An Involuntary King: The Stories

An Involuntary King: The Whole Enchilada!

2011-05-04T16:05:00.000-07:00

What you have just found:

Nan Hawthorne's novel, An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England, started out as two preteens playing medieval story, then letters between their two characters, and finally stories each wrote back and forth for several years. This all started in 1964. It became a novel in 2008 and has continued with new stories based on the characters ever since.

Use the list of tables of contents to explore this site.

Have fun... and if you get the urge, why not write some fanfic?

Road to Paris: Continuing Alone (Newest Stories)

2011-02-08T15:06:00.000-08:00

"Shannon, this is where I leave you." Erik's face showed his conflict as he confessed his reluctance to pursue the search for the Irish bard's wife.

The bard stared at the Danish ship captain for several moments, then shrugged. "I know you must go. You have done so much for us, so you have. I cannot ask more."

Something in the man's tone of boice told Erik that Shannon had put a different interpretation on his "desertion". "Shannon, it is only because I have my own work to do. Nothing to do with whether I think this quest is going to pan out."

Falni Jarlsdottir, the bard's wife, had been captured some time ago by Frankish pirates who delivered her into the hands of slave dealers in Honaflodn in what would come to be known as Normandy. At the slave pens Shannon's friends, Rory and Ceridwen had found two young children and bought them, fully intending to raise them as adopted children, and had sailed home with them to Críslicland. The Dane had brought them all here and helped with their search. Shannon, who was none the healthier for the loss of jpart of one foot and several fingers from a past frostbite, now faced continuing his search alone.

"Why don't you come back with me, Shan," the usually stern sea captain asked him affectionately.

"What, and leave me darling Falni to servitude or worse?!" Shannon's freckled face was becoming red with his outrage.

Erik glared at him. "You really think you can find her alone?"

With a painfully sharp look of resentment, Shannon replied, "I shall have to, so I shall." He shifted his sack on his shoulder and started to turn away.

Erik deftly reached a long arm and clamped his hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "Just wait. Let's come up with some sort of plan, at least. And we need to get you some provisions before you go off like that."

Shannon shrugged again and followed Erik to where they could sit and talk.

The day before the two men had gotten little information from the slave broker. Even when Shannon proved he could not be relied on to keep his mouth shut by blurting out his connection to the royal house of Críslicland and the possibility of rich reward, then terrible punishment from that quarter, the man had been evasive. If anything, he was more closemouthed after.

"I told you to l eave the questioning to me," Erik snapped as they walked away from the pen.

"If I left it to you, we'd never know a thing," the Irishman shot back.

"It's thanks to you we never will, my friend."

The most they had learned from the man had been that a woman somewhat resembling Falni may have been in the pens, that she may or may not have been sold, and that the man could not recall who sold her to him nor to whom the woman had been sold. When asked which way they had gone after the sale, the man looked one way and then another, and then he had said, "I don't know. I don't watch them leave."

The best the two men searching for Falni could do was discuss all the possibilities. She could have been taken away on ship, she could have traveled east or South or even north. The slave holder had refused to let them talk to the other slaves that remained in the pens. With Erik leaving it was up to Shannon to decide how to proceed.

"I will do this for you," Erik conceded. "I will go back to Lawrencium and report what we know, or rather don't know, to the king. He will send you help."

The two men parted reluctantly in the morning, Erik traveling back to where he had moored Champion, his trading vessel, and its crew.

Shannon could not bear to stay near the pens, seeing how miserable conditions were, so he decided to look around Honaflod and ask what questions he could. The people here were mostly Saxons who had come across the water to settle or rather take over the ports that were so close to the river. He could communicate with them having lived for years in Críslicland. The people he spoke to were evasive, since they either worked for the slave holder or were afraid of him. He was greatly dispirited when he heard someone singing a familiar tune, one of his own in fact, in his own native language.

Following the sound he discovered a small encampment full of men dressed as did the searthy Moors from Iberia. He managed to figure out that the boice, a woman's, came from inside one of the tents. He saw no way to get to her, as the tent was well guarded with huge armed men in turbans. He stood, with his lute on his back, until he heard a heavily accented voice at his shoulder.

"You are a musician?"

He turned to find a young man barely more than a boy. The fellow was of a height to Shannon, was extremely well garbed and had warm brown skin and big soulful dark eyes. Shannon guessed him to be an important man's son. He bowed deeply.

"You speak Saxon, young lord?"

"A little. But you do not sound Saxon to me."

"Nay, I am from Erin, a bard by trade, looking for a place to lay my head and get food and drink in exchange for a song or two."

The young man's face brightened. "I knew it. I am from Iberia, and I know that your people, the... Milesians, yes? are also from iberia."

Shannon offered him one of his lopsided grins. "Aye, that be our ancestors, those of us not from even older people."

Again the young man beamed. "The Tuatha de Danann!"

Shannon corrected, pronouncing "Tuatha" as "too-ah". "You know a lot about my people," he observed.

"Thank you. I travel about with my father to many lands. I love to learn about them. He has jsut bought a slave from your land, a young woman. She is to be my tutor in your language."

Shannon tried not to look too anxious. "Ah, then, heard that colleen singing sweetly, I did."

"Yes, that is she. Oona. But do come with me to meet my father. If I ask he will feed and house you for a song."

Shannon, pleased to have a chance to talk to this Oona about Falni, smiled and bowed and followed the handsome young man into the camp.

to be continued

The Road to Paris: Falni and Micail Reach their Destination (Newest Stories)

2011-02-01T14:21:00.000-08:00

Frankish ladies.

"Where is this place," Falni asked Mixail as they climbed the long ascent to the impressive estate. "Is this where we are headed?"

Mixail nodded. "Indeed. This is the estate of Lady Inditrude, my employer and your new owner." The look on his face was sardonic.

Falni eyed him, suspicious. She could not find a way to to express what she wondering, not to him. How could she say she thought she detected some amusement in his attitude toward his employer, and that it was not complimentary?

"I had better put you back into restraints," he said. "Oh no, you don't." She backed away, turned and run. Fleet as she was, she felt Mixail catch up to her and trip her with the end of his staff. She flew forward onto her belly on the narrow path. He landed on top of her. She struggled, but he was stronger and heavier than he had seemed. He managed to get the rope from his belt and wrapped around her wrists.

"You bastard!" she cried as he pulled her to her feet.

"Oh I am a bastard, am I? Any other man would have done a lot worse than trip you."

"Why don't you just let me go?" she demanded.

"And what do I tell the lady? That i spent all her gold on those two sorry excuses for men?" His smile was wry.

Falni stuck her chin up in the air. "I shall tell her you abused me on the road here?"

He chuckled. "I look forward to seeing her reaction... and then yours when she tells you how unlikely that would be."

She glared at him. "And why would that be?"

He leaned to her ear and whispered, "I don't care for women."

She stared at him until his meaning broke through. "Oh. I see. That's how you knew about that big handsome slave the noblewoman bought... did you know him?"

He shook his head. "I just know the type."

She couldn't help herself. She chuckled. "Oh my, won't she be unhappy..." She gave Mixail a quizzical look. "What will she do to him, once she knows?"

His look was not so cheerful now. "I'd rather not think about it."

He pulled Falni along after him as they approached the buildings of Lady Ingitrude's estate. Much like other wealthy person's steadings, Falni saw the one long low house surrounded by numerous smaller more utilitarian buildings. The house stood out not only because of its size but also its construction. It was wood planks instead of wattle and daub, and the roof was sod instead of thatch. It was far more like the buildings she knew from Jarlsfjord than in Críslicland. It seemed less rectangular than her own childhood home, so she was not surprised when the steward led Mixail and his human purchases into a small hall with doors leading to each of the outer wings. She guessed, and she was not mistaken, that one door led to kitchen, store rooms, work rooms, and servants quarters, and the other to the family's quarters.

The steward was a squat bearded man with what appeared a permanent scowl. "Lord, they stink. Take them back outside."

Two men servants came forward and started to lead Falni awa with the two male slaves. "No, not her," Mixail protested. "The Lady will want to see her right away."

Falni eyed him, wondering why he held her apart.

"What is so special about this one?" a female voice called from one of the doorways.

Mxail doffed his cap and bowed low. "My lady, she is too talented to work outside. I bought her to work in the house."

Hearing a "harrumph" from behind the lady, Falni peered into the dimness to see an older woman in servants' clothing glaring at her.

"Be silent, Hulda," Ingitrude snapped. To Mixail she said, "As you well know, young man, I have all the household help I need. What are these vaunted talents, anyway."

Falni spoke up. "My lady, I was kidnapped. My husband and his friends will..."

Her words were cut off by a blow from the scowling steward. "Quiet, slave!"

Ingitrude looked askance at the Breton. "Of course she was kidnapped. Who volunteers to be enslaved.? What is this about a husband and friends? Is someone going to come looking for her? I don't need that sort of trouble."

Mixail became apologetic. "She has been spouting this nonsense throughout the journey. The slavemaster swore he bought her from a pirate who said he got her in a raid on another steading.. she was a slave there too." Je indicated her torn clothing. "You can see from her clothing that though torn and dirty now, it was once well made and embellished. She is a talented needlewoman."

Another blow but off Falni's attempt to explain that someone else made her garb and decorated it. Mixail leaned to her ear and whispered, "Shut up, you stupid bitch. If she thinks you are talented, she will treat you better."

"What did you just say to her?" Ingitrude asked him.

Mixail answered without hesitation, "That she would get more of the same as she got on the journey if she did not hold her tongue.

Ingitrude laughed. "She doesn't look like she was beaten any time in the past couple of weeks. And I know you did not have your way with her. So I can't imagine what she has to be afraid of." She came forward to examine the Norsewoman. Ingitrude was taller than she, about fifteen years her senior, but a handsome woman nonetheless. She was obviously very wealthy. Falni pulled back when the woman started to poke and prod her like a prize calf. "Feisty little one, isn't she?" She turned to her steward. "Hruadlund, take her to the women's quarters and keep her tied up. She can calm down there."

The man grabbed Falni and dragged her out the door just as the mistress of the estate asked Mixail how much gold he had spent on the slaves. She did not hear the Breton's answer, but she did hear Ingitrude's angry scolds in response.

The Road To Paris: The Search Goes On

2010-12-06T18:53:00.000-08:00

Normandy coast.

"Nothing," Erik reported.

"How do you know they are telling you the truth?" Shannon asked. It was the third village they had visited to inquire whether any of Clothar's ships had brought in slaves. Each was more depressing than the last, stark enclosures full of filth and lost souls. Rory and Cerridwen had gone off alone this time, needing each other's comfort at what they had seen. So many children. So lost, so sad.

"I don't, not really, but the king's gold should elicit some amount of honesty." He eyed Shannon. He seemed like he was holding something back.

"Look, Erik," Shannon ventured. "I know Rory has been coaching you to keep the worst from me. Just don't, all right? I need to know."

"It's just that I don't think we are going to find her, Erik finally said after a long considering pause.

Shannon nodded, his face averted. He put a hand on Erik's arm and wandered a few paces off.

Rory came back to Erik where he stood watching the short Irishman stand and stare out at the water. "Is he all right?"

Erik gave Rory a long look. "What do you think?"

Rory shook his head. "Ceri and I are going to have to leave you."

The big Dane was startled. "What? Why? Is she ill?"

Rory reassured, "Nay, not ill. But we cannot take this misery any more. We are going to buy one of the children, then we will return home to raise it as our own child. Maybe even two."

Erik gazed at the tall man with a wondering look. "You are good people. Just remember you are adopting damaged goods. These children have been ill used, more than you can imagine."

"We know."

They stood in silence until Cerridwen came over. "You told him?" she asked her husband.

"I did."

"Do you need any money?" the Fane asked them.

"Nay, but be blessed for the asking," Rory replied. He headed over to Shannon.

The Dane and the woman watched as he spoke. Shannon took the tidings quietly, nodding sadly.

The two men watched the ship leave the next day with their two friends and the two children they had chosen to take home. One was a litlle girl, dirty, stunted in her growth, who hid behind Cerridwen and looked out suspiciously at Rory. The boy, younger yet, just wept and wept.

"God bless them all," Shannon sighed. "I hope it goes well."

"We should leave for Honaflod," Erik said by way of reply. "It's a big slave port."

Shannon looked up at the blue eyes that looked out at the departing ship. "And if there is no news there?"

Eril looked at him. "I don't know, Shannon. By now she may be sold and on her way to Odin knows where. Morocco? Italia? "Byzantium?"

Shannon shrugged. "She will get away. She will come home to me somehow."

Continues.

The Road To Paris: Getting On With it

2010-12-03T16:42:00.000-08:00

At the Breton's camp, Mixail stared at Falni frankly astounded. "What? No, really? Shannon O'Neill?"

Falni eyed him warily. "Aye. You know him?"

"Not personally, but I know some of his music. And my brother knows him. That is, if Elerde is still alive."

It was Falni's turn to be dumbfounded. She finally was able to speak. "Elerde? You mean, your brother is Elerde of Léon?"

Mixail eyes sparkled. "How rich. You know my brother."

Falni shook her head. "No, that all happened before I met Drivvid. O'Neill I mean. Last I heard the Queen sent him away. Rory told me he went north."

Mixail chuckled. He took a swig of the bottle. "I'd heard that. Lord how I would have liked to be a fly on his horse's butt when she told him. He always was a jackass, my little brother."

"You are the older? That means... oh, I remember. You lost the family's estate and Elerde had to become a mercenary."

Mixail's eyebrows went up. "We both did. That's how we wound up in England. We got hired by some thegn in Kent. But I was never much of a soldier. Elerde finally gave me my half of the money and sent me packing. I have been here and there ever since, doing this or that. But I kept tabs on old Buddy Boy as well as I could. The whole bit with that Saxon queen was delicious. I didn't know he had hit in him."

"She's half Celt."

"Who?" he asked.

"The Queen. Her mother was a Briton."

"Oh."

"What do you mean, you didn't know he had it in him?" she pursued.

He thought for a few moments. "He has glacier water in his veins. Not blood. He is as cold as one of your North Sea cod." He looked up at her. "Is she, the queen, very... um.. attractive?"

Falni shrugged. "If you like that sort of thing. All royal and elegant and that."

He was looking at her with interest. "Do you like that sort of thing?" he asked in an amused voice.

She looked back at him blankly.

"Never mind. So she is the icy type too."

"No, she's warm enough. I hear they used to read Roman love poetry together." Falni took the bottom and finished off all but the dregs,.

Mixail suddenly threw up his hands and roared with delighted laughter. "Roman love poetry! Oh my God, I can't stand it!" He fell sideways and literally rolled around in howls of laughter. "Help! I'm dying!"

She looked over at the guards to see if they would think she was doing something to their master. The two slaves looked wide eyed, but the guards just went on playing knucklebones. They must be used to this.

Mixaail finally stopped laughing and sat up, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. "Oh my God. That is priceless. So old Mr. Dignity has a soft side.. That's wonderful." he sighed. "Well, with that, my dear, I am going to call it a night." he whistled and gestured one of the soldiers over. "Better restrain her for the night. But no touch, understand?" He looked back at Falni. "They will tie you well but not brutally. I can't afford for you to take a hike on me. Besides, there is a lot more to tell, both you and me. Good night."

And with that the Breton lord tightened his cloak about him and curled up against the log to sleep.

Road To Paris Cheatsheet

2010-12-02T15:38:00.000-08:00

Characters and Locations

Of course, Shannon, Rory, Cerrridwen, Falni, Ranigg, Erik, the King and Queen in Lawrencium, Críslicland.

Introduced in this series so far:

Clothar, relative of Karl der Grosse, King of the Franks (Charlemagne to future generations) - pirate leader
Oona, Irish slave and Falni's friend
Mixail, a Breton nobleman turned vagabond

Honaflôd -- site of slave camp, now called Honfleur
The Flôd -- the mouth of the river that will come to be called the Seine.

Sif's Pride, Falni's fishing boat

Bookmark this page, as I will add to it as need be.

The Story So Far

Shannon comes to Rory's and Cerridwen's farm distraught that his wife, Faln, is long overdue from her fishing trip. The three go to Lawrencium to get what news they can. The Danish trader, Erik, brings news that pirates have been seen raiding along the Norman coast and that he has learned that the fishing boat was boarded and Ranigg, Falni's brother, killed. They go to Normandy to learn what they can. Erik suggests they check the slave pens in Honaflôd, a port at the mouth of a river called the Flôd.

Meantime we learn about the attack on the fishing boat by the pirate Clothar, a relative of the King of the Franks, Karl. Ranigg was killed when the pirates boarded. Falni, dressed as a man, is discovered to be female. The pirates rape her, then take her to Honaflôd and sell her to a slaver. She is befriended by an Irish slave. They are both sold, Falni to a Breton noble acting as an agent for a Frankish noblewoman. Falni is puzzled when the Breton treats her well, unties her and seems to enjoy her company.

NaNoWriMo Is Over, the Road to Paris Is Back

2010-12-01T20:06:00.000-08:00

North Sea Bluff

Here are links to the stories so far so you are ready when the next installment shows up this week.

National Novel Writing Month 2010

2010-10-26T14:41:00.000-07:00

www.nanowrimo.org

Well, this story doesn't seem to be going any where any time fast... and now I am going to disappear for a while .. a month to be exact. I have done NaNoWriMo for two years with success and I'm doing it again this year. So for the month of November I don't plan to do much of anything else.

If you would like to track my progress, visit http://nanhawthorne.blogspot.com/ .

We will get back to our heroes here in early December.

Thanks, kind souls, for your patience.

The Road to Paris: The Search

2010-09-29T19:16:00.000-07:00

“No, nothing,” Rory told his red headed friend as he came along the strand to the ship. “Either that or no one is talking.”

Shannon deflated. Rory had always been astounded by O’Neill’s ability to cling to hope. Nevertheless, he knew even Shannon had his limits. After putting in at every little cove on the Frankish coast, never learning a thing, he wondered if this man, who had attempted suicide before, would try again.

“That is very likely,” said the no nonsense voice of Erik, the ship’s captain and a seasoned Danish trader. “The pirates keep the people in these villages under their thumbs. I doubt they would admit to having seen Falni if she was standing right there with a feather on her head.”

Absurdly Shannon glanced at the spot Erik had gestured to. He stayed gazing at it as the Dane and Rory exchanged looks. The captain motioned with a tilt of his head for Rory to walk a piece with him.

When they were out of Shannon’s earshot, he lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “We don’t even know if she is alive.”

Rory looked sharply at him, his eyes communicating that under no circumstances should this be suggested to Shannon. “Sssst,” he hissed. “If he heard you it would kill him.”

Erik’s knitted brows reflected his impatience. “It would be a sight easier to search if we did not have to tiptoe around the man.”

Rory glared. “That is just how it is. If we are taking you from more profitable work--”

Erik gave an oath in Danish. “You know full well that is not what I am saying. But don’t push it. I know what I am doing, certainly more than either of you do, and it’s just harder if we have to coddle O’Neill.” When Rory said nothing, he went on, lowering his voice again. “I talked to an old man I recognized from an earlier visit here. He helped me negotiate for a load of herring. He told me that when he and his mates were out fishing a few weeks ago they found a couple bodies in the water.”

Rory’s face drained of color. “Dead?”

“Well, of course they were dead. They weren’t in the middle of the sea taking a swim.”

Rory looked away and scowled. “Could they tell anything about the men? Or—women?”

Erik crossed his arms over his chest and absently kicked at some shells on the rocky beach. “One was pretty eaten up by something, but the other was just waterlogged and bloated. His face was unrecognizable except that they could see the color and length of his hair and moustache. They were wet but dry they would be wheaten. And the moustache – had silver beads woven into the tips.”

Rory looked up, gaping. He breathed, “”Ranigg? Oh Jesu.” Ranigg Jarlssen was Falni’s brother and the mate on her fishing vessel, Sif’s Pride. “Could they tell—how he died?”

“He had a gaping hole in his chest. The other man was similarly wounded.”

Rory put his hands over his face. “Och, Ranigg, poor fellow. “ He reached to make the sign of the cross on his breast. Erik touched the iron Thor’s hammer he wore at his throat.

“I think we need to plan what we do next. This canvassing of villagers is useless. If she is still alive, she has been taken to a slave market. There are three large ones near the mouth of the big river. I think we need to go straight there and find a way to get information.”

Rory, who was still stunned from the news that a man he liked and cared for had died violently, the man who was with his friend’s wife when she disappeared. He nodded. “Don’t say anything about Ranigg to Shan.”

Erik put a strong hand on his shoulder. “I won’t. Now go pray or think or sing or whatever it is you need to do. We will talk at the campfire tonight and sail at dawn.”

The suggestion that that the ports at the mouth of the Flod might prove a better source of information seemed to give Shannon a new direction for his energy. He saw Rory’s distress, though, and asked about it. “Nothin’, boyo,” the tall man said. “I just have the start of some sickness, a cold, nothing worse.”

The decision was made to go to the three ports on the river that led ultimately to Paris. Erik would go in and act like he was in the market for slaves. He would talk to some who had been penned up for a week or more and ask about the women who had come through there. He hoped, oh how he hoped, his act would fool someone long enough that they would let something slip.

Continues.

The Road To Paris: What Does He Want?

2010-09-22T20:17:00.000-07:00

From the moment the slave markett was out of sight behind them, Falni tried to find any way she could to escape. She and the male slaves were tied together, the man called Mixail made sure the guards kept an eye on them. She was behinning to think her first opportunity would not be until they reached their destination and were transferred to the estate of Mixail's employer.

She turned her attention to a nearer threat, that being Mixail himself. What might he want from her? When the first night he ordered her untied from the others and called her over to his campfire, she thought she knew. She joined him, hostile and suspicious, and to her astonishment he laughed.

"Oh, sit. I am far too tired to jump on your bones. I just wanted your company," he said, waving a dismissive hand.

She sat, not letting her eyes stray from him.

"Suit yourself," he chuckled. "For my part, I am going to get comfortable." He pulled his thick cloak about him and curled up against a fallen log that he had had the male slaves drag closer to the fire. "Ale?" he asked, reaching for a bottle.

Warily she nodded. "But if you think I will let you get me drunk.."

Mixail's yelp of laughter startled her and made the others look around. "That's why I bought you. I haven't had this much fun since.. well, in a long time. So you speak Saxon," he changed the subject.

"Aye, I do. And so do you."

He lifted first his eyebrows and then the bottle before handing it over to her. "Quick. Yes, I speak Saxon. I also speak Brezheneg, the language of my own land, and Frankish, and a few words in several other languages. Oh, and Latin. But not Norse."

"Gaelic?" she asked.

"No, not yet. Do you?"

She took a swig from the bottle. "A little. My husband is Irish."

Mixail eyed her curiously. "Husband? How did you manage to get stolen away from your husband? Or..." He paused, regretting his question. "Was he killed in the raid?"

She handed him back the bottle. "What raid?"

Looking at her puzzled, he responded, "The raid. When you were captured."

"I was taken at sea. And my brother..." her boice grew sorrowful and trailed off.

Micail looked genuinely sympathetic. "Damn, I'm sorry. Why were at sea? Running away from your husband?"

Her eyes flashed intoo his. "It was my ship. I am a fisher."

The man grinned from ear to ear. "The more I learn about you the more I like you. A sea captain! With your own ship! So you wear the britc hes in your family. Is the irishman at home then, watching the little ones?"

She frowned, not wanting to reply.

He looked uncomfortable. Casting about for something else to talk about, he asked, "So did you like your brother, then?"

"Like my brother? What kind of a question is that?"

He took a long draught of the bottle and looked away. "The question of a man who does not like his brother and would give a afeast if her came to harm."

She shook her head slowly. "Shame on you."

"You don't know my brother."

She sat silent for a while then decided to take a chance on making use of this man's easy manner and obvcious venal nature. "You know, if you ransomed me, you would be very generously rewarded."

His snort of derision made her face go red. "Oh, I see, you are worth something. Where would this ransom come from," he asked sarcastically.

She paused and then answered, "Críslicland..."

His eyes widened, but his face was all hilariousness. "I suppose you would get the money from good old King Lawrence?" At her nod, he stared. "And just why should he fork out his gold for some Norse fisherwoman?"

She leveled her eyes icily at him. "He is very fond of my husband. His qife is even fonder."

Mixaul sat up. "Who is your husband? No wait, he's Irish, right? Is he a musician? If he is, then he is either Shannon O'Neill or that fellow who travels with him, the one in the song. Roddy.. no, Rory.. McGonagle? McGarrity?"

"McGuinness. And he didn't hang after all."

"Oh everyone knows that. Either O'Neill knew tragic ballads do better or honestly did not know his friend was living. So McGuinness is your husband."

"No, O'Neill."

Mixail stared at her speechless.

Continues.

Road to Paris: A New Master

2010-09-16T22:11:00.000-07:00

My push to complete my second novel is over for now, so back to my first loves, the characters of An Involuntary King. (see cover on right.)

Road to Paris: A New Master

Falni tried to keep her face impassive as the various factions in the mood for buying threaded their way through the two lines of slaves, poking, prodding, and looking in, or so it seemed to her, every possible orifice. Beside her Oona was practically pissing herself trying to get the wealthy woman's attention.

The Moorish man seemed particularly interested in Falni, because, she guessed, of her blue eyes and pale hair. She waited until he had his nose a fraction of an inch in front of hers and then bared her teeth and snarled. She knew that ploy could have gone awry, but it in fact made the man jump back with some oath she could not understand. He gave her a distasteful look and turned his attention to Oona.

The woman never even came to look at her. She was clearly looking for a plaything for bed sport. She noticed with some amusement the woman paying particular attention to one dark god of a man. Serve her right, Falni thought, if she takes him, since about the only thing about her he would show any enthusiasm for would be her sons or male servants. She had watched him trying to curry favor with the guards here by flirting with them, resorting to another man in the salve pen when his efforts were rebuffed.

The Danes and the woman settled their rivalry for several of the young muscular men in the old fashioned way, by bidding. When the Danes, having, in spite of having to take second best, were done looking at men for their oars benches, they turned their attention to the women. Falni was ready for them. When the first one came up to her and grinned lasciviously, she smiled up at him sweetly and said, in Danish, "The first time to try to fuck me I will have your balls off and in my hands before you know they are gone." His friend erupted in laughter, got a hard punch in the arm for his reward, and moved on.

Finally the Celtic man, a Breton Oona had had a chance to tell her, came up to her and gave her a frank, amused look. She had noticed when, looking at the woman's prize purchase, he had sneered and looked as if he was chuckling. He reached to one of her braids and twirled it around his finger. He spoke to her in a variety of languages, finally in Saxon . "You are a mess."

Falni gave him a long unbelieving look. "Trade places with you, and I will be the one offended."

Rather than frowning or striking her, he smiled. "You have a point there." He glanced about at the other women slaves, showing some interest but more disgust. he turned back to Falni. "You look strong, healthy, in spite of the mud, filth and blood. Can you do farm work, not just in the house but in the yard as well?"

"I am glad you said 'can' and not 'will' because I can say yes."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Are you saying you won't do it?"

She glared up at him. "I somehow do not think my willingness is needed."

He gave a short bark of laughter. "Well said. I think you might just be amusing to have on the journey back to Paris." He turned away from her suddenly and strode over to the slavemaster.

Falni saw him point to two men who had not attracted the interest of either the woman or the Danes. Then she was distracted by Oona's sudden cry.

Falni turned to see her friend being led away by one of the Moor's servants. She was crying for help, but not to Falni. She was pleading at a distance with the rich woman, who did not so much as heed her. Falni's heart sank watching her red headed woman who could sing Shannon's songs led away to Sif knew what sort of fate.

"Come along," said a rough voice, and Falni flinched from the feel of a man's hand grasping her arm.

"What? No!" she shot at him, realizing he had spoken in Saxon. "What is this?"

The man was one of the Breton man's armed guards. "Lord Mixail has bought you. Come along with us."

Falni looked to where the tall Breton was counting out coins into the slavemaster's palm. he glanced back over his shoulder to see that his men had collected his "purchases". He looked at Falni and gave her a wry smile. He winked at her. She was speechless as he left the pen and his men dragged her and the two men after him.

Continues.

Road To Paris: Mixail

2010-09-12T19:06:00.000-07:00

alni sat with her back to the cornerpost of the slave pen farthest from the stile. Usually pulled outside the pen so as not to tempt the inmates to try to escape, it was in place now, signalling time for potential slave buyers to inspect their options. She was of two minds about the possibilities: staying where she was she at least was no farther from home and Shannon. Being sold meant a better chance of escaping entirely. Getting away from the slave pen also meant getting away from the men also captive. Just because they were also to be sold did not mean they scrupled not to take advantage of the women in the pen with them. She had held them off until now, but how long could she?

Hearing male voices from the direction of the guards' hut, she looked up. Oona came over to squat next to her. "It looks like we have many buying, yes? Many languages."

Falni nodded absently. She could just see the men who were gathering on the other side of the stile. There was some commotion, and a woman's voice was raised in pettish complaint. Oona's jaw dropped. "A woman? Women buy slaves? I want to be bnuyed by a woman!."

Falni glanced bitterly at her friend. "Are you mad? Women can be just as garsh as men."

"No rape though."

"Not necessarily..."

Further comment was cut off by the sight of the first guard over the fence. He was comical to watch. He made it over the stile, then stood like a rooster, his thumbs in his belt and a bounce to his stance. Oh yes, he thought well of himself. He would show the bitches who was in charge. Two more junior guards came over. They stood and glared at the women. The lead guard muttered something to one of the younger men, who came forward and started forcing the slaves to their feet.

When he got to Falni she simply looked up at him and bared her teeth with a growl. She pointedly looked at where a livid bruise showed where she had bit him on the arm. He called over his buddy and they managed to get a gag on her and force her to her feet. She was then pushed to join the long line of women about ten feet separate from the men slaves.

Falni looked the buyers over. There were about half a dozen, not counting the obvious servants. There was the woman, seemingly wealthy, who screwed up her face in distaste at the ordure undefoot. She had three servvants with her, two men, one of them among the swarthiest Falni had ever seen, and an older woman. Her dress was mostly unfamiliar to Falni, but Oona leaned to whisper in her ear, "Frankish!" She glanced over to see Oona making obsequious little smiles and nows to the woman. The rich woman did nto even look at her.

Anoth buyer was a short, round man in quite outlandish garb, what looked like a long piece of some fine white stuff wrapped around his head several times, and some sort of kneelength tunic of the same fabric covered by a wobe of rich russet hue. His servants were two muscular giants who, like himself, wore black beards, but his was left to grow long and had white streaks. She guessed he was from Moorish Spain.

She could tell the two men who stood together inspecting the slaves were Danes, their clothing, coloring and height similar to many of the men she knew from her home in Norway. They glance at the women from time to time but seemed more interested in the men. When they approached they looked the men slaves over like they were buying horseflesh, checking their muscle tone, their general health, and punch ing them in the chest to see who would resist. When they did, the two Danes laughed and grinned.

Men with flat faces and upward slanted eyes stood close around another of their land, an older man with a shrewd eye. They were pale of face, short in stature, but in no way weak or insignificant. Oona shrugged at Falni's questioning look.

The final man was more elegantly dressed, stood with an imperious expression, and occasionally plucked at his own sleeve. The style was reminiscent of the Irish men Falni had met, but richer. He looked like a Celt but not quite like the ones she knew. oona was so busily trying to catch the woman's eye she did not notice him, though she must for certain have known where he was from. Cornwall? Wales? Brittany? Asturais? The oddest thing about him is how he glanced surreptitiously around from time to time as if he knew what it was like to be on the run.

The buyer groups avoided each other as if they were contagious with some pox, mirroring the haughty man's suspicious glances. The woman and her three servants made for the line of men. She glared fiercely at the two Danes who were laughing merrily as they inspected the strongest looking of the males. The Danes moved to a strapping fellow, obviously a Scot, and while they were prodding him here and there, the woman's swarthy servant came over to them, nowed low, and spoke to them. They stopped laughing and stared. They seemed to be appraising him but not for his meaning. An argument broke out between them and the black man. Falni tried to catch what she could, first realizing that all three were speaking the amalgam of languages that served in trade. Teh Danes were looking for oarsmen. The woman's servant would not say what she wanted.

Falni's attention was caught when the small Moor made it to where she stood in the line of women. He looked at her from under heavy lidded eyes, working his fat lips in a way that made her shiver. He gestured to one of his men, who reached forward to grasp Falni's already torn jerkin. She hissed and started to raise her leg to kick the man in the balls. He jumped back, then made another try. The Moor waved him away. He was already moving on to OOna.

To be continued.

There was another man

On Hiatus

2010-08-26T18:52:00.000-07:00

We are on hiatus while our author finishes up a novel about the Crusade of 1101. We will be back shortly.

Lawrence, Josephine, Rory, Ceridwen, Shannon, Falni, Erik and all the Pals

Road to Paris: A Friend (newest stories)

2010-08-19T12:42:00.000-07:00

Honnaflo is just south of Le Havre.

Falni hurt all over, but through all the pain she could feel something soft and cool against her forehead. "What... who?" she tried to force out between her bruised lips, but even she could tell the noises she was making were unintelligible. She tried to open her eyes. She managed to get the one slightly less swollen open enough to see a dirty but smiling face. It was a young woman's.

Her lips parted and speech issued forth. There was something familiar about it. The lilt? The guttural sounds? That word.. "kree". Was it.. "chroidhe", the Irish word for "heart"? She managed to croak, "Eireann?" glad there were no hard consonants in the word.

The green eyes danced in the despoiled face. She nodded enthusiastically and started to say more. Falni shook her head and managed to force out "Norsk."

"You are from Norway?" the sweet voice exclaimed in Norse with the delightful lilt that meant Shannon to her. "We have many Norse near Dubh-linn. I learn Norse from them. How you know to say 'Irish' in Irish?"

"Husband. O'Neill."

The woman clapped her hands , making Falni wince. "Oh I be that sorry, Norse lady. I know O’Neill. They live in Ulster, far north of me." She paused, reaching to her side to rinse and squeeze out the cloth she had been using to soothe Falni's forehead. "I am Oona. Oona Inion ui Caisideah. That mean my father is Caisideah." She pronounced it like "Cassidy".

"I am Falni Jarlsdottir." She knew it came out as Valni Yalltootter" but it would have to do for now. "Where we?"

The bright eyes dimmed. "We be in slave pen. These Franks going to sell us."

"Frank? Are we in Frankia then?"

"Yes, we are in... oh, I cannot say it. Something that sound like 'honna flow'. These be Franks, yes, but mostly Saxons."

"Sathons?" She frowned. "Help me thit up."

Oona shook he head. In a queerer voice she said, "No, you not want. You too hurt and the guard he waits for you to wake up. Not a good man."

A surprising chuckle issued from Falni's throat. How could any man here be "a good man."

