Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (15 page)

Bianca’s
eyes moved back to the white mesh.

“Make me the
snow maiden gown for the ball.”

Baines
snorted in derision. “They must be fools, to put their camps so near Albion.”

The band of
men had left the palace a mere eight days ago, and already they’d come across
the first of the work camps. From where they hunkered down on the mountain’s
ridge, it spread out below them, nestled in a tiny dimple in the range.

“An’ where
would ye put a coal mine, man? Upon the bright briney beaches? They dinna hide
because ‘tis no sin ta mine coal.” Connelly rolled his eyes at Baines. “The way
ye talk a body’d think ye’d prefer if we had ta search high n’ low.”

“Not prefer
it, exactly, but it would add to my feelings of superiority.”

Connelly
chuckled, and Baines turned to address the men who were waiting downhill, where
their silhouettes wouldn’t give them away.

“There’s
only about forty armed men to guard the entire camp. They mainly watch the road
and occasionally scan the mountains, but they aren’t very vigilant. They’re
there to keep the miners from running, not to keep anyone else out.”

One of the
men spoke up. “There must be three hundred people in that camp; why do you
suppose they don’t just leave?”

“It’s not
just men down there, Tom. It’s whole families. If the miners try anything, I
imagine the guards have orders to start shooting at the children first.” A grim
silence settled at his words. “Besides, where would they go? Don’t forget, they’re
royal prisoners. If they try to go home, they’ll just be taken and sent back.
Or executed.”

“Where will
they go?” Sean Kelly raised a practical question.

“King Regal
has offered them shelter in Albion. But I don’t imagine they’ll be staying
there long.” Baines drew back his lips in a wolfish grin. “I imagine soon
enough they’ll be marching back with the army, ready to reclaim their homes.”

***

The plan
went perfectly. They waited until sunrise and then crept down the west-facing
slope, overwhelming the guards on duty with ease. The guards in bed were caught
completely unprepared: unawake, unarmed, and undressed. By the time the sun was
fully in the sky, they were all gathered in a huddle, surrounded by Baines’ men
on one side and the miners on the other.

That was
when things went a little awry.

“You can’t
leave them here!” A pretty little maiden, no more than twelve, stamped her foot
in indignation. “Brannon will hang them for incompetence.”

“Molly—” Her
father tried to shush the girl, but she shook her head so vigorously her braids
whipped back and forth.

“No, Da! It
isn’t right. They’ve done their best by us, and we can’t just leave them to
rot!”

Baines
rubbed his face in frustration. He’d planned on leaving the guards stranded in
the mountains, while the miners were escorted back to Albion, but almost as one
the miners had objected to that idea. The little girl was only the most vocal.

“Brad shared
his tea ration with Ma when she took a fever, and William snuck that note out
for Ned, so he could tell his sweetheart where he was. You better stand up for
them, Da! Tell those men!”

Molly’s Da
stood silent, but Baines listened to the girl. He looked around. The miners
were all conspicuously clean, and well fed. They didn’t look like people who’d
been forced to slave away in a mine. A few of the men and women had coal dust
beneath their fingers, but still…

“Brad, is
it?” Baines addressed the guard Molly had gestured to a moment ago.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t
you tell me exactly what’s going on here?”

Brad didn’t
hesitate. “We was sent out here, same as them, and the word was we had to make ‘em
work. But we got to talking, and it just didn’t seem right, them being taken
from their homes like that, for no good reason. So we worked it out.” Brad
gestured around to the miners. “They’re all here, their families, I mean, so
they just decided to stay here, and resettle. Food comes in for the camp, and
no one’s bothering them about more and more taxes. It’s not bad.”

“Doesn’t the
crown notice that there’s no coal being mined?”

“What’da’ya
mean, no coal being mined?” One burly man stood forth. “We’re new to it, but we’re
learning the trade. It’s something to do, at any rate, better than lolling
about all day.”

“But, what
about the children?” Baines asked.

“They take
lessons proper, as they should.” Brad answered. “Except the days Sir Miles
comes to view the camp. Then they all go down to the mine with their parents,
but only the first levels.”

“And what do
you men do?” Baines gestured at the soldiers.

“Hunt,
mostly. Bring in extra food. The crown sends basics, but fresh meat is better.
We also keep watch for Miles, so that he don’t catch us out.”

“Well, I’ll
be stumped.” Baines looked to Connelly. “Shall we take them with us, then?”

