STORYTIME... This one is called Beloved Betrothal, Part I Caitlaen Valerian had journeyed completely around the lake before the time spent riding in the wintry air cooled her anger enough providing the realization that she had ridden to its farthest shore. Along with this realization, rational thought returned allowing her to examine her new circumstances as well the ire felt over it from a more objective point of view. Objectivity would be essential if she intended to engage in any manner of intelligible conversation with her father on the matter. To her the entire practice of betrothal was loathsome as well as archaic. For the most part she had conceded to the practice out of obedience and respect for her father. She had, of course, always assumed she would be involved in the process from initiation to conclusion and providing input. She was acutely aware that father had her best interests at heart by arranging her betrothal while he was alive and well so that she would not be subjected to the greed of clever opportunists were he to meet with an untimely demise. She felt snubbed that she had not been offered what she viewed as the common courtesy of prior knowledge. Had she been male inclusion would have been expected and this was the crux of the insult. For the first time in her life and over the most important matter to which she would be bound till death did part her from it, her opinion was rendered meaningless. It cut her to the quick. Perhaps, had her father not treated her as if he valued her thoughts as much as any man’s, the lack of information would have made little difference. Her father had often sought her counsel and included her on almost every other matter. To seemingly dismiss her thoughts on this topic vexed her beyond her own comprehension and she found failure in that she had never wondered at the greater number of gatherings nor the increase in formal introductions. It annoyed her that her father had been wise in his plan as in this manner prospective suitors could elect to meet her without reservation or anonymously observe her at ease with all defenses down. Clever, violating and probably necessary described the process which had concluded and could not be changed. Certainly meeting the man would do no harm at this point as she could still refuse him as a suitor if she truly disliked everything about him. Maeve who ran the kitchens made sure to tell her that that this particular man was known to be as kind as he was bonny. Sarah, her father’s chamber maid who happened to be in the kitchen at the time had nodded enthusiastically before she added that Cat would be very pleased with her father’s choice. Alec in the stables let her know that her betrothed was patient, honorable, of good humor and not taken to cups or carousing. Aside from thanking those three well meaning souls with as much warmth as she had been able to muster, Caitlaen’s expression remained indiscernible until reaching the cover of the tree line out wherein she expelled several choice epithets to her horse, Thorne, who of course commiserated completely. As she had offered her father nothing more than a cursory nod of acknowledgement when he had let her know that he wanted to set a meeting between her and the man to whom she was now betrothed, easing his mind was now in order. The cover of taking a quick ride before it got too cold would be fading fast. Needlessly worrying him was not her intent when after all, it could be far worse as her father could have simply arranged the betrothal informing her mere days before she was to wed some old man shorter than she, bald, paunchy and blind in one eye. Breaking out of her reverie, she noted that the snow at this end of the lake was not only deeper but now seemed to be falling again from above. Oh she had been in a fine overheated riled pique when making rapid departure from the grounds, but now that her irritation had eased, her dress felt cold and damp against her back and she realized that it was too damn cold to be out as such. Shivering reflexively, drawing her cloak closer she patted the neck of her mount, “Hells Bells, Thorne, we had best return, lest I catch my death on top of it all and then displease father by adding a delay to meeting this man due to illness.” Clicking gently to her steed, horse and rider began to turn back the way they had come when a wild crashing of a large hare breaking through the twigs as he darted from the tree line broke what had been a very still silence. Zigzagging first on their right and then in front of them, the lunacy of his motion startled her large horse who reared at the fast approaching danger sliding sideways in the snow. One hand holding her cloak, the other loosely holding the reins, her legs positioned to urge Thorn in the uncompleted turn contributed to being off balance and unprepared as Thorne reared, slipped, then bolted sideways thus unseating Caitlaen. Sailing through the air without warning, falling backward initially impacting deep snow with her body, a blessing, her secondary impact was a blow to the back of her head against a flat stone by frozen water’s edge, a misfortune. Unconscious, her cloak only half-closed in front with