"You just lie here and rest. Oona will sing you song." Much to Falni's surprise Oona began to croon a lullaby Shannon had told her he wrote. It brought tears to her eyes. They stung when they touched the cuts on her face. She let the tears and the melody soothe her to sleep.

When she woke again Oona was not there. Falni tried to struggle to sit up, the aches in her back and sides but most especially her left shoulder causing her to cry out. When she made it as far up as she could, she opened her eyes and saw Oona sitting on the ground not far from her. Oona's was trying to communicate something, shaking her head and looking up.

"So you are awake then, Norse bitch? About time. I thought we were gonna lose you." The voice was gruff, it spoke in Saxon, and it accompanied a stink that overwhelmed even the stink of the pen.

A hard palm hit her cheek and pulled her chin around to look at the man who was attached to it. Falni bit her lip to try not to cry out again. She found herself looking into a face even filthier than Oona's, The guard, for that was what he was, had a livid scar across his face, was missing several teeth, and those that remained were black stumps. His thumb pad, where it caressed her cheek, was rough and smelled of something stale or rancid.

"I can get ransom," she pleaded in Saxon.

"Ah, so it knows Saxon. And who should it be getting ransomed by?"

"My husband, in Lawrencium."

"And who is your husband, the king I suppose?"

"No, but he is a friend of the king's."

The man took back his hand and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I will have to let the slave master know. If it's true, then good. If not, it will be trouble for you." He looked over at Oona. "This one on the other hand." He indicated the Irishwoman. "She ain't worth shit. Pretty but not the type the Moors like. They like them like you, with pale hair and blue eyes."

He reached down to fondle a breast, making her wince as she felt the bruises there. he laughed and walked to the pen's stile and climbed over, pulling it up behind him.

"Is it true?" Oona pursued in Norse. "You know king? Which king, Offa or some other?"

Falni shook her head. "You understood that much Saxon? No, the king of Críslicland, Lawrence. My husband, Shannon, he is bard to him."

Oona's eyes widened. "Bard to King? He must be rich! You get ransom."

Falni did not correct her. Shannon had told her that king's bards in Ireland were given the highest seat and honors in a hall next to the king himself. Not so in Saxon lands, where the skalds were honored by still considered servants. But she knew that the king would pay her ransom, for Shannon's sake, and for the love he and the queen felt for him. "Mayhap," she agreed.

Continues.

The Road to Paris: Slavery

2010-08-10T11:41:00.000-07:00

WARNING: Violent sexual subject matter.

“I don’t know what you want to know!” Falni choked out as Clothar all but dislocated her already painful shoulder, forcing her to stand before him.

“Watch out. He might have a knife!” one of Clothar’s men warned.

The big Frank glared at him. “Search him then.”

Falni jerked back as the man approached her, almost wrested away from the captain but found herself held by two men behind her. She sagged, knowing what was coming, shaking her head mentally that she thought she might have hid her sex.

“What do we have here?” the first man said with glee as he put hands on her chest to start the search. One hand slipped to her britches and pulled out her eating knife. He used it to cut the tie at her throat, answering Clothar’s curious look with a demonstration. “It’s a woman!”

Falni felt her tunic torn down the middle of her chest. She wore a shirt underneath but it tore away too. Her breasts were now exposed.

The man started to cut away the tie at the waist of her britches. “Stop, I will do that,” Clothar leered. He reached to the shoulders of her tunic and pushed both it and her shirt back so it caught at her elbows. Then he reached for her belt, snapped it apart, reaching to tear her britches open down the front. Her womanhood was exposed now too.

Falni’s memories of her rape as a nine year old flooded back. She took her lower lip between her teeth and bit hard to keep from screaming. Up on the mountainside, on the very rock where she loved to sit and dream, her father’s oath man had found her, roughly pushed her down and taken her child’s body without mercy. He died for it, but so did her innocence, trust and security. And to think she had just been thinking that someday, maybe, she could actually make love with Shannon.

Clothar, spittle on his lips, glanced around. “Get those sacks.”

His men excitedly complied with his orders. One snatched up the sacks, and then laid them on the deck. One of the men behind her grabbed Falni and forced her down on them, on her back. Another man pulled off her britches. They caught on her shoes, so he tore them off too. They did not bother to finish taking off her tunic and shirt.

Clothar kicked her legs apart and got down on her. He roughly spread her thighs and tearing open his own britches, released his phallus. It was large, engorged, and it felt like steel still red-hot from the forge when it ripped into her. She tasted blood as her teeth tore her lip. He thrust into her again and again, watching her face and the blood that dripped down her cheek from her mouth. “Someone slap her hard until she cries,” he coughed out gutturally.

A blow hard enough to break bone came against her left cheek. She tore her lower lip further when the cry escaped from her closed mouth. Clothar chuckled, then groaned and spent himself in her. There was blood on his phallus as he withdrew. “A virgin?” He gloated. “This has been a very lucky voyage for me.”

One by one the other men took her. After the first three she did not feel the tearing of her womanhood any more. It was a strange mercy that the first man was the largest, making the violation of the others less painful. She lay taking one man after another. But by the time they had all had their turn, Clothar was ready again. He commanded his men to turn her over and make her go on all fours. She could not believe more degradation could be done. The big man entered her again, then slipped out and took her in the anus. It tore and burned more than the first assault. She screamed aloud now, over and over. When he finished he withdrew and got to his feet. She slumped to the deck.

“I want to take her in her mouth,” one of his men said greedily.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you. She could bite your prick right off,” said another.

“If she did, I would kill her!” the first man shot.

Clothar, still breathing heavily, remarked, “She might do it just so we will kill her. Better to keep her alive, use her when we want, then sell her on when there’s no more to be had.”

Falni heard none of this. She was blessedly unconscious.

She woke in Clothar’s ship to more violations on the return to port in Frankia. She could not stop the tears from leaking from the sides of her eyes, recalling her childhood trauma, her brother’s death, and of her lost future with Shannon.

Three of Clothar’s men pulled her abruptly to her feet, dumped buckets of seawater over her, causing her to shriek with the pain. They found some rags and fashioned covering for her. She had to be as presentable as humanly possible for the slaver. They tried to cover the bruises and cuts on her breasts, her legs, but could do nothing about the swelling over her broken cheekbone.

Yes, she had hoped they would kill her. At first. But by now a stronger urge than despair overtook her. She wanted to live, to take revenge as horrible as she could, and then she would die. She had to endure until she could escape and go on the hunt for these men, especially the beast, Clothar.

Continues.

The Road to Paris: Pirates (Newest Stories)

2010-08-05T15:09:00.000-07:00

alni’s tears were for her fragile lover, the Irish bard named Shannon O’Neill. She wept because with one look she knew the Sif’s Pride crew was doomed. There were but five of them, one a woman, while the Frankish pirate ship was heavily manned with men bristling with weapons. The best she could hope for would be that passing in the heat of battle as a man she would be killed.

The captain of the Frankish ship looked over his soon-to-be prize. Clothar was not a man who balked at taking what he wanted. The fishing boat looked to be laden with ocean fish. The crew was small, four men and a boy. He gestured to the bowmen who perched above him on the vessel’s rigging. They took aim, waited for a clear and certain shot and let fly their arrows. Immediately two of the crewmen on the smaller boat were killed. That left two and the boy. They were close enough now to throw the grapples and board. Why not let the men have a little fun.

Ranigg stood shoulder to shoulder with Snorri on his right and Falni on his left. He glanced at her, turned back to watch the Franks as they swung their grapples. He waited until the first men climbed the gunwales to step aboard the Pride, reached around behind Falni and pushed her overboard with all his might. Her cry of outrage was submerged literally. He swung his sword, cleaved one Frank’s arm from his shoulder and stabbed another through the belly. Then a third man thrust his spear through Ranigg.’s chest, its point coming out through his back the force was so great. Snorri was long since dead.

Falni struggled in the icy water. Somehow the movement of both vessels made a current that swept her around behind the Pride. She surfaced long enough to hear that the sounds of battle had faded to voices only. She knew what that meant. Ranigg , her dear older brother, her partner and champion, was on his way to Odin’s table now. Her salt tears blended with the sea spray on her face.

She knew that she would not last long in the frigid water. If one of the Franks did not find her as she clung to the boat she would surely freeze to death. That reminded her that Shannon had nearly frozen to death when he fell into this same body of water. She and her brother had found him, rescued him, and christened him “Drivvid” or “driftwood”. It had been the parting with his wife that had driven her Shannon to attempt his own death in the sea. What would happen now that he had lost another, better love?

She could feel her feet and legs going numb. Her mind was slowing due to the cold, but her thoughts raced as quickly as they could. If she died, that would be it. If she let herself be captured, she might, just might find her way back to Shannon. In what shape, she did not know, but she did know one thing. Unlike many men she would be as precious to him ravished by another as she was before.

She wondered if she could pass for a boy. That might be the one way she could escape the violent attentions of these pirates. It was worth a risk. She let herself fall back into the water, keeping herself afloat with her paddling arms, and shouted.

A huge head looked over the gunwale at her. It was a man of at least forty with a bushy reddish beard and eyebrows, many missing teeth, a deep scar above his eyes, and tiny black eyes. He said something in Frankish, a language closer to English than Norse, but she caught the word, “boy” and her hope lifted.

The man swung one arm around to beckon to his crew. Three of them grabbed grapples and started fishing for Falni. One of the hooks snared her arm,. Nearly pulling it from its socket. She cried out with pain, but the man continued to pull her up, one of his mates succeeding in hooking one of her legs. She was glad of the britches she wore at sea.

On the deck of her own boat she lay sodden in the puddle she herself made. The big man, the leader, leaned over her to get a look. In Norse he said, “So we have netted a stout young lad. Should fetch a good price in the slave market. Where were you bound, boy? Frankia, Norway or England?”

One of his crew came up and reported on the booty he had found in the boat’s hold. The captain roared with triumph. Turning back to Falni, he said, “A fine catch! How nice of you and the crew to do all the work for us.” He prodded her with a booted toe. “I asked you a question, brat. Obviously you were headed for a near port. Lawrencium? Skirbeck or somewhere in Frankia?”

Falni tried to skitter away as the boot came back with more force. She pointed to her mouth and shook her head, then to her ears and did the same.

“Deaf and dumb, are you? Well, we will see about that. “ He commanded one of his men, “Bring that corpse over here. He looks a little like this boy. Maybe they are father and son or brothers. Let’s see how this one likes watching her kin mutilated.”

His words had been in Frankish. She thought he might have said something about father or brother. Then she saw what the men were doing. They dragged Ranigg.’s body over to the captain, who gestured for his men to pull down Ranigg’s britches. He himself drew a knife from his belt.

“It would be too bad if this fine young warrior arrived in Valhalla a gelding, do you not agree?” He leaned and reached for her brother’s exposed phallus.

“Stop!” she shrieked.

The captain grinned evilly, re-sheathing his knife. “I thought so.” He reached down to grab Falni’s arm and drag her to her feet. “Now let’s get down to some information…”

The Roaad To Paris: Sif's Pride

2010-07-28T11:17:00.000-07:00

Falni made her way over to where her brother, Ranigg, inspected fishnets. “This calm is about to drive me mad,” she observed irritably. “If we don’t get a wind soon, our catch will be worthless.”

Ranigg looked up and sideways at his diminutive sister. “But the welcome from your husband will be quite the opposite. “ He winked.

Falni smiled at him wanly. “If we are late, he will be hard to calm down even with us in sight.”

“Or you in his arms.”

Without realizing it, the Norsewoman put her own arms around her breast, hugging herself. “Yes, though it will be all kissing and embracing, as you well know.”

Ranigg looked down at some debris he was working out of the netting. “Falni, I do know, but I also have to say for such a chaste marriage, you both do a good semblance of passion.” He glanced up again. “Do you think you will ever overcome your problems in that area?”

Falni shrugged, but thought to herself, “That, I think, will depend on Shannon. The more things he does to me that don’t involve actual coupling, the more I think I may sometime soon be interested in more.” Aloud she said, “I am not sure it is a choice, my brother. “

“Yours is a marriage made in Asgard,” he replied with a broad grin and a twinkle in his eyes. “Who could have been better found for you both?”

But Falni’s attention had been drawn to the horizon and she did not hear his comment.

Ranigg did not comment but stood and peered in the same direction. “Well there’s a ship not becalmed, thanks to its oarsmen. Who is it?”

Falni’s demeanor had gone stern. “I don’t know. But we’d better get ready for the worse.” She turned to where her crew sat on the deck with nothing to do without a breeze. “Hrothgar! Snorri! Harald! To arms! We have company!”

Ranigg had dropped the net and gone to the small hide enclosure for his and the others’ weapons. They did not have body armor any more substantial than boiled leather for heavy coats of mail were death if a man went overboard and, besides, they were not Vikings but only fishers. All carried swords or axes however. Pirates and enemies were not unheard of in the North Sea.

Falni in her own leather best and holding her bow with an arrow notched squinted as the larger ship came closer. She had the youngest eyes so was the first to see the gleam of the sun’s light on weapons. “Thor and Loki,” she exclaimed. “It’s those Frankish raiders!”

The crew of the fishing boat exchanged grim looks. Ranigg grinned. “Well, my friends, if nothing else you will find yourself feasting with the Battle Maidens in Valhalla as the night draws nearer. Not bad for fisher folk, eh?”

Falni struggled to keep tears back, thinking of Shannon’s heartbreak when he learned he had lost her.

Continues.

That Wonderful and Daffy Keyword Analysis

2010-07-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

Susan Higginbotham started it, looking at the keywords people use in searches that bring them to her site, with the addition of her witty observations. Since they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, you must realize that I think she is a hoot.

Checking your keyword search results can be wonderfully affirming. For instance in my latest check on keyword searches that landed folks here there were several affirming searches, one on "ann involuntary king" itself as well as a couple for "ballad of rory mcguinness". I hope the search for "Juliana Series" was intentionally successful. That anyone looked for "Shannon and Rory" made me pretty damn happy, whether or not they meant Mr. o'Neill and Mr. McGuinness..

But they can be pretty wacky too, both that anyone was searching for such a thing or that their search brought them to my little corner of the fictional 8th century in England.

To wit:

bothell

Yes, I admit it, I live there. No, not in a brothel. In Bothell.

Valentine's Gift for Him blogspot

All I can say is that I hope this resulted in a better outcome for the searcher than it did for King Lawrence when Juliana found the Qureen's locket and thought it was a gift for her.

irish gaelic terms of endearment

You can count on it that in his career asa sort of Dark Ages rock star, Shannon had thousands of occasions to use some of those with his many groupies.

Numbness or Pain Down of the Legs or Feet

That person must have been shocked when researching these symptoms he learned that one way you can get this is via a bungled suicide attempt that dumps you into the North Sea where a Norse fishing boat finds you and fishes you out.

aunt and uncle belt punishment stories

Oh my. I can assure you that neither Uncle Lorin nor Aunt Larisa ever participated in this sort of kinkiness. They were far too boring.

"God's bollocks" medieval

Actually it's "bollix". How lovely to know my work of art has provided answers to such profound quests as about the generative organs of the Deity..

wrested her arm from his hold

I would pay good money to know why someone searched for that phrase.

kiss

It's adventure romance... of course there's a kiss.

King stories

So long as you are looking for "of Críslicland" and not "Martin Luther" or "Stephen" or Elvis, you found 'em.

GERTRUDE ELERDE

Oh, are we doing introductions?

boys feet stories blogspot

I am reasonably certain I have never written one.

from behind skirt pulled up thrust

I think all my skirt pulled up thrusts are from the front.

Enlilghtening, isn't it? or disheartening. Not sure which.

Road to Paris: Time for Action (Newest Stories)

2010-07-23T11:48:00.000-07:00

Ranigg in "The Great Hall" yarn painting.

Falni is behind him, her braid showing.

Rory almost wished Shannon would get drunk. His hyper vigilance due to Falni’s disappearance was wearing on everyone. Once upon a time, the mop-headed Irishman would have been passed out somewhere, letting events uncoil without his conscious awareness, thus avoiding much of the suffering of waiting.

However, when Rory made some reference to inebriation being preferable, Ceri shook her head vehemently. They were in her old room at her uncle and aunt’s cottage in lawrencium, preferring not to take sleeping quarters in the palace. The hubbub at the palace made Ceri anxious.

“Shame on you, Rory! You know that drink nearly killed him.” Her look was disgusted. “You of all people.”

Shame-faced, Rory nodded. “That right, so you are,” he agreed.

She went to him and put a palm to his cheek, something of a reach, as tall as he was. “I know you just hate to see him in so much fear,” she murmured with understanding.

He took her in his arms and held her, his chin on the top of her soft brown hair. “I think of what ‘twould be like to lose you, my own darling. It fair breaks my heart.”

Both looked up when they heard a shout from without. It sounded like Shannon!

“Erik! What news?”

Rory and Ceri made their way quickly to the dooryard of the cottage. Shannon, it appeared, had been on his way to see them when he caught sight of the big Dane. As the stern faced sailor came forward, Ceri called to them, “Come in. You can talk here.”

Shannon could not take his eyes from Erik’s face. His eyebrows made one line they were so tight against each other, and his lips were thin and in a grimace. He held his cloth cap in his hands where they twisted it as if he was trying to wring out water. He watched as Erik approached, nodded first to him and then to Rory and his wife, and followed the Dane into Ceri’s uncle’s house.

Erik looked about at the dim interior. Without waiting to be invited, he threw one long leg over a bench at a table and straddled it. Shannon hesitated, then went and sat on the end of the bench. One of Ceri’s cousins already was bringing in a pitcher and bowls of mead.

Erik stared glumly into the blue eyes of the broken bard. “It’s bad news, Shannon.”

Ceri hurried to Shannon as he gave a choked cry and put her arms around his neck from behind. She put her head against his cheek.

“As far as we can tell, Falni is alive.”

Ceri felt the deep rise and fall of Shannon’s sigh.

“But..?” the man said in a restricted voice.

Erik glanced up and into Rory’s miserable face. “They were taken by pirates. Not Danes,” he hurried to add, knowing his fellow countrymen made no friends by their occasional raids, frustrating his own honest business with the ports here. “Franks. A blackguard named Clothar. He took their catch and most of the crew. But Shannon,” he began, “Ranigg is dead.”

Shannon reacted so violently that Ceri was pushed back and nearly lost her balance. He stood up, clenched fists at his sides, the cap fallen to the floor. “No!” he wailed. Rory came forward to support him, but was surprised at the strength with which his diminutive friend shook him off. “No, God, no!”

Rory and Ceri exchanged mournful looks. Ranigg had been a friend to all of them. He was easy going, humorous, and seemingly unflappable. They both knew that Shannon’s grief was for not only him, but for the stalwart brother and defender of his dear wife.

Shannon sunk to the bench again, burying his face in his crossed arms on the table’s top. He began to weep with abandon. He was almost unintelligible when, from the shelter of his encircling arms, he croaked out, “And Falni, dear sweet woman that she is?”

Rory’s and Ceri’s attention shot back to the Dane.

“We do not know for certain, but she may have been taken to Honaflôd to be sold.”

The tear-streaked face came up from the table. “Sold?” Shannon cried. “Never! More the pity, my Falni would never permit herself to be enslaved. She would.. die first.” He dragged himself to his feet again. “I have to go there, to find her, to save her ere she does herself in. Will you take me?”

In a cattle pen in Honaflôd the Norse woman stood glowering at her Frankish captors. Her hair was disheveled, pulled out of its accustomed braid, and her jerkin torn.

A man who had tried to force her bore stripes of red angry flesh down both cheeks. He was off being tended by a companion who did not forbear from chuckling as he dabbed at the blood running down his cheeks. “You’ll think twice about pulling her britches down next time, I’ll warrant,” he said merrily in Frankish.

Continues.

Road to Paris Series: Erik's Fears Confirmed

2010-07-20T12:20:00.000-07:00

The King called “Enter” at the sound of the tap on his door. Looking up he saw an even grimmer-faced Erik than he was used to seeing. “Bad news, I take it?” he asked his friend.

The big Dane, who was beginning to show his age in spite of his beneficial racial background, came in and shut the door firmly behind him. He came forward and slumped on a bench on a wall. “I am afraid so.”

Lawrence sighed. He put down the parchment he had been scanning and sat back in his Roman-style chair. “What have you learned about Falni and Sif’s pride? And does Shannon know yet?”

Erik shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

Lawrence called for a servant to bring ale for himself and his guest. “Is she dead then?”

Watching the servant who had come in for his master’s order shut the door again behind him the Dane replied, “Not for certain, but she may wish she was at this point.”

“What do you mean?” Lawrence sat forward, his bearded chin resting in one palm braced on the table before him.

His friend looked back at him. “It was those Frankish pirates I told you about. They stay away from my ships but love to take the smaller ones. One of my contacts in the less honorable shipping business told me their own ship, Raubvogel, was seen unloading booty, including slaves, at Honaflôd*, at the mouth of the Rodo**.” He did not need to translate the vessel’s name, as both he and the king spoke Germanic languages similar to Frankish, but the word meant “Bird of Prey”.

Lawrence stood and turned away from his friend to stare out a window aperture. “Slaves? Is there some reason to believe that Falni and Ranigg are among those slaves?” When Erik did not at first reply he turned and looked at him sharply. “What?”

Erik’s face twisted in sorrow. “Not Ranigg. He was killed when Sif’s Pride was attacked.”

Sitting suddenly, Lawrence moaned, “Dear God…” He continued more hopefully, “But what about the woman?”

“I am assuming that since we know Sif’s Pride was taken and Ranigg killed, that Falni must have been taken. But I do not know for certain she is among the women sold at Honaflôd.”

The King gazed at his long time friend. “How do you know... No, never mind. But you will tell me if there is a direct threat to Críslicland, will you not?” It was an uneasy understanding between the two. Lawrence knew if he pressed his friend, Erik would simply sail away and never come into port at lawrencium again. That would deprive his subjects with much cargo they profited by.

The Dane smiled. “You can count on that.” His voice was thin.

“What is the name of the leader of this band of Frankish pirates?”

“Clothar, I understand. And he is of some importance, or so I was told. He is kin to the King of the Franks, Karl***.”

Lawrence’s eyebrows elevated. “So?” he said with interest. “What do you advise we should do?”

Erik took the ale horn, which the servant, newly arrived, offered him. “Tell Shannon to start with.”

* Honaflôd1 - Later known as Honfleur. The region was to become “Normandy” after the arrival of Scandinavian raiders. In the 780s Saxon raiders occupied most of the coast and ports. Thus the Saxon name for the town on the estuary, basically “Hona’s River”.

** Rodo - The name for the River Seine in Early Medieval Normandy.

*** Karl - Better known to us as Charlemagne. That name is French, and the French language did not yet exist.

The Road to Paris Series: At the Alehouse

2010-07-16T12:42:00.000-07:00

“I don’t understand,” Aedwine said. “So she’s still at sea. So what? Lots of fishing boats are still out.” He looked at Rory for an explanation.

Rory shrugged, keeping an eye on the morose Shannon who sat with the others at the trestle table in the alehouse.

Shannon lifted his mop of unruly red curls to look at Aedwine with reddened eyes. “Listen, man, know the lass I do. She be that prompt and accurate. She is never later than a few days.”

Aedwine’s bushy eyebrows arched. “I have never known a woman you could count on.”

Ceridwen put a restraining hand on Rory’s arm, sensing his impulse to argue on her behalf.

“Falni is no ordinary woman,” came the muffled reply from where Shannon’s face was buried in his arms on the table’s top.

Rory added, “And no one has seen Sif’s Pride. He winced at his wife’s alarmed look. “Still you may be right...” he quickly added remembering he was supposed to be reassuring his miserable friend, not echoing his fears.

The alehouse door opened flooding the dim interior with daylight only obscured by the silhouette of a tall broad shouldered man. “I know this is a silly question,” came the Dane’s accented voice, “but is Shannon here?”

“Erik!” Shannon overlooked the besmirching of his sobriety in his pleasure at seeing the merchant ship captain. He jumped up and hobbled over to the man who stood looking down at him with blue gray eyes in a weathered, tanned face. “Have you seen it? Sif’s Pride? Have you seen Falni? Is she all right? Is she coming home?”

The big Dane put his hands on each of Shannon’s shoulders. “Nay, I have not, but let’s get an ale and you can tell me why you are so worried.”

The alehouse keeper Leofwen came over carrying Erik’s drinking horn, which he kept here in anticipation of his frequent visits to Lawrencium. She looked inquiring at the others at the table. “Our thanks, good woman, but the pitcher is half full still.” He flashed that sun lit smile at her, forestalling her complaint that such abstemious drinkers would be the ruin of her establishment.

Erik lifted a long leg over the bench and seated himself athwart it to look straight at Shannon beside him. “All right, what is it? What have you heard?”

The little Irishman poured forth a somewhat coherent explanation of how he was expecting his wife back from her latest fishing trip, that she was overdue and that no one could account for her whereabouts. “She was excited about the size of the likely catch, so she was, and I know she would not want to be long at sea.”

Erik did his best to follow the story, but in the end he did not argue with Shannon the way others had. He had known Falni most of her life. He knew her habits, also understood the need to get fresh fish back to the market port before others drove the prices down. He also knew something he had only had a brief opportunity to tell the king before he went looking for Shannon.

“I can make enquiries, and I think I have a better chance of finding out what, if anything, has happened. I have people I know in both boats.”

Ceri gave Rory a questioning look. He whispered, “On both sides of the law.” Her eyes widened. She knew he meant that Erik was both honorable merchant and sometimes not so honorable pirate. This was news to her.

“Will you then, praise God,” Shannon enthused.

“Better make it Njord,” Erik responded.

This time Rory looked at Ceridwen. She supplied, “Sea god.” He nodded.

“Shouldn’t you be after going?” Shannon urged the Dane.

Erik raised his eyebrows. “May I not finish my ale?” He saw just how desperate the little bard was. “Oh, all right, I’ll go.” He took a long draught of the ale and stood. He caught Rory’s eye and beckoned with a tilt of his head for him to follow.

Outside Erik gave Rory a grim look. “I didn’t want to say anything in there, but there is a fleet of Frankish raiders about who have been overtaking all sorts of vessels and taking their cargo and catches.”

Rory’s face paled. “And what of the crews of those vessels then?”

Erik shook his head. “You do not want to know the details.” He put a hand on Rory’s shoulder and squeezed. “I will find out everything I can.”

He turned and strode purposefully down the street towards the harbor, leaving a stunned and motionless Rory standing where he watched the Dane’s receding back.

(Continues)

The Road to Paris: Awaiting News in Lawrencium

2010-07-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

Palace at Lawrencium

If they had not loved him as much as they did, Rory and Ceridwen would have regretted offering to conduct Shannon back to the seaport of lawrencium. His anxiety made him impatient, fidgety, and did nothing to make his tolerance for horseback any easier. “That blasted mule was bad enough. Can’t you get this horse to stop bouncing me all over the place?” And when Rory slowed his mount to make the ride easier, it was “If we keep at this pace, I may as well have walked, so I should.” But they did love him and they also knew what he was going through. His wife was missing and could be gone.

As soon as they came over the hill where the track sloped down to pass the crossroads to the palace and thence down to the town and port, Shannon slid off the horse’s back and made surprising speed on his damaged feet in his rush to reach the town gate.

Rory slowed his horse to a halt. “Where should we go? The town or the palace?” he asked Ceridwen, who rode up beside him.

The stern-faced woman shook her head. “I will never understand why he does not just go with her. I suppose he has the town covered, so let’s go see what they know at the stronghold.”

Since Shannon and Falni had come to Lawrencium after his absence they had not stayed long under the same roof, for Falni was ever anxious to be at sea again. Shannon did go with her from time to time, but more often he would stay in Lawrencium or come out to stay with his childhood friend and that friend’s wife. As the time approached for the Norse fisherwoman to return to Críslicland, the Ulsterman would grow excited, and if there were any delay at all, he would grow nervous and fretful. This time, however, it was much worse, for not only was Sif’s Pride overdue, no one had seen it for weeks before.

The guards at the two gates into the palace greeted the pair with pleasure. Rory was much beloved by every soul that lived and worked there, and his sudden elopement with Ceridwen two years before had meant he was a less frequent guest, now that he lived with her in her croft in Healing.

When the guards’ joyful greetings were joined by virtually everyone in the courtyard, the king himself knew there was a most welcome visitor there. He was expecting his longtime friend, Erik, a Dane and a merchant ship captain, and made his way out of the Hall to see if it was he.

“Josie, Rory and Ceri are here,” he called back over his shoulder when he reached the Hall’s open doorway.

From the back of the Hall the queen looked up and smiled. Now that two years had passed since the tall Irishman had finally given up his bow to “love all of his days”, as the song went, the wife of the King of Críslicland the tension that had grown up between the three had eased. She could relax and smile knowing his affections had entirely redirected to his beloved Ceridwen. Not that there were not moments of nostalgia on her and Rory’s part, but they were safely within the bounds of propriety and comfort now.

As Josephine reached the doorway she saw that her husband had reached the pair. Rory was dismounted and helping Ceridwen to do the same. Lawrence stood at the man’s elbow, looking grim. She immediately knew that the news concerned Shannon.

“My dear, Rory and Ceri have just brought Shannon back from Healing. He is in the town. I hope he has had word of Falni by now.” The king did not look hopeful.

“He went out to Healing?” she asked.

Rory nodded, dipping his knee to her. “I think he just needed to find reassurance, but he did not find it in us. We could not comfort him. Is there any news?”

Josephine looked at Lawrence. He responded, “Nay, but I am expecting Erik at any time. If anyone would know any news or how to get it, it is Erik.”

In the town Shannon sat on a bit of driftwood staring out to the sea. He had stopped at the alehouse for news and, receiving none, made his way to the harbor. No one there could help him either. The fishermen there tried to reassure him that it was more likely the Pride was simply delayed than that anything untoward had happened to it. Shannon was so sure that Falni would never allow that that he could not be convinced. So here he sat, his eyebrows knitted, his face grave, waiting for news to come to him.

Continues.

Road To Paris - The Beginning

2010-07-12T14:54:00.000-07:00

The following story constitutes the beginning of an entirely new series on An Involuntary King: The Stories.

The Beginning

Rory and Ceridwen looked up from their seats near the fire pit as Shannon turned the corner and walked through the gate to their dooryard. The light of the day was dimming, but they still could see his usual merry look was absent. He limped in, his disability more pronounced, and without a word he sat down on the bench near them.

The couple exchanged surprised glances. Ceridwen voiced the question in both their minds, "Shannon, what's wrong? You look terrible!"

Rory waited for the typical riposte from his lifelong friend, something like, "Och, and i that grateful to ye for the compliment, colleen." It did not come. Instead Shannon sat looking off to the side as if not listening.

Now the look on both their faces as they regarded the tousled Irishman was alarm. Rory got to his feet and went over to sit by Shannon, who moved to make room he did not need to make. "Shan, old man, are you unwell?"

Shannon looked sideways at him as if he had never seen Rory before. Then he seemed to shake himself out of his funk. "I am that sorry, Rory, me darling. 'Tis Falni."

When the battered and disheveled man did not go on to explain, Rory urged, "What about Falni? Is it she who is ill?"

He looked at his wife who was as concerned as he. he gestured with his head that she might want to get them something to drink. he did not need to be reminded that Shannon no longer touched strong drink. Ever since his near-drowning and being picked up by the fishing boat Sif's Pride there were several things different about Shannon. Not only did he no longer tolerate ale or wine, but he had lost toes and fingers to the frigid waters of the North Sea, and somehow his ability to make love even to his beloved wife had been lost.

He put an arm around Shannon's bony shoulders. "You were just in Lawrencium, were you not?" lawrencium was where the king of Crílicland lived and the nearest seaport.

"Aye," Shannon replied, accepting the cold water that Ceridwen proffered. "I have been staring at the palace since I thought it likely me darling Falni would return from her latest voyage."

Ceridwen inquired, "And when did you expect her?"

He looked up at her grimly. "More than a fortnight since. You know her, she is unfailingly here when she has finished her fishing. But she is not back and there is no word."

The three sat on in silence for a time. Rory spoke up, "What has the weather on the sea been of late?" He knew a constant worry for Shannon was that his wife, a competent sailor if there ever was one, could be caught out in a dangerous storm.

Shaking his m op of unruly red curls with their streaks of gray silvering the crown, Shannon replied, "I have heard of nothing but calm seas, relatively calm for the North Sea so it is. I waited in Lawrencium until some Norse fisher folk were expected to arrive. None of them had seen Sif's Pride in some time."

Rory realized how remarkable it was that Shannon had made the long trip to Healing to see him and Ceridwen. Shannon would not ride a horse, so he must have begged a ride with a carter or actually walked. "Who brought you?"

The man looked about as if expecting to see someone standing nearby. "Oh, Father Angus. He took me behind him on his mule." He gave Ceridwen an entreating look. "I just had to talk to you, to tell you about it. I don't know what to do." His voice ended on a note of desperation.

Shannon had been rescued from a pllunge into the North Sea by the captain of the Sif's Pride, a Norse fishing boat. That captain was Falni Jarlsdorrir, who took him back to her home in Jarlsfhord in Norway. She and her brother and first mate, Ranigg, nursed the strange man they had come to call "Dribbid" which meant "driftwood" in their language. When Drivvid began to come out of his long stupor to find himself missing fingers and toes and unable to speak about a hoarse rasp, he also could not remember his name or where he had come from, no less how he came to be in the sea. It took him the entire summer, a summer when he and Falni had begun to love each other, to pick up the strings of his former life. When he first recalled his wife heather, the two had been devastated to know they could not marry. Then he recalled that the very reason he had been in the icy waters and nearly died was that the same wife had had their marriage annul ed. As painful as that meory was, he also knew it freed him to be with Falni.

Theirs was an odd relationship. They were both deeply damaged people. Shannon's life from childhood had been a series of joys and despairs, starting with his father's quick temper and quicker fists and ending with Heather's betrayal. For Falni's part, she had only been nine years old when she was caught out away from the village and horribly raped by an older man. Since that time she had hated being ashore and sought chances to get out to sea again almost as soon as she put her feet on dry land again. He father had wisely made her his heir, giving her the freedom to flee her devils whenever her panic set in.

And Shannon and Falni shared that neither could make love. Falni was too damaged and frightened, and Shannon's famous lustiness had been left in the frozen waters off the coast of Northumbria.

"I need to go back, Rory. I need to go back to Lawrencium. I need to be where I can get word." The broken man's face was suffused with fear.

"I will go ask Ewan to keep an eye on things for us," Ceridwen said and stood to go out of the yard.

Shannon reached to grab her hand as she passed him. "Och, Ceri, ye are good to me, you are."

Rory's eyes showed her that he was grateful as well for her understanding that Rory needed to go with Shannon. The three would go and wait for word of the missing Norse woman.

Continues.

You can see the story of how Shannon and Falni met by visiting the Shannon in Norway stories.

"Ballad of Rory McGuinness" Relased on Album!