“Begging
your pardon, sir, but you can’t do that.” Brad was respectful, but firm. “Most
of us got our own families, and if we all just disappear with your lot Brannon
will assume we helped them escape. It’ll go bad for our blood. You can take
them, right enough, we can’t stop you. We wouldn’t try to stop you, even if we
could, but you need to beat us good and proper, so the king don’t realize we
was in on it.”

Molly
squeaked. “No!” She looked at Baines with wide eyes. “Can’t you just leave us
here? We don’t need to be rescued. Then no one has to be beaten.”

Baines
looked at her seriously. “The trouble, lass, is that this coal is being
stockpiled, to be used in a war against Albion. We need the mine shut down.”

A solemn
quiet fell over them all, and then Connelly stepped forward.

“Why, ‘tis
simple as kin be. Listen close…”

It took them
the rest of the day to pack the mine with dynamite. Every blasting charge in
the camp was affixed to one of the wooden braces that held up the mine’s tunnel
walls. While the men and women worked in the mine, the children picked over
their supplies, taking as much as they could without making it obvious that
anything had been taken at all.

That night
they sat around the campfire, eyeing the fuse that ran into the depths of the
mine.

“You’re
sure, lad?”

“I’m sure,
Master Baines.” Brad nodded. “Me and Jeph don’t have any kin to speak of, to be
worried if they think we’re dead. We’ll see the folk over the mountain, and
then we’ll go see Lord MacTíre, like you said.”

“Just give
him the note, laddie.” Connelly nodded at the paper he’d scribbled on earlier. “He’ll
look out fer ye.”

“And we’ll
keep track of the other boys. If they can get their families clear, we’ll be
ready for them in Albion.”

“Good man.”
Baines clapped the young fellow on the arm. “Best get some sleep. We should all
head out at first light.”

***

It was
sunset the next day when the entire mountain range shook with the explosion
from the mining camp.

Sean Kelly
laughed over the rumble. “One down.”

Bianca was
hideously uncomfortable, for a great number of reasons.

For one, she
had been woken up before daybreak to begin preparing for this event. After
hours of scrubbing, polishing, and brushing, she was now standing in the warm
spring sun, wearing a gown made from gold brocade and a heavy white cape that
lay like a blanket on her shoulders and back and dragged several feet on the
ground. Ella had also furnished her with a beautiful golden circlet. It was
tasteful, and elegant, and exceedingly heavy.

She looked
immensely royal, and was positive she would make a good impression, provided
she didn’t pass out from heatstroke or headache.

Her second
reason for discomfort was the overwhelming ceremony of it all. Really, it was
silly. Most of the suitors had trickled in over the past week and been hosted
by various noble families in the capital. The final invitee had arrived
yesterday, so today they all trooped out of the city gates and came parading
back in, freshly washed and polished, so the citizens could cheer them on.

Bianca
couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken part in something so ridiculous.

But, if
truth be told, most of her distress came from the other occupants of the
platform. Oh, Vivienne had been a delight, to be sure, bolstering her spirits
and giving her pointers over the past few weeks, trying to help her feel
prepared to meet these men. And Fain was a bulwark against all fears. His calm,
solid presence tended to make her feel like everything would be fine, in the
end. And Isabelle and Regal had treated her like a member of the family,
introducing her to the nobles of Albion and planning small parties and
amusements to keep her occupied while they waited.

But, at the
end of the platform, in a discreetly drawn chair, was Dame Merriweather, and,
inevitably, by her side was Robin.

They hadn’t
spoken together in three weeks. Not a word. They saw one another almost
constantly, because no gathering—be it on the business of war or a casual
dinner among friends—was complete without the Dame. And where Merriweather
went, so too went Robin. Bianca would watch him, when she thought she could
manage it without being observed. He seemed at ease and composed, if not
entirely happy. She couldn’t decide if it hurt her more to see him so
unconcerned by her impending betrothal, or if it would be worse to have to
watch him suffer. She supposed it didn’t matter. His heart seemed whole, and
she might as well be grateful for it.

Even if it
made her want to cry.

She tried to
accept it, as he had. She tried to forget about their weeks together in the
mountains, and focus instead on the future. She may not have wanted to marry,
but she found it gratifying to be doing something to help so many people. She
attended all the meetings on the war, no matter how mundane, and learned all
she could. She also started spending time with Vivienne, letting her cousin
teach her about running a kingdom. She was so busy and full of purpose that she
might have actually managed to put her feelings for Robin behind her.

If only he
weren’t there all the time. It was impossible to forget him when he was always
before her eyes.