its balance crumpled uselessly underneath she lay as the flurry increased, unmoving and very, very still. Thorne nickered softly then nudged his rider’s face with his soft muzzle as a slow line of blood trickled from the back of her head painting a thin crimson trail against the white powder coated stone. Catching her blood scent, Thorne backed up whinnying sharply. Standing for a few more moments away from her, the horse moved closer nudging her again before her unresponsiveness instigated anxious pacing which gave way to rearing up with hooves pawing the air; then down his shoes creating clamor against the stones near the lake’s edge over and again. In the silence of the falling snow the sound echoed reverberating across the lake’s frozen stillness, reaching deep into the thicket from whence the hare had sprung. Moments earlier deep within that very same thicket a lone huntsman felled a large predator. It was an exceptional shot directly through the animals open mouth exiting out the back of its skull providing a mercifully instantaneous death as predator was about to pounce on its prey, a snow hare. The huntsman trussed the carcass of the large predator effortlessly hoisting it up into the branches of a pine tree so that it would bleed out before he disemboweled it and wrapped for the journey home. Thou he wore no hood, the powerful man was clad for the weather in a leather jerkin, woolen full sleeved tunic, leather britches and knee length boots and a heavy lined cloak the length of which fell just under six feet from neck to the boot sole that in this moment was still thrown back behind his shoulders so that his arms would be free. The wind tousled the strands of his long blonde hair which had worked loose from his braid revealing his sound forehead, cheekbones that were high though not overly protruding, a well placed perfectly proportioned not large but very male nose and a lightly bearded jaw line under which one could tell the man had a strong jaw without being all chin. Though fair in complexion, his skin still held a ruddy glow from the summer months evidenced of one who is out of doors more then in. Walking back toward his mount Rothgar suddenly stood quite still as his mount’s ears twitched to and fro and the animal nickered gently pushing against Rothgar’s chest. “Shhhh, easy. Easy now, I hear it too,” his unusually deep voice falling in soothing tones calmed the animal as the unusual sound continued. Turning intelligently, thoughtful aquamarine eyes upon his steed, he collected Gallen’s reins and led him in a wide arc around the carcass he had trussed deciding to wait to wrap it until the source of the clattering echo was determined. Emerging from the thicket, Rothgar easily spotted the lone bay stallion pawing the air, and landing over and over again. In a near frenzied state the animal was visibly agitated. Dropping Gallen’s reins, uttering a low, “Whoa, boy,” Rothgar pursed his lips and made a soft yet quick kissing sound. At first the riderless animal bolted, steam billowing from its nostrils then turned in the direction observing horse and man. It pawed the ground a few more times as Rothgar dismounted drawing closer on foot, “There now, I mean you no harm,” Rothgar eased softly, his deep voice offering comfort to the nervous beast as he slowly advanced. “What is troubling you?” Rothgar’s gaze traveled in a small circle coming to rest upon the maiden in the snow causing him to gasp startled at the sight of her. In this weather she was not what he expected to see, not at all. Her long cocoa hair spread out in wild windblown locks providing sharp contrast to her delicate neatly placed sensual features. A light layer of snow had already begun to cover her garments giving her the appearance of death, though the slow rise and fall of her breasts thankfully meant otherwise. Her cloak seemed inadequate offering little protection especially crumpled underneath her for a ride in weather such as this for one wearing the attire of a noblewoman. For a moment Rothgar stood, transfixed at the sight of her until he noticed the thin line of blood partially covered by snow which had snaked only inches from her skull. Kneeling in the snow next to her small frame, he carefully ran his hands along the back of her neck, down each arm, each leg then with greater care under her slender hips, ribs and spine checking for potential fractures. Finding naught lightened his heart as he stood, moved to his mount and pulled a blanket out of his pack. With the utmost regard, he untied the damp snow caked cloak that would soon do her more harm than good and lay the blanket across his chest before lifting her off of her cloak to wrap his blanket around her. Holding her closely to his chest he was better able to examine her head wound noting that in addition to the laceration on her scalp she had earned a nice little raised lump which had not swollen badly due to the cold temperature. He snorted at the irony of the only benefit anyone could possibly gain from laying in the snow, that and that the bleeding had stopped on its own. Lifting her gently as he stood, he formed a clicking noise with his tongue on the roof of his mouth calling