Chapter Four A Positively Medieval Date #2
Meg’s black hair was pulled back in twin braids, and she looked incredibly young in that moment, urgency in her eyes.
She had always seemed more grown-up, secure in her love for Westly, a quiet, confident contrast to some of the more boisterous of the court like Lu.
Since I first met her, Meg had always seemed less like a character and more just a person living her life in Landsome.
I racked my memory of the books for any recollection of a squad going missing. I hated to admit it to myself, but even if they had, it would be incredibly minor to the plot of defeating the Dark Mage Amédée—the hardship of a few soldiers was not something the ghostwriter would have written about.
Oh.
Ohh.
Despite Meg’s concerns, I smiled. I finally realized what was going on. Their plight did make the books.
“Do you remember Lady Issa was taken by the Dark Mage’s apprentice?” It was a dumb question, everyone knew that.
Meg was polite though. She nodded.
“The Dark Mage’s apprentice will go ahead—already has, I guess—anxious to finish her training.
Issa is to be brought behind, a valuable prisoner.
But,” I let a bit of drama creep into my voice, “the group will—already has—become very taken with Issa.” I didn’t think it ladylike to detail how taken they’d be.
Actually, the chapter where Issa basically persuaded the men and women to join the queen’s side via a night of debauchery was one that I wondered if Sherry Whitehorse had drafted before she passed.
It wasn’t the kind of content the ghostwriter was inclined to write, but perhaps the publisher had a few loose scenes from Whitehorse that they insisted be included in the final book of the series.
Salacious or not, Issa was a character worth following and exactly who the readership wanted to see more of. I hoped my work would rectify Issa as more deserving than a single POV scene.
“So, they’re on our side?” Meg’s voice was hopeful.
I nodded. “Our scouts ran into them and now Issa is taking both groups ahead to meet us en route. Westly should be fine scouting ahead. The fighting won’t really start until we get closer to Spectral Peak.
” It had been my goal to cut out much of the campaigning and battle scenes, and that had worked.
The trade-off was it was bottling up all the fighting at the end of book now that the Dark Mage was withdrawing to an island.
I took a breath. I should be on top of all this. If I was going to keep Draw safe and fix the book in the way I knew readers wanted—the way I wanted—I needed to be more organized. My mind had been elsewhere the past few days.
“Is it okay if I tell Westly all this?”
“Of course. Isn’t he the one who told you in the first place?”
Meg shook her head, looking pained. The glowing fire lit her face, her cheeks now dry, but she had gone reserved. “The queen and Ironclaw...they were fighting,” she said quietly, wary of being overheard by others at the fire. “He’s upset she won’t let him lead the new scout group.”
I tensed. How was I supposed to mend the queen and Ironclaw’s relationship when they were fighting all the time?
I turned to look at the flames, the heat hot across my cheeks. Though it always came back to Ironclaw, it wasn’t only about them. Anything that set him off was a danger to Draw.
––––––––
I GOT AS FAR AS TAKING the ink out of my bag the next morning when the horn sounded to break camp. Ugh, I was supposed to wake up early to get organized.
It was no wonder I’d slept in—my arms were sore from training with the blunt-edged, metal sword. At least the ache in my hips was gone. Hopefully my body was finally getting used to sitting in the saddle for most of the day.
I found my mostly dry hunting garb folded and stacked just inside my tent door. Tilly must have dropped them off early, maybe the sound of her footsteps was what woke me up. It was clear the cool of the night hadn’t been great for drying clothes, but at least they didn’t smell anymore.
I fanned the clothes in an attempt to dry them a bit more and decided to brush my hair before dressing.
Sorrel had included a lot of products in my satchel, and my routine was to use the basin of water in my tent to wash my face, then apply moisturizer with sunscreen, lip gloss, and mascara.
I hadn’t yet broken into the lipstick or tinted concealer, but I’d started dabbing the cherry almond perfume on my wrists and behind my ears.
My shirt and pants were still clammy when I finished but my fresh camisole and underwear provided some barrier, and I knew they’d dry quickly with the sun. I packed everything up just as a young woman poked her head in the tent. “Are you ready for us to break tent, Lady Mayfair?”
“Yes, thank you.” I slung my satchel strap over my shoulder and beckoned her in.
There were three girls this time, so I reached into the bag and pulled out three gummy bears.