So she stood
on the platform, ready to lay eyes on the men who had come to court her for the
very first time, and felt like the greatest of fools, because she had to do it
with Robin looking on.

***

“Don’t grind
your teeth, dear. It makes them unsightly.” His grandmother’s whisper was just
loud enough to reach his ears.

“If I must
suffer through this bizarre bridal auction I will grind my teeth as I please.”
He kept his voice low, but he was sure his anger bled through the words. “If
you would let me leave—”

Dame
Merriweather held up a single finger, but he stopped.

“My boy,”
she said, sounding tired and sad, “if I could let you go I would. But you must
stay.”

“But why?”

“I can’t
tell. It isn’t clear. I just know you’re needed here.”

He sighed,
and tried to relax his tensed muscles. “Very well, Grandmother. I suppose I can
handle the tedium.”

The Dame’s
voice settled back into her more normal, acerbic tones. “Tedium, is it? That’s
what bothers you so?”

“Of course.”
He refused to admit to anything else.

“Then I
retract my sympathy. Now stop grinding your teeth.”

***

Bianca could
hear the noise of the column moving through the city. The palace’s ceremonial
entrance had been pulled wide for the day, and she stood with the others on a
slightly raised platform, in full view of the avenue that ran up to the large
double gates. When at last the first line of prancing horses appeared before
them, she thought briefly about bolting for the stables, but she took some deep
breaths instead. Her only concession to her nerves was to reach out and grab
Vivienne’s hand. Her cousin squeezed back, and then leaned in close to whisper
in Bianca’s ear.

“You’re
holding up beautifully. Don’t panic, I’ll be right here. Now, let’s see. The
banners in front are from Hellas. They’ve sent the queen’s uncle, a man by the
name of Edicus. I understand he’s something of a scholar.”

“Won’t he be
terribly old?”

“Not
necessarily; some noble families are so wide flung, brothers and sisters can be
generations apart. He could even be younger than the queen, for all we know…”
Vivienne trailed off, as they caught sight of the man riding alone in the midst
of the Hellene contingent. “Although it appears that in this case, yes, he’s
too old.”

He was, and
no doubt about it. But, as he drew nearer, Bianca could see that he was not
unattractive. His hair, though white, was full and thick, and he sat his horse
with the grace of a born rider. When he dismounted and climbed the steps to
make his greeting, she saw that his face was still handsome, despite the lines
of age, and his smile was kind.

“Lord
Edicus, I am most pleased you could respond to our invitation.” Bianca held out
her hand, feeling silly at making a formal greeting, but Edicus seemed
perfectly comfortable, bowing low over her wrist.

“I was
pleased to be invited, your highness.”

He bestowed
a brief kiss on her palm, and then moved on to make his greeting to the king
and queen. Vivienne once more leaned close.

“Oh my. I
may have been mistaken. He’s not too old at all. Perhaps ‘perfectly aged’ is a
better description.”

Bianca hid a
small smile behind her hand.

Edicus was
ushered off into the palace, to settle into the suite he’d been given for his
stay. It was all perfectly timed, so that as he was led off, the second suitor
appeared in the avenue.

“This would
be Prince Grantig. He’s one of the sons of the king of Gallia. I’ve met him
before; I can’t wait to see what you think of him.” Vivienne smiled so wickedly
that Bianca looked at her in alarm, but Vivi just folded her lips shut and
nodded at the sight approaching them.

Prince
Grantig was also riding alone in the midst of his retinue, but that was the
only resemblance he bore to Lord Edicus. Grantig was young, probably no older
than Bianca, and covered in such a profuse amount of hair that she was unlikely
to be able to tell if he were handsome or not, despite its being brushed and
neatly tied back. His clothes looked to be high quality, but fell about him
haphazardly, as though no tailor had ever touched them, let alone actually
measured and fit him. Bianca risked asking a brief question of Vivienne.

“Is that the
fashion in Gallia?”

Her cousin
smirked. “No.”

Grantig slid
from his horse and ambled forward with a loose, relaxed gait. Bianca made her
formal greeting and offered her hand, whereupon the prince took it up in both
his hands, and brought it to his forehead.

“Well met,
your highness. The sun shines bright on our meeting.”

Grantig
drifted right past Regal and Isabelle, and the staff, uncertain of what to do
at the skipping of protocol, bundled him off to his suite, leaving Bianca and
Vivienne with a moment to giggle together.

“Well, that
was… different.”

