Midnight for Morgana (4 page)

Malcolm scraped his chair back on the wooden floor and stood. “Just one more thing, something I must definitely ask. Do you vow you will marry the lady to whom this slipper belongs?”

“But of course. I thought I had made that clear.”

“Even if she is not a princess, but some impoverished nobleman’s daughter?”

Keir grinned. “She will be a princess, I’m certain of it. And I vow I will wed the lady from the fair.” Both men left the private room and noted the main dining room filled with people, for so many men and women came from outlying villages to attend the fair.

After posting his sign that morning, Keir fetched his servant, Ferris, in the afternoon to accompany him in his pursuit, while Malcolm rode with them out of interest and concern for his friend.

They trotted their horses to the nearest castle, the king’s residence a few miles from Dornach. A grand edifice, it commanded a high hill, its sarsen stone glimmering in the bright sunlight, the towers pricking a blue sky, its flag flapping in the wind.

In his finest tunic of dark blue wool, his black wool trousers and black fur-lined cloak, Keir guided his horse up the hill to the castle, with Malcolm riding next to him and Ferris riding behind. The green grass rippled in the wind, the ground studded with shale and dotted with violets. At their approach, a drawbridge across a wide ditch was lowered with a creaking sound. The horses’ hoofbeats clattered on the wood as the men increased their speed to a gallop, cloaks streaming behind them.

A few moments later, Keir and Malcolm stood within the great hall, Keir’s servant at a discreet distance. The air much cooler in the vast room, a fire blazed in the wide stone fireplace, and colorful tapestries kept out much of the draft. Flaming rushlights gave the room a dim light and cast shadows across the stone floor. Folded trestle tables nestled against the wall, but one long oaken table occupied the center of the room. Several chairs flanked the table, where the king invited Keir and Malcolm to sit, while two of his servants brought wine and a plate of delicacies.

The king poured wine into silver goblets and offered them the plate piled high with honey cakes and raisin rolls.  “Why, yes,” said King Adair after Keir had stated his purpose. “I have three daughters, and it is my fervent wish that they marry well.” He snapped his fingers at one of his servants. “Bring the princesses here.” He turned toward this guests again. “I pray the shoe fits one of them. They all attended the fair.”

Several minutes later, the three princesses descended the stone steps to the great hall, chattering among themselves, a look of happy expectation on their faces. Keir’s heart sank when they came into view, for they were all homely, one of them fat, the second one pimply, and the third cross-eyed. Malcolm’s admonition returned to taunt him, but why should he learn humility, when he was a prince? Yet he reminded himself he must not judge others so quickly. How could any of these ladies be the one he sought, for he remembered her blonde hair and blue eyes, her lovely even features.  Raised to act the gentleman, he schooled his features and gestured for his servant to let each of the princesses try on the shoe. While the king focused his attention on his daughters, and the princesses’ attention was focused on each other, Keir exchanged a look with Malcolm, an admission that his search might take longer than anticipated, and that his prize might not be a princess, after all.

Each of the ladies tried on the slipper, each one finding her foot much too big. A look of angry disappointment crossed the king’s face, his mouth tightened with unspoken censure. The princesses simpered and scowled as they flounced from the hall to return to their rooms.

With expressions of regret, Prince Keir prepared to leave, despite the king’s entreaty that they stay for the evening meal.

Prince Keir bowed. “I thank Your Majesty for your offer of hospitality, but as you see, we have a demanding task ahead of us, and, I fear, much distance to cover. ‘Twill take long to find my goal, I doubt not.”

As they trotted down the hill from the castle, Malcolm shot Keir a look. “What now? If the shoe didn’t fit any of the king’s daughters, where will you go?”

“To each of the kingdoms,” Keir replied without hesitation. “I will find my princess.”

“Each of the kingdoms! That could take months!”

“Weeks,” Keir said. “‘Tis a small island.” He spurred his horse down the hill, a coolness in the air, the sun arcing toward the west. He estimated that they still had time to ride into the next kingdom, about forty miles away over gently-rolling hills. If they arrived after dark, they would start out the following morning, for he knew the king of Scaith had four daughters. Surely one of them would be the lady he sought, his lovely princess.

* * *

Weeks later, Prince Keir, dispirited and desperate, returned to his starting point, the village of Dornach. He gave silent thanks to his friend, Malcolm, for not saying, “I told you so,” and also commended him aloud for his steadfast loyalty in accompanying him to all the kingdoms, where one disappointment after another had confronted him. He had to admit, if only to himself, that perhaps Malcolm had been right, and he recognized that sheer arrogance did not necessarily grant one what he wished.

That evening, as they ate in the private dining room of the Sign of the Black Horse, Malcolm ventured a remark. “Unless there is a princess hidden somewhere in one of these kingdoms, we have exhausted that aspect of our search.”

“Aye, a princess locked up in a dungeon.” Keir tried to make light of his dilemma, but he had a heavy heart. “All these weeks, and failure at every castle, in every kingdom! I don’t fancy lingering in this country. ‘Tis time I returned to my father, although I have sent him letters from time to time, apprizing him of my quest. I need to rejoin him and resume my duties.” There were many times when the king’s business took him from the capital, and in those times, Keir heard petitions and complaints in his father’s place. Oftimes, too, his father sent him to attend to business in other cities and villages.

Malcolm sliced off a bite of beef and paused, his fork poised above the table. “Then what will you do now, give up and return home?”

“Never! Not until I find the lady I seek. So she isn’t a princess. Aye, I’ll admit you were right. Just the same, she surely must be a high-born lady who lives in wealth and luxury. Only think on how she was dressed, not to mention the magnificent horse with the gold bridle and saddle. Surely her father has much money, and our kingdom could benefit from his gold.”

