Once Upon a Summer Day (48 page)

Finally, Borel growled a word, and the pack stepped back, all but Blue-eye, who yet stood—hackles raised, fangs exposed—over the remains.

And Borel looked at the moon, just then standing full on the horizon. He took Chelle in his arms and said, “She would have killed you at the rise of the full moon; it is only fitting that she die in its light.”

Chelle nodded but said nought, and Borel softly said, “Let us go.”

And they mounted up and rode away, the pack trotting alongside, and they left Rhensibé’s remains lying in the snow for the scavengers to find.

B
orel and Chelle rode down the slope of the vale, their escort of Wolves ranging to left and right and fore and aft. Across the way and atop the great bluff, men bearing lanterns and arms came running from the manor and down the path. Borel grinned and said, “ ’Tis Arnot and the house guard. They must have heard Rhensibé’s screams.”

On rode the prince and his lady, and, with hooves knelling on ice, they crossed the river at the foot of the bluff. As the men reached the base of the path and turned to cross the vale, “Bonjour, Arnot!” called Borel. “I am come home!”

“My prince, is it you? Is it truly you?” came a cry. And Borel and Chelle spurred forward, and in but moments they rode among the men, and Borel leapt down and embraced a slender, dark-haired man and said, “Arnot.”

“
Grâce des dieux
, it is you!” said Arnot. “Oh, my prince, we did not know what to think. Are you hale?”

“Indeed, my friend, I am well.”

A small man stepped forward and doffed the cap from his red hair and bowed, as did all the men ’round.

“Gerard,” said the prince.

“My lord, we are glad you are back,” said Gerard.

“I am glad to be back as well,” said Borel.

Arnot then looked up at Chelle and said, “And is this the girl of your dreams?”

“In more ways than you can imagine,” said Borel, smiling even as Chelle blushed.

“My Lady Michelle, may I present Arnot, steward of Winterwood Manor. Arnot, meet Lady Michelle, daughter of Duke Roulan, and soon to be mistress of this demesne.”

Arnot bowed as did the rest of the men, and Chelle canted her head in acknowledgement.

“My lord,” said Gerard, “the Wolves howled, and then there were screams and snarls; is there ought amiss?”

“Nothing at all anymore,” said Borel. “I will speak of it later. But now let us go to the manor, for we are famished.” He turned to Gerard. “Has Madame Chef something for us to demolish?”

Gerard grinned. “If she has not at this moment, then soon, my lord, very soon.”

Arnot turned and said, “Redieu, run ahead and tell Madame Millé that the prince has returned with Lady Michelle, and they are hungry. Notify Albert as well, for surely wine is wanted.”

A skinny youth bobbed his head and bolted away.

“Come, my prince,” said Arnot, “let us to the manor. The entire staff will be overjoyed to hear of your safe return.”

Leading the horses—Chelle yet amount—Borel walked beside Arnot, and they and the men and the Wolves all started for the pathway up.

“Separate quarters, my lord?” said Arnot.

“Adjoining, Arnot,” said Borel, “for we are betrothed, and as soon as the banns are posted and her sire is rescued, we will be married.”

“What of notifying a king?” said Arnot. “I mean, your sire will no doubt—”

“Though I will also tell my sire, we have already notified a king, Arnot, and he has approved.”

“Which king, my lord, if I may ask?”

“King Arle, formerly of the Riders Who Cannot Dismount, but now of Níone and the lands ’round.”

Arnot’s eyes flew wide in startlement. “The king of the Riders Who Cannot Dismount? But they are cursed.”

“Not anymore, my friend,” said Borel, as they reached the beginning of the path upward. “The curse is broken.”

“How, my lord?”

“Prince Borel did it,” said Chelle, coming alongside on foot.

Borel turned and grinned at her, and Chelle said, “I dismounted, for I would join this converse.”

And as they strolled up the pathway to the manor, Chelle told Arnot how the curse was broken, and mentioned that King Arle and his men had saved both of their lives.

“It sounds as if you had quite an adventure, my lady, my lord,” said Arnot.

“I will tell you the whole of it in the days to come, Arnot,” said Borel. “But you, how have you fared?”

“Lord Borel, when you went to see Vadun, and must needs pass through the cursed section and nigh Hradian’s cote, we were worried. And when the Wolves returned without you, I had Jules”—Arnot gestured at the tall, dark-haired armsmaster—“organize a small warband, and they went looking for you. They found Hradian’s cote burned to the ground, some stone walls yet standing, others not, and they felt that something dreadful had occurred—”

“Hradian must have set it afire herself,” said Borel, “mayhap to destroy any evidence, for when last I saw it, it was yet standing.” Borel turned to Jules. “Did you find my rucksack? In it was a journal I would read.”

“Non, my lord,” said Jules. “All was burned.—But, my lord, does that mean you were there and inside?”

“I was until Hradian came; she sent me away upon a black wind,” said Borel. “But that is a tale for later telling, for I would hear yours first.”

Arnot signalled for Jules to take up the tale, and the armsmaster said, “From the burnt cote we marched on to Vadun’s abode, for he was who you had set out to see and have your dream divined, but the
devin de rêves
said you had not arrived, and he knew nought of your whereabouts. After speaking with him, we knew nowhere to go to seek you, for surely the Wolves would have been at your side, or would have been tracking you . . . were you to be found. But they came back to the manor instead, and if
they
did not know where to go, then neither did we.”

Jules fell silent, but Arnot added: “A time later, the Wolves howled, and they sped away toward the Springwood, and Gerard and I thought you might be at the manor of Lady Céleste, and yet you were not.”

Chelle looked at Borel and said, “Surely, it was our dream drew them there.” She turned to Arnot and added, “I think it was an effect of the spell I was under, and it caught the Wolves as well.”