2010-07-06T20:57:00.000-07:00

Rogues and Rebels Druidsong

Celtic muscian Druidsong has just released a CD that features, among many other beloved Celtic songs, "Ballad of Rory McGuinness", a song written by Nan Hawthorne based on characters from her debut novel, An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England (2008).

The full list of tracks, all of which you can listen to, download and buy the disc at http://druidsong.bandcamp.com/, is:

Ballad of Rory McGuiness
Wild Rover
Greenesleeves
Cam Ye O'er Frae France 02:05
Rising of the Moon
Cruiscin Lan
Green Fields of France
Health to the Company
Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye
The Rolling Hills of the Border
Blackbird
Gentleman Soldier
Three Jolly Coachmen
Black Velvet Band

The album is available as a download for $9.99 USD. You can order the CD for $12.95 USD.

You can hear Druidsong's work played on Radio Dé Danann, http://www.radiodedanann.com/.

Visit Druidsong's web site to find all of his albums and singles.

15. The Yew Tree 04:35

The Verdict on the Plot

2010-06-29T13:55:00.000-07:00

Old drawing from the 60s but you should prtend Falni is Cerridwwen.

27 people voted for their choice of what plot lines we should follow in future. Here are the results.

Journeys of two Irish bards. 30.77% (8 votes)
Adventures of a dispossessed king's son. 19.23% (5 votes)
A queen goes to the aid of a monastery that was destroyed by Vikings. 15.38% (4 votes)
Two royal sisters, a nun and the wife of a king, help each other. 15.38% (4 votes)
Stories about the common people living near an Anglo Saxon stronghold. 7.69% (2 votes)
How the not-so-nice mercenaries met. 7.69% (2 votes)
The voyages of a Danish merchant sea captain. 3.85% (1 vote)
Villagers forced into banditry by a greedy overlord. 3.85% (1 votes)
~~The characters in An Involuntary King when they were children. 0.00% (0 votes)~~

So, Shannon and Rory it will be, especially as the dispossessed king's son will have apossible novel of his own, that is, one in which he plays a significant role. The same is the case with the not-so--nice mercenaries who will find themselves part of the Elerde novel.

For the record, there already are adventures written for Shannon and Rory here on the blog.

The plots that did not get as many but at least got one vote -- thank you for not voting for "Críslicland Babies" -- will get up here eventually.

By the way, this blog is up for grabs for fan fiction! Hint hint.

In the meantime, I am back to the extensive table of contents. I hope to have the first installment of "The Road to paris" starring Shannon O'Neill and Rory McGuinness, with Dorothy Lamour as Cerridwen.

Insert Intermission Music Here

2010-06-26T00:13:00.000-07:00

Lawrence, Josephine, and all the rest are taking a little time off to have uneventful lives... something novelists simply cannot allow, but a blogger may.

While I, that blogger and novelist, take some time to create a proper index for this long series of stories and auxxiliarry material, please go back and read some of those you may not have gotten to while you caught up with the Crísliclanders' latest doings.

If you want to know when the absolute brand spanking new stories start showing up here, just sign up as a subscriber... there should be a tool for that somewhere here on the blog.

I also suggest that you join Ghostletters for more of the same.

Laake's Portraits

2010-06-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

Left to right: Josephine, Lawrence, Elerde, Rory and Shannon

Laake is a professional portrait painter, available to paint you kids, your pets, your wedding.

See her Flickr pages and contact her at monkeeboymom@att.net . She will paint from your photos and show you the results online before shipping your portraits to you.

I am working with Laake to produce a book trailer. She will also do book covers and other colorful artwork.

What Would You Like to See Next?

2010-06-24T00:00:00.000-07:00

What Do You Mean, The End???

2010-06-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

I have now officially run out of letters and stories. I posted the whole juliana series last because Laura and I decided when I wrote the novel that our old title for The Stories, "Faithful Forever" was going to be accurate now. There is still in the novel an attraction between the queen and Elerde, but it is never consummated, and the closest Lawrence ever comes to Juliana is comforting Earl Sagar's daughter by that name. He pulls away when he feels his body respond. As he says in the novel, any time he felt the urge to take another woman two images would quench his ardor. Josephine's face, and even more effective, an image of Josephine in Elerde's arms.

I am going to take a little while to build the tables of contents for this blog.

But I don't want to stop this story. I already plan a novel about Elerde, starting in his youth at school in Rome. Shannon will reincarnate as O'Quill in my Wintanceaster Hauntings series that I plan. Who knows, there might even be a sequel to An Involuntary King. In the meantime I have new people I want to write about... check on http://www.nanhawthorne.com/ for news on that.

What now? Well I want to keep writing these stries. Who would you like to know more about? What storylines would you like to see? I just ask, no Elerde since he is going to h ave his own novel, which I promise I will post here. But any other plot line is fair game.

Drop me a note at hawthorne@nanhawthorne.com or leave a post with your ideas and requests. If you have any questions, also let me know.

Thank you for your kind attention all these many months. I hope you will stick around for The Rest of The Story.

Nan Hawthorne
20 June 2010

Don't worry - an image of Josephine is in the works!

Juliana Series: What Lawrence Learned (outtakes)

2010-06-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

(Very erotic if not very explicit.. so be warned.)

The King sat looking over documents in the chamber adjacent to his bedchamber. His attention was not on what he was reading, since in the other room he could hear the clank and thump of his new bed being put together. Josephine was directing the work, which made him smile. "Nay, set that up directly across from the tapestry. Take the camp bed out completely. I think thou hast the right side curtain on backwards."

Lawrence thought back over the past couple of weeks of re-wedded bliss. His and Jo's lovemaking had always been at least companionable, if not always intense. There was passion, of course, but he was realizing now after the two of them had had other teachers, that he had not really known how to make love to a woman. Yes, of course, he knew how to have intercourse, but not how to make the act of love an exercise in pleasuring a woman he cherished. As far as he knew, Jo had been happy with their intimacy, had seemed to respond with passion and never seemed dissatisfied. He tried not to think of the many times he had wondered, when she seemed absent, whether she was thinking of Elerde even as he himself moved against and in her.

Lawrence had a greater understanding now of why he had become so intoxicated with the courtesan, Juliana. Besides the dark earthiness of her spirit and body, she had been so responsive to his own body and lovemaking, it had drawn him back and back to her for more. At first he had been unsure of whether her apparent pleasure in him was ardor or artifice, given she was trained to appear to be enjoying herself. He did not know that her loneliness and old infatuation with him as youths had combined to make their lovemaking very intense for her. But it was as their affair went on over the months that Juliana had begun to instruct him in the art of pleasing a woman in bed. She had shown him where to touch and when, how to watch for the signs of sexual response in her face and body, how to move so her own climax would be more intense, when to soothe and when to hurt, just a little, with soft nips of his teeth. She taught him how to slow his own response and concentrate on hers. She had shown him through her own ardent response to his new skills that he was becoming a very good student.

Jo and the King had shared only the most basic revelations with each other about their time with their respective paramours. He knew that she had lain with Elerde, albeit for only a few weeks. She of course knew that Lawrence had been with the courtesan for many months. She knew his obsession with her body and making love to her was strong enough to behave willfully and recklessly and to make him throw everything away. But the details of their intimacy with their lovers they had not talked about.

Lawrence, listening to the work going on in his bedchamber, sat back in his Roman style chair and thought about what they had told each other, not in words but in how they made love now. He did not need to ask Jo about Elerde and how he pleasured her. He felt it in the intensity of her sexual response and the fact that now she told him, in words or in sounds and movements, what she wanted him to do. The experience was electrifying. His wife had always been responsive and loving, but now she was hungry for him, always wanting and demanding some touch, some kiss, some stroke of this tongue, some movement of his body. Rather than being put off, her needs increased his ardor. He was himself more intensely involved, and he knew it came from pleasing her. He did not need to be told that the Breton knight had made love to his wife with the experience of many lovers and with a desire for her that had gone unsatisfied for years. He could tell that Elerde's prowess in bed had opened many new understandings in the Queen's appetite and body.

How did he know? He thought about that now. He knew because she now came to him with desire as often as he to her. He knew because she looked at him in ways she had not before. He knew because rather than shrinking from what must have been as clear to her were lessons he learned in Juliana's arms she sought them hungrily. He knew that she seemed to know what she wanted , where she wanted it and when and how to give it to her in a way he had knot known with her before, inexperienced as they both were.

Now when they made love, he knew how to subtly change the intensity and duration of his touches. He had learned to pleasure a woman with his hands and mouth first before going on to intercourse. He knew just when to nip her breast, when to draw a finger along the inside of her thigh, when to switch from a gentle kiss on her throat to a forceful and thirsty kiss on that certain spot on her neck that drove her wild. He knew when, to gauge through her movements and how damp she had become, when she wanted him inside her. Then he knew how to move, how fast or how slow, how hard to thrust or how slowly to draw himself in and out of her to draw out her moan of deep pleasure. And she was not shy, not any more, about telling him what to do. "Not there. Oh yes, just like that. Quick, push harder." He knew now when she wanted him to pull her hips up and against him and how to spill into her as if his heart and soul and mind were all shooting deep inside her with his seed.

Josephine appeared at the door , shaking him out of his reverie. "Come see, " she invited.

The servants were clearing away tools and scraps of cloth and wood as the Queen led Lawrence by the hand into his bedchamber. There it was, almost as if the old bed had not been removed and burned. The heavy curtains that kept them warm on the coldest nights were drawn back and held to the posts with gold colored rope. The feather bed was high and soft, he could see, and covered with woolen blankets and a fur. The room was lit by his window and candles. There was a scent of herbs thrown on the fire in his hearth. The light of the fire flickered on the panels of the tapestry.

"Now," he said to her quietly, "I feeleth as though I may welcome thee home." He looked into her eyes and saw a warm, purring lasciviousness come over them.

"Oh Lawrence, " she sighed. He kissed her and left her to usher the last stragglers out and to lean into Clancy's anteroom to command that they not be disturbed.

He returned to her, the door shut firmly behind him, and began to remove her clothes. He carried her to the bed and lifted the covers to slide her in and crawl in after her. Kneeling above her, he pulled off his own clothing and shoved off his boots. Jo had come to want them both to be naked when they made love. She had told him she wanted the cool silkiness of their bodies to touch and slide. He stretched himself along her, and took her in his arms. Her eyes filled with heat.

"Lawrence?"

"Aye, my Sunshine?"

"I love thee."

His own eyes filled with fire and love and they made long, sweet love to each other.

Lying in his arms afterward, gazing together at the tapestry as they often had over the years, she moved sensuously against him and purred.

Lawrence squeezed her and smiled. "Well, after that, I know not how to improve on it. " He looked at her amused smile and asked, "What do we do now?"

She considered for a moment, and then replied confidently, "How about live happily ever after?"

Next: The End

Juliana Series: After the Feast (outtakes)

2010-06-21T00:00:00.002-07:00

[Mature content

ired, full and a little tipsy, Lawrence and his Queen strolled dreamily arm in arm to her bedchamber. Inside, he kissed her lightly and excused himself to go up to his own chamber by their privy stairway, so he could prepare for bed. "May I come back and share thy bed? To sleep I mean?"

Josephine smiled sleepily up at him. "Of course, I would be sick with loneliness should thee not. So did thee fix whate'er was wrong about the staircase?"

He said, "Well, doth thou wish to see for thyself?" He smiled and offered her his hand. Josephine made noises about falling asleep before she made it up to the first landing, but followed him willingly enough as he opened their private door and climbed the stairs.

The Queen was shocked when she stepped into her husband's dimly lit bedchamber. "Where is the bed?" she asked, waking with the surprise.

The King looked uncomfortable. "Well, I could not sleep alone in it. And I was not about to share it with anyone save thee. So I had the bed removed and burned."

"Burned? Oh Lawrence, not burned. All those memories.." she looked wistfully where the bed had stood.

Lawrence came to her and turned her around to look at their tapestry. "I took this down for a time too. I thought I would ne'er be with thee again. But as thou see, it is back on the wall. And now I can look at the last panel without feeling my heart tear apart." He held her from behind, his arms around her shoulders and she put her own hands on his arms where they crossed her middle.

"We still do not know what will go in that last panel, my love," she sighed. "But now we can start creating it." She turned and kissed him. He left her to pull a cloak from his chest. She looked at the camp bed and chuckled lightly. "Thou will have to get a new bed... if thou thinks I intend to crawl onto that with thee..."

Lawrence playfully whipped around and grabbed her by the waist. He fell into the bed and pulled her down on top of him. He nuzzled her neck and made a humorous growling sound. "How do thee like that, eh, my lady?"

She laughed and beat his chest. "Brute! Unhand me!" She struggled up but when she stood she turned and gave Lawrence her hand. "Come my darling." She led him back down the stairs and into her own bedchamber.

Lawrence helped her undress and slip into a nightdress. He removed all but his own shirt and waited to be invited into her bed. "Come here, silly," she said. He accepted the place she offered him as she lifted the covers and patted beside her

They lay, Josephine's cheek on her husband's chest, and held each other. Josephine lay with her eyes closed, listening to his breath and his beating heart. The smell of him, so familiar, was like a salve to her wounded heart. She thought she could fall asleep here and stay forever in his arms until some clarion called forth all who had been born for some future purpose.

Lawrence lay unable to stop looking at her. She had melted into him, like a small child who falls asleep in its strong father's arms. He marveled at how peaceful she was here, with him. For himself he could hardly believe he was not dreaming. He kept checking to make sure he was awake and that this woman in his arms in the dim light really was she, his love, his life, his wife, his Josephine. His Sunshine. He turned towards her in the bed and held her closer. Her breathing became slow and even and finally he could not stave off sleep any more himself.

In the morning Lawrence woke to the realization he was in a real bed and there was someone soft and warm with him. It took him a moment to remember, and not before he nestled closer too the soft and feminine form and started to feel himself become aroused. Then the event of the previous day flooded back. He opened his eyes and beheld his Queen. "Gratiae dei," he murmured.

Josephine then stirred and woke. Her eyes were on his face as they opened and she smiled and stretched languidly. Her leg pressed against his groin in the act, and he pulled back to try to keep her from feeling that he was aroused. She noticed what he did and pretended not to have.

High pitched voices came from outside her room and a little knock. "Josephine pulled herself up on her elbow and called, "Come in, my darlings!" Lawrence pulled himself to a sitting position, pulled up the pillows his head had lain on and wedged them behind his back. Josephine was sitting up too, as the younger children still in their night clothes flooded in and threw themselves on the bed. Peter came in just after them and picked up Donalbain and gave him to their mother. Peter sat on the edge of the bed and just smiled at the scene. Lawrence was relieved to have managed to escape detection of his arousal, which had eased with the entrance of the children.

The seven laughed and talked, giggled and pretended to wrestle. The Queen lay back against her husband's chest and he held her shoulders. Occasionally he would bend his head to plant a kiss on her neck. She smiled and patted his hand, turned her head up and towards him to and kissed him. Both basked in the warmth of their companionship and reveled in the joy of their children.

Lorin left the King to reacquaint himself with his wife and happiness. There was no business pressing he could not handle alone. He noticed that Shannon and Rory were missing again, but paid little attention beyond that. Erik stayed a few days, as was his wont, and sailed again. The royal couple spent a great deal of time with their children and alone. Assumptions were made and then left unexamined about where the King slept and what he and the Queen did there when not sleeping. Lorin surprised Larisa with a more amorous demeanor than usual when they were alone. She teased him, "Thou art in love with love, my lord."

Lawrence longed to make love to Josephine, and little did he know she longed for it too. He held her and kissed her but waited for her signal to reinitiate intimacy. He did not have to wait long.

The two were in the Queen's now awakening garden. They strolled and talked, stopped and held each other and kissed. They reached a spot between some high shrubs and found their path was blocked by a stone pedestal that had fallen over. Lawrence crouched and hoisted one end of the block of stone and lifted it carefully, slowly standing with the weight. The pedestal upright, he dusted off his hands and turned to offer his arm again to his wife.

As Lawrence's muscles strained at the heavy weight, Josephine had watched and suddenly found herself quite breathless. Her body felt all at once suffused with a warm glow. When he turned and looked at her, her lips were parted and she breathed erratically. He saw the growing passion in her eyes and stepped forward to take her in his arms. They kissed, long and deep and with growing heat. He started to pull away and said, "Shall we go to .."

Josephine clutched him and breathed between clenched teeth, "Nay. Here. Now." She pulled down on him and he sank with her to the moss that grew between the shrubs. Her mouth sought his greedily and he lay atop her, holding her have between his two hands. He kissed her on every square inch of her face and down to her neck. She was breathing in irregular gasps. She repeated, "Here. And NOW."

She moved under him, spreading her legs and grinding her groin against his. Breathless himself he reached and pulled up her skirts. He moved on her and found the spot and thrust inside her. They both gasped. "Now," she cried. "Now!" He thrust into her over and over with a quickening rhythm. She thrust back, arching to meet him. Two stable boys hoisting forkfuls of straw bedding exchanged looks when they heard the woman moaning and the man grunting and then joining her moans. They cried out almost together and fell silent. One of the boys remarked to the other, "It is nice to have them back again" and went on a little more energetically with the pitching.

Lawrence ceased moving but did not take his weight off Josephine. He held himself, still in her, for a moment before releasing and then falling to her side. She lay with her knees wide apart and her skirts up, breathing deeply with parted lips. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. The look on his face was heavy lidded and astonished. She started to laugh. He joined her and they laughed together until they almost cried. He grabbed her and rolled her around in the moss, completely covering himself and her with the delicate dark green velvet. He made as to gobble her neck, and she screamed with laughter. Neither noticed how quiet the castle had become.

Fifteen minutes later, with their clothes rearranged as well as they could manage, the King and Queen came out of the garden, strolling as if they had done nothing more than stop and consider a flower bud or a leaf starting to curl out of its twig. As they passed each person as they went into the keep and into the Queen's bedchamber, each person nodded and received a polite and smiling nod in return. No one commented on the tiny pieces of moss that covered them head to foot. They just smiled at the Queen's contented face as she leaned into Lawrence as they walked.

Next: What Lawrence Learned

Juliana Series: The Royal Feast (outtakes)

2010-06-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

As told by Prince Peter.

When Father came out of Mother's bedchamber I looked to see if he seemed better. I could tell from his face that he had wept and yet that he felt hope. I did not understand, but tried to keep my faith in my parents' love for each other. I saw Father call to a servant to bring some strong fellows to his own bedchamber. I know about the stairs, so I thought how wonderful it was if he wanted to move the armoire from their door. Mother has not seen his chamber since she came this morning. I wonder what she will think when she sees the big curtained bed is gone.

I hope no one was trying to rest or nap this afternoon, because there was such a lot of noise from all the preparations for tonight's feast! I could hear clanking and shouting from the kitchen, all the way in my own chamber. Other servants set up the trestle tables, and I saw them standing on each other's shoulders to put up bright colored banners and bunting that are only put up on High Holidays and state suppers. The minstrels and other entertainers were in the Great Hall as well, rehearsing and joking. Shannon saw me and gave me one of those winks I cannot tolerate. This time he means to say that my parents are, well, busy. I suppose if he saw Father going about as I did he may have thought twice about that.

It was such a racket in the keep that Brother Benedict bade me leave off my catechism and just come watch the excitement. I came down to watch the decorating of the Great Hall. Everyone kept pushing me out of the way, so I gave up and went to see what Father was doing. I found him in his chambers, in his bedchamber actually. He had set some menservants to moving the armoire out of the way, just as I suspected. He smiled at me when I came in. He saw my questioning look and just winked. I don't mind when he winks. It is not as disturbing as when Shannon does it.

I looked at his little camp bed. He laughed and said he would have to have another large bed made. In the meantime he said he could sleep in Mother's bedchamber or stay here if she wanted to be alone. I tried not to look disappointed. I would never have sad anything about it to him, but had hoped they were in Mother's bed going at it like rabbits. Well all in good time, I suppose.

Father seemed to have the arrangement of his chamber well in hand, so I decided to go see if Sir Percy needed my help with anything. I found him in the stable currying his mount. I asked if I could comb its mane and fetch water and he said yes. It was good to have hard work to do to keep my mind off worries and the excitement of the feast. Afterwards I went to the well and washed the smell of the horse and stable off me. I went to my chamber and dressed in my best clothes for the feast.

When it was time for the feast to begin I went to find Mother. She was in the nursery seeing to it the children were dressed and ready. Father was there as well, standing behind Mother with his arms around her neck and his face up against one side of hers. It was a nice thing to see. Every so often he would kiss her or whisper in her ear and she would smile or laugh. She looked so beautiful, so young. She wore a deep crimson gown with a gold snood that held her hair. I should have liked to see the medallion that Lady Juliana had taken around her neck, but at least Father himself was there! Around her neck, I mean.

I must admit the children looked pretty nice, especially the girls. They were as elaborately dressed as one of their dolls. They for once were not squabbling but were helping each other braid and arrange their hair. Tavish had his best tunic on, the one that makes him look like a Roman child. The nursemaid was holding Donalbain who was barefoot as usual.

We, the whole family I mean, went into the Great Hall together. Mother and Father went in first with Father holding Donalbain. The people who were already in the Great Hall made a loud, long sighing sound, like they had seen a swan inn flight. I guess they must be happy to see my parents like that too. After Mother and Father, Caitie and Lainie went in holding hands and then I, holding Tavish's. I was looking to see where the children and I were going to sit. I was so excited when I saw that we would be sitting at the high table! Mother sat in her chair - it was so wonderful to see her in it again after so long - and Father sat in his. He had me sit next to him, then Tavish and Elaine. Caithness sat near Mother with Donalbain between them. Uncle Lorin, Aunt Larisa and our little cousin John sat at the end. You could see that John was looking around at the colors and the lights. He looked like he was in Fairyland!

When we were all sitting the servants in their best livery came in and brought us bowls with rosewater to wash our fingers. Donalbain tried to lean into the bowl and lick the water like a dog. Other servants brought bread for us to put our food on. I took my dagger from my belt to eat with. There were already minstrels playing. I saw that Shannon and a piper were trying to be heard over the chatter of voices.

Before the feast really began, Father stood, holding his goblet in his hand. The voices quieted and the minstrels left off playing. Father looked down at Mother while everyone was looking at him. He raised his goblet to her and said loud enough for all to hear, "To my lady who hath brought the sunshine back to Christenlande!" He saluted her with his goblet and drank. Everyone else saluted and drank. I love what he said. Mother was called Sunshine when she was little. When Father calls her that it means he is really happy.

The food we ate was very special. After the bread trenchers were set down and wine poured servants brought sugared almonds and cucumber sliced and shaped into hearts. I saw Father and Mother feed one to each other. Father let me have wine without water in it, but he made me promise to make the goblet last all evening. The children had watered wine or mead. I don't think Tavish wanted ever to stop eating the almonds! There were also eggs that had been boiled and seasoned with mustard and some other spice I did not recognize.

The next thing the servants brought was cold salmon on fresh rosemary sprigs. There was a little bowl of sauce that you are supposed to dip your piece of fish in. It was delicious. With the fish there was cooked carrots with mint, some savory made with bread and raisins with cherries and horseradish. There were so many dishes I don't even remember them all even though the feast was just last night.

Then the centerpiece of supper was borne in on a huge tray. It was a whole swan, cooked and then the feathers put back on! Everyone gasped, it was so beautiful. The servanst brought the swan directly to Father. He presented it to Mother and then the servants took it to a side table to pluck and carve. Mother and Father got the first slices. With the platter of swan the tables had other dishes on them. There was a pork roast with a sweet, tangy sauce, chickens cooked in wine, mushrooms, a cabbage and quail stew, and cheeses. They also brought out apples and other fruit.

I did not think I could eat a single other thing until a servant brought in the sweet. It was a marchpane castle that looked just like this one. Donalbain demanded the banner that flew from the highest tower and Father gave it to him. The marchpane was rich and sweet. I thought I was going to burst. I had enough of my wine by then that I thought I would go to sleep, then burst.

It was time then for the food to be cleared away and nuts and fruit brought. Everyone turned to where Rory was standing. He gave a deep elegant bow and began to recite how happy everyone was that Mother is home, how she lights up and lightens everyone's heart. He was so eloquent I will admit to having almost wept. Then some musicians played while some people in costumes danced . There were two men and two women and they danced mostly with their feet, spinning and kicking their feet out towards each other. Sometimes they would do this in a circle around each other. It was very lively.

Next Shannon played his lute and sang. Lutes are very quiet so we all had to hold very still to hear it. I saw Mother look at Father and touch where his cheek had been broken by Shannon's lute. Other people saw and smiled and laughed. Father pretended to be offended. Shannon nodded his head to my parents as if he was bowing to them. He sang songs in his language that were kind of sad sounding but also very sweet.

Donalbain fell asleep in Mother's lap - I saw that Father had both his little feet in one of his hands to warm them - and Tavish was yawning, so Aunt Larisa took them and John to put them to bed. I saw Lady Jocelyn get up from near us and kiss Percy and leave. Both the ladies came back as Shannon was singing his last song.

Then Rory got up again and told one of his wonderful tales. This one was about the Lady of the Lake and how she imprisoned the enchanter Merlin in a tree. I saw Shannon make a funny face. I wonder if he does not like that story? Rory has a deep voice when he tells tales and it rumbles through the room, especially if he is talking about a dragon. I noticed that Erik was smiling while he listened to the story. He likes sagas and legends a lot and always asks Rory to tell one when he is here.

So everyone would not fall asleep, we then had some acrobats who also juggled. A piper played something really fast and it helped me clear my head a little. After that Shannon and Rory and some other singers sang some funny songs about frogs courting mice and other silly things. I was ready to go to bed when Shannon finished the entertainment with some love songs. You could hear ladies swooning and sighing all over the place. Oh brother!

When the feast was mostly over I saw Father lean over and whisper something in my mother's ear. She smiled and nodded and Father stood and told the company that he and his lady would retire. Some people made embarrassing noises. I wish they wouldn't do that. But Mother and Father just looked at each other and left the Great Hall holding hands.

I am writing this in the morning before most people are awake. I know that when the little children wake up they will go to Mother's room. She will invite them in and they will all get on the bed with her and Father. I will go join them. It will be so nice to see them there, my father sitting up against pillows and holding my mother while they both play with the children.

Next: After the feast

Juliana Series: Josephine Comes Clean (outtakes)

2010-06-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

osephine sat a little stiffly next to her husband in her bedchamber. The younger children had been sent to bed for their naps, not at all happy to be separated from their mother. She promised she would be there when they woke and they fussed but went with the nursemaid. Peter left with a little smile saying he had studies to attend to.

Lawrence sat with his Queen on a bench and rubbed her back, looking at her with a quiet smile.

"Lawrence," she said. "We needs must talk, but may we please do this the once, then leave off after that."

He looked at her sadly. "Of course, my dearest. Tell me what thou wish and ask me what thou wish. Then if thou can forgive what thou hears, we may ne'er speak of any of it again." He massaged the back of her neck. He found it difficult not to keep physical contact with her.

"Thank you, my lord," Josephine replied. "But first may I change into a robe? Will it make it hard for thee if I undress?"

The King looked perturbed and uncomfortable. "Josephine, my darling, do not feel that I shall be uncomfortable or fretful if we cannot make love for a while. If I hath learned anything in these past many months, it is that I can control my lust if I resolve to do soI love. I shall not touch thee, if thou wisheth it not. As I said in the nursery, I can be happy just to hold and gaze at thee. I shall do precisely as thou wisheth."

The Queen turned to him and pleaded, "Oh my dear, I am sorry. I am but nervous after all that hath happened. I want thee to touch me and hold me. I need it. I just need... a little time to feel back at home with thee." She reached to him and held his face in her hands. She drew his head to hers and kissed him. "I love thee, my lord. We shall not wait long to be husband and wife again."

Lawrence put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "We ne'er stopped being husband and wife. And we ne'er shall, throughout eternity, long after we hath both ceased to be. If thou ne'er make love to me again, we shall still be lovers." He kissed the golden hair. "Dost thou wish me to leave while thou undress?"

"Nay, my darling. And thou need not turn away. I dist not wish to discomfit thee, that is all." She stood and went to where her clothing chest sat against one wall. "It is so strange to be in this room. It feels as if I never left." She turned to her husband, and in a tentative voice, asked, "Lawrence, did she ever.." Lawrence frowned and cut in. Juliana never slept in this room, with or without me. And never in mine own bed either." His voice was stern. She smiled back at him and nodded.

"Thank you for thy honesty, my lord. For this afternoon, let us be entirely truthful with each other. " She bent over her chest and lifted the heavy lid. "Oh all my gowns, how wonderful to see them again. I have had but two dresses to wear all this time." She rummaged through the chest and pulled out a soft light blue linen night robe.

As she removed the riding dress her Breton knight had given her, Lawrence watched. His heart filled with longing but he let his eyes and face show only the fondness and relief of having Josephine home. He saw that her arms still held a fading tan and that her legs still showed some scars from scratches she had gotten from brambles. She slipped out of every piece of clothing she wore, trying not to think of a night all too recent when some other man undressed and gazed at her. The King savored every square inch of bare skin and tried to think of nothing else.

Draped in the robe, Josephine took the riding dress to the bedchamber door. Opening it a crack. She called to a maidservant. "Heartha, please take this to be burned." She closed the door again after her and came to sit with the King. He enveloped her in strong arms and put his chin on her head. He said nothing.

Josephine sat a while trying to decide where to start, what to say. She finally blurted out, "Oh Lawrence, why did thee do it? Why did thee bring her here?" She turned damp eyes to his face, and saw the profound regret and sorrow in his own.

Lawrence tightened his embrace. "Oh my darling, my darling. For so long I could not have explained it to myself or to thee. But now I believe I have a greater understanding. It is difficult to say the words. I have hurt thee so egregiously already."

Josephine prompted, in a tiny voice, "Go on, Lawrence. I want to know even the worst.

He sighed. "Josie, I was heart broken by thy love for Elerde. I did try to remind myself both before and after I sent him away that thou were in mine arms, my bed, and he had thee not. But so often as I made love to thee thou seemed to think of him. I could not bear it. When I saw Juliana again in Derby I was sick with grief and loneliness. She gave me.. relief." He kissed her hair. "Then as I thought to return to thee, I think I could not give her up." He struggled for words. "She.. had a way.. she made love like.. I cannot say. It was.. different. Intoxicating.. I have ne'er been unsatisfied with thee..."

The Queen put her fingertips on his mouth. "Shhh, I know. Do not explain."

Lawrence's face flickered with conflict. Her gentleness warmed him but the "I know" chilled him. He waited, then went on. "I think somehow I thought to punish thee for the hurt I felt from thee, and I was stupid enough to think that I could get away with it. Many men have mistresses -- why not I? Of course, many men do not have a great love."

He bent over and put his face in his hands. "I shall ne'er forgive myself for what I did to thee and to our children. I have had much chiding from my friends for moping and self-recrimination and have tried to leave off. But I must tell thee that I am ashamed to the heart of what I did, how I conducted myself. It was Peter's bitter anger at me that brought me to myself."

Josephine nodded and stroked the back of his head. "twas then that thou did leave her bed?" He nodded with his face still in his hands. "And never more went to her?" He nodded again.

"I ne'er made... love to her again. I would see my son's look of betrayal if I e'en so much as thought of her and.. her body."

They sat and Josephine continued to stroke his head and his back. He finally sat up and looked at her, a look of fear on his face. "And thee?"

The Queen looked away and nodded. "Aye, he did bed me. We were together in that way for little more than a fortnight." She wrung her hands. "It was.. different for me too. He was different... he did things in ways I had ne'er experienced before."

Lawrence had grown tense and tight. She hurried to go on. "My dearest, this is something we need to know about each other. We have had lovers who thrilled us in ways we ne'er hath done for each other. But even if we ne'er use what we learned with each them in our own bed, I should want only thy love and thy passion forevermore. And I believe thou doth feel the same."

The King nodded, his head bowed. He responded tentatively, "I hope that I can satisfy thee when we are .. together again."

She gave him a sweet look and a humorous shove. "Now, sirrah, let us have none of that. Thou art not a pimply boy any more. Thou needs not worry about thy prowess in bed." He looked sidelong at her and smiled weakly.

Josephine went on. "My lord, one reason I am loathe to make love to thee this minute is that I have my blood. "

He sat up and looked at her with a charmingly open smile. "That is good, is it not?"

She laughed. "Aye. It means that the only children I should bear in future will be thine."

He hugged her and laughed. "That is good."

The Queen went on, "My lord, I need to wash the dirt of the road and sea and the Breton off me. I shall call my ladies and have a bath prepared. May I beg thy leave for a nonce?" She blushed a little, "Thou canst stay and watch if thou wisheth..."

Lawrence smiled and laughed. As he rose he said, "Aye, I wisheth, but it seems a ritual thou needs to do alone. I shall tear myself from thy side . Send for me when thou art ready."

"Lawrence?" she called, puzzled, as he headed for her bedchamber door after leaning to kiss her. "Why doth thou not use the stairs to thy chamber?"

He looked over at the door that led to the stairs. "Oh, that. Well I shall explain about that later. I have to move some furniture.. and order a new bed." He smiled at her, bowed and took his leave.

She looked after him, then sighed. "Men!" she breathed and then smiled warmly. She went to the door he had left ajar behind him and called, "My ladies, will thou please prepare me a bath? A hot fragrant bath." She uttered the last in a tired but happy murmur .

Next: Peter tells of the royal feast that night

Juliana Series: She's Home! (outtakes)

2010-06-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

Lawrence breathed into the beloved golden hair, "Oh my dearest Josephine. I do love thee so dearly." She looked up into his eyes and they kissed.

To one side Shannon and Rory stood together, both smiling. Shannon turned to his friend and exclaimed, "Oh my dearest Rory. I love thee so dearly!" He threw his arms around his taller friend's neck and kissed him right on the lips.

"Get off, ye fool," Rory pushed him away laughing. Josephine and Lawrence looked over at them and laughed as well. Peter made a rude loud kissing sound and all burst into laughter. Even Erik smiled over at them from where he was sending his crew back to the ship to begin ferrying goods he had found along the European coastal towns.

Lorin had been standing smiling at his sister. She left Lawrence's arms to come to him and kiss him on the cheek. She saw tears in his eyes. "Welcome home, my dear, " he said to her quietly. "Welcome home."

Lawrence looked back at his Queen. "There are some little ones who would like to see their mama," he said. He led her to his horse and lifted her to its back. He swung up behind her, then reached down to help Peter up into his wife's lap. The King looked over at the others and made a signal with his hand. "I thank thee all," he said. He turned the horse's head, feeling Josephine's arm around his waist and Peter squirming with excitement and happiness in front of them both. They rode up the road to the castle.

Shannon winked at Rory and jested, "Think they'll get past her bedchamber door?"

