against the sounds coming from within, and she muttered to herself over and over, “I’m not hearing this. I’m not hearing this. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. . ”
6
Declarations
Covered in perspiration in the aftermath of making love for the third time, Celeste and Roel lay abed in moonlight streaming through the window, Roel on his back, Celeste on her side and propped on one elbow and gazing at him. “My lady,” whispered Roel as with one finger she traced the line of his jaw, “you are insatiable.”
“As are you, Sieur Knight,” she replied.
“If she is yet at the door,” said Roel, “what must your chaperone think?”
“That we are well in love,” said Celeste, smiling.
Though neither knew it, Henriette, her face flushed, her own heart racing, had long since fled to her quarters.
“I do love you, Princess,” said Roel, now hitching about to look at her, “and have done so since I lifted you down from your oak tree.”
“Do you recall what you said?” asked Celeste.
Roel nodded. “I said, ‘Oh, my, you are so beautiful.’ ” Celeste smiled. “That was the moment I gave you my heart.”
Roel reached over and pulled her to him and engaged in a long, lingering kiss.
Celeste then retrieved and spread the covers over them both, and she went to sleep cradled in his arms.
Roel stayed awake scant moments longer, gazing at this remarkable woman and wondering why she had chosen him. But even as he marveled, he fell asleep as well.
The next morn after breakfast, Gilles met the lovers and insisted Roel accompany him for a change of bandage and a dose of a needed medick.
“Another tasty concoction?” asked Roel.
“Oh, even better than those I have given you ere now,” said Gilles, rubbing his hands together and cackling.
Roel looked at Celeste, and she said, “Take your medicine, Sieur Knight. Me, I have business to attend to with Captain Anton.”
After Gilles’ ministrations and another odious drink, at Roel’s request the healer led the knight to the armory, and there Roel found his leathers waiting-cleaned and ready to wear. Several of the bronze plates-plates damaged during the melee with the outlaws-had been replaced on his armored jacket, and the cut on his leggings had been repaired as well.
“I’m feeling a bit out of practice, Gilles. Would it be acceptable for me to exercise at swords?” Gilles frowned. “No swift moves, Roel. No great effort expended.” Roel spent much of the morning slow-stepping through his sword drill; he did so under the eyes of Gilles and two of the stableboys, who spent much of the time clapping and
Just ere the noontide, a page came looking for Roel.
“Sieur,” the lad said, “my lady the princess requests your company on a ride through the woodland. She waits in the stable.”
Roel’s black and Celeste’s grey were saddled and ready when Roel arrived.
Anton and a number of men stood by; a frown of worry stood stark upon the captain’s face. “My lady,” he said, “I suggest we fare with you.”
Celeste smiled and shook her head. “Roel alone is ward enough, armed and armored as he is. Besides, I have my bow and a full quiver of arrows, and surely that will be enough to deter anyone who thinks otherwise.”
“But there might be more brigands abroad,” said Anton.
“In which case I shall sound my horn,” said Celeste.
“As you will, my lady,” said Anton.
And with that, Roel and Celeste set forth from the stable.
The moment they were out of sight,Anton and his men saddled their horses and followed at a discreet distance.
“They are trailing us, you know,” said Roel.
Celeste sighed and nodded. “Anton has ever been overprotective. Usually I have to steal away to find solitude.”
“You are a treasure not to be lost,” said Roel.
Celeste laughed, and onward they rode.
They passed by the great oak, and all signs of battle were gone. Two furlongs or so beyond, they came upon a mass grave; Anton and his men had dragged the brigands this far to be well away from Celeste’s Companion of Quietness; here they had unceremoniously buried them.
Without comment, Celeste and Roel rode on.
Letting the horses walk for the most part, the two spent much of the time speaking of their childhoods and their dreams for children of their own. But all was predicated on Roel surviving the search for Avelaine and Laurent and Blaise.
Now and again they would dismount and lead the horses, though once in a while they raced at breakneck speed across an open dell.
And always behind, but well within a swift gallop, trailed Anton and his warband.
And the lovers rode among groves of wild cherry, their pink blossoms bursting in glory, and a storm of petals swirled about them in a roil of air.
“When will the cherries ripen?” asked Roel.
“For these trees, never,” said Celeste. “And although they lose their petals in the turning breeze, when no one is looking they replenish themselves and begin anew.”
“Anew?”
“Oui. These particular trees are ever petaled, for this is the
“You mean the season is somehow arrested?” Celeste nodded. “Endless, undying, perpetual.”
“How strange,” said Roel, looking about, wonder in his eyes. “Why then isn’t the ground ’neath them piled neck-high in petals?”
Celeste laughed. “No one knows, my love; it is but another mystery of the Springwood.”
“Magic, I would say,” said Roel. “-Is all of the forest like this? Ever caught in the season?”
“Oui, it is.”
“Oh, my,” said Roel. “How marvelous. A woodland ever wakening. ’Tis a unique wonder.” Celeste smiled and said, “Let me tell you of the Winterwood, the Autumnwood, and the Summerwood.” As she spoke of these other domains and their own miraculous attributes, they passed among white-flowering dogwoods and across fields of purple crocuses, and places where mushrooms pushed up through layers of decaying leaves. They forded rushing streams and galloped by new-budding trees, and o’er fields of grasses turning green as they rode among spring everlasting.
Celeste and Roel stopped for a picnic lunch along the banks of a stream running swiftly with snowmelt. And above the burble, Roel frowned and cocked an ear.
“What is it, my love?” asked Celeste.
“I hear a rustling.”
Celeste laughed. “Ah, it is but the wee folk.”
“Wee folk? Fairies you mean? Or Elves?”
“Oh, non. Fairies are quite like you and me, though perhaps a bit smaller in stature. Not Elves either, for they match us in size as well. Non, my love, the wee folk are tiny.” Celeste held a hand some six or so inches above the ground. “Some smaller, some larger, some winged, others not. Perhaps you would call some of them Sprites and