I’d felt guilty having no way to thank the stewardesses for their work and had landed on a tipping system via candy.
They giggled when I opened my hand and scrambled to grab at the different colors.
“Have a good day, girls.” I ducked out of the tent, happy to see it was the first to be attended in this block.
Draw was waiting out there, Peanut Butter and a black steed already tacked with bridles and saddles.
“Good morning, Lady Dottie.” He usually called me Dottie except in front of the queen. It felt like he was teasing me whenever he called me “Lady.”
“Quite, Lord Draw,” I responded in kind. “Are we heading out now?”
A lightly warm, humid air had built in my tent overnight, and the morning was a stark contrast. It was autumn and my partly damp clothes felt it. Still, the fall air and lighting made me nostalgic for when Fern and I would walk to school as kids.
“I was going to suggest we depart, but I suppose ‘heading out’ has a particular ring.” He held Peanut Butter’s reins while I mounted the wooden stool and slid on.
Peanut Butter must have wanted to preserve my dignity that morning for he held still.
“If we’re the first out, we can ride ahead to a place I know. I’ve packed food.”
That sounded like a picnic.
“Do you think Jerrald will mind us skipping morning training?”
“I’m a lord and the queen’s own solicitor, I outrank him.” Draw’s horse stood obediently while he put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over. “As it stands, I’m a little scared of Sir Jerrald, so we’ll beg his forgiveness at evening drills. After we’ve had our date, of course.”
Draw looked at me expectantly and I had a split moment when I felt it all—I was a woman from Mayfair, USA who was actually living in the Queendom of Landsome, about to go on a date. Draw didn’t feel like a boyfriend though. He was something else altogether.
I squeezed my lower legs and Peanut Butter moved forward. “Then we better go before Jerrald finds us.”
Outside the camp, Draw handed me some dried apple rings to eat while we rode.
He asked about Meg’s tears last night and I told him about Issa successfully bringing the bandits to her side.
That spurred a lot of questions about what was included in the books, and I told him more about my plans—it wasn’t only that I wanted the queen to win by the end of the story.
I admitted that I’d been trying to sway the story away from as many battles as possible.
“When we were at Castle Creneda that first night, I wondered what your motives were,” he said. “Since then, I’ve come to realize how seriously you take your support of the, hmm, female readers—”
I swiped at him from my saddle but didn’t come close to hitting him.
“—but I don’t know if you realize how many lives you’ve saved by directing events as you have.”
Peanut Butter was in a good mood that morning, like me, especially once my clothes dried.
He stopped to chew grass at the side of the road only once, seemingly more compelled to keep up with Draw’s horse than when in the sprawling caravan, it being just the two of them.
The landscape shifted from the valley lands of two days ago to the gradually rising base of the mountains.
We wouldn’t scale them but trek northeast through their foothills toward the coast. Pine forests scattered the broad, rocky hills, and I saw more than one hawk circling high above.
The trail was broad until near midday when Draw turned us off onto a smaller trek.
“How do you know about this place?” I asked.
He was examining a small snatch of map in his hand and spoke slowly, his attention divided. “I came here once as a child. My father did his duty running the estate, making appearances at court, but his real love was ancient ruins. These are called the Ruins of Lissa.”
I’d assumed we were going to picnic on the edge of a beautiful lake, but this was even better—lore not in the books.
“Father would sketch the architecture while I ran with my younger sisters.” Eldest and only brother. That made so much sense. “My mother was more interested in the flora and fauna around the ruins. She’s always been a great cataloger.”
“That sounds like a wonderful childhood.”
A large branch had fallen in the middle of the thin trail. Draw got off his horse, lay the reins on its neck, and moved the branch. His horse didn’t take off the moment it had freedom, something I wouldn’t be willing to test with Peanut Butter.
“Are your parents still living?” Draw asked carefully once he was back on his horse. We had to ride single file now and he took the lead.
“Yes, they’re traveling. I told you about the airplanes?”
“They’re really in an air plane?” He strained his neck to look back at me.
“Mmm-hmm, they went to help my aunt pack and move to a new house. They’re like that. They don’t have a lot of hobbies, or rather their hobby is helping people. I’ve always thought of it as vicarious living to set aside their own plans for others but now that I’m older, I think it’s genuinely nice.”