While Beauty Slept (27 page)

“It’s so hot,” I grumbled. “There must be somewhere else we can go to escape this sun.”

Marcus looked thoughtful. “I know of a place, off the Allsbury Road.”

The town he spoke of lay in the opposite direction of the village where I had grown up, nestled in the foothills of the mountains I could see from the castle windows. During the hottest summer months, many noble families retired to homes there, where the mountain air was said to be cooler.

Offering his hand, Marcus pulled me to my feet, and we set off. The heat had sent St. Elsip into a torpor, and the few fellow travelers we passed moved with the dazed shuffle of sleepwalkers. No more than five minutes after we had crossed over the Bridge of Statues, Marcus left the main road and took me down a cart path that led into a ring of trees. I heard birdcalls above me, but otherwise we were completely alone.

“This leads to the tannery where we buy our leather. Father’s known the family forever.” Marcus spoke quickly, not meeting my eyes, jittery in a way I had never seen before. If it had been any other young man leading me through a deserted forest, I might have turned and run.

“Here it is.”

Marcus waved me toward an opening in the trees, so narrow that my skirts brushed against the trunks as I passed. Before me was a clearing, a tranquil expanse of green dotted with wildflowers. A creek trickled through the middle, ending in a pond as still as a mirror. Sunlight streamed down through the leaves in golden streaks. Marcus smiled to see my delight.

“It’s lovely,” I said, my heart swelling with emotion, but Marcus had turned away and occupied himself with unpacking our lunch from the leather bag tied to his belt. We spoke few words as we ate, lethargic in the peacefulness of the setting. Yet my heart beat faster every time his gaze turned toward me, and my entire being prickled with anticipation.

“You have been here before?” I asked.

“Not for some time.”

“It seems the sort of place a man brings a woman to woo her,” I said lightly. “I find myself quite at your mercy.”

“I . . . I assure you . . .” Marcus stammered. When he was nervous or offended, words often failed him, and he looked at me helplessly.

I breathed a sigh of annoyance and stood. If Marcus could not declare himself here, perhaps he never would. I took a few steps toward the pond, drawn to the shimmering water. I had put on my winter-weight dress that morning, never imagining it would be so warm this early in the season. My skin was coated with a sticky layer of sweat, and I was tempted to walk in fully clothed. Had I been back at my family’s farm, I would have.

I sat at the pond’s edge and reached under my skirts to pull off my stockings. Boldly hitching my dress to my knees, I stepped into the blessed coolness. The water was even more soothing than I had imagined, and I reveled in the feel of it against my skin. Marcus remained on the grass, utterly still, staring with rapt attention. Daring me to shock him further.

I walked out slowly, keeping my skirts lifted, leaving a trail of drops behind me. I stood before Marcus in the middle of the clearing, and he stared at my bare calves, then up toward my face. I stared back, offering a silent challenge. Slowly, he stood and reached for my cap, tugging it free. Emboldened by my acquiescence, he moved his hands along my hair, releasing the thick brown locks from their pins. The touch sent a ripple of pleasure from my scalp down my neck to my stomach. I closed my eyes to experience the sensation more fully. Gently, he shook out the waves of curls. No one other than my mother had ever touched my hair. Never had I imagined that it could provoke such a mix of serenity and longing.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

At any other time, I would have protested modestly. But in the quiet of that clearing, blood racing, I basked in his admiration.

He smoothed wisps of hair off my face, his fingers brushing along my cheeks and forehead. When I opened my eyes at last, I saw him bend toward me for a kiss. A kiss unlike any other we had shared, for it provoked a desperate hunger that overpowered my senses. Urgently, my hands clutched at his arms, his back, the hair pressed against the nape of his neck, and we collapsed into each other, falling downward in a frenzy. I understood then how Petra could have given herself to Dorian, how she had chased these sensations to their conclusion.

“Elise,” Marcus murmured in my ear. “How you tempt me.”

His fingers traced a line down my cheek and neck, but his body pulled away from mine. The abrupt shift jolted me from my rapturous haze, and I stared at him, confused, as he sat up.