Rory gave him a gentle shove. "Aye, and that I do.. something's are more important than sex, ye reprobate." Shannon gave him a shocked unbelieving look. They laughed.

Then suddenly Shannon was grave. "Rory, me old dear. Bo is gone."

Rory looked into his face, trying to divine his meaning. "Gone? Sure and ye mean gone home? To where'er he came from.. what did he call it.. Washing Town?" The look on Shannon's face said no. Rory's face grew sorrowful. "Tell me what happened, Shan."

As the two took leave of the Dane they walked arm in arm up the hill. Rory listened with his head bowed as Shannon spoke. Lorin remounted and, having Erik's confirmation that he would bring up the horse that Rory had ridden down to the dock, he turned and cantered past the Irishmen and up to the castle. He said a silent prayer for the man he had sent to find Josephine when she had flown.

Somehow the entire castle and the people in all the houses along its road had heard the news that the Queen was home. They lined the road and leaned out of windows, waving bright colored scraps of cloth and cheering. Lawrence, Peter and the Queen laughed and smiled as they heard shouts of "Welcome home, my lady!" "Ne'er leave us again, Josie!" and "Do not keep her up too late, sire!" In the great arched gateway into the castle courtyard, everyone who lived or had business there this day had thronged to greet the Queen. Hands reached up to her as they rode slowly in, and she leaned carefully to clasp them. "God bless thee, my lady," came the greeting from many. The royal trio just smiled back and at each other.

Near the keep Peter hopped down and turned to watch as his father dismounted and turned to put his hands up for his mother. She slid down as the King supported her. When he had placed her on her feet and put his arms around her, the throng cheered.

In moments they were surrounded. Lorin had ridden in behind them and dismounted, handing the reins to a stable boy. Larisa surged forward through the crowd to her husband and they joined the royal couple as they made their way to the door of the keep. Peter had rushed forward and was already inside. Josephine saw her many friends standing and beaming at her. She leaned forward to kiss Jocelyn on the cheek and say something that could not be heard over the noise of the crowd. Then the King and Queen, arms around each other's waists, passed through into the building.

A crowd trailed them up the stairs to the Queen's chambers, but at the door Lorin and Larisa stopped and stood to bar them from following Lawrence and the Queen inside. Josephine glanced up covertly at her closed bedchamber door as they passed it, and Lawrence hid his look of love and concern. The nursery door blew open and the four other children burst forth, with a proudly smiling Peter right behind. Josephine found herself surrounded by little arms, clutching her legs and screaming and laughing. Even barefooted Donalbain had toddled out and clung, jumping up and down.

"Mama! Mama! Thou art home!" the children were crying over and over. "Papa, look, Mama is home!"

"Oh my darlings," Josephine wrapped her arms around them all as best she could and hugged them tightly. "I am home, and I shall ne'er leave thee again if I can help it." Her eyes brimmed with happy tears. The cluster of big and little feet and heads and arms move together through the doorway and into the nursery.

Josephine sat on a cushioned bench and the children jockeyed to be next to her on either side. Caithness succeeded in claiming one arm and Elaine the other. Donalbain climbed up on his mother's lap. Tavish draped himself over the toddler and his mother's knees. Peter stood close and put his hand on his mother's shoulder. Lawrence stood and watched with tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Mama, we are so happy you are back from visiting Uncle Elerde!" Caithness cried. Josephine turned a startled face to Lawrence.

"What did thee tell them," she inquired, not a little irritated.

Lawrence had paled. "My dearest, Larisa felt it was best they know thou were safe and that a... trusted friend was with thee." The word "friend" was said with a slight change in his tone, a little bitter, although it was clear that he was trying not to betray any feeling at all.

The Queen nodded. "I suppose that was wise. I will talk to her later to see what else was said." Josephine's voice was sad.

Little Tavish was trying to crawl up on her but Donalbain took up her whole lap. "Caitie, will thou let Tavish sit between us," her mother asked. A little peevishly Caitie reluctantly gave up what little room on the seat she had to let the boy, his mop of curly red hair bobbing, struggle to get on the bench. Lawrence bent to lift his son and put him next to his adopted mother.

"Mama, Mama, where's Ler?" the little boy asked, looking up with rich brown eyes into her face.

"Sir Elerde is back in France, my darling. He will not be coming to see us any more. " She looked into Lawrence's eyes, seeing nothing but sorrow.

"Can we go see him, Mama?" Elaine asked quietly, her voice trailing off as she spoke. She had picked up some feeling between her mother and father as she looked from one to the other.

"Nay, sweetheart. We cannot." She looked at Tavish who only sat looking thoughtful. "I am sorry for thee, Tavish. But it is time we forgot about Sir Elerde." She looked again at Lawrence. Seeing a sad smile touching his lips, she smiled back. Then she looked harder at him. "Oh, my dearest love, thy face!" She had noticed the disfigurement caused by a broken cheekbone and the scar.

Peter explained, "Shannon hit Papa in the face with his lute!"

"Bam!" hooted Donalbain, miming a mighty blow.

Josephine gave a sympathetic little cry. "Oh Lawrence, he did tell me. Does it hurt?"

Lawrence knelt in from of her and the children and smiled. "Nay, not any more, not that I should not deserve it if it did. " He took her hand and kissed it. They gazed into each other's eyes.

"My darling," the Queen said. "We shall talk anon. Let us now enjoy the time we have with our wee ones."

Caitie burst out, "Now Papa will smile all the time again!" The Queen glanced at her and then at her husband.

"I shall see that he does," she grinned. The seven put their arms around each other and held on as best they could, with Donalbain bouncing on his mother's lap.

The Queen said as quietly as she could in to Lawrence's ear, "It shall take me some time, my darling. But I promise I will make thee smile again." He nodded, his head against the side of her face.

"I shall be happy to hold thee and gaze at thee, my love. The rest can come when it comes."

Next: Josephine Comes Clean

Juliana Series: An Irishman in Calais, Part II (outtakes)

2010-06-16T00:00:00.000-07:00

The Queen and her minstrel stood quietly over the fresh grave. "I hadst a golden locket that my lord the King didst give me many years ago," she said sadly. "I gaveth it to the priest to arrange for Christian burial for the man. I couldst not allow him to be treated as rubbish."

The O'Neill looked over at his grieving companion. She was wearing what may have been a new riding dress not many days before, but it was dirty and rumpled from constant wear. "The locket, me lady, that ye be after keepin' that wee scrap with the King's note?"

Josephine looked back in surprise and pleasure. "Then thou didst find it! I tucked it into Rory's cassock sleeve when he sat on the ground after... that fellow beat him so sorely. So did Rory or thee find it?"

Still looking at her over the grave of the big man the Duke had sent to search for his sister, Shannon smiled wistfully. "Nay, 'twas when we were in the King's privy chamber and the physician was cuttin' away the darlin' man's clothes so he could be lookin' at his wounds." Josephine had started a bit at the reference to the King, and now stood with lowered eyes, listening closely. "Sure and I picked it up as soon as it fell from the sleeve, but Lorin.. the Duke, I mean, beggin' ye'r pardon, me lady, snatched it and put it right into the palm of Himself." Her face was reddening delicately.

"And Lawrence... the King.. what didst he say?" she ventured cautiously.

Shannon laughed, "'To horse!'" he mimicked. "The poor dear man first ordered up the boats to come get ye, only to learn they couldnae sail for the tides were against it. Then he tore to Norwich to sail from there, God only knowin' what he planned to do when he did. The storm set in and he was like a dog behind a fence, runnin' back and forth piddlin' all the while."

The Queen, whose face had continued to color, looked at Shannon, "Why, sirrah, surely the King did not piddle!"

Her look was amused and he went on, "Faith, I cannae tell for I was not there.. but Sir Percy said nearly as much."

Josephine cast a longing eye to the sea, unfocused and unseeing. "Where is my lord now?"

Shannon reached to her and she took his arm. "He is in Lawrencium awaitin' ye, me lady."

The Queen looked into his eyes. "He is?" She took his arm.

He patted the hand on his arm. "Aye, that he is."

They stood together a while and looked at the grave. "Rory will be after not wantin' to hear this news, methinks," the Irishman said. He sang a few bars of a sad Gaelic song. Then he recited,

10,000 miles it is so far to leave me here alone, While I must lie, lament, and cry, And you'll not hear me moan, my dear, and you'll not hear me moan.

A tear fell from the outer corner of the Queen's eye. The minstrel saw it and leaned to kiss it away. She quietly said, "Fare thee well, gallant fellow." Shannon crossed himself and they turned together to descend the little hill into the port town.

They walked quietly, arm in arm, their heads bowed, as Shannon told her what he could of the things that had happened since she had left. Still back at the church she had flooded him with questions about her children, about Jocelyn's child, and carefully skirted the more painful topics. Now he told her of the fight he had with Lawrence, which made her laugh a little. He described how he and Juliana had helped Jocelyn bear her little child, Jolie. He told her how the King had set the courtesan aside only to be told she was with child. And he told her how he had suspected the pregnancy so quickly on the heels of Jocelyn's lying in and had sought to expose the courtesan. All the while she listened and nodded, seemingly content to hear what he would impart.

"Then, me lady, the dubhín called on me to help her in a desperate plot." He looked at her cautiously, ready to gauge her reaction. "To poison ye, me lady."

She abruptly turned her gaze to his face, a look of shock on her own. "To poison me?"

"Aye, but sure and I exposed her plan. She was tried and found guilty. So many spoke for her that the King sentenced her to spend her life in a convent rather than takin' the lady's life."

Josephine looked away. "Ah, is that why he spared her? Because there were those who stood for her?"

Shannon stopped walking and she stopped with him. He turned to her and turned her to face him. "Jo," he said without dissembling. "Ye know I cannae say what was in Lawrence's mind. But I can tell ye, 'twas I that spoke for her, and Percy and Jocelyn and ye'r brother and his wife. Jocelyn for the sake of her wee one. Larisa and Lorin for the sake of the unkindness done to Juliana. And I because I knew she was mad, mad for worry that her life was over. None forgave her for what she wanted to do to ye. Least of all Lawrence."

Josephine glanced questioningly into his eyes. "Shannon, tell me the truth. Doth the King want me to return?"

The O'Neill winked and grinned, chucking her under the chin. "Does Calais smell like fish shit?" She laughed and tears welled in her eyes. "Me lady, ye'r lord husband wouldst do anythin' to get ye back with him and ye'r bairn - if ye can forgive him."

Josephine looked into Shannon's eyes. "There shalt be much forgiveness sought on both sides, dear Shannon." She looked out to sea, casting a fond eye far to the West. Shannon looked down, but heard her gasp. "Shannon, look!"

He followed her gaze to where a very familiar dragon ship was gracefully gliding across the harbor to Calais.

Sir Elerde saw Erik's ship as well. He had waited until he saw his beloved leave the church and its safety to go with Shannon.. He paid the priest what he had promised and took his horse, stroking g the animal's face and speaking gently to it. He led his horse to the tavern he had moved to and retrieved the few belongings he had there. He had spent the night with a tavern girl, burying his loss in her simple charms, and holding a firm image of the Queen in his head throughout. Afterwards he felt empty.

The knight mounted and rode his horse up to the top of the hill overlooking the harbor. He stayed and watched as the Viking ship pulled in. He saw the shore skiff with the tall Dane and some of his men make for the land. He saw the two small figures, one red headed and one with her golden hair floating up behind her as she ran. The three met at the skiff. They talked, then Shannon and the Queen were taken into the shore skiff and borne to the imposing vessel with the familiar red and white sail. He could see when Josephine was handed up onto deck.

Sir Elerde turned his horse and made for whatever duke, king or cardinal needed a hired sword.

The storm had finally passed to the east and Lawrencium was bathed in sunshine. In the castle on the hill overlooking the city, Lawrence looked over some papers that Lorin have given him to peruse and sign. Through the quiet of the day he heard a faint sound, low and golden, the sound of Erik's ship's horn, a long polished bull's horn, hollowed and decorated with gold. He looked up and smiled. Erik was always a tonic to him, and although he would have to tell his friend about all the events since his last visit, he stood and made for the door. "Come along, Lorin, " he called to the Duke. "Let's see what treasures the Dane hath brought us this time. Lorin closed the accounts book he had been referring to, handed it over to Master Timothy. And followed his king out of the room.

Lawrence called for his horse and swung up on it unsaddled. He did not need to hurry as it should take some time for the dragon ship to be close enough to set forth its boarding party. But there was an inextricable feeling of lightness to his heart this day, mayhap because of the sun and the hope that he should soon hear from the Irishman. He let his horse gambol in the courtyard while Lorin and Rory, who had joined them, waited for saddled mounts. Peter came running out of the keep and Lawrence put down his hand to help his son swing up onto the horse behind him.

The company rode down the road along with servants with empty carts to help the Viking merchant ship be unloaded of its cargo. At the fork where the road led to the greater part of the town the King and his party went right one towards the harbor. There was a little rise there, and Lawrence looked at the ship and its colorful sail and the row of shields that lined each side. He did not see the golden haired woman who had just stepped up behind the captain's raised platform. He did see the familiar form of Erik and Peter called out, "There he is!"

"Aye," said his father. "Let's see what exotic surprises he bringeth this time.

By the time the party reached the small dock where the landing party was just disembarking, Lawrence had begun to have a presentiment of something more than unexpected. He turned the horse around a stand of small trees and looked to where he could see the figures of Erik and two others, besides Erik's crewmen. One was unmistakable. The lute and the red hair were without match. Peter saw him too, "Shannon! 'Tis Shannon!" Peter swung down deftly from behind his father, who was stock still looking at a graceful form being helped from the small vessel onto the dock. He watched as Erik lifted a woman and helped her to stand ashore. As Lawrence stared, unable to breathe, Erik moved aside, and there she was. Josephine stood smoothing her skirts, sparkling like the sun that danced on the water behind her. She looked up then and straight into the King's eyes. He gasped.

"Mother!" came Peter's cry, and Lawrence, as he dismounted saw the mother and son rush to each other and embrace. He watched as he slowly walked towards the pair, all the while feeling his heart standing still.

Josephine looked up from her son and saw Lawrence approaching. Peter saw him too, and danced over to his father, laughing and chattering. The King and Queen stood facing each other, looks of longing and hesitation on their faces.

"My lady," Lawrence said softly, his voice thick and breaking.

Josephine came to him and put her forearms up to his chest and leaned into him. She gazed into his eyes, then slowly smiled. "My dearest Lawrence," was all she said.

With a look of deep painful joy he wrapped his arms around her. They stood savoring the feel of each other as Peter danced around them and the others just stared and smiled.

Lawrence breathed into the beloved golden hair, "Oh my dearest Josephine. I do love thee so dearly." She looked up into his eyes and they kissed.

Next: She's Home

Juliana Series: An Irishman in Calais, Part I(outtakes)

2010-06-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

Shannon O'Neill hopped out of the little boat into the shallow water. He was wet through with the rain and the stormy sea, so being up to his knees in Calais harbor was no discomfort. He raised a hand in thanks to the mates on the boat and slung his knapsack over his shoulder. He stood for a moment looking to the town and then slogged through the incoming waves to the shore. When he got to the sand, he knelt and kissed it. "Saints be praised, terra firma again," he smiled.

With an appraising look up and down the waterfront, the minstrel, always at ease in strange lands, picked a likely person to approach. A young woman was leaning over a net full of Channel sole pulling them out by the gills and tossing them one at a time into a wheelbarrow. He knew plenty of French, most of it rather high toned and learned from tales of knights and ladies, but he knew that music was the universal language. He opened his sack and pulled out his lute. Sitting on a driftwood stump, he propped one foot on the knee of the other leg, put his arms around the lute and began to sing.

The woman's head instantly whipped around. She considered him as she listened to his sweet and melodious voice. The words were in French, a sad love song, and her eyes grew and began to soften. She left the stinking net and came over to stand not far away and listen. Shannon's voice always had that affect on women.

His song at an end, he put down his lute and winked at the woman. "Venez ici, ma belle. Qu'est-ce que vous appelez vous?" If she was entranced by his singing, she was enthralled by his accent. And in a turned up nose elfin way he was good looking too. She drifted closer. He beckoned and she came up to him. He put an easy arm around her waist. She started to resist, but gave way as she gazed into limpid blue eyes.

"Je m'appelle Marie-Jeanne, " she said under lowered eyelashes.

Shannon continued in French, "Marie-Jeanne, what a beautiful name for a beautiful damsel." He reached to her, took her hand and kissed it. "Shannon O'Neill at your service." He inclined his head to her in a gracious gesture.

She just stood, open mouthed and stared. He pulled her onto his lap and played with the hair that clung curled on the damp cheek. "I should like to ask you a question, beautiful Marie-Jeanne." He started to nuzzle her neck a little.

Marie-Jeanne sighed and shuddered a bit, but then looked around. "Oh, please sir" she pleaded in French of a somewhat lower caste than he had used. "My neighbors will be looking."

Shannon smiled and kissed her quickly and lightly on the lips. "Then tell me quickly, has a Breton knight and a great lady been here in Calais recently?"

"Mais oui," she answered, standing and smoothing down her skirts. "They are still here. The knight killed a man who was breaking into their rooms at the inn. The lady ran to the church for sanctuary. It was the very talk of the town."

Shannon was amazed at how quickly he had found the Queen and Elerde. He pursued his subject. "Wait, wait, fair one. What of a very tall and broad man who may have been wearing a monk's garb? He may have been working on a pirate ship."

"Oh, but sir, that was he who broke into their rooms! The knight did kill him before he could ravish the lady!" The young woman,, looking up at the windows of the upper stories of the rickety houses along the water rushed over to her net and diligently continued to toss fish into the wheelbarrow.

Shannon, who normally would have pursued the relationship as long as he could, sat stunned on the driftwood. Bo, dead? It could not be. The Duke's agent, a strange and wonderful man from a mysterious place, had befriended Shannon and then his friend Rory. He knew well that the man had saved the Queen from kidnapping or possibly worse at the hands of pirates and what's more, made Rory laugh and smile as he had not in a long, long time. The O'Neill bowed his head and the tears streamed down his cheeks. He picked up the lute again and strummed a few bars of a tune Bo had taught him. "Brave, good man, a darlin' man. Elerde will pay." He looked about and said aloud in English, "I need a drink. The Queen will be safe in the church for now."

By the time night fell Shannon was leading songs in an impromptu wake for his "dear dear brother Bo" with most of the customers in a small tavern. He toasted Bo over and over, and had almost everyone in the company bawling out sad songs and weeping. He played the song he had written with Bo for them, and also the original Gaelic and translated English versions of the Ballad of Rory McGuinness". He might not know it wherever he was, but Bo had a right good send off. Shannon made sure he offered the famous Irish prayer for Bo, "May ye be half an hour in heaven before the Devil knows ye'r dead!"

The minstrel finally stumbled out into the street. He staggered in no particular direction. Drunk as he was, he knew there was someone in the village who would recognize him and probably kill him if he ran into him, so he tried to stay along the side of the street in the shadow to avoid the Breton bastard until he could sober up enough to formulate a plan. He crawled into a cart of seaweed when he came upon it, pulling some of the noisome plants over him and fell asleep.

Just days before the Queen of Christenlande had seen the Breton with whom she had eloped thrust his sword into a man she knew was sent to help her, then with her screams in his ears, turn the blade cruelly, causing the big man to collapse, dead, on their chamber floor. She had stood in shock looking at Elerde as though she was looking at a creature of the most villainous purpose. The man himself, breathing hard from the exertion but also the exhilaration of the kill, looked around and up into his lady's face. One glance and he knew all his presentiments had been right. It was over. He had had her for not even one month. No matter what else Josephine chose to do in her life, it would not be with him.

"Elerde, how could you?!" she said when she could find her voice again. He just stood before her with his eyes on the floor, his shoulders slumped and his sword and dagger loose in his grip. He said nothing. "I know thee not, sir, " Josephine now spat. "I thought thee a man of honor, a brave and daring knight. "I see thee are a brigand, a murderer like thy friends the pirates."

Elerde desperately ventured, "My love," but Josephine stopped him.

"Thou art not my love, thou knave. And thou ne'er shalt be again." The words pierced his heart and twisted as surely as his sword had done in Lorin's agent's body lying crumpled on the floor at his feet. Josephine shouted, "Help! Guards!"

There were no men at arms, but several men rushed up from the tavern, including the innkeeper. Before Josephine could speak, Elerde barked orders that she should be taken away to some place of safety. She was hurried away so quickly all she could do was sputter and protest. Elerde wanted her out of the room so he could cover his deed without her contradicting what he said. But as she was propelled out of the room and down the hall, his eyes followed her form with a melancholy that laced his soul. He thought to himself, "Goodbye, my dearest love."

To the men who crowded around the body on the floor he explained that the big man had broken in to the room to kill the Queen. He was one of a number of assassins sent by the lady's husband, the King, to get her out of the way so he could take a new wife. He had wanted her taken to sanctuary to protect her from other assassins who might take advantage of his occasional absence from their rooms and carry through with their plan. The men, satisfied with this explanation from a man clearly as distinguished as the knight, gathered up and bore the body of the huge man down the stairs and out into the streets to a destination Elerde knew not where and did not care. He sent away the maidservant who was trying to clean the blood and fell into a chair. There he stayed with the metallic tang of blood in his nostrils.

Josephine had been quickly ushered to the little church where Elerde had taken his horse to be cared for while he searched for her in Britain. The old priest made much of the high born guest and gave her his chamber, a cell really, to use as her own. When he had brought simple cheese and bread and a robust wine to her, he left her alone. She sat on the small bed and wept, her face in her hands.

Just days ago she had been prepared to spend her life with Elerde in Brittany. Now she could not bear the thought of the man. Whatever he had stirred in her emotions all these years and in her body over these past weeks she could not think of him now without seeing the man he had murdered crumpled, dead on the floor. She tried in vain to equate the man who had sighed with such peace and joy as she felt him release himself in her with the one who could lie to her, manipulate her fear and longing, then batter gentle Rory and kill and unarmed protector. She searched but could not find any sympathy even for the loss she knew now that he was suffering. Only her hate for him now could obscure the guilt she felt for being the ultimate reason these good men had suffered.

Josephine knew only one other thing, and that was that she wanted to return to Lawrencium, to her children and, if he would have her, her lord husband the King. How she might do this she was unsure. The tiny port of Calais was not a safe place for someone such as she to find passage across the Channel. She did have one small piece of happy tidings, however. As she carefully washed herself from a small basin in the morning, she found the cloth she used came away stained with her blood. She was not with child.

Shannon woke smelling of seaweed and ale. He could not quite identify where he was at first and what the stinking mass was that wriggled and slapped him as he struggled to extricate himself. Once standing on the muddy street next to the cart, he did his best to wipe himself clean. He headed for an alley to piss, then to a tavern to put something in his churning but empty stomach. There he was able to persuade a drunken sailor to swap clothes, and Shannon set out for the church to find the Queen.

As the O'Neill skirted the more bustling streets, he kept a watchful eye for the Breton knight. He finally turned a sharp corner and could see the modest church that sat at the end of the road. He quickened his pace with his object clearly now in view. As he passed the churchyard gate, a figure stepped from its canopy of vining leaves and put its arm around his neck from behind. A familiar voice breathed menacingly, "O'Neill... of all I might have been surprised had spine enough to follow us, thou wert the last I shouldst have expected to see."

Loathing flooded through Shannon, an emotion usually quite foreign to him. He tried to struggle free but the arm simply tightened, choking off easy access to air. "Elerde, you fuckin' bastard. sure and I will kill ye."

The smooth accented voice had an acid smile in it, "And how shall thou accomplish this with thy windpipe crushed? What shall it be, minstrel.. thy calm or thy voice?"

Shannon struggled for some moments more but then subsided, seething. Elerde released him with a shove forward with his boot in the O'Neill's back. Shannon swung around to find himself facing a drawn sword. Elerde's face was haggard but his eyes were steely. He dared Shannon to come forward. "I no longer care if the lady's precious minstrels live or die. Nay, let me change that. I care.. I want thee both dead."

The Irishman was beside himself with a spitting, shaking rage, but he knew he was powerless. He stood and waited for the Breton to run his sword through his middle and have done with it. His only regrets were leaving Rory in greater grief than he would already be and not having been able to rescue Josephine. He snarled, "Elerde, the murderer. Add me to ye'r list of dishonorable deeds and be quick about it."

His fury was so great the man before him was bathed in a scarlet light. He did not see the combination of sorrow and cunning that touched the knight's thin lips. "Nay, man, O'Neill. I need thee for a task I myself cannot undertake." He sheathed his sword but kept his eyes on the minstrel. He interrupted Shannon's contemptuous riposte about never doing what such a scoundrel would ask of him. Instead he came close to Shannon, grasped the front of the shirt he was wearing, and pulled his face close too his own. He said in Shannon's face, "Take her home."

He released the O'Neill with a shove back. Then he reached in and took one of the last little pouches of gold he had brought from Brittany and handed it to him. "Take this, book passage. I had no way to do this without someone to care for her. Now thou art here. Take her home."

Shannon drew back from the proffered purse as if offered a live coal. Elerde laughed sickly. "I care not for thy conveniently delicate sensibilities." He threw the purse on the ground. "I care not how thou finds a way, but take her home." He spat on the ground near the purse, turned on his heels and strode away.

Shannon stood and stared at the knight's retreating back, then down to the purse. Reluctantly he bent and took it. It felt like something cursed in his hand, but the Queen would need passage. He had brought gold put into his hand by Duke Lorin, but just in case, he shoved the purse in his shirt and turned to the door of the church rectory.

"My lady," the voice of the priest came through the door of the cell where Josephine sat still trying to work out what she could do to return home. She had asked the old priest to make inquiries for her, but what offers she had had she was unable to judge. She was considering sending a messenger to her brother if she could not find any faster solution on her own.

"My lady, thou hast a visitor."

The Queen started. "Pray, who is it? I shall not see the knight."

"Nay, Madame, it is an Irishman. O'Neill."

She flew to her feet and to the door. As it opened towards her the familiar figure of Shannon stood and smiled his impish smile at her. A look of love and gratitude was in his eyes. "My lady, at last. Sure and I have come to take ye home, if ye will go."

She threw her arms around the man and laughed and cried. "Oh aye, I will go."

To Be Continued

Juliana Series: Sic Transit Beauregard (just for.. um.. fun)

2010-06-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

By Barbara Weitbrecht

lerde found Fiero sitting on the dock in a pensive attitude, his back supported by a bale of wool. "Bella's Dream" floated about fifty yards away, her tiny deck crowded with men repairing the damage of the pirate battle and the subsequent storm. Elerde recognized the massive figure of Bo, who was supporting a heavy spar while another man repaired its fastening.

"Yo, knight!" Fiero greeted him. "Ye forget something?"

"I was wondering about the giant. Is he indentured to thee?"

Fiero spat into the harbor. "He oweth us blood-geld for killin' Grampus. Figure he might work it off in a year or two, rate he's goin'."

Elerde's lips tightened. "How much to pay off his debt? Fifty livres, perhaps?"

"Big fellow like that, he's worth at least a hundred."

"Big he may be, but he handles a cutlass like a trained ape. He'll be killed in your next battle. I'll go as high as sixty."

"Say seventy, and he's your man," Fiero agreed. "But I'll miss the big lug. He had a grand voice for sea chanteys, he did."

A few minutes later, Bo stood on the pier, wiping his hands on his stained and ragged monk's robe. "You sent for me, Captain?" he inquired.

"That I did, Hulk. The good knight has agreed to pay thy blood debt. Thou art free to go."

Bo regarded Elerde speculatively. "Thank you, sir. It was well thought of. Is your lady well?"

"Quite well," Elerde stated. "Glad to be on dry land again. 'Twas her idea to buy thy freedom, as thanks for thy small service to her in the late battle."

"I shall be pleased to thank her for it in person."

"That will not be necessary. She knoweth thy gratitude. Wilt thou return to England?"

Bo wondered if he was supposed to swim. "I might. But I wondered, sir, if I might enter your service?"

"As what, forsooth?" Elerde laughed. "Surely not as a man-at-arms! I have seen boys of six with more skill at the sword than thee!"

Bo looked mildly crest-fallen. "Well, it was worth asking. Guess I'll be moseying along then. Give my regards to the lady."

"I shall indeed!" Elerde sneered. He and Bo both knew that he intended no such thing.

Bo watched him swing up the street into the town, every inch the noble warrior. He turned to Fiero. "Any idea which inn they're staying at, Captain?"

"Only a few choices, for that sort of swell. I would try the Chienne Mechante first, then Les Trois Petits Cochons. Or La Plume de ma Tante. That's a quiet, out-of-the-way place, good for romantic liasions."

"Thanks," said Bo. He headed up into town and started asking questions. The local lingo wasn't quite Cajun French, but he managed to make himself understood.

* * *

Some hours later, Josephine heard a knock on the door. "Entrez-vous," she suggested, expecting the chambermaid. When the door remained closed, she got up and opened it. The tiny hall was filled with the massive presence of Bo.

"Oh, come in! Come in! Elerde said he had paid thy ransom, but I wasn't sure if I did believe him. It's so good to see thee again, Bo!" She was prattling like a child, and she knew it. But seeing this man was like seeing someone from home, and she couldn't stop smiling. "Can I pour thee a tisane? They're French, you know. Almost like...."

"I can't stay long," Bo interrupted. "Elerde doesn't know I'm here. I waited until he left the inn to make sure I could see you alone."

"Oh," said Jo. There didn't seem to be anything more to say.

"I asked him to hire me, so I could stay near you and keep an eye on things. He was having none of that, and someone my size can't very well shadow you in secret. So I have to ask you right out, perhaps before you're ready. I'm sorry if this is too abrupt. May I speak freely?"

Jo nodded. "Go on," she prompted.

"I know you are having second thoughts about this elopement. I'm here to say I can take you back to Christenlande, back to your husband. I don't know how we'll travel, and it may get rough. But it's your choice, midlady. If you wish to stay, just say the word and I'll vanish. But if you wish to leave...."

"This is indeed sudden," Jo said. "But it is not fully unexpected. Canst thou give me a day to decide?"

"Do you really need that long to know your mind, milady?"

"Just a day. I shall give you your answer tomorrow afternoon. I cannot leave without speaking to Elerde. I have loved him..."

The door crashed open. "'Have', lady?" Elerde shouted. "What is this 'have'? When did our love enter the past tense?" He raised his hand as if to slap her, then thought better of it. Instead, he drew his dagger.

"Thou! Uncouth giant! This is all thy fault, for dogging her. I should have killed thee when we first met. I shall now amend my fault." Elerde stepped forward, dagger held low. A reckless smile played about his lips. He would pay for this act later, but Lord how he would enjoy it!

Bo stepped back, gauging the size of the window. Too small. His only hope was to make it around Elerde to the door. He ripped the comforter from the bed and flung it over Elerde's face. Two steps, and he was at the door. He had it halfway open when the dagger caught him in the stomach.

Josephine screamed, beating on Elerde's back with her small fists. Elerde twisted the dagger. Bo felt something give. Aorta, he thought, falling.

If only he could reach his portkey. The gold coin was in a leather pouch, hanging on a thong around his neck. Bo strained for it, but the world was already going black. His hand closed, empty, above his chest.

Somewhere in the blackness, Josephine was still screaming.

No, it wasn't screaming. It was sirens. Lights were flashing on his closed eyes. There was the squawk of a radio. Footsteps, running.

"... cc's of epinephrine... start an IV... on the stretcher. On three. One, two...."

I've been here before, Bo thought. He opened his eyes, then realized they were not really open. He was only dreaming he opened them. The demon Caterwampus was sitting beside him in the rushing ambulance, reading a paperback novel.

"Boss?" the dream Bo asked.

The Vice President of Hell put down the novel and adjusted his glasses. "So you're back," he remarked. "How was the fictional 8th century? Everything you had hoped for?"

Bo smiled. "I got to be a pirate. Ran around as a monk. Met some swell minstrels. But I never saw the Vikings. And I always liked Vikings so much. Oh well."

"Next time," said Caterwampus. "Oh, I expect you'll go back some time or other. But right now, you're worth a lot more to us alive, and in the present. The Orphridion thing is hotting up again. Once you get out of hospital..."

"Thanks for the save," Bo said.

"Don't mention it," said Caterwampus. "It's part of the contract." He winked out, and Bo slipped back into unconsciousness. Outside, in the real world, the ambulance was roaring into GW University Hospital. The operating room stood ready, the surgeon dressed and scrubbed, Code Blue.

And, in a tiny room in Calais, Elerde and Josephine stood over Bo's corpse. "How could you?" Josephine demanded. "HOW COULD YOU?!"

Again, my heartfelt thanks to Barbara Weitbrecht for her collaboration with these wonderfully funny stories! If you want to see how this all works, join Ghostletters at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ghostletters/ .

Next: An Irishman in Calais

Juliana Series: Calais: For a Day or Until the Smell Gets to You (just for fun)

2010-06-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

Note: I live in the little town of Bothell whose motto is "For a day or a lifetime." That was the original subtitle of this story. I changed. Incidentally, Monrow, up the road, has a reformatory, but sadly its motto is not "For a day or for 25 to life."

As the pirates figuratively and literally limped into Calais harbor, Elerde was in a foul mood. The first night on the vessel in the captain's cleaner than heretofore bed he had turned to Josephine to spend the high spirits of the battle he had developed in passion. He longed for the intensity of her sexual response, but it was like she was going through the motions.. or it would have if she had moved much at all. He hoped she was just tired, upset, afraid of being on a pirate ship. You never could tell what would put some women off sex.

Then the second night she had claimed seasickness. He never actually saw her throw up but he could hardly insist under the circumstances. The next night was the same. He was starting to be very glad he had paid attention their last night in an inn. And after he had saved her from the rapacious pirates from the Black Dragon (conveniently forgetting he had had some help) he thought he could at least get some "My Hero!" sex in the captain's cabin afterwards, but no way. She was too shaken to relax.

The port of Calais was much as he had left it weeks before, except this time is was daylight. It smelled and sounded pretty much the same, but it looked even more rundown and disreputable. He took Josephine to the same inn where he had listened for information about her when he had sat and acted drunk and overheard the confirmation that Lawrence had taken a mistress and rather than having her nose rubbed in it, Josephine had taken a hike.

As he ushered his runaway bride through the door of the tavern, a bawd, either up early or never having put the "Sorry We're Closed" sign up last night noticed him and hooted, "Well if it isn't Sir Lancelot! Looks like you found Guinevere." He scowled back at the woman after getting a rather sharp look from the Queen.

In the rooms they took until they could retrieve Elerde's horse and find a suitable mount for Josephine, Elerde sought to take advantage of nice, stable land to do a little mounting of his own. But Josephine put him off, this time becuase she was "worried about that nice man Bo!" He was still forced to stay with the pirates, she said, and he had saved her life.. with Elerde's assistance of course.. and couldn't he do something for the poor man who had confided in him he didn't so much want to be a pirate really? Elerde thought to himself that maybe if he sprung the big guy she would calm down and get with the eloping program. He agreed, grumbling, and took off to find the ship and do some bargaining for old Bo.