“Ah, then, magie,” said Arnot. Then he sighed and said, “I must tell you, my lord, Ladies Céleste and Liaze and Camille and Lord Alain are quite beside themselves with worry, missing as you are, or rather as you were. Yet none of us knew where to search. And the Lady of the Mere did not appear when Lord Alain went to ask after you, and so his question remained unanswered.”

At that moment they came to the doors of Winterwood Manor, and Borel said, “We will send falcons to my sisters and brother and let them know I am safe.”

Gerard sprang forward to open the door, and Borel handed off the steeds to the same gangly youth who had run ahead and now stood waiting. “Rub them down thoroughly, Redieu, and curry them and feed them and give them water, for they have served us well.”

Then Borel took Chelle’s hand and they stepped through the door and toward the welcoming hall beyond, and all the staff were waiting within to greet them, and when the prince and his lady stepped in, they gave a great and prolonged cheer and much applause.

 

Over the next fortnight and three days, Winterwood Manor was a hive of activity, for Lady Michelle needed a full wardrobe, not only for the Winterwood, but for the Springwood and Autumnwood and Summerwood as well, for the wedding in the Summerwood drew nigh, and surely afterward the lady and her prince would be visiting all the manors in turn. And so, all achatter and giddy with joy, for it seemed they had been waiting the whole of their lives for such an opportunity, the seamstresses of Winterwood Manor measured the lady herself, noting the hue of her skin, the color of her eyes, the cast of her hair, her slimness, the gauge of her bosom and waist and hips, and the lengths of feet and hands and forearms and upper arms and thighs and lower legs. And wasn’t she just perfect? And she a duke’s daughter, no less. A splendid match for handsome Prince Borel. On that they did agree.

When all was said, they had every measurement they could possibly have made, and Chelle not only felt treasured and admired, but by the same token she also felt like a prized piece of livestock.

And then the seamstresses insisted that Lady Michelle help with the selection of cloths and threads and sequins and beads and ribbons and other such . . . and jewellery, oh, the jewellery. The sapphires so well suited her eyes, golden beryl her hair, moonstones her skin, pink pearls, too. Emerald, amethyst, malachite, peridot, sunstone, diamond—why, it seemed there wasn’t a jewel or gem in all creation that wouldn’t go with this fille.

And the cobbler came, and the hairdresser, and others too many to name, and they fussed over her and primped and groomed and spruced and trimmed and fitted.

 

On the other hand, Prince Borel’s days were given to the governance of his demesne, and he settled disputes awaiting his return, and arranged for shipments of food and other goods to a village hard hit by a blizzard. He pardoned a man wrongfully accused of stealing and slaughtering a neighbor’s cow, for the animal had been found half starved several miles away. He settled a dispute concerning the rights of two miners whose horizontal shafts had met somewhere in the midst of a broad tor as each dug along the same vein of ore starting from opposite ends.

And he and Arnot and the various
commis
went over book after book of accounts, each clerk in turn stepping forward with his ledger of tallies, Arnot and Borel certifying that the tots therein of grain and livestock and goods of other sorts were properly balanced.

“I don’t know why you have me do this, Arnot,” said Borel. “I have yet to find even a single thing out of order.”

“Nevertheless, my lord,” said Arnot, “should something happen to me, you will know how ’tis done.”

“But I already know how ’tis done, Arnot.”

“Still, my lord . . .”

They had had this discussion every year, and always did Borel yield to his steward’s wishes.

 

Every eve, Chelle, wearing a new dress and new shoes and stockings and linens, and adorned with different gems, dined with Borel, the prince also in finery. And afterward they vied at échecs or taroc or read to one another or danced to music played by members of the staff, other members making up the fours and eights and sixteens needed for a complete minuet or quadrille or reel.

Never had Winterwood Manor been so gay.

 

And in the depths of the nights, never had Winterwood Manor been so tender, so passionate, so loving, not only in the bed shared by Borel and Chelle, but in beds shared by others throughout the manse as well.

 

Some seventeen days after arriving at the Winterwood, again the mansion was abustle, for on the morrow the prince and his lady would leave for Summerwood Manor, the wedding of Prince Alain and Lady Camille now but twelve days hence.

Horses were gathered and the next morn were laden with what would be needed for the trek and for the gala, including much of Chelle’s completely new wardrobe, and many garments for the prince as well.

And they set out in a rade, horses in cavalcade, riders on some, goods on others, Wolves in escort, and off for the Summerwood they rode.

Sprites raced through planes of ice all along the route, and Borel did see the one who had aided him just two months, a fortnight, and three days past there at Hradian’s cote. And Borel saluted the tiny being, and it bounced in glee from ice-coated tree to frozen pool to icicles galore dangling down. And Borel and Chelle laughed at its antics as it played hide-and-seek with them.

It was a leisurely ride through the winter ’scape of the woodland, and only light snow fell in the midst of the first day, and none thereafter.

They rode by day and camped by night, and midmorn of the third day they passed through a twilight border and came unto the Autumnwood.

 

They paused and shed their winter gear and donned clothes suited for cool days and brisk nights. Then they rode on, now accompanied by unseen gigglers down among the underbrush and running from tree to rock to tree.

Chelle was astounded by the abundance within this woodland, and when they camped that eve she simply had to see if what she had dreamed with Borel was true. And so she plucked an apple from a tree in a nearby orchard, and tied a ribbon about the particular twig whence it came. The apple itself was delectable, and within a candlemark she returned to the tree and looked at the beribboned twig, and thereon a ripe apple dangled, just like the one she had eaten. When she returned to camp, Borel looked up, a question in his eyes. “I had to make certain that I had not been befooled by a mischievous tease,” said Chelle, by way of explanation.