“He’s a free
spirit.” Vivienne cocked her head in thought. “I think he eats a lot of wild
mushrooms.”

“He’s nice,
though, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes.
Not always as clean as he was today, but quite nice. If you chose him, he’d
never try to take the crown away from you.”

A new wave
of horses was advancing, and Bianca squinted at their banners. “I think I
recognize this one. It’s the island nation, isn’t it? Errin?”

Vivienne
nodded. “They’ve sent Prince Felix. I’ve never met him, but he’s worth serious
consideration, just for the connection he would bring. Toldas has a coastline,
and Ire is unmatched at naval warfare.”

Bianca
watched as the prince drew closer. She had to admit, he was handsome in a
boyish way. Close to her age, perhaps a few years older, with beautiful blonde
hair that shone in the sun. When he leapt from his horse and came bounding up
the steps, she added ‘energetic’ to her list of descriptors.

“Prince
Felix, I’m so pleased you could respond to our invitation.”

“The
pleasure is all mine, your highness.” He swept forward in a florid bow, and
then up again, without taking the liberty of kissing her hand. Bianca
appreciated the restraint. “My family was ecstatic at the invitation, as was I.
Whatever the outcome of my visit, I hope this will bode well for a closer
relationship between Errin and Toldas.”

Bianca
smiled at him as he greeted the others, delighted with his open demeanor.

“That was
rather straightforward.” Vivienne murmured the words. “I think you have an ally
there, Bianca.”

The next
introduction was charming, and Bianca couldn’t help but smile. Prince Cansado,
sent as the candidate from the Castillians, was all of five years old, and
waiting in the sun had made him terribly sleepy. He’d dozed off in his litter,
and was still rubbing his eyes as he made his bows beneath the watchful eyes of
his nurse. When he shuffled off the platform Bianca held a quick conference
with Vivi.

“They can’t
possibly think I’ll marry the child, can they?”

“Who knows?”
Vivienne shrugged. “The Castillian queen is jealous of her throne, and might
think you’re the same. By sending you a child she’s sending the message that
Cansado would not expect to rule with you. And you’re young; you’d still be
able to bear children by the time he could father them.”

Bianca was
shocked, but Vivi just smiled at her. “You can’t think about it as a match
between people, Bianca. You have to think of it as a match between nations.
Some rulers would be just as happy to take a child to wed, and then keep them
in the nursery for the next decade.”

Bianca shook
her head, but turned back to the parade.

The Talian
contingent was next, and Vivienne whispered the suitor’s name and position in
her ear. Lord Scemo was the nephew of the current king, and he had a reputation
for being a ladies’ man. Bianca watched him dismount, and had no trouble
believing it. His hair, as black as her own, was perfectly coiffed, just as his
trousers were perfectly fitted, his cravat was perfectly folded, and his jacket
was perfectly pressed. He drew off his riding gloves as he came up the stairs,
holding them with a studied casualness in his left hand, as he used the right
to grasp her own and bend over her wrist in a perfect bow. When he
straightened, he touched his hair briefly to make sure it was still in place,
and then curved his lips into a smile guaranteed to send a maiden’s heart
swooning. Bianca spoke her formal greeting, and after gracing her with a
smoldering look he moved off to greet the others.

“Well?”

“I think I
detest him.”

“Good for
you, cousin.” Vivienne was pleased. “You have sense.”

Lord
Cymedrol, from Kemri, made a more favorable impression. He wasn’t
overwhelmingly handsome, but he was a pleasant looking man, and Bianca got the
sense that he was there to treat her as a human being, rather than a prize.
Vivienne liked him, not for any personal reason but because, as she said, “Kemri
could field a hundred thousand soldiers, and never notice they’d gone missing.
The land is crawling with people.”

At long last
the parade of suitors was coming to an end. The candidates had entered in the
same order that they had arrived, in order to avoid any show of favoritism from
Regal, so the final suitor was the one who had come just the day before.

Dule was a
kingdom to the south, and even Vivienne didn’t know much about the royal
family. Prince Anders was not the royal heir, but he carried a letter from the
king proclaiming him to be his father’s favorite son, and Dule was certainly
capable of fielding a large army. Bianca knew he deserved her attention as much
as any of the others, but her head had begun pounding. She registered the
Prince’s approach, but hardly took stock of him until he was standing in front
of her. He was plain in the face, and gangly in his limbs, and the fingers that
took hers were long and thin. She could not muster any enthusiasm for her
greeting, though she tried her best.