After he left, Josephine congratulated herself on avoiding sex once again. She had been dispirited and exhausted the first night of their romantic sea cruise and had had no energy to refuse him, but any move he had made that began to stir interest in her body was met with an image of Rory being slugged, kicked, and abandoned on the road. By the next night she wouldn't have slept with the man even if he really had been Ioane Gruffudd and not just looked like him. Besides the hurt to her precious adorable Rory he had lied to her, a whole bunch in fact, and she now realized that if Rory had come after her, maybe she had somewhere other than Brittany to go after all. In a word, the bloom was off the Breton rose. She complained of seasickness to put him off while they were on board, and now she would find whatever excuse she could to avoid sleeping with him. Let's see, what could she do. Tell him she had her period? She actually was starting to wish she would, just to make sure the time in Malcolm's stronghold they hadn't been making any little Bretons.

Josephine watched Elerde as he walked awkwardly down the street and turned a corner to go to the waterfront. She went to the door of their rooms and tried it.. and surprisingly Elerde had not locked her in! He must have figured she would be too fastidious to go out into the streets. Her plan, actually, was just to go down to the kitchen and recruit a volunteer to find out some things for her. She wanted to be back in her room if the knight came back whether with good news or bad.

In the kitchen she found a young girl with terrible skin cleaning pots in a scullery. She called to her "Pssst!" and the girl looked around with wide, frightened eyes. She asked, "Oui, madame?" Josephine groped for what French she knew, schoolgirl French like "Où est la plume de ma tante?"

"S'il vous plait, mademoiselle," she hesitatingly began. "Où peux je trouvere quelques nouveaux ?"

The girl looked at her puzzled. "Excusez moi, madame. Yous voulez un trouvere? La musique? Les chansons?" One never knew what great ladies would ask for . Why not a troubadour?

What the Queen wanted was to find out what the news from Lawrencium was. She tried again, "Non, he veux les histories nouvelles de Bretagne."

The girl's face brightened. "Oui, la Bretagne. Le chevalier que vous êtes venu avec est de Bretagne. Il peut vous dire que les contes à son sujet, égalisent peut-être des neufs."

The Queen peered at her, trying to catch up with what words she thought she recognized . "Chevalier? That's Elerde. Why would I want news about Elerde. Comptes? Maybe she wants Elerde to pay for our rooms up front. And what was that last? Oeufs?" She shook her head. "Non, je n'ai pas femme. Pas de oeufs." She had just told the girl, who had thought she wanted stories about Brittany, which she surely could get from her very own Breton knight, that she had no woman, no eggs. The girl stood timidly and ran out of the scullery.

Josephine was standing in the scullery still when the cook came in with the scullery maid and shooed her out, with all due respect of course. She wandered back down the hall and into the tavern itself. The noise in the bustling room died abruptly as singing drunkards, gaming brigands, swearing sailors, some cackling whores, male and female but all in soiled dresses, broke off what they were doing to turn and stare at her. She stood looking back like a refugee from Camelot Barbie and raised one hand in a greeting. "Oh. Hi. Nice to meet you. I'm Josephine. Say, while I have your ears, does anyone know any news of Christenlande? The King? All that stuff?"

The crowd all kept staring . Someone belched from somewhere on the floor. A groggy voice said, "Did somebody say something about Christenlande?"

Josephine clapped her hands in delight and, best she could, made her way through the motley crowd to the voice. She had to endure obscene slobbering sounds in her ear, an occasional pinch on her bottom, and someone was tossing peanuts down the front of her gown. She found the man at last lying under one of the long tables. She crouched and peered under the bench a portly bawd was sitting on and said, "I was looking for someone who could tell me what the latest news is from Lawrencium? Did the courtesan have her baby?"

As the whore listened, understanding absolutely nothing of the conversation, the Queen and the drunk carried on a conversation with Josephine kneeling on all fours to look at the man. The whore leaned to Josephine and whispered in her ear, "Madame, vous ne pourriez pas vouloir rester là en positioned chiien, suggesting caution about adopting a doggy position in this environment.

The man recounted what would've sounded perfectly normal in "Soap Opera Digest". It was like "Ye Light That Guideth", "As the World Doth Sit there and Stay Flat" and "The Young and the Ruthless” all wrapped into one. He told her how the King had put aside the courtesan, tried to marry her off, then found out she was carrying his child. Her sham pregnancy was found out, but not before saving some lady and her baby's life, and then her Irish pop star lover had discovered she planned to poison the Queen, who by the way had run off with some French guy, and turned her in. There was a big trial and the lady was found guilty, but everyone in town came to testify on her behalf so the King sent her to a nunnery instead but she disappeared from her cell and was probably wandering around the countryside with amnesia.

The Queen waited until the end of the story and then asked, "So she didn't have her baby?"

Note: Any astute reader will notice that I was less guarded here than I was in the novel about my bague and general antipathy towrds the queen. If you want to understand this, go back and read the letters and stories from the 1960s. As Rufus says at the end of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure", she "gets better."

Juliana Series: An exciting pirate battle (warning: scurvy language) (just for fun)

2010-06-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

By Barbara Weitbrecht

Fiero came bounding up to the quarterdeck and took over the tiller. "Arm yourself, Hulk!" he barked. "Lady, get thee below decks! And stay there 'til the action's over."

"So they're hostile?" Bo asked, peering at the approaching sail.

"Most likely. Help the dame down the ladder, if ye don't mind. Dames! Bloody useless critters..."

Bo moved to help Josephine, but Elerde had emerged from the cabin and had taken charge of his lady. Bo headed forward and selected a cutlass and dirk from the weapons chests. He had never used a cutlass in his life, but he knew a fair amount about knife-fighting. The sword would serve for intimidation, and the dirk would do the damage. He was glad now that he had let Barnacle braid a few beads into his hair, which had grown to shoulder length since his arrival in Lawrencium. It made him look more like a pirate and less like Friar Tuck on holiday.

By now all the pirates except Fiero were hanging over the starboard rail, staring at the strange boat. It was a long, low craft much like their own, painted black, with a brown-and-tan striped sail.

"Blast!" said Baldie. "It's the Black Dragon for sure! Her captain's Avarico the Hard-handed. Nasty piece of work."

Elerde had reappeared on deck in full mail and weapons. "Fiero!" he called to the quarterdeck. "We need not fight the fellow. Just outrun him!"

"That's the Black Dragon, it is!" Fiero spat.

"So? Thou toldest me thou couldst outsail any boat in French or British waters. 'Tis why I am paying thee a fortune for transport."

"Any boat but the Black Dragon," said Fiero, leaning on the tiller. "I thought not that we would be meeting Avarico."

The other boat was now entering hailing range. A tall, red-bearded man with elaborate braids stood on its quarterdeck. "Proud Fiero!" he bellowed. "'Tis thy only chance to surrender!"

"Hard-handed Avarico!" Fiero bellowed back. "Thy mother wast a strumpet and thy father wast a pack-ass! Fiero surrenders to no whoreson coaster! And thy vessel stinketh!"

Fiero turned to Elerde and remarked conversationally, "That'll make him mad. Lose his concentration, he will."

"Dog-turd Fiero!" Avarico bellowed. "Give us the lady and we shall leave thy crew alive and with all their manly equipment!"

"What lady?" Fiero countered. "That wast no lady, that wast my whore!"

"Thou knowest well enough what lady, prick-for-brains! The Queen Josephine! She who will bring us a queen's full ransom, from her poor grieving husband!"

"How the hell did he find that out?" Fiero mused. "Was I really that drunk in Calais that I spilled it?"

"Seems so, boss," sighed Shark.

"Oh well. I guess we fight."

The two boats were nearly touching now. Men on both sides readied boarding hooks. Bo gripped his unfamiliar cutlass and tried to look fierce. The other boat had ten men on it, and they all looked quite experienced.

"Now!" Fiero cried. He released the tiller and grabbed a loose rope, his cutlass gripped in his teeth. A moment later he had swung to the opposing quarterdeck and was sword-to-sword with Avarico.

Grappling-hooks crunched in wood. Bo was caught up in the rush to board the other boat. He landed heavily on the enemy deck and swung his cutlass around in what he hoped was a ferocious manner. After a moment's reflection, he tossed his weapons to opposite hands and headed out with the dirk foremost. He managed to wound an enemy pirate who was aiming his blade at Spike's head. First blood!

Fighting was hot and heavy, and quite disorienting. There was blood on the deck now, and bodies to stumble over. Bo looked up to see Elerde cleave one of Avarico's men from skull to sternum. He was impressed, but he suddenly wondered who was looking after Josephine.

A glance at the Bella's deck confirmed his worst fear. Two nasty- looking coves had hacked open the cabin door and were dragging a fainting Josephine onto the deck. "We've got 'er, Cap'n!" shouted the nastier of the two, who had just hoisted the Queen over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He patted her bottom lasciviously.

"I don't THINK so!" Bo roared. He cleared both ships' rails in a leap, and a moment later he had buried his cutlass in the rotter's back, right though the kidneys. He died with a gratifying scream as Bo caught Josephine and supported her.

"Bitch!" yelled the other pirate. He swung his cutlass in an arc that would have decapitated a shorter man, but would likely catch Bo full in the chest. A moment later he was headless, as Elerde's broadsword spun past his spouting neck.

"Thanks, man!" Bo gasped. He realized that Josephine was still clinging to him like terrified ivy. Gallantly, he handed the lady over to her rightful owner.

The pirates were returning now, bloody and triumphant. Avarico had lost half his crew, and the captain himself had been wounded. Of Fiero's band, Baldie was dead and Barnacle would probably die before sunrise. Bo helped scrub the blood from the deck as Josephine tended Barnacle's wounds. As the sun sank behind the Dover hills, the pirates toasted Baldie in solemnly spat ale.

Not bad for a first sea-battle, Bo mused, taking his old place at the tiller. He had a few nicks and scratches, but nothing to write home about. He had done his fair share of the butchery, and it was all in the good cause of protecting a lady's honor. His life as a pirate had probably reached its zenith.

Come what might, when they reached Calais he was leaving. He thought again of what Josephine had whispered as she clung to him, half- fainting, among the blood and horror:

"Don't leave me!"

Next: Calsis: For a Day or Until the Smell Gets to YOu

Juliana Series: Forces Beyond His Control Slow the King's Progress (outtakes)

2010-06-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

I have no idea why I wrote this. There is a note at the bottom from when I posted this on Ghostletters. That's my only clue.

awrence rode along with Sir Percy at his side and a company of men at arms in attendance. The countryside of East Anglia was generally a hospitable place if one was not a lone traveler, but the King was unsure what he would need to do if he encountered pirates or if and when the party found the Queen and the Breton.

Percy at his side was trying to find words to discuss the mission with the King. The King's impulsive order to make for France had instantly been frustrated when he learned that tides were not favorable for the type of boats that were at anchor in Lawrencium's harbor. Lawrence had commented to Lorin that mayhap he should listen to the captains and boatwrights after all. Lorin held his tongue.

Percy was likewise unsure of what the ride to a port in East Anglia would accomplish. Without raising an army, there really was very little he and the men at arms under his command could do. And France.. well, France was all the way across the Channel, with no way to provision the men, and the likelihood that when they arrived in Brittany, about the most they could hope for would be the King challenging the knight to fight on his own home ground.

Percy did not realize that the King had slowly come to much the same conclusion but could not bring himself to turn back to Lawrencium. He had determined at least to find a boat in Norwich that would take him and Percy across to Calais. The sketchiness of even this plan was looking to be moot now though, as the winds around them started to whip up. The trees were swaying and the rain began to pour.

The King finally turned in his saddle to look at the young knight. "This plan is ill conceived. I know not what to do." His look was frankly discouraged and somewhat abashed .

Percy was relieved to be able to dispense with his search for diplomatic ways to tell his King his ideas were cracked. He reached over to put his hand on the man's wet sleeve. "My liege, if we put in at Norwich we may be in a better position to have news of the Queen.. and the pirates."

His King looked at him gratefully. He was realizing he just had needed to act, to go towards his dear Queen and not just sit and wait. He nodded and the small company went on in the rain and once in Norwich found an inn that could accommodate them.

There at the inn Lawrence sent messengers to talk to captains to see what chance he had of crossing the Channel. As the captains replied or came in person to talk to Lawrence, he quickly learned just how bad the storm would be. No ships would sail until the squalls had passed. All he could do is stay and watch the weather and tides or go home and try again some other day.

The more he heard of the danger the storm presented to all seafarers, the more his concern was less for his passage to Calais and more for the safety of the Queen. For the first time the king hoped that she had made it to a port in France with the Breton knight,. At least then she would be on land and safe from shipwreck.

The rain kept falling and the winds continued to gust. The surging sea began to cut away at the land near the port, bringing down fisher cottages and making some roads impassable. Three days went by with no hope of setting off. Percy watched helplessly as the King paced the length of his room at the inn, alternately cursing and brooding.

The fourth morning in Norwich the winds had started to die down but the captains still told Lawrence it was too risky to put to sea. Then in his room the King heard a clatter of feet on the stairs to his rooms. Percy burst in without knocking and came to Lawrence with a parchment. Lawrence tore it open to read tidings that a boat had put in at the harbor in Lawrencium with stories of a pirate battle at sea. One of the pirates who had been wounded badly had been picked out of the sea by the small craft and its crew and was now being held at Lawrencium.

Percy was glad at least to be moving again, and he directed the saddling of the horses and rounding up of his men. He and the King set out for home, grim and riding the horses too hard.

In Lawrencium Lorin had interrogated the pirate, who was not expected to live. The man was not willing to share any information about his own ship, the Black Dragon, which Lorin only knew of because the fisherman who had netted the brigand had recognized the craft and its foe. The ship that had carried the Queen away was called Bella's Dream. Its captain was a nasty piece of work who called himself "Fiero the Proud". It was the mention of the wounded pirate's captain's sworn nemesis that finally brought some grease to his tongue.

"Arrrr... the scurvy bastard. And that ponce of a knight and the giant. They killed me mateys and saved the lady. " Then he clamped his mouth shut and would say no more.

When at long last Lawrence and his retinue rode in, soaked to the bone and with horses blowing and sweating big foamy yellow clots, the pirate had died of his wounds. Lorin was able to reassure the King that the Queen had not been hurt in the battle. The fishers had attested to the likelihood that if Bella's Dream was making for Calais they had just skated in front of the storm squalls. Although they knew no more than that, Lawrence took some pleasure in hearing Elerde called a "ponce".

Standing chilled inn his wet clothes Lawrence cast about for what next to do. The storm was still raging.

It was Shannon who stepped up and offered to go help. "Me lord, ye are needed here. And think, man, what if she comes somehow and ye are gone. I've survived the sea's fury before and will survive it again. Me people are a sea goin' people. " Lawrence looked at him speculatively, and Shannon went on, "And I can find her easy if I am alone. Beggin' ye'r leave, Lorin, buy I know Bo too. I can find him and the Queen and the lot of them in Calais more easily than a bunch of soldiers."

So Shannon set out with the fishers who had drawn the dying pirate from the water, and the King was left to stand at a window and wait.

Scribe's note: Not one of the best pieces of writing in this story.. but the dramatic effect of "saddle my horse" sounded better in print than in the execution.

Next: Rory comes back

Juliana Series: Rory Returns to a Much Altered Lawrencium (outtakes)

2010-06-10T00:00:00.001-07:00

"Sure an' it be about time ye were after comin' back, when I dinnae need ye any more!" The voice at Rory's stirrup made him raise his head and look. The O'Neill walked alongside the horse, with his hand on Rory's ankle, and with a smile as wide as a mountain on his face. "Welcome home."

The exhausted Rory, barely able to stay ahorse, smiled back groggily. "Shan, ye darlin' man. Good to see ye."

Shannon looked around. "Where be thy friend?"

Rory sighed. "'Tis a long story, me friend. Can ye help me get to the castle and off this damned animal so I can see the King?"

Shannon nodded and skipped up to take the lead and direct Rory's mount through the streets of Lawrencium and across the moat into the castle.

Rory's arrival stirred immediate excitement and hubbub. Stable hands rushed up to take the reins as Shannon held up his arms and let Rory slide off the side of the horse and into his friend's arms. Shannon helped him stand and steady himself. He grimaced as Rory himself cringed at the many aches and pains a long ride had made worse. "Me darlin', sure an' it looks like ye met up with an ogre on the road."

Rory tried to smile as Shannon helped him cross the courtyard and enter the keep. "An ogre named Elerde." Shannon looked up into his friend's face anxiously. "Aye, we found them."

Rory asked to be taken to the Great Hall and put in a chair near the massive hearth. Someone brought him a stool to put his feet up on, which he did gingerly and with suppressed groans. Other servants rushed over with cushions and tucked them in as gently as they could around his sides and back. A maidservant fussed over the crude bandage on his leg. Finally someone brought him a tankard brimming with warmed ale. Rory sunk his face into it and sucked the rich refreshment in.

Shannon, eying the dark mass of bruises that covered the entire side of his childhood friend's face remarked, "Rory, me man, ye look worse than Lawrence did."

Rory lifted his face from the tankard. Immediately another serving wench filled it. He looked at Shannon and said, "I thank ye for that kind observation." He did his best to smile. "Speaking of Lawrence, can ye go tell him I crave an audience? That is, if he can be torn from the dark-eyed lady's side." He was surprised at the sudden exchange of looks all around him.

Shannon chuckled, "That I will." He started to slap his friend on the back and thought better of it and just put his hand on his shoulder gently. "Ye have a lot o' catchin' up to do," he smiled and turned to send a servant to find the King and Lorin.

The servant was stopped at the archway by those very two men who strode in and headed for the hearthside. Shannon murmured "Aye, an' well here is Himself."

Rory turned his head to see a much changed Lawrence coming towards him. The man had been a mess the last time he had seen him, albeit there had been some improvement after the catharsis of the fistfight with Shannon. The man he saw now was grim, gray faced and looked much older. Rory tried to get out of the chair and stand in his liege's presence.

"Stay where thou art, ye idiot. I canst see thou hast many hurts." The King cleared a path through the crowding tidings seekers and servants as if a sudden gust of wind had gone through a pile of leaves. Rory settled back in the chair and waited as Lawrence came and pulled another heavy chair close to sit by him.

The King examined the Irishman closely. He pointed to the bruise on his face. With a sidelong glance at Shannon he said, "Well I know how that doth feel. Is thy cheek broken?"

Rory shook his head. "No but me skull was cracked."

Shannon's quip "Now and it be always that" was cut off with a look from the king.

"Well, that heals faster than a cheekbone," Lawrence said, rubbing his own and glaring at Shannon. Turning back to Rory he then examined the bandage on his thigh, looking up questioningly.

"A long gash from a bare bodkin.. a friend patched me up, but it hurts like the devil."

Lawrence gestured to a servant. "Get my physician." He asked Rory, "Who did this hurt to ye, McGuinness? Doth thou know the varlet?"

Rory looked up from the tankard. He looked around at all the closely pressing faces. "My lord," he began., "might we not speak better in private?" He looked significantly again at the crowd and then at the King. Both Lawrence's and Lorin's faces grew grimmer.

Lawrence responded slowly, "Ayyye..." Then "Canst thou walk? Doth thou need a litter?" Rory shook his head and Lawrence and Shannon each took an arm to lift him to his feet and walk to the King's counsel chamber. As they passed Rory glanced at the faces around and alongside them. A no longer pregnant Jocelyn. A worried looking Larisa. Percy just coming up to take his young wife's arms from behind. Many others he knew. No Juliana. As they passed the King leaned towards his ear and whispered, "Did thee find her?" and kept a stern look as Rory nodded.

Lorin followed the three men into the King's privy counsel and shut the door behind him, after leaning out to instruct someone to bring the physician and food and drink to them there. Lawrence and Shannon propelled the wounded man to a large and well cushioned chair that Rory knew was the king's own. He started to protest, but another look from Lawrence stopped him. He let the men place him in the chair. Lawrence sat in another. Shannon and Lorin hesitated. "Sit down," the King snapped at them. They sat.

Lawrence looked at Rory candidly and asked in a somber voice, "Where is the Queen?"

Rory sighed and seemed to sink a little into himself. "My lord, I know not where she is this moment but I can tell ye where I was after seein' her last."

The King urged him to continue. "Tell me, where and was she well?"

A servant tapped and was let in to set tankards of ale, pitchers of wine, and plates of bread, cheese, and meats on a table. The company remained silent until the servant had bowed and backed out of the room. Lorin shut the door, picked up a tankard and brought it to Rory, then sat again himself.

"My lord, the Queen was well. She was at a crossroads near a small port on the road to Affynshire. She... left there.. in a boat."

Lawrence looked up and away distractedly. He seemed to be battling something inside. He cast his eyes about the room, but looking inward. His jaw worked. He said from between clenched teeth, "And was my lady alone?"

Rory looked into his friend Shannon's eyes. Rory's look was filled with pain and sympathy as he looked back at the king, whose own gaze remained unfocused. "Nay, my lord. She was not."

Lawrence stood and started to pace. Shannon tried to catch Rory's eye and mouth a word in silence. Rory inclined his head toward Lorin and made a face indicating he could not freely say anything about the man Shannon knew had been traveling with Rory. Lorin. Of course, caught the exchange but said nothing.

Lawrence came to stand by Rory where he sat. "Tell me." He did not look at the injured man. He stayed where he stood, looking directly forward at some middle distance.

Rory gathered his strength and began. "Aye, my lord, she was with the Breton knight." He felt rather than saw the King's flinch. He did see Shannon's and Lorin's glance up at the King's face, both showing concern of their own. "He was traveling with her from the north. He took her aboard a small ship, a boat really, with a rather disreputable looking crew. Smugglers, I be thinkin', or mayhap pirates."

Lorin reacted now. "Pirates? The Queen? What was the blackguard thinking?"

Shannon muttered, "now and I don't think he was thinkin'". He looked at Rory. "So Elerde did this to ye?" Rory nodded. "And he did not kill ye outright?"

It was the King who responded. "Nay, the knave sought only to stop his pursuit so he shouldst have to come back and tell me my lady hath eloped with him."

Lorin pressed, "But went she with him willingly?" At this Lawrence looked over and then to Rory.

"Sure and I canst not be certain. I didst ask her.."

"Thou spoke with the Queen?" Lawrence demanded. He came back to the chair he had occupied and sat, leaning closer to Rory. "How did she look? Was she hurt at all? Didst she appear to be in distress?"

Rory gulped more ale and replied, "She was after lookin' thinner, and her skin was that tanned." No one noticed Lorin's slight smile. "She was dressed as befits a lady of her station. She tried to help me when.. when Elerde attacked me. I asked her if she was safe and if she was goin'.. willingly.. with the Breton." Rory cast down his eyes. "She said 'Aye' but I be that sure she was thinkin' twice about it then."

The King sat back in his chair and let his chin drop. "Ah," came the sigh from somewhere deep in his chest.. Lawrence seemed to drift away somewhere out of time and space. He continued to listen, but he did not appear as though he attended.

Rory went on to tell how he and a companion called Bo had traveled all the way to a village in Affynshire where they learned the Queen had been living and had just left.. with the knight. When he said the friend's name, he glanced at Lorin. The name brought simultaneous but dissimilar reactions from the two men who still focused on his face. Then he looked at Shannon who was also trying to peek at Lorin's face to gauge his reaction.

Rory went on. "Bo and me thought we must have missed them somewhere on the road. We turned and headed back, figurin' the knight would take Josephine, the Queen I mean, beggin' ye'r pardon, sire, to the sea. But when we stayed an hour at the crossroads at that port, they rode up . Me friend and me fought them. I mean Elerde, not the Queen, and also some pirates who were put in at the dock." He turned his eyes directly to Shannon. "The pirates pressed Bo into joining their crew."

Lorin was inscrutable. Of course Bo was the agent he himself had sent to find and watch over this sister the Queen. He had worried that Rory, upon absconding from Lawrencium against the King's command, might run into his agent and interfere. But it seemed the two had forged a partnership. That was better than he could have hoped for. Now had the partnership come so close but lost the Queen again?"

Lorin spoke up then. "And thou saith that Sir Elerde did take the Queen aboard the pirate vessel?"

"Aye, but I be not certain she wanted to go at that point. In fact, though me brains were well scrambled by then, I am after thinkin' she only went with him to protect and help me."

That woke the king. "What doth thou mean, to protect and help thee?" he asked sharply.

Rory looked up at the man startled. "Well, just ere they left some peasants had rallied to come save us from the pirates. Seein' them, Elerde pulled the Queen along with him to the boat. But first he told her that me only chance was to leave me to the peasants to care for me and that she couldnae do anytrhin' to help me." He reached and put a hand on the King's arm. "Lawrence, the knight was sayin' to her, 'My lady, thou knowest thou hath nowhere else to go.' " Lawrence returned his with a haunted look.

Shannon broke in, "The bastard! He be manipulating' her to believe she is abandoned."

Lorin commented acidly, "Not surprising. He hath e'er tried to trick her into an error for his benefit." He looked carefully up at Lawrence who still sat gazing into nothing.

"Aye, that is so," the King had breathed nonetheless.

Rory continued, "Then the lady was after sayin' the strangest thing. She looked at me as he pulled her away and said, 'I will go with thy friend, Rory."

All sat in silence to consider the puzzle.

A rap at the door told them the King's physician had finally arrived. The men moved from their chairs to let him look over Rory's wounds. He made disgusted noises as he peered at the bruise. When he began to take apart the bandage, sending Rory into cringing gasps, he announced, "Ah, someone did a fine job cleaning thy wound, young man. The stitches are ragged but will hold. Best to cleanse but leave them. " He looked to an assistant and commanded, "Prepare a space on that longer table," then turning to the king, "Begging thy leave, sire?" Lawrence gestured consent. "We must lay him out so I can search him for other wounds and redress that gash on his leg."

Shannon helped Rory stand and then to sit on the table edge. The assistant had picked up papers and maps that Lorin hurried to take off his hands and place on a shelf. Lawrence stood and walked to a window. He listened to the others as they lay Rory full length on the table. The doctor called for shears as he started to remove Rory's torn and dirty cassock.

As the doctor was cutting away the sleeves of the cassock so he could pull them free of Rory's arms, something fell onto the table from the fold at the sleeve hem.

"Faith, and what be this?" Shannon bent to pick up a tiny bit of folded parchment. Lorin snatched it from his hand and bore it to Lawrence.

Lawrence had turned and looked down at the thing as Lorin put it into his palm. He recognized it instantly. He swayed a little on his feet and sat down on the bench in front of the window, gaping at the little folded treasure. The others saw that he touched it with what seemed reverence. "She.. she wore this.. in a locket.. I gave it to her once.. when .. when.."

He unfolded it slowly and looked at the faded words in his own neat block print.

"I am sorry. I love thee."

He held the tiny piece to his heart.

"Lorin," he said. "Have my horse made ready."

Next: Forces Beyond his Control Impede the King's Progress

Juliana Series: A Day in the Castle at Lawrencium (Outtakes)

2010-06-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

This story.. the end to be precise.. actually got my husband all teary eyed.

The King's page, Clancy O'Neill, yawned and stretched as he made his way down the corridor from the royal bedchamber, his eyes still mostly glued shut by sleep. The air was chill and the damp had yet to be touched by the fires being banked in the hearths throughout each level of the keep. The boy descended the spiral stairs at the corner of the corridor and passed through to the huge kitchen.

There the activity was noisy and bustling. Servants who had been awake for a fair time longer than the young Irish boy were rushing about putting loaves of bread onto shelves set into a large hearth and pulling others out. The smell was that of yeast everywhere, the leavened bread, the pitchers being filled with rich heady ale from barrels, all tinged with the smell of spices and herbs from thousands of long since eaten meals.

One of the cooks spotted Clancy as he entered and went to pick up a tray that had already been set out. It was covered with a cloth, but Clancy knew its contents from the hundreds of times he had borne identical trays so the King's fast could be broken: a hot fresh dark brown loaf, a plate with chunks of cheese and meat, sometimes fish, and a tankard of warm spiced ale. The only alteration in this custom had not been used in some months, and that was when the tray had contained enough food for both the King and the Queen.. or more recently, the courtesan Juliana. The fact made Clancy both wistful and glad, glad the courtesan was gone but longing that the King could again be found most mornings with the Queen in her chamber.

As he carried the tray up to the King's bedchamber to wake him and help him eat and dress, he glanced about the keep. In the Great Hall he could see the unmarried men clustered about the hearth on the floor, wrapped in blankets, furs and their own cloaks, many of them still snoring. He noted that his brother's tousled red head was not among them and smiled. No doubt Shannon had spent the night with some colleen in the city. He passed Percy and Jocelyn's chambers where he could hear little Jolie was awake and fussing, and Jocelyn was to be heard soothing the baby in a sweet tuneful voice.

The rest of the sounds he heard were more or less identifiable stirrings in various chambers and familiar sounds from outside in the courtyard. The stable hands were up and tending to the horses. Women could be heard calling to each other as they went back and forth to the brimming well. Children were being shushed as they chased each other and shrieked. Clancy thought he heard the cluck of chickens and other fowl as they were brought along with other foodstuffs from neighboring farms to be readied for the later meals of the day. He heard the church bell in Lawrencium tolling pimre.

In his bedchamber the King was already awake. He was wrapped in a robe and looking out the window. He turned as the boy entered. Good morrow, Clancy. "It seemeth the start of a fine day." The man's face reflected no pleasure at this cheerful thought..

"Aye, sire," the boy replied. "Did ye rest well?"

Lawrence's smile and nod clearly carried no conviction. "Aye, a little wakeful at first." He came over to where the boy was setting out the meal on a small table. "I thank thee."

Clancy bowed slightly. Finishing his task, he turned to take clothing out of a large chest that sat against a wall. He laid them on a bench at the foot of the King's small camp bed. He straightened its rumpled covers. He reached under it to retrieve the King's chamber pot. He swiftly nodded to the King, whose attention was on his breakfast, and took the pot to empty it through a drain built in an outer wall from which waste could be conveyed down to a middens. The odors in the castle always had a tinge of the foul smells of the middens, no matter how often servants dug the waste up and bore it away to be dumped away from the city.

Dressed, the King had gone to see his brother-in-law, the Duke, in his study. Lorin was already there and already had accomplished much work. He and Master Timothy were seated at separate desks going through papers and making notations. At another small table a scribe was scribbling in a large bound book. Lorin and the others stood and bowed to the King, who gestured lightly to them to sit again. Lawrence took a chair across from Lorin and the two started the more administrative tasks of the morning.

In the royal nursery Lorin's wife Larisa, her son John on her hip, was waking the King's and Queen's children, directing them to their own chamber pots and breakfast. Four year old Tavish was compliant and quiet as always. The twin girls were fussy and dragged their feet as they reluctantly shivered out of their little beds. A nursemaid had two year old Donalbain up and was cleaning him up while he yawned and tried to open his eyes. The older prince, Peter, slept in a room away from the nursery, being nine years old now and almost ready to move into Percy's chambers as a page. Larisa and the nursemaids fussed over and around the children, getting them dressed and ready for their day of play and, for the three elder, lessons. The children's priest came in to start their catechism.

By the toll of terce from St. Peter the Fisherman, the capitals main church and the King's own, the entire castle was awake and stirring. Prince Peter waited for his master of horse by the stable. He watched the servants and peasants from the countryside as they hurried around tending to whatever tasks they had. A woman carried a large basket of dirty clothing and bedclothes over to a trough set next to the well. A gardener could be heard raking and digging in the Queen's lonely little garden. Men at arms marched by in a small, tight group. A servant was arguing with a fishwife over the next day's order of North Sea fish. Two burly men were directing huge barrels from a cart down a length of board to roll to the kitchen. The whoosh of the bellows was shortly followed by the clank of a hammer on steel. Peter heard under the distant sound of wood being chopped a familiar whistle. The O'Neill was trailing in after a night's carousing. He winked at the boy, who responded irritably , being at an age where he felt he deserved to be treated with more dignity. He glared at Shannon, who chuckled, made a comic bow, and went on into the keep, his ever-present lute bobbing on his back.

Later in the morning the King customarily could be found in his privy council chamber in consultation with various ministers and chieftains. His general of the army, an Angle appropriately named Horsa, sat below the King's raised chair, explaining the need for a garrison of cavalry in the southeast. Lorin participated in this discussion as he had the reins of the privy purse and knew what could be found to pay for this establishment. The King negotiated a compromise so that Lorin could feel right about dispensing funds for something somewhat more modest than Horsa felt was needed. Then a delegation of ship's captains and boatwrights set forth their concerns about the lack of a crown navy. Lawrence ordered Lorin to meet with them and investigate but was not warm to the idea, Christenlande having no ambitions for a royal fleet. The morning's business ended with petitioners seeking redress of wrongs and various favors for themselves or family members. As the midday meal approached, the King assigned consideration of those petitions not yet heard to Lorin or, if the petitioners still wanted the King's ear specifically, the next day.

In the Great Hall the trestle tables were now set up and food and drink was carried in for the assembled courtiers and others living in or visiting the castle. Firelight from torches added to the light streaming in from high narrow windows. Sext had already been tolled and the midday meal was set to by the company. Sir Percy sat with Rory and Shannon and a small company of knights, including Ian, Tramtrist and Luculuus. Lady Jocelyn would not join him for the meal until the evening repast, staying in their chambers to feed Jolie instead.

The high table remained apart and leaning against a wall. In their own chambers, Lawrence in his, Lorin and his family in theirs, the royal family partook of the stuffed game birds, fish with aromatic sauce, bread, fresh strawberries, a cabbage stew and watered wine that was the day's menu. Lorin sat with John on his knee, feeding him small pieces from his own plate and letting him have a tiny sip of the wine while Larisa looked on with mock disapproval. Lorin listened with genuine interest as his wife talked about what games and tantrums had occurred in the nursery that morning.

Lawrence sat alone today, in his chamber, picking at his meal. He sat back and seemed to daydream. He left much of his meal untouched as he rose and made his way to the courtyard to speak to Peter's master of horse about his progress. After that, he went into the nursery, casting a brief glance at the Queen's closed bedchamber door as he passed it. In the nursery a nursemaid was clearing a tiny table of food scraps. These and the scraps of all the other meals would be taken to the castle dogs and the food they would not touch would be given to a monk from the nearby monastery for their pigs. Edible leftovers would be offered as alms.

Seeing their father, the four children jumped from their tiny chairs and flew to him. All four put their small arms around his legs and drew him to their table. He joined them, lowering his considerable height into a tiny chair whose seat came nowhere near to supporting the width of his muscular buttocks. He teetered a bit but steadied himself. Donalbain found the whole thing hilarious. Lawrence looked at the littlest boy's feet and then to the nursemaid with a frown on his face. He pointed at the little toes that poked out of torn stockings. The woman curtsied and apologized, "I beg thy pardon, your majesty. He still will not wear shoes and will not exchange those stockings for clean and mended ones."