for his large steed, Gallen, to obediently bend one leg as if the horse were taking a bow which allowed Rothgar to mount easily still cradling the sleeping beauty in his arms. Clicking again, once his legs were secured in the stirrups, Gallen stood. Rothgar eased his cloak around both he and the maiden who seemed so delicate and was both petite and light enough to be held securely across his lap with one arm. Gathering the reins with his other hand they moved forward. “Mmmm,” she moaned weakly beginning to shiver though still unconsciousness. “Tis all right Lady, you are safe,” Rothgar whispered to her holding her closely guiding Gallen back into the forest toward his home. Any uncertainty as to whether or not her horse would follow without being tied left him when he glanced over his shoulder to see that horse was actually closer to his mount’s side. Love between horse and rider was a bond they apparently shared and it caused him to feel connected to her at a deeper level in that moment. A sharp wind had begun to blow promising the storm threatening for days had begun in earnest. Resting against Rothgar’s broadly muscled chest, Caitlaen murmured something sweetly soft, though unintelligible, as a few tears rolled from under her closed lids. Hearing her voice he smiled but glancing down briefly he noted her tears which pulled at his heart with an odd little pang. Strangely connected he became aware of her breathing hoping she would awaken. This hope was all too soon replaced with concern that she might be growing feverish, a concern made palpable by the increasing warmth felt against his chest. Hoping that she had not already been ill prior to her fall, his knowledge of winter’s harshness a very personal matter he was reminded that many died each year without ever being exposed to its fury. Realizing that he’d no idea how long she’d been lying in that spot before he came upon her, he pushed Gallen’s pace forward through the woods as her horse continued to follow. He had ridden out only a few hours from the manor before he had begun to hunt which was a good thing as now time was of the essence. Night was fast approaching; the maiden had begun shivering uncontrollably and clearly needed to be indoors where she could receive care. “Lass,” he spoke to her, pleading as if his words would help her rally, “Just a bit father and you will be cared for in every way possible. All will be well. You have my word, Little One.” “Please,” she moaned, though Rothgar was uncertain if it was his words to which she had responded until a few moments later her hand moved out of the blanket under his cloak to snake around his ribs. Hugging him tightly she nestled closer to him clearly seeking his warmth to still her chattering teeth. Something in this action, beyond her touch, deeply touched his heart and Rothgar now urged his horse through the narrow pass leading to his lands at a dangerous pace. The well-lit manor finally looming in the near distance, allowed Rothgar to breathe easier as shouts of welcome echoed through the yard at his return. Wind gusted blowing snow in icy swirls around several figures moving too and fro in the yard, one herding straggling animals to the barn, another latching stable shutters, two other’s securing the shutters on the first level of the manor, and his groom, Charis moving the last of the dry wood under the cover of the enclosure off of the kitchens. Riding pell mell through the yard, Rothgar threw the reins to Charis, as he held the maiden closely rapidly dismounting to the ground. “Please take Gallen and this lady’s steed. Attend to their tack feed, cool them well before you and water and feed them, then bring the game to Sedrick, I’ve got to get her indoors.” Charis nodded drawing the reins up of both animals immediately as Rothgar closed the distance from the rear yard through the bailey to the manor in seconds. Reaching the door leading into the kitchens, he kicked it open violently in haste breaking two latches as he bellowed, “Mira! Mira!” A plump woman already rushing from the side pantry holding a large wooden spoon in her hand tsking and clucking like a hen at the sound of the crash scolded him, “Ye dinna hafta tae yell so as tae wake the dead, I‘m right here, ye ken?” Seeing the girl in his arms, Mira raised one eyebrow as she waived at two other girls to close the kitchen doors behind him, “Lad…” she began. “I, I was hunting, then found her. She fell from her horse…she is injured and unwell – Mira, I, I…” Rothgar struggled for the words, feeling an unfamiliar lump forming in his throat. Never had Mira had seen this man, who she had raised as her own almost from his birth, in such a state of panic. “Luv, it will be fine. Bring her to your room, there’s a fire blazing in the grate, I started it meself. Ye must warm her. I’ll brew my special tea and be right up with proper clothing as she cannae be wearin the wet ones.” The plump woman patted Rothgar’s arm and then felt the girl’s head her palm frowning deeply. “Oh, la aye, she’s burning up already – we’ll have to cool her brow as well, Go on now.”
Posted on: Sat, 03 Jan 2015 17:14:58 +0000
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