The next morning, Keir left the inn, along with his servant and Malcolm, and set about going from one mansion to another. No matter where they went, it was to either find no daughters lived there, or else that the slipper didn’t fit any one of them.

Toward afternoon, the three men rode up to a ramshackle house with three storeys, its stones crumbling and shingles missing from the roof. A shutter banged in the wind, the sound a sharp counterpoint to the optimism with which Keir had begun his search, and a sad reminder of how low his fortune had sunk. A small flower garden graced the front of the house, the stalks struggling against the weeds and grass that threatened to overwhelm them. The front door, its wood rotting, appeared to be hanging by its hinges. Keir scowled as he looked around him, finding nothing here to encourage him in his search.

Walking his horse along the rutted path to the house, he took a deep breath and braced himself for the ordeal ahead, ready to admit defeat.

* * *

On a cool afternoon with still no sign of summer, Morgana dusted in the parlor, looking out the wide multipaned window while she stood beside a long table directly below it. She stopped to poke the embers in the fireplace and drew her drab shawl closer about her as the sweet aroma of woodsmoke scented the parlor. Returned to her dusting, she saw three men ride along the path to the door, one of whom she recognized. She pressed her hand to her thudding heart. The man from the fair! He rode a fine black horse, the slipper in his hand. No, he must not see her! In her dowdy gray work dress and heavy scuffed shoes, she wanted nothing to do with him. If he recognized her at all–a question in her mind–he would see that she had deceived him and aye, everyone else at the fair. Of course, she had heard about his quest for the mysterious woman, but she had never dreamed he would come here. For three glorious nights, she had pretended to be something she was not, basking in the title of princess and the admiring glances of all the fairgoers. Although it had never been her intention, she had fooled everyone at the fair. He must not see her! She tossed her dust cloth aside and raced down the hall to her bedchamber, leaving it to one of her sisters or her father to answer the knock on the door. In her bedchamber, she sat on her narrow bed as she waited for the prince and his entourage to leave. But what if the shoe fit one of her sisters, a complication she didn’t want to consider? Tears brimmed her eyes, one solitary tear creeping down her cheek. If only she were a princess or at least a grand lady, if only the prince could learn to love her and want to marry her. . . Then Papa would have her off his hands, forcing her two sisters to fend for themselves. Shivering in the cold room, she smoothed her hand along the woolen blanket, her fingers catching in the rough fabric.

A few minutes later, she heard a knock on her door, her father calling her. He entered the dim room, a look of entreaty on his face. With only one small window, she squinted her eyes to see him in the pale light.

“Morgana, please come to the parlor, won’t you?” He held out a hand to her. “The prince is looking for the lady whose foot fits the shoe, surely you’ve heard about this? Your sisters already tried on the slipper, but their feet are much too big. I told Prince Keir I would come and get you.”

“Papa, look at me! What will the prince think when he sees me?” She touched her tattered gray dress, the wool mended more times than she could count. She raised her foot. “And my shoes!” Humiliation washed over her in giant waves, all but drowning her.

“Never mind all that,” her father said with a wave of his hand. “You are still my lovely daughter, and truth be told, the most beautiful of all my girls. Come, let us go to the parlor. We must not try the prince’s patience, for I fear he may soon leave.”

“Good, I hope he does.” Yet she removed her ugly shawl and followed her father down the long hallway, setting her face in placid acceptance, as if she truly were a grand lady. Head held high, she entered the parlor to see the prince and the other two men, one of whom appeared to be a servant, and the other possibly a friend or a more important servant.

Alana and Nola giggled as she entered the parlor, and when she caught the derisive look on the prince’s face, she wanted nothing but to go back to her room. Her face burned with dismay. Still, she forced a smile and greeted the prince. “Good afternoon, Prince Keir.”

“‘Good afternoon, Prince Keir,’” Nola mimicked, the two sisters laughing.

“Look at Morgana,” Alana exclaimed. “She looks like a servant.”

Nola giggled. “Well, she is a servant.”

Apparently fed up with their mockery, Kelwyn snapped his fingers. “Hush, girls. Your sister has as much right to try on the slipper as you did.”

The two sisters exchanged affronted looks, for their father had never chided them like this before.

Scowling, Prince Keir handed the slipper to his servant, as though he wanted nothing to do with her. And I’m sure that’s the truth, she fretted, fighting the mortification that churned inside her stomach. She sat down on the parlor sofa and unlaced her heavy work shoe, drawing the hem of her dress back as the servant knelt before her.

The shoe slipped comfortably on her foot as everyone watched in shock, her sisters gasping and moaning, her father clapping his hands. Why, this shoe must be made by a sitheach, she realized, a dweller of the Otherworld, for the shoe would fit only the person it was made for.  Then Morgana stood, no longer clad in her ugly work dress, but in a beautiful lavender silk gown that shimmered in the light, its graceful folds falling from her narrow waist past her hips, the hem skimming the floor. She lifted her chin and stared at the prince with surprise but defiance, too. What are you going to do about me now?

He nodded, a look of stoic acceptance on his face. “My search has ended, dear lady. It is you I want to be my wife.”

Chapter Three

What was he going to do about her now? That question tormented Keir on the way back to the inn with Malcolm and Ferris, and both of those men, mindful of the prince’s preoccupation, dared not speak.  He had to marry her, of course; he’d given his word, and he never went back on his word. But gods! what kind of a wife was he getting? What kind of a marriage would theirs be? No doubt the poor girl didn’t know what a napkin was used for and probably dribbled her food down her chin. Keir sighed, thinking of the job ahead of him, when he returned to the kingdom. Perhaps his lady mother, the queen, could take Morgana under her wing and teach her proper etiquette.