Lawrence gave the toddler a stern look. "Aye, my little prince, we shall have to see about that." But he just reached over and wiped a smear of porridge off the boy's cheek with his thumb. He smiled.

Elaine looked up at her father, "Daddy?"

"Aye, my lady?" he replied.

"Pumpernickel!" The dark haired little girl fell into a cascade of crystal laughter. Her sister Caithness, as fair as their mother Josephine , rolled her eyes. Tavish put his little hand over his mouth and giggled.

After their midday meal the children were allowed to play with their father until time to nap. Lawrence fought a mock sword battle with Tavish as Donalbain dashed in and out of the mêlée shouting, "Haarrr!" The twins were on a fur on the floor playing with their long haired dolls. Caithness lifted hers to Lawrence and announced, "My dolly looks like Mommy!" Elaine chorused, "Mine too!" Their father agreed, reaching out to touch the long golden hair each doll had, silky and shining in the early afternoon light. When Larisa returned, he made elaborate bows to the children which were returned with as elaborate curtsies and bows from the girls and Tavish but were ignored by Donalbain. Lawrence chucked little John's chin as he passed and gave the boy's mother a warm smile.

As the hour approached the time when St. Peter's bells would toll nones, some of the bustle in the outdoor parts of the castle was easing as people went inside to rest or to work on preparations for the evening. Others had long left to go back to their shops and farms and boats and other pursuits. Many of the castle's resident children would be napping, and certainly the royal children and Jocelyn's and Percy's baby were. If the Queen had been there the King most likely would have joined her now in her chambers where she would be with her ladies as they bent over needlework. Sometimes he would just sit and converse with her, sharing the ladies' conversations about this that and everything, and other times the two would spend companionable time alone. He would listen as she spoke animatedly about something. Then there would be the times she seemed distracted and moody. He often would try to divert her and if unsuccessful would go himself to the courtyard to practice sword skills.

Peter spent much of his afternoons closeted with a monk and later with Lorin to put his mind to less chivalric matters. He hated it but tried to be diligent and attentive. If the King was practicing with his sword in the courtyard, Lorin would reluctantly release the boy to watch and to receive pointers from his adept father. These occasional early lesson would melt into his regular lesson from his master of sword which was set for late afternoon, well after nones but also long before the bell tolling for vespers.

Some days Lawrence would spend some time with official court business, and of course on Sunday the entire day would be somewhat rearranged to accommodate mass. Lawrence was not known for his religious observance, much to the bishop's distress, but he did try to make an appearance on the Lord's Day if he could not find an excuse to be too busy. On weekdays and Saturday the King varied his plans between that official work and riding, talking with his friends, visiting the stables or armory, and occasionally retiring with the Queen to one of their own bedchambers. Sometimes some or all of the younger children would be with them, but other times the doors would be latched and no visitors welcome. On those occasions the King and Queen were always a little flushed and casting each other intimate smiles as they emerged individually to come to the evening meal. It had been a while since this had transpired.

Meanwhile the kitchens had been busier than ever. The evening meal, depending on the time of year near vespers or somewhat before, was traditionally an elaborate affair. Usually the big hearth in the kitchen would have a side of beef, pork or mutton roasting and more bread, used as trenchers in place of plates at the meal, sharing the crowded space above the coals. The cooks were working on various preparations of game, fish, vegetables, sweetmeats and other fine fare for the court's supper. Young kitchen maids and boys would be gathering pitchers, tankards, goblets, platters and the wooden shingles the bread trenchers would sit on. No tableware would be assemble, as each person who supped would use his or her own personal knife to eat, or just their fingers. The only exception was spoons for soup when it was served.

The aromas from the kitchen included the rich roasting meats, the tang of baking bread, the allure of spices and comfort of herbs, the sweet fragrances of mead and ale and unwatered wine, and the more subtle ones of the various sweet dishes, many of which contained rosewater and when they could get it from Iberia, orange water, The more homely scent of the cooking grains eaten alone or as a stuffing for meat underlay all the rest. When the wind was right, the rank and oppressive odors of the street and sea in Lawrencium would be displaced by the perfume of the royal supper.

In the Great Hall the tables had been cleared in the afternoon so that courtiers could gather to play at dice and other wagering games and the minstrels who practiced and worked on songs together could congregate before the hearth. Now they were set up again, in a T shape with the high table at the apex, draped in fine cloth with the ornate chairs set behind it. Long benches, the same used for the earlier meal, would be stretched along the perpendicular tables. The hearth fire was stoked an blazing no matter the time of year. Usually the servants would be poised for the entrance of the King and Queen as other courtiers and guests would gather and take their places on the benches.

At the high table the Queen's chair, now always empty, sat at the right hand of the King's taller more intricately carved chair. To her right the places were set for the Duke and Duchess. To the King's left sat Horsa and his lady wife. The outermost seats were filled by the occasional special guests.

Just below the high table but above the ornate salt cellar the benches customarily were filled with the respective posteriors of Percy and Jocelyn and other knights and their wives. Rory and Shannon sat there, both because of the long friendship with Lawrence and Josephine and for Shannon in recognition of his position as head of the O'Neill clan. Elerde had had a place here too when he was still welcome.

Below the salt came the various other officials of the court, the masters, the minor nobility, and on down to the odd merchant or other commoner who had earned his or her seat for one reason or another.

Once the King and Queen entered the Hall, usually with the lady on her lord's arm, and took their places, the feast would begin. Servants would stream in from the kitchen with the many courses, from highly spiced tidbits to fish to the meat that was the main course of the meal. Then other delicacies and treats, all courses accompanied by wine and ale and other drinks. As the hubbub of supping died down at the end of the meal and the sweets, nuts, cheeses, and fruit brought in and the bread trenchers were removed to be given to the dogs in the courtyard as well as those gathered in the hall, the minstrels would rise to sing, play music and tell tales. The group at the high table would stay or retire to their own chambers to finish out the evening until compline and bed.

This day the feasting, although still worthy of that name, was less elaborate. The high table was still set up and draped, but both the great chairs were empty. Lorin and Larisa were there, along with Horsa and others, but not the King and certainly not the Queen whose current whereabouts were no better than rumored. The King supped alone or with his children. Even Shannon and Rory were away at a tavern having their meal. Without the star minstrels the entertainment was of a less refined sort, jugglers, wrestling, feats of prowess of various kinds, and occasionally dancers. There were fewer courses and the wine and ale flowed a little more lightly, although only a little.

Suppers at the castle in Lawrencium had been like this for many months, since the King rarely brought the courtesan to eat with the court, as she was uncomfortable with the looks she received, as was he. Since he had set her aside the King had only supped in the Hall when he had important guests. The courtiers were not happy with the reduced pomp and feasting as well as the poor entertainment. But they could chatter and gossip freely, which more than made up for it.

In the kitchen and throughout the castle meanwhile servants dashed hither and thither, cleaning pots and kettles and tankards and goblets and getting chambers ready for their residents. Hearth fires were banked, bedwarmers placed near them for receipt of the coals to warm sheets in chilly chambers. Clean chamber pots were put under beds. Children, highborn and lowborn, were being fed, undressed and put to bed whether by servants or their parents. Horses in the stables were combed and given their own suppers. Chickens and other animals were shooed into pens for protection during the night. As the dusk grew bawds lingered near the castle gate before it was closed and the heavy board set in its braces.

Tonight Rory came in without his friend and headed to the Great hall to share its conviviality until time to put away the tables and lie down near the fire to sleep.

Oftimes in the evening when both the Queen and King had been in residence, and it had been more than a year since that was the case with Lawrence away in Derby, the couple would sit at wine and sometimes games in the King's private chamber. The minstrels would be there and perform. Lorin and Larisa, Percy and Jocelyn, and other especial friends of the King and Queen would gather for a companionable evening. They would sigh at Shannon's sadder ballads, thrill to Rory's tales of knights and dragons and daring do, laugh, the ladies blushing or not as the nature of the jest changed, at Shannon's many funny songs and comments. The reserved Lorin would generally be very quiet. Lawrence would laugh and boast with his friends, the Queen would talk with other lady's or smile at Lawrence and the other men as they had their boisterous fun.

Now however the King had only the occasional companion, usually just the Irishmen or Erik when he was in port. Not this night. He was alone with his work and his thoughts. The children were all already abed, so he could not go to them. His infatuation with the dark-eyed Juliana was long a memory now so he had no dalliance to surrender himself to. He could go to his own study and work, putting a solicitous Lorin off, insisting he go to his own wife and son. But tonight he was tired and low.

The King sat at his desk in his chamber, seeming to stare out the window across the room. The window, however , was draped against the chill, being unglazed. He was listening to the night sounds of the castle. Somewhere men burst into laughter at a ribald jest. Outside a horse whinnied and dogs barked. The sea waves could be heard softly lapping against the beach on docks. He could hear servants rustling by in the corridors, putting the castle to bed. Other sounds, harder to identify, lulled him to reverie. He thought of Josephine and wondered where she was, what she was doing, and tried not to let the inevitable images of her in the Breton's arms come to the forefront of his consciousness. He drank deeply of the wine Clancy had set before him before the King sent the boy off to bed, the page having made his bedchamber ready for the night. The somber King sat on, later hearing St. Peter's midnight bell. Then he got up, went into his bedchamber and undressed, stretched out on his camp bed and, his arms crossed behind his head on his pillow, gazed at the tapestry he had given the Queen which depicted five scenes of their life together. Josephine had had the tapestry put up on the wall in his chamber so they could lie together in his great curtained bed and look at it, in each other's arms. Now he stared, unable to drift to sleep easily, and shot glances in the dim firelight at the one unfinished panel, meant to be finished later with some scene of their future life together.

As silence nearly unbroken descended over the castle, the King finally fell asleep with a lump in his throat and dreamed of happier days.

In his own small bed, Clancy stirred and sighed, but did not wake.

Next: Calais

Juliana Series: Pirates. Bo. Josephine. What's not to like? (Just for fun)

2010-06-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

By Barbara Weitbrecht

Bo was released from his bonds once the pirate craft was out of swimming range of shore. The pirates, who up to then had been ignoring him, helped him dress his wounded arm. Then they broke out a cask of ale and performed introductions.

The pirate captain styled himself Fiero the Proud. (Bo thereafter thought of him as Fiero the Redundant.) The crew, lacking the status for full binominal titles, had all adopted nicknames. Shark was the first mate, Barnacle was the cook, and the two pirates Bo had injured were Spike and Baldie. The dead man had been named Grampus. The pirates and Bo solemnly toasted his memory in ale and spat in the sea to still his vengeful spirit.

Discussion then revolved around what name they should give their new recruit. Bo helpfully suggested Sperm Whale, which was vetoed. After some debate, he was doused with ale and christened Hulk.

By then it was full dark. The night watch took their posts as the day watch rolled up in rough wool blankets on the deck. Bo inherited Grampus's blanket, which covered him from armpits to knees.

Elerde and Josephine had long since retired to the tiny cabin at the stern, no doubt thorougly disgusted with the pirates' colorful antics. Bo lay on his back on the rocking deck and watched the masthead lantern swinging among the stars.

The next morning, he was set to work. The pirates, sure that he was an arrant lubber, would hand him something (a boarding-hook, for instance) and ask if he knew what it was. Every time he gave a halfway correct answer they would punch each others' shoulders in amazement and hoot with delighted laughter. "We has got a prize, a real scholar!" they assured each other. "Imagine knowin' that was the 'mizzen', and not the 'wee mast to the rear o' the boat'! That's better'n old Grampus ever done!"

Bo had done a bit of recreational sailing on the Potomac, and he found much on "Bella's Dream" familiar. The sails were simple triangles, but they allowed the craft to tack and wear, luff off and head up closer to the wind than a square-sailed craft could have done. They were slipping south along the English coast now, heading for the narrowest part of the Channel before they turned their bow toward France. The wind lay steady from the west, so there was no danger of ending up wrecked on a lee shore in the middle of the night. If they drifted out of sight of land, it was a simple matter to head back as west of south as the craft allowed until it was visible again.

It was about noon their third day out. Bo sat on the roof of the tiny cabin, his arm hitched over the tiller. The sails were half-taut, and the ropes creaked pleasantly. To the right, the coast was rising into white chalk cliffs.

The ladder to the tiny quarterdeck creaked. Bo looked up to see Josephine climbing delicately onto his perch. Elerde, usually only half a pace behind her, was nowhere to be seen.

The Queen sat against the rail beside him, ignoring the stares of Shark and Spike, who had the watch. "Are they treating thee well, Bo?" she asked gravely.

"Quite well, milady. These are the sort of people I know, rough but honorable in their own fashion. And you, how do you fare?"

"As well as I deserve, I suppose," she said quietly, turning her face away.

It was not the answer he expected, but it made sense. She had seen what Elerde had done to Rory. And she might be thinking that she had trusted her own emotions and the words of others a little too well in recent weeks. Bo took a flying leap into the unknown. "If you ever need a protector, milady, I'm here for you. On this boat, or in France."

She thought about it. "Elerde is my protector now," she stated. "At least... for the present." A small smile played about her lips, and she gazed to the west, where the English coastline was slipping by.

"The offer stands," said Bo. He leaned against the tiller and pointed the boat's nose a bit further out to sea. They sat for a while together, silent.

"So thou dost not plan to remain a pirate?" Josephine asked playfully. "If thou art my knight protector, thou canst can hardly be a pirate too. It would not be seemly."

Bo chuckled. "Oh, I don't mind the sailing-around part of it. In fact, I rather like it. But we haven't done any actual piracy yet. When it comes to the point, I don't think I'll be able to rape and kill the innocent. That's when Bella and I part company." Bo patted the deck as a man might pat a horse's flank.

"I am pleased to hear it, Bo. I am often wrong about men's characters, but I did not think I was wrong about thine. I can see thee as a warrior, but not a brigand."

Bo's answer was forever unspoken. Spike was clinging to the forward rigging, pointing wildly to starboard. "Sail ho!" he cried again. "And they're intercepting us!"

(to be continued)

Juliana Series: What happened to Juliana? (Outtakes)

2010-06-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

This is going to be a little hard to explain.

At the time I was writing these stories in late winter of 2006 I was posting them on the Ghostletters collaborative writing group, also called the Spiritual Telegraph. The stories start at Message 1791 on 4 February. In between the stories other "characters" on Ghostletters, written by other people, interacted with Juliana, then Lorin, then the rest of the Críslicland cast. In fact Barbara Weitbrecht's character Beauregard "Bo" Butler was the detective who responded to Lorin's plea for investigative expertise. (So did Homes and Watson, by the way.) On top of the Juliana affair we wrote the Bo and Rory stories together.

When the time came to try and sentence Juliana, I called on everyone on Ghostletters to act as the jury. It is their verdict that appeared in the last story.

Then, though of course this is apocryphal for the "real" storyline, a few of the other people's characters visited Juliana in her cell and spirited - literally - her away to the 21st century and a chateay in France owned by a vampire named Genevieve. I can't share these stories with you here as I do not have permission to post other people's writing. If you truly want to know "the rest f the story" you will have to jooin Ghostletters and read them there.

So on Ghostletters Juliana is saved by some magical beings and lives unhappily ever after with no resources, after the vampire crew threw her out because their authors were mad at me because of something Shannon said and because of how I felt about their posting literally over 1,000 posts, one liners about the World Cup.

In the Story... no one knows where she went and how. Furthermore, in the novel she never existed. I may write about her again. Or you may. Who knows?

So... back to Bo and Rory and Shannon and...

Juliana Series: Juliana's Plot, Part III (Outtakes)

2010-06-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Left, Lawrence, King of Crídlicland, by Laake

The King stood at the tall window of his chamber. In only an hour he would face the courtesan Juliana and decide her guilt and fate. He sighed and crossed his arms, bowing his head in thought.

His earliest memory of the dark-haired dark-eyed girl had been not long before his uncle had tried to overthrow the throne of Christenlande. Lawrence smiled wistfully as he recalled that his mother and father were both still alive then, as were his brothers, Arneth and Roland, and his sister, Laurel, sometimes called Lorelei. In just a year and all were dead, either in battle or from illness and broken hearts. All save himself. He imagined the days when sword play and idle flirtation were the boys' recreation in a land that knew peace.. Juliana had been part of that. Shy and sweet, she was his sister's constant companion and had acquired an infatuation with the King's middle son. He himself had made light of it, flirting, making her cry once in a while, occasionally stealing an innocent kiss.

Them had come the war. His father had been killed first. Defending him his brother, the heir apparent , had also been struck down by his own uncle. Young Lawrence had taken revenge, his own uncle his first kill in battle. Lawrence, who had never thought of being king, now had to face his future. When he returned to the capital, later named for him "Lawrencium", he found that his mother had died and that his little sister was dying. Juliana had been there at her side, nursing her. The two of them held her hands when she took her last breath.

The coronation. A modest affair given all the grief and horror all about them. Lawrence, only 18, ascended to his father's throne, with a new bride by his side. Down from Affynshire had come a lovely girl, Josephine, the daughter of his father's closest and most loyal ally and his promised wife since they were both children. Love blossomed between them quickly. Almost forgotten was the girl Juliana. Lawrence made a good marriage for her and they did not see each other for almost ten years, ten years that were full of war and betrayal for both the kingdom and the royal couple.

Then that day in Derby. Lawrence, the author of the plan to use the diplomatic city to bring kingdoms, principalities and duchies together, had happened on his sister's friend, now a professional courtesan. She had explained how her husband's unwise political ambitions had made him flee the kingdom, leaving her few options. Lawrence befriended her again. Then the pain in his marriage and some intoxicating power of Juliana's dark and velvet sexuality had combined to pull him under and to take charge of him.

The stories that had made the rounds about Lawrence's decision to bring Juliana to Lawrencium were only true in the basics. He did bring her, he did seat her at the high table, and an incident between her and the Queen had caused the royal lady to flee first from the table and then from Lawrence's life. Looking back Lawrence could finally shed some light for himself on what prompted the mad impulse to present Josephine with a rival in her own home. First, he was mesmerized by the lovemaking Juliana and he shared. His time with Juliana had shown him a woman who could meet all his needs, physical yes, but also intellectual and as a trusted confidante and friend. The Queen so much a child in her ways, was his love, but he craved the companionship he found with the courtesan. That combined with a suppressed desire to strike back at the Queen for her own infidelities and a silly schoolboy notion that he could somehow "get away with it" conspired to make Lawrence do the most unwise and dangerous thing of his life.

Unbeknownst to Lawrence, the Queen had found out about Juliana before his return with the lady on his arm. She for her turn was stunned at both the cruelty and the sheer impropriety of what Lawrence had done. She was humiliated before her friends and the court. She drifted through the ceremonies of homecoming, numb and unable to act. At the infamous dinner, Juliana had not in fact thrown a cup of wine at the Queen. A tense moment had turned what started as a toast into a nearly comic slapstick wherein Juliana's cup flew from her hand and splashed the front of the Queen's gown. The Queen had naturally left to change, but decided to stay in her chamber and not return to the dinner. It was this choice that had angered Lawrence, who was suffering from an onrush of revelations about the colossal idiocy of his actions. When they fought about the incident, he had turned on his heels and gone to Juliana. And had never again seen the Queen who fled that night.

Now Lawrence looked back over what had happened to himself and Juliana in the months that had elapsed since that night. He had continued to sink himself into her, to suck out all the rich and heady passion he had with her until his very court began to think him mad or bewitched. A bitter confrontation between him and his oldest son Peter had brought the King to himself. The girl was cast off, bound to be married off to a poor but ambitious knight. When she revealed she carried the King's child, he had had to let her stay until her child was born. And now he faced the consequences of all the missteps that led to this moment.

He was shaken from his reverie by a rap at the door. "Come," he commanded. Lorin entered and made a sign that indicated it was time to go to the throne room and sit in judgment on that little girl who had played with Laurel. Lorin had some papers in his hand. "Are those the decisions of the advisory jury?" he asked.

"Aye, my lord." Lorin handed them to the king. Lawrence's eyes could not seem to focus. Lorin almost instinctively stepped in to ease the man's difficulty. The decision was quite divided. The Princes, who made up a large number of those who sat in judgment called for execution by beheading. An almost equal number were split between imprisonment and some other form of captivity. It shall have to be thy decision. It is just too close." Lorin paused. "I am sorry, Lawrence. "

The King noted grimly that no mention had been made of guilt or innocence.

He nodded and strode out of the room and down to the throne room to make his decision. He took his seat, with the Queen's empty throne beside him, and looked out over the company. Many grim faces met his own, as well as not a few grinning curiosity seekers from among the courtiers. And there, being led to stand before him, was Juliana. He ordered her hands unbound. He saw she was draped in Shannon's cloak. But Shannon was nowhere to be seen.

It was almost impossible to match the broken and despairing woman before him with the slight, dark and timid girl who had tried to hide behind his even smaller sister when he first caught site of her in the old castle. He suspected that if she was thinking much the same, she was having trouble seeing the boy, both earnest and playful, that she formed an infatuation for and stood together with each holding her friend's and his sister's hands as she died.

Lorin stepped forward to begin the proceedings. He pulled a scroll from the folds of his cloak and read, "Lady Juliana, late of Trent, thou art accused of conspiring to cause the death of Josephine our Queen by poison and for perpetrating a fraudulent claim of fatherhood upon the King for a child that was not in fact conceived. These both constitute a crime against the kingdom, the crown and the person of the King." He looked up at Juliana, then nodded.

Juliana's advocate, a scrawny cleric who looked as if he were the one about to be tried, responded to Lorin's call for a plea after the charges were read against the prisoner. "The Lady Juliana confesses her guilt and submits to the mercy of the King."

Lawrence looked at her lowered eyes and asked gently, "Is that thy plea, Juliana?"

She looked up into his own eyes and kept his gaze for a moment. "Aye," she breathed.

"Wilt thou make no defense?" he pursued, causing some stir among those in attendance.

"Nay," she simply replied.

Lawrence's face was grave. "Then I have no choice but to find thee guilty of these crimes." She dropped her eyes. Lawrence looked to Lorin to continue with the traditions.

The Duke recited, "Having been found guilty of high crimes which constitute treason, Juliana of Trent, wilt thou hear thy sentence?"

"Nay!" came a shout from one of the people who stood nearby. "The prisoner has a right to have those who love and cherish her speak for her!" Jocelyn pressed forward with little Jolie in her arms. Percy stood behind them both, tall and straight.

Lorin looked at the King. "Let them speak," Lawrence ordered.

Percy spoke. "Mine own dear lady and wife and our little child are here to see this sad day only because that lady didst step into save them." Jocelyn voiced her own conviction, all the while weeping. Little Jolie set up a thin wail.

Then the Duchess, Larisa, stepped forward, "My liege, this is a lady driven by circumstance to a mad act. Thou knowest she is not evil. Thou must not put her to death."

Lorin, who had stood with his head bowed, walked to his wife's side and turned to face the King. "My liege, I stand with my wife. This lady has been kind and thoughtful to her and to our child. I know she hath been in extremis. I cannot rest in good conscience without asking for clemency for her."

"Aye, and though I was the man who exposed her scheme," came the O'Neill's voice from somewhere unseen until he strode forward, "I know the lady to be driven to this terrible point by the selfishness and heedless actions of a man." He hesitated, "By men who thought more of their own desires than of the welfare of her, of their own wives and children and their own responsibilities." He stared straight into Lawrence's eyes. Lawrence stared back.

Jocelyn pressed forward, and knelt at Lawrence's feet. She held Jolie to him and cried, "Oh my lord, for this little one's sake, do not take this good lady's life."

All fell silent save for the quiet sobbing of Jocelyn and the thin wail of the baby. Lawrence sat and looked at them all. All eyes were on him. Then he looked at Juliana. She stood trembling, her head bent well over her breast.

"Stand and hear thy fate, lady," Lawrence said flatly. Juliana drew herself up and looked him in the eye.

He sighed and began. "Lady.. that is, Juliana, for whate'er fault you alone possess or I and others might share with thee, didst make a plan to kill the woman who is Queen of this nation, the mother of its heirs and my own beloved and much wronged wife." He paused. "For that I should put thee to death and be done." He silenced growing murmuring with a look.

He stood and Jocelyn moved aside with her baby. Lawrence strode to Juliana and looked into her eyes. "Aye, thou must pay for the hurt thou hath done or wished to do. But that punishment shall not be death. Thy crime was not the plotted usurping of a throne or the overthrow of a crown through secret acts of high treason. I can ne'er forgive thee for the threat to my Josephine. If I couldst go back and stop every act that led to the point where thou didst despair and begin to plot evil, I would. But even I, the king, cannot."

He looked long into her eyes. "Lady Juliana of Trent, I sentence thee to confinement in the Convent of our Lady of Penitence for the rest of thy natural life. Pray for me, Juliana. I shall pray for thee."

Juliana stood quite still with an absent look on her pale face. The King turned and left the room. Lorin called., "So hath the crown decreed." And the trial was over.

In the morning when Larisa and Jocelyn, as well as Percy, Lorin and others, came to her cell with the guards who would convey her to the convent, they all found the cell empty. Shannon who had held to the back of the group smiled and said, "Fare thee well, dubhín."

So.. who sprung 'er? You tell me. I never decided.

Next: The story ain't over yet...

Juliana Series: Lorin Has News of the Queen (OUttakes)

2010-06-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

The King looked up as Lorin entered the counsel chamber. "Ah, Lorin, just the man I didst hope to see."

Lorin smiled and bowed slightly. He had seen much improvement in the King's demeanor of late. He had successfully put Juliana out of his mind, at least as one could observe. He of course still seemed somber much of the time, but just over the past few days he seemed to have a new spark, as if he had some hope in something.

"Aye, your majesty?"

Lawrence called Lorin to come and stand next to where he had been looking at a large map. "I have sent servants to Ratherwood to make it ready to receive the Queen and the children."

Lorin looked up at his brother-in-law quickly, his mouth open and his look stunned. "Have you found her and communicated with her, my lord?" His own efforts so far to locate his sister and make sure she was all right had not borne fruit as far as he knew. But Lorin had been constrained by the need to keep his own efforts secret from the King.

Lawrence put an arm around his shoulders, "Ah, I beg your pardon. Lorin. Nay, I have not. I am making these arrangements for when we do hear from your sister. I am sorry I got your hopes up for a moment." Lorin nodded and bowed his head, saying nothing.

The King went on. "What I hath done is send out some men to begin to make inquiries about her. I knew not where to send them, alyough I knoweth from Erik that she hath not crossed the sea. So I had to send many men in many directions." He looked at the Duke, who had not raised his eyes, with some growing suspicion. "I suppose I shouldst have spoken to you first. You mayst have had some knowledge of the lady and her mind that I had not or wouldst not consider." He kept his gaze on Lorin. "Aye?"

Lorin looked up at the King. In a flat voice he replied, "Aye, my lord." He could not read Lawrence's expression.

Lawrence lay the map down on the table and turned to his wife's brother. "How long ago didst you send to find her?" he asked.

Lorin did not dissemble. "Just a fortnight before we found that McGuinness had gone to search for her." He went on, "My lord, I beg your understanding and forgiveness. She is my sister. I only sorrow that I did not send to find her sooner. I went against your wishes. "

"You defied a royal command," the King said sharply. His face softened. "But I am grateful you sent at all. Poor man, you must have felt you had to be Duke and King and all for the kingdom. And you a king in your own right had your Kingdom not fallen." A look of recognition flashed past his eyes. "Affynshire, your rightful kingdom. That is where Josephine wouldst hie herself? Is that so?"

Lorin kept his head bowed. "You art more than gracious, my lord. I didst deceive you and willfully. " At Lawrence's irritated wave of a hand, he went on, "Aye, Affynshire. There was a dale where we wouldst be sent as children ere our parents were murdered. We resided on a farm and spent the summer away from the castle running about like wild things and helping on the farm."

Lawrence gave a small laugh. "Farm work and my dearest Josephine... that I shouldst like to have seen. She can be complicated, can she not?" He went back to the table and rifled through some maps and pulled one out that stretched far to the north. "Where is it? And that is whence you sent your agents?"

Lorin pointed to where, as best he knew, the dale would be. He had been but a lad himself the last time he was there. "Aye, that is the region where I told the man to go."

Lawrence looked up worried, "Save but one fellow? Was that wise?"

Lorin looked sadly at the King. "I didst think any more wouldst be unwise, given your state of mind, begging your leave, my lord." The King gave him a pained look.

As Lorin was about to apologize yet again, the King went on. "Nay, you art saying the truth. I hath been a quite spectacular idiot. It seemeth that every possible error I could make I found leave to do so and this is but one of the many that drovest that lady from mine arms and our children." Lawrence looked grave and walked over to a bench, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. "E'en this. Your fear of my wrath made you hesitate to search for her and then to send but one man." He looked up at Lorin with a frankly disgusted face. "It seemeth those that defy me are mine most faithful subjects. Methinks a wise man hath said this to me ere now."

He rose again and came back to the maps. "Aye, well that die is cast by howe'er a colossal fool. Mayhap we can put this to rights, after a fashion. Whate'er else I do, my brother, I pledge that I shall speak to you first. Had I yought to do this ere I returned from Trent, we shouldst not be in the grief I brought upon us all now."

It was Lorin's turn to put his arm around the taller man's shoulder. "Dear brother, you art right to say that die is cast. And now we must needs go on and try to make the best of a bad thing." He tried to smile at his morose liege lord. "There is one small boon in all that hath happened.

Lawrence gave the Duke an astonished look. "What say you, man? What possible good hath come of all this misery?"

Lorin said quietly, "Jolie. Wiyout Juliana here, she and her dear mother wouldst not also be."

Lawrence also tried to smile. "Aye, and that mayst be a goodly exchange.. so long as mine own lady is safe. Let us go ahead with what best we can do to bring back some sort of good from this. I ne'er expect to see the Queen again, and ne'er to have her in mine arms. But if we can find her we mayst be able to give her back to the little ones I drove her from."

Lorin patted Lawrence on the back as he nodded.

"My lord?" came the voice from the doorway of Duke Lorin's study. He looked up at his servant and nodded. "My lord, a young page wisheth to speak with you."

"Whose page?" Lorin inquired.

"Begging your pardon, sir, he is not from here. He saith he had come from Affynshire with a message from a great lady."

The Duke sat up quickly. "Show him in, and be quick about it." The servant bowed low, startled by the even-tempered Duke's sharp tone. He left and quickly returned with a boy of no more than thirteen or fourteen, dressed in a livery Lorin did not recognize, head to toe in mud and road dust. He gestured to a spot across from his desk and told his servant to bring the boy a stool so he could rest himself.

The boy took the proffered seat tentatively sitting on the edge and wrapping skinny ankles around the legs and crossbars. He looked terrified. Lorin offered him a goblet with wine and water. The boy took it gratefully and drank it down in noisy gulps.

"Lad," Lorin began, "hath you walked all this way?"

The boy wiped his chin with a dirty sleeve, leaving a dirty streak under his lower lip. "Aye, sire. I mean, nay sire."

Lorin stopped him. "I am not the King boy. Wert you meant to speak to the King?"

"Nay, sire. I mean, sir. My lord. I was meant to speak to Duke Lorin. "

"All right. That is I. What didst you say, you walked but you dist not walk. Make yourself clear, boy."

The boy squirmed in his seat. "Aye, sire, sir. I was meant to walk but I didst ride a bit with some traveling players. I yought it no harm."

Lorin stood and came around to face the boy, leaning against the desk with his legs crossed at the ankles. "Aye, no harm. You saith you were meant to walk. Who told you?"

Now the boy looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I.. I.. I " he stammered, "am not supposed to say, sir."

Lorin sighed, "Calm down, boy. You shalt not be hurt. Tell me what you wert sent to say to me." Lorin leaned towards the boy.

The boy looked dubious but somewhat calmer. He closed his eyes for a moment and recited, "I am to tell Duke Lorin that a great lady who is his sister is all right and that he shouldst not worry about her." Message delivered, he opened his eyes and almost smiled.

Lorin stayed in the position, leaning back on the desk but with his upper torso inclined forward. He stared at the boy. "My sister. You art certain?"

"Aye, sir, that is what I was told."

Lorin cast a youghtful look inward. "Wert told. She told you. What great lady?"

The boy repeated "your sister."

Lorin stood and walked around to the back of his desk again.

"Describe her."

The boy just stared. "Describe her, sir?"

"Aye. What did she look like?"

The boy replied, "Look like, sir? I know not. I didst not see her."

"But the message was from her. Aye?"

"Aye, sir. " He looked longingly at the jug of wine and Lorin poured him more wine and water.

"How dost you know that the message was from the lady?" Lorin asked as the boy slurped his wine. Lorin reached for the goblet and took it away. "That's enough, lad. No need to get drunk and not be able to tell me all."

"But sir," the boy said, this time licking the drops from his dirty chin, making a little grimace at the taste of the mixture of dirt and wine. "I have already given you the whole message."

"Answer my question, lad. How knowest you the message is from a lady." Lorin pressed with all the patience in his reserve.

"He said so, sir."

"Who said so?"

"The man who gave me the message." It took a moment for the boy to work out that he had said more than he was meant to. He looked like he might start to cry.

"Now, now, lad, it is all right. No one sadist you could not tell me what you saw, did they?" Lorin offered him an out.

"N-o-oo," the page responded uncertainly.

"So this man who gave you the message from the great lady who is my sister... was he a very big man, very tall and with broad shoulders?" Lorin held one hand up, considerably above his own head. "This tall and more?" He wondered if the agent he had sent to locate his sister had found her and sent this messenger.

"Nay, sir, he was tall but not so tall. He was a knight."

Lorin froze. "How knowest you he was a knight?"

"His armor, sir."

"Tell me, lad," Lorin said, starting to pace a bit. "Did he have dark hair and dark eyes? Was his hair very curly? Did he have a slight Celtic accent when he spoke, not like our own Celts or a Scot or an Irishman, but a little like a Welshman?"

The boy yought for a moment and then nodded cheerfully, "Aye!"

Elerde. He had found Josephine and she was with him. He had no doubt the message was from her, even in a roundabout way. No one else would think to address a message of such sweet simplicity to him than his sister. He sighed deeply. "Thank ye, boy. Be you silent on this matter. Speak to no one at all of it or I shall send you away with no help." He called for his servant. "Take this lad down to the kitchen and find him food and a billet." He turned to the boy and shook an avuncular finger at him, "And no more wine."

Lorin found his wife Larisa in the nursery. As he entered the princesses' bedchamber Larisa put a finger to her lips to quiet him. The little girls each lay in her tiny bed hugging toy kittens and an identical princess doll. Larisa motioned him back out of the chamber and followed him, quietly shutting the door behind them.

"They both finally got to sleep. They are much better but I wantest them to rest." Lorin nodded at his wife and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Larisa saw the look on his face and her own spread with alarm. "What is it, my love? What hath happened?"

