Chapter 14 #3
Cheers surrounded them. Mellyora drank her wine, and accepted good wishes from more and more of the king’s guests, friends, acquaintances, and those she hadn’t known before.
At one point in the evening, she felt an uncanny sensation of unease, and she turned to see that she was being watched.
Sarah stared at her. She didn’t turn away when caught, but gave her a slow smile that was in some strange way a threat.
Mellyora turned away from her, laughing at something a young knight said.
In time she wound up seated at the banqueting table with her husband.
Still, there was so much activity around them, they were not forced to talk.
The king had ordered entertainment: jesters, dancers, magicians, jugglers.
The hour grew late. Lady Rutherford sat with her husband, face flushed from wine, cap askew.
Sarah sat next to a drunk knight, teasing him, laughing with him, goading him, Mellyora thought.
She was right. Sarah smiled at her, then whispered to the knight.
The young man rose suddenly, stood, and shouted cheerfully, “To bed, Laird Lion! You’ve taken the bride purported to be the fairest in the land, sir! Shall we see to it?”
Mellyora had known Sarah was determined on her discomfort.
There was a vicious streak in the young woman.
She felt her cheeks flood with crimson, and she prayed that Waryk would remember his promise and do something quickly.
If the crowd got too wild, there would be little anyone could do.
She and Waryk would both be seized and stripped and thrown together, and it would be horrible.
She didn’t dare look his way, but she felt him rise beside her, lifting a chalice to the young man. “Why, sir, so the hour is late! So if you’ll give us a moment …”
He had reached out a hand to her. Mellyora took it, and he drew her to her feet. He led her from the table, taking all the time in the world, stopping here and there to speak quickly and casually with one person, and then the next.
“What are we doing?” she whispered.
“Running,” he told her.
They came to the far end of the banqueting table, and he whistled.
His great warhorse Mercury made a splendid entrance upon the scene, loping across the courtyard, attracting everyone’s attention, and coming to an obedient halt directly before his master.
Waryk lifted her and threw her atop the horse, and hopped up behind her.
“They’re getting away!” someone shouted.
“Catch them!” someone else cried good-naturedly.
“Get them, come, the fun is just beginning!”
But they would not be caught. No one else was mounted; the horses were in the stables. And Mercury was as swift as his name. They rode through the gates, and out into the night, and hard along the northern trail that led to the forest.
Waryk had kept his word, and they were gone from the castle.
She closed her eyes and felt the wind, and, relieved of much tension, she rested against his chest. Then she felt his heartbeat, the power of his every movement.
She had been so desperate to escape the fortress that she had thought about little else; she certainly hadn’t thought ahead about the night.
Now suddenly, the cottage deep in the forest seemed too close. They were moving far too fast, galloping toward the inevitable.
They rode hard for the first twenty minutes; then, mindful of his horse, Waryk slowed their gait.
When they came to a stream, and he allowed the horse to drink, Mellyora asked for water.
He lifted her, and let her slip down to the ground.
She rushed to the water. It was icy, sweet.
It cooled the fever that burned within her.
She drank deeply, bathed her face, drank some more.
She cooled her face and throat again, bound her hair slowly to keep it from getting soaked, and started the ritual all over again, tarrying long and deliberately.
He was tolerant for a while, then spoke impatiently. “We need to move on.”
“The water is delicious. The moon is full here. We’ve the night to ride.”
“Now, Mellyora.”
She didn’t want him coming for her, so she rose reluctantly.
She didn’t look at him as she returned to Mercury.
He reached down for her, easily hoisting her back upon the horse before him.
The moonlight was very strong, guiding them in a slow lope toward the cottage in the woods.
It seemed that they reached it in no time. It should have been much farther.
Waryk leapt down and reached up to set her on the ground.
She felt him behind her, his whisper husky and warm against her ear.
“We’re here, my love. Time for debts to be paid and bargains to be fulfilled!”
She longed to break free from him; she didn’t need to do so.
He stepped back, tending to Mercury.
And she stood in the clearing in the forest, staring at the cottage with dismay. Nothing had been a dream; no sweet warmth of wine or candle glow could now keep the edge from the truth.
She had married him; they were man and wife.
Everything in life indeed had its price.