one corner of the kerchief; a white vine of leaves trailed along its outer hems.
“Oh, Sarah!” Monet exclaimed in a whisper. “How lovely! It is purely wonderful! Thank you!” Throwing grateful arms about Sarah, Monet embraced her hard.
“Oh, it is not such much,” Sarah said, returning Monet’s embrace. “Only a small token of my affection for you.”
Releasing Sarah, Monet studied the kerchief once more. “How lovely it is!” she whispered.
“You are easily pleased…in particular for a princess,” Sarah said, smiling.
“It is such a lovely gift, Sarah,” Monet said. “Anyone would be pleased to own something so beautiful…honored that you would take such care in stitching it.” Monet tucked the kerchief into the front of her bodice that it may be protected. “I shall treasure it always.”
“I wonder what Broderick will gift you as his gift,” Sarah said.
Monet giggled. “Oh, do not play at being innocent, Sarah. You well know what Broderick sent Stroud to Ballist to obtain.”
Sarah nodded. “Of course! But how came you by the knowledge?”
“He presented it to me last night, and I admit to being entirely delighted in his thoughtfulness!”
“It was thoughtful. I thought as much,” Sarah said. “It is ever he has worried over your being cold. Naturally, Bronson suggested that Broderick warm your bed himself…but your Crimson Knight is chivalrous to an end.”
“He would not fail my father in his charge…not for all the world,” Monet sighed.
“He would not fail
you
, kitten,” Sarah said.
Monet forced a smile. “The miller’s daughters were hanging garland without the mill,” she said. She did not wish to linger on speaking of Broderick and his charge to protect her. It was her first reason for seeking Sarah’s company—for means of distraction.
Sarah smiled, full understanding. “They are very merry in nature, Aldrich and his wife…and their daughters,” Sarah said. “If Stroud wins young Merry’s heart, he will know a delight in life with her.”
“How many pies do you yet plan to bake?”
“In the least four,” Sarah said.
Monet smiled. She would help Sarah with her pies. It would keep her thoughts from Broderick—from craving his company as the bee craved honey.
By midday, Sarah’s pies were finished and cooling at the table. Sarah had explained that the villagers would soon cease their labors. They would not work the full length of the sun’s rule of the sky—for this was a day of celebration! Sarah told Monet that all the villagers would soon meet in the square, gather around a large fire, and dance and sing and make merry late into the night.
“But why is it cause for such celebration?” Monet asked as she sat across the table from Sarah. “My birthday is of no greater meaning than anyone else’s.”
“Your birth gives the kingdom its future,” Sarah said. “A royal family without heir lends itself to causing unrest. Subjects do not feel safe in what is to come…for they do not know what is to come. Yet Karvana has a princess—a good, kind, and loving princess—and all Karvana’s people know that their happy life will go on in you.”
Monet shook her head. “How can they be so certain? With King James threatening the kingdom so…how can the people yet make merry? What if my father is killed and James takes Karvana’s throne?”
Sarah shook her head. “The people believe their king to be infallible…near omnipotent. We know King Dacian cares for us—that he, more than any other king perhaps, will fight for Karvana’s people…even more desperately than he fights for her lands. Thus, we make merry for the fact his daughter
is
his daughter…that she loves her people as her father does. The Scarlet Princess will one day reign as queen of Karvana. Her birth should be celebrated.” Sarah smiled, “Furthermore, it is reason to cease in labor—to eat, laugh, and dance! In all of it, what better reason would you ask?”
“I love to laugh and dance,” Monet admitted with a sigh. “And to eat as well!”
“Exactly!” Sarah giggled.
Both women startled to gasping as the cottage door burst open, revealing an angry Crimson Knight.
“Broderick!” Monet exclaimed. He stood before her, eyes smoldering with fury, broad chest rising and falling with labored breathing. “What is it?”
Bronson appeared then, stepping into the cottage as well. “I told you she would be with Sarah, Broderick,” Bronson said. He chuckled, patted his friend on one shoulder, and said, “She is well and safe…as I told you she would be.”
Monet gasped, of a sudden washed with understanding. She had lingered too long with Sarah—had forgotten Broderick’s midday meal.
“Oh! I am sorry, Broderick,” she said. “Forgive me. I did not think of the time and—”
“You are ever at the cottage at midday,” he growled. “When I returned to find you were not there, I thought…I thought…”
“He thought you had been found out and taken,” Bronson finished. “I assured him you were here, but he would not believe me and insisted upon searching for you. You are a naughty girl, Prissy. You have worried your husband most exceeding today.”
“I-I am sorry, Broderick,” Monet said. “I did not think…”
She fell silent as Broderick simply reached forth, taking hold of her hand, thus coaxing her to rise from her seat at the table.
“I am sorry, Sarah,” Broderick said. He ran strong fingers through his raven hair, attempting to soothe his temper. “When I did not find her at the cottage…it is the celebration in the village. It somewhat unsettles me. I saw several strangers arrive with carts this morning, and I…I…”
“Jugglers, traveling merchants, and musicians come to Ballain for the celebration, no doubt,” Bronson explained.
“Yet they are not known to us…and I must be wary for Monet,” Broderick said.
Monet felt warmth bathing her, for he had named her Monet—even before Sarah and Bronson.
“And you are right to be wary,” Bronson said. “The celebration of the birth of the Scarlet Princess will begin soon. You must attend, lest the villagers know suspicion. Yet you must be careful, lest the travelers are not all what they seem.”
Of a sudden, Monet’s joy was lessened. Broderick yet held her hand; he had been worried for her, and in this knowledge she knew delight. Yet strangers had come to Ballain, and Broderick was vast unsettled. This knowledge did not delight her. It frightened her, and she moved nearer to the Crimson Knight—felt her hand clasp his more firmly.