Lorin put his arms around Larisa. "I hath just had a message from my sister." In his arms Larisa jerked. "She is well."

Larisa looked up into his eyes. "But Lorin, that wouldst be good news. What ails you?"

Lorin pulled her head to his chest again. "She is with Elerde."

Larisa pulled away and stared at her husband in frank horror.

He nodded grimly. "Aye, in many ways the worst thing that couldst happen. "

Larisa corrected him quickly. "Nay, my love. Not the worst. Where there is life," she began.

"Aye, I know, where there is life, there is hope. But I must go and tell Lawrence. I doth not think this will be hopeful news to him." Lorin's wife looked with utter sympayour at him for the duty he now had to perform. He said to her gently, "We shall keep this betwixt us.. I doth not wish the whole court to know of the King's humiliation.. and the courtesan to know of her small triumph."

Lorin had not called Juliana "the courtesan" for some time, so Larisa realized just how fearful he was, not just of the interview with the King but of what might come thereafter. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "I love you, Lorin," she said. He smiled wanly and nodded and reluctantly took his leave of her.

Lawrence sat hunched over in his chambers when Lorin found him. His page Clancy, the O'Neill's brother, was rubbing him with oils and kneading the muscles of his arms and back. Lorin knew the King had been in the tourney field ahorse practicing sword moves from the saddle. The smell in the room was of the oils and of sweat, man's and horse's.

"My liege, I crave a moment of your time. Alone." Lawrence looked up at him and then at the boy. He nodded at the boy, who bowed, gathered up the oils and towels and went out, backing out of the door bowing.

Lawrence had stood and was putting on his shirt and stretching back his elbows to make his muscles and bones make popping sounds. His color was excellent. He seemed invigorated. "Is it news of the Queen?" he said as he reached for his fine wool jerkin.

Lorin had not looked up since Clancy had left the room. "Aye, my lord. We have found her."

The King's face was a madrigal of joy and relief. Then he saw Lorin's face and the happiness faded. "Is she dead?" he asked with a sound of inevitability n his voice.

Lorin hurried to reassure him. "Nay, my lord, she is alive and passing safe."

Lawrence walked over and stood very close to the Duke. He looked very hard into the man's eyes, but Lorin still did not look up. "Then what grieves you, man?! Speak! I lose patience." The King's tone was angry and almost threatening.

Lorin swallowed and finally lifted his eyes to the King's. The eyes he cast on him were replete with deep and genuine concern. "We believe she is with Elerde."

Lawrence started as if struck. "Believe? What.. believe? How dost you believe this?" The look had moved rapidly from anger to fear.

Lorin explained about the page's message and how he had extracted what information he could from the boy. As he spoke, the King went to sit on his small bed, his face rigid and his eyes cast down. His explanation done the Duke stood and waited for Lawrence to respond. The King only nodded.

"Leave me," he said. At Lorin's protest he repeated in a firmer voice. "Leave me!" He had doubled over where he sat and clutched his legs, his face and eyes clenched and his mouth working.

Lorin reluctantly bowed, mumbled some formality and backed out of the room. Against his own sense of propriety he stayed near the door after he closed it, to hear if the King should call out. But he heard nothing.

No one saw Lawrence for the rest of the day. Late at night in the darkness Clancy woke to see the King steal out of this chamber. Clancy kept mum and stayed in his bed.

Lawrence stood outside Juliana's chamber for several minutes, then slowly walked away.

A stable boy found the King in the stables when he came in early to tend to the horses. Lawrence was singing under his breath to his horse while he combed him and stroked the side of its face. The stable boy backed up and out of the stable undetected. He had seen just enough to see that the King had aged overnight. His skin was ashen, his cheeks slack and there were still tears at the corners of his eyes. The words to the song he was singing to the horse was a simple lullaby that spoke of clouds and fairy wings and mother's arms and sleeping children.

Next: Juliana's Plot

Juliana Series: Juliana's Plot, Part II (outtakes)

2010-06-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

"But dubhín, I do not know where that lady is." Shannon continued cautiously.

"Thou shalt find her." Juliana was confident.

"And when I find her, what means would ye have me use to kill her?" Shannon stared at the girl, who seemed to be as gay as a lark.

She looked up at him through dark lashes. "We shall discuss that later. We need somewhere safe we can plan. A servant could walk in here any moment."

Shannon thought to himself, "Aye, and could have a moment ago as well." To her he said, "I know just the place. He told her of the secret passageways. The intrigue of it clearly delighted her.

"Ah, I wish I shouldst have known of these ere this!" she said, wistfully.

He told her how to gain access to one he knew of and they set a time to meet and make their secret plans. She kissed him long and deeply and sent him on his way.

At the appointed hour Juliana made her way to a secluded spot hear the door to a tower stairway. She found the alcove Shannon had described and found the way in, finding herself in a pitch dark passageway. The Irishman had told her to carry no light as it might be seen through chinks in the wall and arouse suspicion. She was to feel her way, he said, and she did, finding cobwebs and soft wet clumps on the walls as she went. Shannon had smiled inwardly imagining just this thing.

He had told her to follow the wall to the left and around a corner. She was to take care there since she might fall if she did not feel with her foot carefully to find the top of a short stairway. She found it. She walked down the few steps, afraid of the small rustling and scurrying noises she heard around her on the floor and on the walls. At the bottom of the steps she had to let loose the wall and step across to another. As she did, reaching and feeling for what seemed like an eon, someone somewhere shouted with laughter. She almost screamed. She felt dizzy and as though she was about to fall into a pit. Then her fingers touched the cold damp of the far wall. That was where she was to wait for the O'Neill.

Juliana stood and shivered in the damp and dark. She touched and touched again the small dagger she had brought in case Shannon was duplicitous. Many times she thought she heard footsteps but no one came. Perhaps Shannon had thought better of his offer. Then she heard soft and close to her ear, "Well met, easy woman." He took her arm and planted a kiss where he thought her face was and hit the side of her head instead.

"Didst anyone see thee, assassin," she asked.

"No one who would tell the Sassenachs.." He found her mouth then and kissed her. She let it linger for only a short time.

"Then ye will do as I ask?" She leaned against him.

"Sure, and will ye give me what I want when I return from carryin' out the deed?"

Juliana sighed and pressed harder against him. She kissed him longer then. "Aye," she sighed.

Shannon smiled grimly in the darkness. He threw an unseen glance over his shoulder. Of course, he could see nothing and no one. He crossed is fingers and hoped they were there. "By what means do ye wish me to kill the Queen?" He quickly added, "To kill Josephine."

Something was out of place, Juliana thought. Why had he made a point of saying her name? Perhaps it was just the familiarity he liked to use to show his disrespect for the Saxons who ruled. She leaned forward and pressed something into his hand. It was a tiny bottle. It was warm from her grasp. "It is a poison. Find her and give it her. Then she will die as if she hath died of a miscarriage."

A door behind Shannon was thrown open. light hit Juliana's eyes and blinded her. When she could see at all, the three men who stood before her were in silhouette. She knew the figure closest was Shannon's. She could well guess the identities of the two behind him. The taller shadow barked, "Guards, take her!"

Men rushed into the passageway and joined the King and Lorin where they had listened undetected by Juliana as she outlined her wish. They came to her and seized her arms. She fought them, angry and spitting, then crying out and begging the next moment. A guard found and held up the dagger for the King to see. As the men dragged her past the King she saw a loathing in his eyes more terrible than any horror she had ever seen. She kept her eyes on him as they dragged her out of the passageway and through a room.

Lawrence looked at Shannon, whose own countenance was grim. He nodded with no hint of satisfaction and he and Lorin turned and left the Irishman in the secret passageway.

Shannon stood a moment, still clutching the bottle in his hand. He followed the men out and caught up with them. He gave Lorin the bottle, still warm from Juliana's hand, and said, "Ye must have this as evidence. What I need is a drink." He left the pair and went to find solace with whatever fermented drink he could obtain.

TO BE CONTINUED

Juliana Series: Juliana's Plot, Part I (outtakes)

2010-06-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

omething seemed to be upsetting the royal family. Lorin was seen to rush about distractedly. Even once the princesses were well over their illness Larisa did not come to see her. What little she saw of Lawrence only told her that he was as unhappy and as morose as he had been in her presence for some time. She tried to get some intelligence from Shannon, but between attempts to kiss and fondle her he claimed he knew nothing.

Juliana had had an odd experience just a few nights before. She had had trouble sleeping, worried as she was that Shannon would expose her fraudulent pregnancy to Lawrence. As she had risen to take a sip of water from a cup she had set on the windowsill to cool she had thought she heard someone at her chamber door. She slipped silently to the door to listen. She heard what she thought was the King, breathing hard and irregularly. She waited with her heart in her throat a moment to see if he would enter. Then she realized that as she was in her night clothes the fold of cloth she used to make herself look as if she was with child was not in place. She rushed as quickly as she could to correct the error. When she returned to the door, the King had gone. She carefully opened the door and peered out. No one was there.

When Lady Jocelyn brought little Jolie for a visit Juliana had pressed her for information. Jocelyn was ready to gossip but clearly knew no more than did Juliana.

Juliana decided it was time to go forward with her plan. That is, if Shannon would go along with it. He had kept his word as far as she could tell. Other than the unease that had struck the royal family she could detect no change in demeanor towards her personally, whether good or ill. Perhaps he could be trusted after all. She felt she had a certain power over Shannon, much as she had had with Lawrence and with many other men. She was, after all, a professional.

Shannon smiled to himself when he heard the young servant tell him the Lady Juliana needed to speak to him on a matter most personal. He gathered up his lute and strolled to her door. She opened it the moment he knocked and ushered him in. She seemed tense, oddly elated.

With the court in upheaval with the message from Elerde that Shannon knew about from his contacts among the Celtic servants he had wondered if Juliana would drop her plan. He hoped so. He had no intention of helping her with a "miscarriage" act. He thought if things stayed as they were and she waited, her current deception would be exposed and he need not conspire with the bawd any more. Perhaps too Rory would come back and he could turn to his own most trusted counsel.

Shannon adopted a lascivious demeanor as he followed the dark eyed woman into her room. He made one of his habitual clumsy grabs for her, but this time she let him catch her up. She laughed a bit and wriggled against him. Then she made a pout and pulled away.

"Dubhín, have I not yet won ye'r trust. It has been that long since we uncovered ye'r wee deception and I have not said a word to the Sassenachs." He smiled a little wickedly. He reached for her again and she danced away and to the other side of the bed. Shannon looked at her with a smirk on his face. He moved as if to go around the bed to grab her, then jumped on the bed on his knees and started to kneel-walk across to her. She darted away. He let himself fall on the bed and lay on his side looking at her with his head propped up on the hand of one bended arm.

"Sure and I thought by now ye wouldst let me have a taste," he grinned.

She cast down her eyes and played the coquette. "Shannon, dost thou love me?" she cooed.

"Nay," he said simply. She looked up in unguarded surprise. "I do not love ye, save as I love all colleens everywhere. Ye do not want me to love ye. There is but one man for that purpose. But I do want ye. I starve for ye. I am ready to die for ye. Come here and we shall die together." He patted the bed next to where he lay.

She was satisfied with what he said. This was what Shannon would say. He must mean what he said. She could use him to her ends.

"I shall need thee soon to help me carry out the loss of the child," she said.

He nodded at her from the bed.

"But first I needs must have thy pledge to grant me a boon."

He made a lewd gesture and jested, "Ye already have me boon, dubhín." She made a face. He asked, "If I do this mysterious boon for ye, will ye come to me bed?"

"Nay, thou shalt com to mine."

He sat up and looked at her, head cocked to one side, "Och, aye? And will ye be after comin' with me to Ireland?"

She came to him and sat on his lap, "Aye, ma croidhe." She blushed prettily. She let him pull her face to his and kiss her. All the while she thought to herself, "After Lawrence, this is like unto a lad's kiss." But the sounds she made told the Irishman another story. One he did not believe.

"Then, my little harlot, what is it ye crave of me?" He let her pull away from him and stand. She turned and bent to whisper huskily into his ear. "Doth thou hate the King?"

Shannon concealed the skipped heartbeat that this question prompted in his chest. He looked at her questioningly, appraisingly and thought how to reply. "Aye," he said slowly. "For what he has done to my darlin' lass."

"Wouldst thou do whatever it took to make him pay for what he has done to me and for the beatin' he gave ye?" she asked slipping into the mimicry of his brogue that grated on his nerves.

"Aye, that I would." He went on, "And for puttin' me friend Rory into mortal danger in search of the lady he could not keep himself."

She twirled around and stepped lightly to the mantel. She toyed with some ribbon around her neck which held a tiny silver medallion with no marking. "What wouldst hurt the King more than anything else that e'er could transpire?" She looked to see if he had caught her meaning.

Shannon stared back at Juliana, hardly able to hide the horror and disgust. Seeing the King as he had been the past days it was hard to imagine anything could hurt him as completely as the Queen's elopement with the Breton. But one thing would be worse.

"Ye want me to kill the Queen." He said it as a statement of fact, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

She came to him and pulled him to stand before her. She gazed candidly into his eyes and asked, "Will ye do that for me, ma croidhe?" she lilted.

He gazed back, his insides frozen and his heart standing still.

"Aye, Juliana. I will."

Her look of pleasure and triumph made him fight to repress an urge to strangle her where she stood, pressing her breasts and false belly against him.

To be continued.

Juliana Series: Shannon Makes His Move (Outtakes)

2010-06-02T00:00:00.000-07:00

awrence strode briskly through the corridor on his way to a council of local chieftains and landowners.

"Lawrence?" a small voice came to him from an alcove built into the wall.

Lawrence turned to the voice and saw the familiar form of Juliana, seated somewhat in profile against a shaft of sun from an ornately cut window. The profile clearly showed the curve of her belly as the child was growing inside her. He stopped and made a small bow to her.

"My lady," he acknowledged politely but with no warmth.

The hopeful look on her face was at once replaced with disappointment. He saw that she looked hurt and felt for her sorrow and loneliness. He extended a hand.

"How art thou, my lady, and how is thy child?" he said, trying to master his voice. He wished he could manage the even tone that came naturally to Duke Lorin.

Juliana turned her face away and replied, "Our child , Lawrence. Our child."

Lawrence stood, uneasy and unsure of what to say.

"Hast thou forgotten making this child?" she pleaded.

Lawrence pulled back his hand. "Nay, lady," he said gently. "I have not." He bowed his own head. "Juliana, thou knowest I must go on and be the king I was born to be. Thou hast done nothing to make me pull away from thee. I must pull away to go towards my right path." He looked up at her.

Juliana stood and placed her palm on her growing belly. "So it is truly over, dearest love?" Her eyes searched his as she stood close up against him.

His look held compassion and not a small bit of regret. "Aye, Juliana. I am sorry." He kissed her hand and turned and strode away.

Juliana looked after him, a look of complete anguish on her face. She put both hands to the sides of her head and stumbled back to sit on the bench in the alcove again. Her body shook but she made no sound. Her heart cried, "But this cannot be. I love him. I love him." She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up quickly, thinking Lawrence had come back. But it was Shannon, looking down on her with his deep kind eyes. She put her hand on his hand and bowed her head. He sat down and put his arm around her shoulder.

"Strumpet," he said, but the tone was sad and fond.

"Whoremaster," she said in return and turned to put her head on his shoulder.

Over the past few weeks they had spent many hours walking in the garden or sitting in the Great Hall by the fire. He would sing to her or tell her jokes while she gave him the adoring audience he craved. They salved each other's loneliness. They called each other outrageous names as if they were pet names between two lovers.

She started to speak, "Oh Shannon, Lawrence.."

He broke in, "I saw, dubhín. I am so sorry." He saw the deep hurt in her eyes.. and that other thing he seemed to be the only one who could see.. the desperation.

Juliana searched his face and saw only caring and concern. For Shannon was a minstrel, as good at playing a part as she, the courtesan, but better than she. She never seemed to see the watchfulness behind his limpid blue gaze. "It is true, is it not? He does not love me."

"Nay, darlin', no more." Shannon took Juliana into his arms and let her weep. All the while she was thinking, "I must. I must."

"I know not what to do, dear Shannon," she wept into his chest.

He crooned quietly to her for a while and then said softly, "The King will care for ye and the child. I believe 'twill be ye'r choice whether ye take the child with ye when it is born or ask the court to care for it. He is that good a man, whate'er ye may think. He will not tear thy child from ye, ma croidhe."

Juliana pulled herself away from him. "What bumpkin knight would take a woman who hath born the King's bastard?"

Shannon smiled sweetly and stroked her hair. "Sure and I know not.. but I know a minstrel who is the chieftain of a clan in Tyr Owen that might be happy of such a one."

Juliana stared at him. "Thee?" she finally asked. She looked around to be sure they were not observed. "But thou art married."

"Aye, that I am, dubhín, but so is Lawrence. Can we not live together as ye wanted to live with him?" He painted an innocent look on his face. He took her hand and put it to his lips.

Juliana considered him for a while. Her look was undisguised speculation. "Thou knowest I do love Lawrence, dost thou not? And that the child I beareth is his child?"

Shannon laughed softly. "Dubhín, of course I be after knowin' all that. It means nothin' to me. If I couldst but take ye home to Eire I should be happy to have ye and would love the child as me own."

Juliana sat stunned. "Shannon, I didst not know thou felt for me."

Shannon smiled sweetly, "Nay, I know that. Saints, I didnae think I could have a chance with ye. So I have held me tongue. But Juliana, dearest Juliana, I should do anything' for ye. Anythin'"

Juliana cocked her head to one side and looked back into his liquid eyes and asked, "Anything?"

"Aye."

"Wouldst thou lie for me?"

"Aye."

"Wouldst thou steal for me?"

"Aye."

She stood and paced a little way away from him. Without turning her head to look at him, she asked, "Wouldst thou... kill.. for me?"

Behind her back Shannon's face went hard. A fire danced in his eyes.

"Aye." Came the answer slowly.

Juliana bowed her head and smiled a little. Then she simply walked away.

Shannon sat considering. It might take a while before she made her plot clear to him. He would have to hold her trust somehow. Perhaps he would pick a fight again with Lawrence. Or he would explore what ills would resound with Juliana's own sense of being wronged. He was almost unable to believe she would go this far. And whom would she ask him to kill? When the time came, how would he expose her.

A profound sadness came over Shannon. This was all so ugly. He wished there was some way he could avert what seemed inevitable. He would play this game slowly, try to trip her up some other way.. but he knew if she pushed him away before the fullness of her plan was clear he would not be able to protect the King and Queen, could not protect himself if it came to that.

If Rory were only here. He could talk about this with him and Rory would stop him from stumbling into disaster. He did not know where Rory was nor when he would return, if he returned. He would simply have to go it alone.

Next: Juliana's Plot

Julliana Series: Shannon Uncovers Juliana's Deception (outtakes)

2010-06-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

Left: A younger Shannon, by Laake

Juliana's chamber door opened slowly. The young woman looked out into the corridor cautiously before stepping out. She held in her hands a covered bowl. Seeing no one about she carried the bowl down the corridor and around a corner to a drain hole cut into the outer wall. There, looking about her one last time, she pulled the cloth off the bowl and poured the contents into the drain. Pink water poured out and down the outside of the keep's wall into a middens. Her quest accomplished, she hurried back to her chamber.

Once inside her bedchamber she went to where she had rinsed out several rags of the blood of her current menses. To her surprise, the rags were not where she had left them. She looked about for them puzzled.

"Sure, an' be ye lookin' for these?"

Juliana spun to find herself staring at the O'Neill. "Oh, aye. I use those rags to wash."

The man looked amused. "Always a quick answer, dubhín?" He brought the damp cloths over and handed them to her. She gave him an irritated look.

"Shannon, what dost thou mean coming into my chambers?" Now that he was close she could smell the drink on him. "Drunk already this morn," she thought.

But Shannon was not drunk. He had taken a tankard of ale to sip on his way to her rooms so that he would smell freshly of the malt and hops.

He feigned inebriation. "Ma croidhe, I came to see ye and found the door ajar. I thought it an invitation to come and see ye."

Juliana took the rags from his hand and turned to lay them over the edge of the mantelpiece to dry. When she did she found Shannon's arms coming around her waist from behind. She stiffened. He put his face into her neck and breathed in the scent of her hair. One hand rose to cup a breast.

"Shannon," she snapped. "Stop!" She pulled loose and whirled. "I will call for help!" she threatened.

The dreamy look contained a spark of defiance. "Nay, I think not. I am that certain ye would not want it known that ye are beddin' another man but the King." He stood staring at her.

Juliana thought fast. She allowed the annoyed look on her face to melt into coyness. "Oh, Shannon, my dearest. Thou knowest I wouldst fain have thee stay with me. But I am with child! I shouldst not think the King wouldst care to have his child bathed in thy seed." She looked up at him through dark lashes.

Shannon stood, grinning wryly. "Now an' I don't think we need to worry about that, dubhín." He reached to her and placed a palm on her belly just under her breasts. Then he closed his fingers on the fabric of the gown she was wearing. A deft tug loosed the folded fabric she wore under her kirtle from where Juliana had tucked it under the tighter bands of her bodice. He released it and it fell to the floor. Juliana stood stunned --- with no hint of pregnancy.

"Shannon!" was all she could say.

He stepped forward and kicked the pile of fabric now come loose from its folds to the side. He took her in his arms again and the look of drunkenness was gone.

She gazed up at him pale and trembling. "How didst thee know?"

Shannon smiled and the smile held a trace of tenderness. "I told ye, did I not, that I have been present for births, both at the beginning and ant the layin' in? I've spent no small time passing the time between with a sweet colleen. Sure and I know a woman with child when I see her.. and when she is not with child." He pressed his lips to her forehead.

Juliana pushed him away and gave him a pleading look. "Wilt thou tell the King?"

Shannon looked at her long and deeply. At long last he replied, "Nay, ma croidhe. He need ne'er know." She relaxed only slightly. "I was after wonderin' how ye'd planned to see this through, darlin'. Mayhap ye plan a miscarriage and a long time abed to recover?"

Juliana pulled herself away and walked over to her dressing table. "I have thought of that. I hath not worked out yet how to accomplish the plan though."

"And how did ye plan to keep the King with no child? I be that certain the man would welcome being released from his duty to ye."

Juliana flashed an angry look. "Cruel man!" she shot at him.

The two stood in tense silence for a while. Shannon leaned back against the mantel. "I be thinkin' whate'er plan ye have would be after goin' more smoothly with an accomplice."

The dark-eyed woman cast an appraising look at the man. "What meaneth thou?" She came to him slowly and stood before him, looking into his eyes, probing.

He grinned wistfully. "Well, if ye must fake a miscarriage, it should be easier to do with someone willing to cut himself to provide the bloody sheets. And with someone who can attest to the other evidence of a miscarriage."

Juliana nodded. "The court knoweth that thou and I have brought a woman to bed and mayst believe I wouldst prefer only thee to care for me." She advanced and leaned against him She let her voice take on a hint of his accent. "Someone of me own kind." She did not see Shannon's inward look that bespoke irony and disgust at her transparency.

"There be one thing I still do not understand, darlin'," he said, leading.

She leaned her head back to look up at him languidly. "What is that, ma croidhe?"

"I still see not how ye mean to win the King without a child. Before he thought ye bore his child he planned to marry ye off and get thee hence." He eyed her cautiously.

Juliana pulled away and walked to the bed. She looked at him speculatively. "Dost though truly care for me?"

Shannon strode quickly to her. "I want ye. I can care for ye."

She gave him a dubious look. "Thou sadist thou wouldst do anything for me?"

"Aye."

"Wouldst thou give up other women for me?" she smiled.

Shannon laughed lightly. If he said yes he knew she would guess at his duplicity. If he said now she would have every reason to turn him away, ruining his plan. "There be no other women in the world but ye," he said humorously. She laughed prettily.

Shannon started to push Juliana onto the bed but she resisted. "Nay. Shannon. I must know thou art sincere before I let thee take me.," Juliana said.

He looked at her, musing. "What more can I do to win thy affections than to keep thy secret?"

Juliana put a finger to her chin and gave him her most devastatingly alluring look. "An I see thou canst keep that secret, then shall I tell thee what more thou can do to have me." She walked to her chamber door and opened it. She waited for Shannon to leave. As he passed her he leaned down to kiss her on the lips and to place a strong warm hand on her now deflated belly.

"Sure and I can wait, dubhín." He smiled humorously into her face. "Charlatan," he said.

She smiled at him and murmured, "Conspirator."

In Lawrence's counsel chamber Lorin addressed his brother in law, "My liege?"

Lawrence looked up from a map and nodded at the Duke.

"Sire, I wonder if thou hast noticed the O'Neill hath been paying much attention to Lady Juliana of late?" Lorin's face revealed nothing.

"Aye, what of it?" the King said, frowning.

Lorin gave his King a frank glance. "I think that mayhap his intentions should be known."

Lawrence considered. He had succeeded in driving the intoxication with the lady from his mind and his body. Hard work, hard play and his visual mantra of Peter's face had not rid him of his normal urges but whatever had bound him to Juliana seemed at last to have been severed. He knew that he must be constantly alert to avoid slipping into that morass again. "Then why dost thou not speak with him?" he asked his Queen's only brother.

"Begging thy leave, lord, I think 'twould best come from thee." Lorin looked at the King evenly.

Lawrence scowled at Lorin and made a low growling sound. "I must?" he asked. He nodded and ordered, "Bring him to me."

Shannon found himself in the uneasy presence of the King. They had not spoken a great deal since Shannon had been forced to remain in the castle to prevent him from joining his friend Rory in a search for the Queen. Shannon affected a devil-may-care attitude and looked at his King with undisguised impudence.

Lawrence gave him a disapproving look. "Thou hast taken to seeing a good deal of the courtesan," he simply stated.

Shannon looked at his own fingernails. "Aye, m'lord. What of it?"

Lawrence looked at his old friend incredulously. "Thou hatest me that much that thou canst seek to hurt me e'en now?" At Shannon's smirk, he continued, "The lady is thine, if thou are foolhardy enough to take her. Are those thy intentions?" The King left his papers and sat, daring the Irishman with his eyes to be so bold as to sit without leave.

The O'Neill shifted uneasily where he stood. "Aye, " he said slowly. "I have told the lady I be wantin' to take her to Eire with me."

The King's eyebrows darted up. "And the child?"

Shannon disguised a grin. "It is ye'r child, Lawrence, to keep or send away as ye see fit."

Lawrence nodded. "Ever the insolent one, eh, Red Shan? And the lady will have thee?"

Shannon stood straight, "Sure an' I am courtin' the colleen. I hath not won her yet."

The King gave the minstrel a stern look. "Thou mayst consider thee given a second chance."

Shannon let himself look angry and offended, "My liege, ye do the lady a disservice. '''Twas thee who spirited her here to a hellish life, not the other way around."

The King's eyes flashed. Then he relented, "Aye, but it seemeth passing strange that one day thou beratest me for the wrong done to one woman and then another thou defendeth the one I wronged her with." Shannon made no reply.

The King glared. "Tread lightly, O'Neill. I should be grateful if I knew the lady had gone with a man I trust and respect and that I knowest will treat her well... if often lightly." Shannon shot an impertinent look at the King.

"Leave me," the King commanded. "But see to it thou mindest how thou goeth."

Shannon was relieved to be back out in the corridor. He stood for a moment still unsure whether he had been threatened or warned.

Next: Shannon Gets Cozy with Julliana

Juliana Series: A Walk in the Garden (Outtakes)

2010-05-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

Back to Lawrencium...

ocelyn fussed over Jolie who was sniffling and coughing. "Percy, my love, we cannot go for our walk. I doth not want to take Jolie out into the chill air."

Percy replied, "But the air is much warmer than in these damp halls. Still we shall not take that chance. I shalt go tell Lady Juliana we will be staying indoors. Thou stay and sit with our little sparrow." He gave his wife a kiss and went out to the garden where Juliana was just arriving for their daily walk.

"Well met, lady. I fear that our little Jolie is not well and we must disappoint thee." He gave Juliana a warm smile.

Juliana was disappointed as these walks with Percy and his wife and daughter was practically her only diversion. After several years in a close community of courtesans it had been difficult to adjust to being alone so much of the time. Percy and Jocelyn, unlike Larisa, who was kind, were also more to her taste.. young and so happy. And so grateful to her. But she did not wish for Jolie to be put at risk, so she smiled and made light of the disappointment. Percy suggested she walk anyway.

"Aye," she said. "I suppose I shall."

When Percy had turned to go back indoors Juliana had let her disappointment show on her face. She decided she may as well walk, since she had dressed in warmer clothing for that very purpose. Looking about her she took care to walk slowly and to place one palm against her belly. She was affecting looser clothing, mostly full kirtles that started just under her breasts.

She did not at first notice the Irishman standing, leaning against the tree near Josephine's marble bench. But Shannon was there expressly to meet her on the path. He had guessed that Jocelyn would wish to keep little Jolie inside.. Juliana may have gone back inside or stayed to walk, but if she did the latter he would be there to be happened upon.

"Good day, me lady," he said in a cheerful voice. She looked up and smiled. Since their work together at Jolie's birth, these two had had many friendly conversations, that is, when they happened both to be in the corridor or outside. Shannon had not yet come to visit her in her chambers.

She now liked the man. Before he had had the stuffing knocked out of him by the King, she h ad found him shallow and offensive. She deeply resented his interference between Lawrence and her, even if it manifested only as angry looks at him and Juliana. But since he had suddenly appeared again at the castle, and the look of understanding they had shared at Jocelyn's lying in, they had begun to smile and laugh together.

"Mayst I walk with thee, dubhin?" he asked gallantly.

She stopped, keeping her palm on her belly, and smiled up at him. "Aye, but only if thou wilst tell me what 'dove een' means."

He gently took her arm to escort her on the pebbled paths. He looked wistful and smiled. "It means 'dark lady'. In my language, Gaelic."

They walked slowly, Shannon playing along with the pace she set as a "woman with child". His quest was actually to decide for himself if she was with child, the King's or anyone else's for that matter. And to keep an eye on her and try to divine what plot she was hatching. "Along with her wee egg," he joked with himself.

"Shannon, art thou married?" Juliana thought she had heard snippets of a story about Shannon's even more turbulent marriage than Lawrence's.

"Aye, to me darlin' Heather, a Scots girl."

Juliana hesitated, then prompted, "And? Where is 'darlin' Heather'?"

Shannon replied, "Oh she left me."

Juliana peered into his face. "Do I know why?" she asked in a familiar and suggestive tone.

He had taken his arm from hers and locked his hands behind his back,. As he replied he took a small skipping step to mime jocularity. "Aye, I think ye do." He gave her a quick wink.

"Scoundrel and libertine," she called him and laughed.

"Loose woman," he replied, with a smile. They laughed.

"Dubhin," Shannon started. "Ye are not full blood Sassa.. Saxon, are ye? Ye are too dark for that thin blood."

She gave him a measuring look. "Thou art right, Shannon. My mother was Welsh. She was tiny and dark."

"Sure, an' I thought so. May I call ye Juliana, me lady?" he asked, taking her arm again.

She cast her eyes down demurely. "I shouldst like that very much, Shannon."

They walked some distance further, then stopped by a patch of daffodils swaying cheerfully along one side of the path. Shannon hesitatingly took one hand and stroked her hair with the back of the fist. She let herself tremble a little.

Juliana turned to him. "Shannon?"

"Aye, Juliana, dubhin?"

"Where is Rory?" She had noticed the tall man was no longer around, although his constant companion stood right in front of her.

He grinned conspiratorially. "Can ye keep a secret?"

Juliana was all ears. "What dost thou think?" She smiled.

He nodded and bent to whisper in her ear, "He is gone in search of the Queen."

Juliana went pale and swayed on her feet. He reached out and took her arms to steady her. "Dubhin, are ye ill?"

Juliana deftly took the situation back, pleading faintness because of her condition. Shannon played along, acting solicitous and concerned. He thought to himself, "Well, old son, that's just what ye wanted to know."

And Juliana was thinking, as he led her back to the keep, "Dear God, not so soon. I shall have to start putting my last plan into preparation." With that thought she leaned her weight against the Irishman and gave him a little weak smile of thanks.

Next: Shannon Keeps an Eye on Juliana

Juiana Series: Broken Hearts and Kindnesses (Just for fun)

2010-05-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

o's shout had drawn Josephine's waning attention from the caretaker's latest longwinded account of pirates and smugglers and bears, oh my. It took her a moment to understand what was happening. The pirates had docked and their captain had disembarked to talk with Elerde. She had not much liked the looks of the cutthroat crew but had faith in Elerde's judgment as well as his ability to protect himself and her. She kept thoughts of the man she had seen, that she thought must have been Rory, as far from her mind as long practice had taught her.

Now her mind was trying to make sense of Rory in a torn and bloody monk's robe making a beeline - that is, if bees can hobble -- for her using a quarterstaff as a crutch, and some huge man in similar garb making a noise like a banshee as he rushed with his own staff borne aloft as a weapon at the nearest pirate. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Elerde rush not towards the attacking giant, but towards Rory.

"McGuinness!" the Breton knight was roaring. "How many times do I have to kill thee before thou stayest dead!" He had drawn his sword.

Josephine's heart stood still and all the color drained from her face, but for once in her life she did not swoon. "How many times do I have to kill thee..." she repeated. She stared at the onrushing Elerde with horror. Then he had found Rory and he had wounded him. He lied to her, and what's more, he had hurt her dear Rory who himself had been unarmed.

"Elerde, my God, stop! I command thee!"

The anger in her voice made it through the Breton's fury to his ears. He slowed to look at her, stunned, as much by her anger as by a realization that he had just been about to screw the pooch. What she had seen already had been enough to overcome when they were alone, but a dead Rory meant no Josephine in his life or his arms for sure. He stopped and quickly sheathed his sword. He faced Rory without a drawn weapon.

Rory's own fury was unabated. He rushed at Elerde in spite of his wounded thigh and tried to strike him with the quarterstaff. The removal of his only real support sent Rory off balance and crashing to the ground at Josephine's feet. He cried out and clutched his thigh where the Queen could see fresh blood starting to seep from crude stitches in a long fresh wound.

She flung at Elerde, "Knave, what hath thou done to him!" She knelt by Rory to try to help him.

Rory gasped out, "My lady, art thou safe?" His eyes revealed pain and yet concern for her. Good old devoted Rory.

Elerde stepped in. "Aye, she is safe. The lady is mine now." He started to reach for the minstrel's arm, but the Queen stood between them.

From behind her she could hear Rory's voice. "My lady, my dearest Jo, is it true? Art thou willingly going with this man?"

At her murmured "Aye," Rory moaned and struggled to his feet. Josephine, frozen, did not move as Elerde rounded her. Rory had stumbled backward. The knight lifted a gloved hand and struck Rory across the face, sending him flying again to the ground.