“You know I have no way with words,” Marcus said, twisting with discomfort. “But I will not have you think me a dishonorable man. If we are to—that is, if you are to allow me . . . this . . . my intentions must be clear. Elise, I have always intended to make you my wife, and now we can be married whenever you say the word. Tomorrow, if you wish.”

Taken aback, I said the first thing that sprang to mind. “I thought you would not be admitted to the guild until the winter?”

“The guild has voted to amend the rules in my case, because I have been taking on so much of my father’s work. Just this week they agreed to accept me as a full member. Is that not wondrous news?”

Marcus looked at me with such hopefulness, such devotion, that my heart sank. All I could think of was my work with Flora, of all I had yet to learn. And Rose, still so young, so desperate for my reassurances when the nightmares came.
Not yet,
I thought.
Not so soon.

“So . . . you will marry me?” he asked, his face radiant.

“Yes,” I said. Then again, more forcefully, “Yes.”

Further conversation could only risk revealing the truth of my conflicted feelings. I stood up, reaching out my hands to Marcus. The two of us hand in hand, I led him toward the pond. He yanked off his shirt and scooped water onto his face and chest; soon we were splashing each other like children. Gradually our laughter faded, and my heart raced as Marcus placed his cool, wet palms against my cheeks. He looked blissfully, foolishly happy. I ran my hands over his forearms, his shoulders, reveling in his solidity.

“I do not give my love lightly,” he told me with a sigh, tracing the edge of my neckline with his finger. “You have it, Elise. Forever.”

I felt his hands move to the back of my dress. With a whisper of assent, he would loosen the laces and push the bodice from my shoulders. My bare skin could press against his, and the thought of that sensation made me ache with longing. How easy it would be to succumb to my desires, now that we were betrothed! But opening myself fully to Marcus would seal our marriage in a way my words had not. A wary inner voice told me to hold back. Gently, I drew Marcus downward, until we were kneeling in the water, my legs propped against his. We kissed again and again, lost in the taste and feel of each other. When we paused to catch a breath, he ran his lips along the curve of my shoulders, whispering the words of devotion he had kept in check for so long. I felt his hand tentatively move under my water-soaked skirt and upward along my thigh. The touch provoked a shudder of delight, but it also served as a warning. Were I to grant Marcus access to such pleasures, there would be no turning back.

I glanced sideways; the sun was well advanced on its downward journey.

“The queen expects me back,” I said hastily, rising and wringing out my dripping dress. “I lost track of the time.”

“And no wonder.” Marcus watched me with amused affection. My passionate response to his proposal had loosened something within him, and he grinned with an easy confidence I had not seen before.
He loves me,
I thought with sudden clarity.
He truly loves me.
And the thought of such devotion was both thrilling and terrifying.

On the journey back through St. Elsip, walking the streets we had traversed so many times before, the desperate need Marcus had provoked in me took on the quality of a dream. We were now promised to each other, but we walked together seemingly unchanged. Should I not feel transformed?

“I planned to ask your family’s blessing, but with your parents dead I was not sure whom to speak with,” Marcus said. “Your aunt and uncle? Or is it the queen who must grant permission?”

As I had no intention of seeing my father again, I had led Marcus to believe he had died of the pox. For an instant the extent of my deception struck me: How could I enter the sacrament of marriage when I had kept so much from my future husband?

“The queen is aware of our courtship,” I said. “She can have no objection.”

Or would she? I was a free woman and could not be denied my husband of choice. But the suspicion that she did not approve of Marcus troubled me as much as if she had been my own mother. When I returned to the queen’s chambers, she immediately noticed my soaked skirt and began asking teasing questions. Hurriedly, I changed into a fresh, dry gown, trying to conjure the right words to share my news. In the end I simply said that Marcus had asked for my hand and I had accepted.

“Oh, Elise,” she said, summoning a smile. She embraced me, and I came close to tears, knowing she was making a show of happiness for my sake.

“Now you must tell me everything,” she said with forced brightness. “Have you a date in mind?”

“Not before the end of the year, when he completes his apprenticeship,” I said. How easily the lie came! All I needed, I told myself, was more time. Time to sort out how I might marry Marcus without losing everything I had achieved.

“I will admit, the thought of your leaving tears at my heart,” she said. “And poor Rose, she will be devastated.”