Elerde spun to face Josephine, fear baldly showing on his face. "My love, " he started, but was distracted by a loud BANG that was followed by silence and a smell that made him think of Hell.

The pirates stood around a giant man who held something in his hand that glinted in the fading light. One of their number lay on the dock, crumpled as though he had been raised and dropped from a height. Elerde marveled at the man who had evidently been allied with McGuinness. His size was remarkable... much taller even than the Irishman who now was trying to sit up, holding his head as Josephine crouched by him fussing and sighing. And the man was broad. This would be a fine enemy even without whatever sorcery he seemed to possess.

The huge man that Elerde was now realizing must be the confederate "Beau" that Rory had been searching for in the woods had turned to look for his friend. "Beau" indeed, Elerde was thinking, "Un beau adversaire." But he had no sword, giving Elerde the advantage if the sorcerer could not use his magic again. In fact, as this adversary had turned and started to come to his blasted friend's defense the pirates had broken whatever spell had immobilized them and fell on him. In seconds there was a spark as metal hit metal and some kind of weapon flew into the air and fell with a delicious splash into the water under the dock.

Elerde drew his sword and dagger and came forward. The sorcerer appeared to have lost his only unearthly weapon as he was resorting to simple hand to hand fighting with one of the pirates' daggers . Elerde saw the man's quarterstaff in two pieces cast down the dock. He reached the ring of pirates and inserted himself to face the monster who still appeared ready to fight. "Thou art a dead man," said Elerde easily. He drew back his arm to strike.

"Not so fast," the pirate captain interrupted.

Everyone, including the giant, stood still and stared at him in surprise.

"This man has just killed one o' my best mates and injured two others. I can't sail without a full crew, and I certainly can't fight if we meet with trouble. And, cravin' yer pardon, yer excellence, ye don't seem ter be a seaman. So I'm for drafting this muscular gent to be a-mannin' of the ship."

Elerde thought fast. The man was right, but he so much wanted to kill someone just then and he was in enough dutch with the Queen over that other one. He turned back to the tall man and leveled a cruel smirk at him. He raised his sword to point it at the man's exposed throat. "So, sirrah, what will it be? Die like a man of honor, or join this band of scurvy cut-throats? Your choice."

The man had seemed almost to smile. He looked over at Rory who was still holding his head, stunned, while the Queen knelt by him and put her arms around him. He looked at the pirates. Then he looked at Elerde. He shrugged, and in a strangely accented voice, said "I always thought pirates were rather romantic." The colossus had then dropped the dagger and said, "Yo ho."

Elerde just stared. Disappointed and mystified, he watched as the remaining pirates grabbed Bo and hustled him on board their boat. While the captain was directing them to tie Bo to a mast, the Breton turned and walked slowly back to where the Irishman seemed to be going in and out of consciousness.

Josephine stood and whirled to face Elerde. "Put that away!" she shouted, seeing his still drawn sword. He glanced at Rory and sheathed both his weapons. He stood and looked down at McGuinness.

"What, prithee, in hell was that?!" Josephine spat at Elerde.

He looked at her a bit dazed. "What, the giant?"

From the ground Rory moaned, "Bo."

Elerde laughed a little, "Bien sûr," he breached. "Très beau."

As Rory tried to reach for the Queen and grasped a bit of her skirt, Elerde deftly put a boot against his shoulder and shoved him away. He fell again, moaning, "Bo... my lady.."

The Queen's eyes burned into Elerde's own. He knew he could say nothing that could explain what had all just happened. He was taking her to Brittany - that was all the explanation he had. He knew also that she was on the very verge of abandoning him for what he had done to the other one of the King's rivals for her love. He had to think fast.

A commotion from down the road drew both his and Josephine's attention. Amazingly, the caretaker had gone for help. They could hear him faintly in the distance chattering to some scythe and staff carrying peasants about "the Queen" and "pirates" and "fine horses". The men were rushing towards the trio before the cottage.

Elerde swiftly took Josephine's arm. "We must fly, my love. They will care for the Irishman. Thou canst not help him. Hurry, we canst not linger." His grip was firm on her arm. Her face though still flaming looked to be collapsing back into confusion. "Thou knowest thou hath nowhere else to go save with me," Elerde finished.

Jo turned her head to Rory who was looking at her pleadingly. He tried to speak. "Bo... my lady.. please..." He seemed to gesture towards the boat where his friend had just been secured to a mast.

"Rory, my dearest, is that your friend, is that 'Bo'?"

Rory nodded painfully, His head swam with agonizing pain. He could not articulate what he was trying to say, that if she was afraid, if she could not get away from Elerde and the pirates, Bo would protect her. "Bo," he rasped out once more.

The Queen resisted the tug of Elerde's hand on her arm. She thought, "Rory wants me to go with his friend, to prevent Elerde from harming him. She knew Rory's famous devotion to his friends. He had saved her once.. now she could return the favor. "I understand, darling Rory. I will go with Bo." She turned an eye to Elerde whose jaws were clenched and who was now pulling her with him Shock was setting in on the Queen and she relapsed into numbness.

Rory watched as Elerde led the Queen to the pirate vessel and helped her into it. He bowed his head in sorrow and defeat. As the caretaker and the peasants reached him, he collapsed.

***

When Rory awoke he was on a straw filled mattress in a small and poor but tidy cottage. A woman was ministering to the bruise that covered one side of his face. She saw his eyes open and smiled at him. "Brother, would thee take some mead?" When he nodded ever so tentatively his head swam and ached. He moaned. The woman looked with sympathy at him and got up to get a cup. She returned with it, helped him sit up and sip the honey-sweet home brewed liquor.

The woman's husband came forward then, clasping his cap in his hands, and made a short bow to Rory. Rory waved a hand to indicate that no such honor was owed him. He managed, "Nay, I be only a minstrel A simple man like ye."

The couple exchanged a look. The man said, "With great and noble friends, it seems."

This brought Rory back to the present. He jerked up and was instantly sorry he had. His head reeled and his vision blurred. He moaned "The Queen!"

"Now, Alfred, did I not tell ye that is who that lady was?" the woman asked her husband.

"Aye, wife, and I fear that she is at the mercy o' the pirates the knight bore her away with." The man saw Rory's distress and firmly pushed his shoulders back down on the bed. "Now, lad, be not tryin' to stir. Ye be sore wounded. That bastard cracked ye'r skull and I think he probably was responsible for that gash down ye'r leg." He returned the weak nod Rory gave him.

The woman could not resist a question, "Who was the man, the knight, who kidnapped the Queen? I reckon he will be hearing from the King in no time at all."

Rory sighed. "It was a knight of Brittany, Sir Elerde."

Both people gasped as they recognized the name. How often they would have read the supermarket tabloid headlines -

"Weeping Queen Denies Elerde Rumors" "King Bans Breton" "Royal Couple to Call It Quits Over Knight?"

That is, if they had been able to read. And there were any tabloids. Or supermarkets. Or printing presses.. or...

"I have to get to Lawrencium right away, " Rory said. In spite of the pain he struggled to sit. Then he stopped and looked at the peasants. "What of the big man the pirates pressed into going wi' them?" His eyes pled for some good news.

The woman looked at her husband. "Alfred?" she queried.

Alfred shook his head, "I didst not see anyone but that knight, the Queen and them pirates."

Rory hung his head. He hoped with all his heart that Bo was all right. He had not been able to tell quite what had happened, in the condition he had been in himself. He did not want to think of Bo dead.. the darlin' man. And he thought of Josephine and hoped that Bo was on the ship with her, keeping an eye on her to protect her.

"Where can I get a horse?"

Next: Stories about Shannon and juliana

Juliana Series: Bo and Rory and Elerde and a Whole Buch of Pirates (Just for fun)

2010-05-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

Did this not get posted when it was supposed to? Sorry about that.

By Barbara Weitbrecht

o paused again among the tangled trees, listening intently. "Rory! Where are you, man?" he called softly. Yell out if you're still alive, he wanted to add. But there was no use tempting fate with suggestions. Things looked bad enough already.

A faint call, hardly more than a hoarse whisper, led Bo to the thicket where his companion lay. There was a hell of a lot of blood. Bo pulled back the soaked cassock and shook his head. "Bastard might as well have killed you and been done with it. This is going to be tough."

"Where were you, me friend?" Rory asked, setting his teeth against pain. "I called you when the spalpeen set upon me."

"And I heard you, brother. But I was deep in the woods dealing with a little G.I. upset caused by last night's soup, which I swear had been reheated twice too often. I arrived just in time to see Sir Stabs-A-Lot chase you into the undergrowth. I take it that was Elerde?"

"The same. And Josephine is with him." Rory moaned again, not entirely because of the wound.

"Fuck. Well, now we know. But first thing we do is tend to this wound." Bo examined it as closely as he could through the blood. "He's cut the muscle. This needs stitches. Hell, this needs an emergency room and a good trauma team."

"It's not as bad as that," Rory assured him. "Elerde wisheth me to limp back to Lawrencium and tell the king that his queen hath fled. Sure and he could have killed me, easy, had he wished it."

Bo looked grim. "You'll never limp anywhere if we can't get this bleeding stopped." He paused, considering his words. "In my time, it's said that if you're in a battlefield situation and you have to dress a wound without proper supplies, the cleanest thing you can wash it with is good fresh piss."

"'Tis true in this time as well," Rory said, half smiling.

"Good. I didn't want you to think I was getting kinky on you or anything."

* * *

An hour later, the two companions emerged from the wood and surveyed the scene below. It was near sunset, and the water glowed blue and yellow beyond the spindly legs of the pier. Josephine stood on the road, chatting with the garrulous caretaker, who held the heads of two fine horses. Five men in ragged breeches and loose shirts, their hair extravagantly braided, lounged on the pier in attitudes of unconcern. Their ship, a craft hardly bigger than a fishing smack, bobbed in the water beyond. And, at the end of the pier, Sir Elerde was deep in negotiation with a man whose superior shirt and braids marked him as the captain.

Rory leaned on his staff and hissed. "Pirates! He thinks to transport such a lady to France on a pirate boat! I'll kill the blackguard!" He started to hobble toward the pier, using his staff as a crutch. Bo stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hold it, brother," he whispered. "Let's see if I have this straight." He pointed toward the pier. "One knight in armor, with sword and other weaponry. Six pirates, with knives and cutlasses. Against, let's see... two men without any armor at all, armed with quarterstaffs and utility knives, one already gravely wounded. And you want to wade in and do battle. What am I missing?"

"Granted, 'tis not really fair to the pirates. But Elerde hath pissed me off. At the very least, I would talk with the lady and assure meself she's not being dragged off by force."

Bo nodded. "Okay, bro. You talk to the lady. Steal the horses if she wants to leave with you. I'll hold off the pirates and the knight as long as I can. But I've got a seriously bad feeling about this."

Rory was already hobbling down the slope to the road. Bo hurried past him and shouted to get the pirates' attention. He raised his staff and swung it into the midsection of the first lounger, who had not yet realized that they were under attack. The man toppled, moaning and clutching his stomach. One down, bunch more to go.

Elerde and the pirate captain were now aware of the situation. "McGuinness!" the Breton knight roared. "How many times do I have to kill thee before thou stayest dead!" He rushed past Bo without a glance, heading directly toward Rory and Josephine. That suited Bo fine. He had enough to handle with five angry pirates.

A cutlass descended toward him, and Bo raised the staff two-handed to block it. The blade shattered the blackthorn, leaving Bo holding a pair of splinter-ended sticks. He threw them one after the other at the approaching pirate, leaving that man with a bloody forehead.

There was shouting behind him, not all of it male. Evidently the Queen objected to having her favorite minstrel murdered. Good for her, Bo thought. Glad to see she has a bit of gumption after all this romantic vapouring. His attention was re-focused as the bloody-faced pirate came at him with a raised cutlass. Bo reached into his robe and pulled out his weapon. "Freeze! I have a gun!" he shouted.

Usually that was enough to make the bad guys pause. Here, nobody seemed to notice. Well, duh. Guns weren't going to be invented for a couple few centuries. Bo decided not to do the math. He braced his weapon in both hands and fired. The pirate dropped.

Now the others paused. They had heard the report and seen the muzzle flash, and one of their companions had fallen. That was enough to convince them that Bo had some kind of seriously bad mojo in his fists. They looked at each other, waiting to see who would challenge him next. Bo took a step back, intending to join Rory and Elerde and even the odds a bit.

Mistake. Big mistake. His retreat was seen as fear, and the pirates were on him again. A cutlass flashed toward his side. Bo blocked the blade with the only thing he had handy, which was the gun. The blade caught it, and the gun spun wide and landed, with a sickening splash, in the North Sea shallows.

"Fuck!" Bo yelled, gripping his shocked hand. The pirate was coming again. Bo called up all his old memories of street brawls. A cutlass was just a bigger sort of switchblade. Turning sideways, he stepped beside the lunging sword-arm and rammed his fist into the pirate's solar plexus. A searing pain in his left arm told him that he hadn't dodged quite well enough. The pirate crumpled, gasping. Bo pulled the dagger from his foe's belt and turned, crouched in a fighter's stance.

He faced three cutlasses and a broadsword. "Thou art a dead man," said Elerde easily. He drew back his arm to strike.

"Not so fast," the pirate captain interrupted.

Everyone, including Bo, stared at him in surprise.

"This man has just killed one o' my best mates and injured two others. I can't sail without a full crew, and I certainly can't fight if we meet with trouble. And, cravin' yer pardon, yer excellence, ye don't seem ter be a seaman. So I'm for drafting this muscular gent to be a-mannin' of the ship."

Elerde smiled cruelly, sighting down the length of his blade. "So, sirrah, what will it be? Die like a man of honour, or join this band of scurvy cut-throats? Your choice."

Bo gazed thoughtfully past the ring of weapons to the road, where Rory was sitting up holding his head while the lady knelt beside him. News, at least, would get back to Lawrencium even if the lady was headed toward Brittany.

"I always thought pirates were rather romantic," he said, tossing aside the dagger. "Yo ho."

Next: Broken hearts and Promises

Juliana Series: Elerde and Rory Meet at the Crossroads (Puttakes)

2010-05-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

Left, Rory McGuinness, bty Laake

Sir Elerde slowed his horse to a walk and said to Josephine, "Wait here. We are near the crossroads and I wisheth to make sure there is no problem."

Josephine agreed and pulled her horse to stand in the road. She watched as Elerde carefully went forward, drawing his sword. She looked about her nervously as he disappeared around a stand of trees. She listened to see if she heard any hint of distress.

Elerde approached the crossroads and looked about. The old man who watched the little dock there was outside his cottage, speaking with someone. Elerde held up to watch and see who the stranger was.

The delay made Josephine quite anxious. She spurred her horse forward, coming up to where Elerde was quite slowly and quietly. She saw that he was watching something and craned her neck to see what it was.

Just as the man the dock keeper was talking to moved into view Elerde heard a sharp gasp from behind him. The Queen cried, "Rory!"

McGuinness looked up. He cast his eyes about as if looking for someone. Whoever it was seemed not to be there.

Elerde did not hesitate but spurred his horse forward, sword drawn. Rory turned and ran into the woods to escape.

"Elerde, no!" the Queen implored.

Elerde ignored her. He rode to the edge of the woods and finding no path for his horse, swung from the saddle. He sheathed his sword knowing it would not be as much use in the close thicket. He listened for Rory's fleeing steps and spotted the red of his hair at a short distance. He kept to a circling strategy, hoping to see the minstrel take cover somewhere, not knowing his nemesis was right at his shoulder.

Rory seemed to be looking for someone. He called "Beau" in a hoarse whisper several times. Elerde wondered who this "Beau" might be and kept a wary lookout for the minstrel's confederate.

As silently as he could, Elerde gained the advantage and found Rory crouched within some bushes. He reached in deftly and pulled the Irishman up by the back of his cassock.

"At last I have thee where I want thee, McGuinness," he grinned.

Rory showed not an ounce of fear. His look burned back into the Breton's face. "Aye, 'tis true. Ye can finish me off now.. and that is what it will take to make me leave off lookin' for the Queen."

Elerde considered him coolly. "Thou need look no more.. the lady is with me, as thou didst hear. And she is coming with me to Brittany."

Rory stared into Elerde's face, trying to divine the truth of the statement. "Sure and I cannae believe that. She may run from Lawrence but not to thee."

Elerde held the dagger he had had in his hand to Rory's throat. "Nay, she dist not run to me. But I didst to her, which is a far piece more than her royal husband hath done. The lady knows who wants her."

"Well ye will still have to kill me, sirrah, if ye wish to carry her away." Rory struggled but could not pull loose from the knight's grip. The blade of the dagger left a thin line of red on his throat. Rory opened his mouth to shout to Josephine.

Elerde pushed him down and put his knee on the Irishman's chest hard, knocking out his breath. Rory gasped for what air he could. Elerde leveled a steely gaze into the taller man's eyes. "I shouldst kill thee for all thy interference in mine own and my lady's brief moments of joy. But I shall not. If 'twere to come to her ears that thou wert slain by mine hand I should sorrow her and lose her for mine act." He continued to glare at the man. The he took his dagger and skillfully cut Rory's thigh along the outer side. Rory's cry of pain was stifled by the Breton's gloved hand.

Elerde stood. He leaned to wipe the dagger on the cassock Rory was wearing. "Thou shalt live, particularly if thy companion finds thee soon. But thou shalt not follow us."

Elerde gave the man, who was writhing in pain, clutching his leg, a swift scornful kick and turned.

Back at the crossroads Josephine had dismounted and stood clasping her hands to her breast. The dock keeper had disappeared. When she saw Elerde she ran to him, quickly assessing whether he had been wounded. "Rory?" she breathed.

Elerde had sheathed his dagger and went to her and held her arms too look into her eyes. "I couldst not find him. He must have slipped away. " He smiled.

The Queen searched his eyes for any sign he was lying. She could not be sure. He led her to the old man's cottage and bade her sit inside while he surveyed the coast for their rendezvous. He kept another eye watchful for interlopers from the woods. As the dark fell, he relaxed a little. He could see the dim lights of a boat on the water and knew they would be able to slip away without detection soon. He returned to a shivering Josephine and put his cloak around her to warm her.

Josephine sat rigid, her mind a tangle of fears that Rory would reappear and be killed by Elerde and some other longing she preferred not to name.

Elerde smiled to himself in the dark. Rory would find his way back to court now with the tidings that he and the Queen had set forth for the continent.

Next: Boi, Elerde, the Queen and a Whole Buch of Pirates

Two Wonderful Paintings of Shannon and Rory

2010-05-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed several references to Linda Laaksonen in these pages. She, as you will recall, was a friend who went to junior high with me in Sacramento, California. She actually got into my stories for a while, creating Heather O'Neill and some other characters. I have posted some of the drawings she did way back then when I don't think she was any older than thirteen or fourteen. They were lovely then, but take a look at what she can do now! We found each other again, after more than forty years, on Facebook, bless its heart.

Left, Rory, right, Shannon

It just makes my heart sing to see them together!

You can see Laake's pet and other portraits on her Flickr page.

I am hoping to work with Laake on images for a music video, other ventures. The richness of the colors, the individualism and genuine nature of her paintings are just what I need for these, and having her back in my life is a real joy.

I highly recommend her work for book covers, book trailers, other uses. You can contact her at monkeeboymom (at) att (dot) net. She's quite reasonable in price.

Juliana Series: Sir Elerde Books Passage on a Pirate Ship (Outtakes)

2010-05-26T00:00:00.002-07:00

Here's a puzzle for you.. why is Elerde speaking French, a language that would not develop for about 150-200 years?

s Sir Elerde passed out the doors of the tavern, a street bawd approached him. He had pushed back his hood, and as she came close she observed his fine bearing.. and then his fine visage. His dark eyes were ringed with dark lashes. Above his brow his dark locks curled and tumbled. If she had known the word, she might have described his brooding good looks as "Byronic". She sidled up to him, and crooned, "Bonjour, Lancelot."

Elerde looked at her measuring. "Be off with thee," he commanded. The bawd laughed and turned away.

The Breton knight drew on his black leather gloves and went to the ostler to claim his horse. He drew the horse along to a small church he had seen near the harbor. It was late late at night, but he did not think twice about rapping on the low rectory door. A yawning priest came to it and looked at the visitor. He stifled his complaint when he saw Elerde.

"Father, I need some place to leave my horse while I travel the sea. Someplace I can trust not to sell it." Elerde gave the old man who was ushering him into an inner room a frankly threatening look. "I am prepared to pay well.. well enough to make selling it not worth the price." The priest was interested.

"Seigneur, we can care for your animal," he said eagerly. "Of course we need to have some food and other provisions for its care brought in..." The tone was leading.

Elerde drew a small clinking pouch from his belt and held it just out of the man's reach. "Show me the stable."

Once happy that his mount would be safe and well cared for and one pouch the lighter, Sir Elerde turned his eyes to the boats that were moored just off the jetty. He strolled along the beach casting measuring eyes at the craft and the men who, he could see on or near them.

A disreputable man came up to him in the dark. Elerde had a dagger ready as he turned and acknowledged the man's approach.

The man croaked out, "Seigneur, good seigneur, do ye need transport to Britain?"

Elerde considered the man. "Aye. To the north. Do you know of a craft that might take me?"

The man wet his lips and smiled. His crooked teeth were broken and stained. "Oui, seigneur. I do. If thou can pay the fare."

"Tell me," Elerde commanded.

The raggedy man indicated a long low dark boat a short piece down the harbor. "That be the Lost Lady, and for some silver ye can travel to Norwich aboard her." He looked greedily at Elerde's clothing.

The Lost Lady. Perfect. Elerde said, "Is it a good ship? I am in need of haste and secrecy."

The man looked more greedily at the knight, if that was possible., "Then it might take some gold instead. But the Lost Lady is swift.. and she knows how to slip the grasp of those that might wish to lay their hands on her."

Elerde thought to himself,. "I hope that is not so with my lady." He nodded to the man and gestured for him to take the knight to the captain of the boat. But as the man started off Elerde took his arm and turned him around. Elerde had pulled open his cloak to show the man a slight glint of leather and metal. He wanted the man to know he could defend himself if provoked. The man nodded back soberly and they went to where a small boat was moored.

"Non, merçi. I will wade." Elerde did not want to place himself at the service of any man, especially one such as this one and his confreres. He strode out into the water without so much as lifting his cloak. It was not far.. and he ably pulled himself up and put his leg over the side of the skiff. He demanded the captain.

The man was summoned from his bed, while Elerde took in his surroundings. "Pirates. Or smugglers. I thought so. Well, bien."

The captain came up without dawdling. A knight wished to sail with him.. what a delicious prospect. The man would pay well and might need their services further in whatever intrigue he planned.

Elerde addressed him without formality. "I need swift, secret passage to Norwich or farther north. I can pay...." Seeing the captain luck his lips with anticipation, Elerde added, "And I can slit your or any other man's throat before he knows it. Prênez-garde, mon ami."

The captain took a long look at the knight. "Norwich? Or farther? Lawrencium perhaps? Be ye that knight who might seek a queen?" He grinned.

He grinned, that is, until he found himself spun around and a dagger at his throat. Elerde breathed into his ear, "No questions. Is that clear?" As best he could the man nodded. Elerde pressed the knife to the man's throat then released him. "Then it is agreed, n'est-ce pas?"

The voyage took place during the nights, with the small boat casting anchor in the daylight. It was outfitted to look like a fishing boat to anyone without a soldier's eye. Elerde was bunked in the captain's none too savory cabin. The captain thought it best to keep out of his way as much as possible. He had warned his small crew to stay away as well.

The knight came on deck and approached the captain as the shores of Norwichshire came into sight on the horizon. The captain made sure he knew where his own dagger was just inc case the dark knight meant to do him harm. But Elerde instead said to the man, "I may have a little job for you. An easy one that will profit you."

The captain nodded and the knight went on. "Le premier, I expect you to keep my journey secret. If I find you have told anyone you saw me, I will find you and cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

The captain protested. "But seigneur I have no idea who you are! How could I betray you?"

Elerde looked hard into his eyes. "Le deuxiême, there may be those who will be looking for me.. or looking for a certain lady."

The captain nodded. "What do you want me to do with these people?"

Elerde leaned forward menacingly. "You will not see the lady herself. If she travels to France it will not be with the likes of you. Not by herself anyway. But if other men come looking, I want you to kill them. Especially if one is a tall slender Irish minstrel."

The captain laughed. Aye, I can do that. The sea welcomes the dead and the dead are never more seen." He watched with satisfaction as the knight lifted another purse from his belt.

"There will be another for ye like this one," Elerde breathed, "on my return. The lady will be with me. See to it you make your cabin suitable for a woman of high birth." At the man's obvious understanding Elerde shot him a sharp glance. "Remember.." Elerde showed the man his dagger again.

On shore Elerde set aside the disguise he had worn. He found a stables where he could get a new mount, nothing like the fine steed he had left at Calais, but a stout one that could make the journey. He needed to skirt the borders of Christenlande and make his way to the various points he knew could be sources of information about Josephine.

He would find her. It was almost an instinct with him. He would find her or die in the effort.

He turned his mount's nose to the northwest.

Juliana Series: Elerde and Rory Meet at the Crossroads (outtakes)

2010-05-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

This is one instance where I had to juggle the "real" and the Bo Butler stories.

ir Elerde slowed his horse to a walk and said to Josephine, "Wait here. We are near the crossroads and I wisheth to make sure there is no problem."

Josephine agreed and pulled her horse to stand in the road. She watched as Elerde carefully went forward, drawing his sword. She looked about her nervously as he disappeared around a stand of trees. She listened to see if she heard any hint of distress.

Elerde approached the crossroads and looked about. The old man who watched the little dock there was outside his cottage, speaking with someone. Elerde held up to watch and see who the stranger was.

The delay made Josephine quite anxious. She spurred her horse forward, coming up to where Elerde was quite slowly and quietly. She saw that he was watching something and craned her neck to see what it was.

Just as the man the dock keeper was talking to moved into view Elerde heard a sharp gasp from behind him. The Queen cried, "Rory!"

McGuinness looked up. He cast his eyes about as if looking for someone. Whoever it was seemed not to be there.

Elerde did not hesitate but spurred his horse forward, sword drawn. Rory turned and ran into the woods to escape.

"Elerde, no!" the Queen implored.

Elerde ignored her. He rode to the edge of the woods and finding no path for his horse, swung from the saddle. He sheathed his sword knowing it would not be as much use in the close thicket. He listened for Rory's fleeing steps and spotted the red of his hair at a short distance. He kept to a circling strategy, hoping to see the minstrel take cover somewhere, not knowing his nemesis was right at his shoulder.

Rory seemed to be looking for someone. He called "Beau" in a hoarse whisper several times. Elerde wondered who this "Beau" might be and kept a wary lookout for the minstrel's confederate.

As silently as he could, Elerde gained the advantage and found Rory crouched within some bushes. He reached in deftly and pulled the Irishman up by the back of his cassock.

"At last I have thee where I want thee, McGuinness," he grinned.

Rory showed not an ounce of fear. His look burned back into the Breton's face. "Aye, 'tis true. Ye can finish me off now.. and that is what it will take to make me leave off lookin' for the Queen."

Elerde considered him coolly. "Thou need look no more.. the lady is with me, as thou didst hear. And she is coming with me to Brittany."

Rory stared into Elerde's face, trying to divine the truth of the statement. "Sure and I cannae believe that. She may run from Lawrence but not to thee."

Elerde held the dagger he had had in his hand to Rory's throat. "Nay, she dist not run to me. But I didst to her, which is a far piece more than her royal husband hath done. The lady knows who wants her."

"Well ye will still have to kill me, sirrah, if ye wish to carry her away." Rory struggled but could not pull loose from the knight's grip. The blade of the dagger left a thin line of red on his throat. Rory opened his mouth to shout to Josephine.

Elerde pushed him down and put his knee on the Irishman's chest hard, knocking out his breath. Rory gasped for what air he could. Elerde leveled a steely gaze into the taller man's eyes. "I shouldst kill thee for all thy interference in mine own and my lady's brief moments of joy. But I shall not. If 'twere to come to her ears that thou wert slain by mine hand I should sorrow her and lose her for mine act." He continued to glare at the man. The he took his dagger and skillfully cut Rory's thigh along the outer side. Rory's cry of pain was stifled by the Breton's gloved hand.

Elerde stood. He leaned to wipe the dagger on the cassock Rory was wearing. "Thou shalt live, particularly if thy companion finds thee soon. But thou shalt not follow us."

Elerde gave the man, who was writhing in pain, clutching his leg, a swift scornful kick and turned.

Back at the crossroads Josephine had dismounted and stood clasping her hands to her breast. The dock keeper had disappeared. When she saw Elerde she ran to him, quickly assessing whether he had been wounded. "Rory?" she breathed.

Elerde had sheathed his dagger and went to her and held her arms too look into her eyes. "I couldst not find him. He must have slipped away. " He smiled.

The Queen searched his eyes for any sign he was lying. She could not be sure. He led her to the old man's cottage and bade her sit inside while he surveyed the coast for their rendezvous. He kept another eye watchful for interlopers from the woods. As the dark fell, he relaxed a little. He could see the dim lights of a boat on the water and knew they would be able to slip away without detection soon. He returned to a shivering Josephine and put his cloak around her to warm her.

Josephine sat rigid, her mind a tangle of fears that Rory would reappear and be killed by Elerde and some other longing she preferred not to name.

Elerde smiled to himself in the dark. Rory would find his way back to court now with the tidings that he and the Queen had set forth for the continent.

Next: Heart Breaks and Kindnesses

Juliana Series: On the Road with Elerfe and Josephine (outtakes)

2010-05-24T00:00:00.001-07:00

It was sad to leave their brief oasis. Elerde would have liked to stay longer at Malcolm's stronghold but knew that any time he wasted in Britain was time that his enemies could take advantage of. The fortnight he and Josephine had stolen was risk enough. Should they encounter Rory or any other friend of the court of Lawrence on their way to the sea, he could be assured of overcoming him but not of the sight of her dear ones overcoming her conviction that the only life she had was with Elerde.

As they set off on horse alone Elerde looked at the Queen. In her riding clothes she was as beautiful as he had ever seen her, save in his arms in bed. She was animated, lively, chattering about the countryside they rode through. The knight hid his inner turmoil. The presentiment of failure and loss had crept in slowly. This hold he had on her seemed tenuous, reliant on keeping her from thinking of all that she had left behind in Christenlande. Aye, she seemed happy, but that happiness had a gossamer thread holding it to her heart.

They traveled alone to avoid as much curiosity as they could manage. He remained in his armor and held himself with a knightly bearing so none should think of molesting them. They would make their steady way to the sea where the smugglers were to meet them and take them across to Calais. Then home to Brittany. Home to start life with his beloved.

How long had it been since he first cast his eyes on her at Lawrence's side, first felt her capture his heart? Years. When he first caught the gaze from his dearest that told him she had come to love and want him too he had been unable to believe his good fortune. He waited patiently for her to declare herself so he could spirit her away. Then he had become aware of Duke Gaylorde's nefarious plans and positioned himself to appear to ally with the grim duke all the while keeping watch over the Queen and as best he could over the imprisoned Lawrence.

How he had ached to see the bitter hate Josephine had turned on him then, unaware of his real purpose. When Lawrence had been freed and Gaylorde had been defeated he had awaited his own punishment, knowing that none would credit his subterfuge, the least of whom would be his lady.... Mayhap it was time for death to free him of this hopeless dream of her. Then he had been exonerated and the King and Queen had come to him together grateful for his stalwart defense of them. Elerde remembered a bittersweet despair, having slipped his only release from the pain he felt.

The Queen then had let her love come out and be known to all, even her royal husband. It had baffled Elerde how the King could just sit and seethe with hurt and resentment as he watched his lady wife turn longing eyes to the Breton. He imagined that the man took what little strength he could from the fact that she might long for the knight, but he still had her in his bed. Elerde tried to live for the moment, taking long walks with his Josephina, occasionally trying to touch or kiss her. She had alluded him.

Then came the confrontation when the King's patience had reached its extremity. Elerde escaped to Brittany with his head still firmly attached to his shoulders, but with his heart torn and bleeding at the feet of a lady in Christenlande.

Elerde did not know how once the knight was away from Lawrencium matters between the King and his Josephina had worsened. The King grew more and more bitter as he realized his wife still bore a love for the Breton. Nothing Lawrence could do would salve the pain of her faithless heart. He had gone himself to the diplomatic city rather than sending an agent in order to get away from Josephine's dreamy sighs. Lawrence had hoped the time apart from him would bring her back but instead he himself had found another who could make him forget.

Since his exile to his own lands Elerde had dreamed of his beloved but had no hope of ever seeing her again. When he heard of her flight and then found her in that dale, he had felt that life was beginning again. When she had responded to his lovemaking with such hunger and passion he had been struck almost breathless. The moment he had taken her in his arms and entered her, he had known a disbelieving moment of sheer rapture.. here he was, in the most intimate act of love, with the woman whose body and sexuality had been a delicious but unattainable mystery to him.

Perhaps it was the long years of hopeless love that made him now think that some doom awaited their current happiness. He knew he could only ride, watchful and try to be prepared for whatever might come between them.

Josephine turned to her Breton knight and asked him, "My darling, wilt thou tell me tales of thy adventures?" Her mind constantly needed to be occupied to banish thoughts that would weaken her resolve and send her headlong into the despair she tenuously held at bay.

Elerde was more than content to oblige. He told her of mercenary service for the Franks, where the young Carolus sought to bring together the discordant tribes of Gaul. He told her of battles with marauding Northmen on the coasts of Brittany, Normandy and Flanders. He carefully left out place names as he told her of his service to Christenlande and the skirmishes with the armies of Avonshire and Mercia.

For herself Josephine showed a lively interest in everything he said. She pressed for details, made much of his skill and courage, and said little that related to herself at all.

All the while as they headed east by southeast Elerde kept his eyes on every traveler, paying particular attention to those dressed in clerical garb or in the colorful bands of a minstrels cloak.

The nights they spent in inns, where he gave out the story that he was an pilgrim knight traveling with his good lady wife to a holy shrine in Christenlande. The others whom he addressed cast speculative looks at the lady but kept their tongues.

In their rooms he held her tight and had he been a man who prayed would have pleaded with the Lord God to let him hold her just one more day, one more night.

One morning he told her, "We shall come to the crossroads late this day. There we shall be met by a boat to take us across to Calais." Josephine guessed the crossroads was the very one she had forced her servants to turn back from. This time she lowered her gaze so her knight could not see the trepidation in her eyes. As hard as she had fought to hold back her longing for her children and her lord the King, she knew now that she would make the final leap.. burn the bridge that would take them forever from her.

Elerde cast a sorrowful look at the turned head of the lady as they set out on horse for their journey's final leg on that fair and sceptred isle of Britain.

Next: Elerde books passage