Slowly, gently, she explained the consequences of choosing Marcus as my husband. As a shoemaker’s wife, I would no longer be a suitable companion for Rose. A townswoman of my rank could not be admitted to the royal apartments, or speak freely to anyone of noble rank, or wander the gardens with Flora. In all my mooning over Marcus’s soulful eyes, I had never appreciated how much he was a social inferior to the queen and the rest of the court. Was marrying the man I loved ample compensation for all I would lose?

It was the thought of bidding farewell to Rose that brought tears streaming forth down my cheeks.

“I never . . .” I stumbled, “I never meant to cause her grief. Or you.”

Queen Lenore’s own eyes welled up in sympathy. “Now, now. There is always a need for men of talent at court. What if I found a place for your Marcus here?”

The queen proposed a plan so well thought out that it was clear she had contrived it sometime before. Mr. Rees, the castle shoemaker, was always in need of assistance, and he would welcome Marcus onto his team of craftsmen. We could live at the castle as husband and wife, and I could retain my position as Queen Lenore’s attendant.

“Oh, my lady, he will be greatly honored by your offer. Thank you!”

“No, I must thank you, for considering my selfish feelings in this matter. I will do whatever I can to keep you by my side.”

“I will not leave you,” I said with the fervor of a blood oath. The air of melancholy that hung about Queen Lenore like a spring mist briefly dissipated, and I caught a glimpse of the woman I had once known, whose inner beauty and outer serenity were in perfect alignment. She had known such sadness, carried such a heavy burden of guilt. I could not bear to cause her further unhappiness.

There was one person I felt sure would welcome the news of my betrothal with delight, and I sought her out later that evening. I did not see Petra cleaning the Great Hall after supper, and none I asked in the Lower Hall could tell me her whereabouts. It was long after dark by the time I ventured upstairs to her private bedroom in the servants’ quarters, an honor she had been granted recently in honor of her appointment as head housemaid.

I knocked lightly. There was no response. I pushed the door inward and saw Petra lying on her bed, facing me. Her eyes gleamed in the dark.

“May I come in?” I asked.

She did not forbid me, so I walked through the doorway, sheltering my candlestick with one hand.

We had not spoken in private for more than a week, and I was shocked by the change in her. She lay utterly still, misery etched across her face. In a voice cold as the castle’s flagstone floors, she told me Dorian had broken off their engagement, on his father’s orders. Her eyes were blank and clear of tears; she had cried them all out, she said.

“Oh, Petra,” I said, devastated by my friend’s misfortune. “I am so sorry.”

I placed the candle on the floor and knelt down to embrace her. She twisted her shoulders to escape my touch and shook her head.

“You must think me such a fool.”

“No, of course not.” Despite my mistrust of Dorian, I had hoped to see them wed, for Petra’s sake.

“I could manage if I did not see him,” she said quietly. “It would take all my strength, but I could put him from my mind. Yet how can I forget when we walk the same halls? When I see him laughing with the kitchen girls every night?”

“It will be summer soon,” I said. “He’ll be off hunting or traveling to tournaments. The pain will ease.”

“Will it?”

I had no reply. She rolled onto her side, turning her gaze from me to the wall.

“Please, leave me be,” she pleaded.

Once again I was not wise enough to understand that women can loudly demand the very opposite of what they crave. Curing Petra’s heartbreak was beyond my power, but I could have lessened the burden of her loneliness. Instead I backed away.

“There is one thing,” I said, pausing on the doorstep. “I wanted you to know first, before word spread. Marcus has asked me to marry him.”

She did not flinch. “I wish you the very best.”

Her voice was muffled but steady. She might have been one of Queen Lenore’s ladies, offering polite good wishes to a slight acquaintance.

There was no more to say. I left Petra alone with her misery and tried to push away the disloyal thought that I had been proved right. To my everlasting shame, I avoided her in the days that followed. I told myself it was to spare her feelings; she would hardly welcome the company of a newly betrothed companion when her own heart had been so recently broken. But my motives were not selfless. I stayed away from Petra because I could not bear to witness her pain. A pain I might one day inflict on a man I claimed to love.