Laake's Portraits

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 Do You Mean, The End???

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: Juliana's Plot, Part III (Outtakes)

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...

Julliana Series: Shannon Uncovers Juliana's Deception (outtakes)

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: Elerde and Rory Meet at the Crossroads (Puttakes)

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

New Stories: Elerde Persuades Josephine to Flee (Happened)

The queen was sitting on the floor with her children telling them a story when the fortress erupted in cheers. “Mama, what happened? Why is everyone shouting?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know, my darling. We shall have to wait to hear I suppose. Now let’s get back to our story.”

About fifteen minutes later the five were startled when the door to the nursery swung open. Gaylorde stood with his eyes blazing and an evil grin on his face. He leered at her as the children threw themselves onto her, trying to hide themselves in her arms, under her arms, anywhere they could, settling for hiding their faces against her body.

“My revenge is finally complete. Lady, your husband and the father of your brats.. is dead. Dead, dead, dead!”

Peter’s face came up. “Papa is dead?” he cried and began to weep. His tears brought on the tears and wails of the other three. Josephine put her arms tightly around them all and hid her own face in Peter’s hair. She said through clenched teeth, “Children, he is lying. The evil man is lying. Your father is not dead.”

Gaylorde smirked. “Tell them what you wish, believe what you wish, but it is true. The bastard is dead and gone. At long last.” He looked over his shoulder. “Elerde, bring the things.”

The queen looked up sharply to see the mercenary commander coming in with a sword and a mantle. He was subdued, almost mournful. His eyes beseeched hers for forgiveness. Peter started to scream.

“How can you do this to them? I expect such savagery from you, Gaylorde, but Elerde, not you.” Her eyes blazed at him. She wished Larisa was here so she could take the children aside so they would not see what Elerde held.

Gaylorde snatched the mantle from the mercenary’s hands. He thrust it in her face, causing the children to burrow further into her. “Take a look at this, lady. Is that not your husband’s mantle? Is that not his device? Is that not his blood?”

The children were still wailing, though muffled by her body. She was grateful they did not look up. Her eyes were on the device she herself had embroidered on the king’s mantle. Only she could be sure it was truly his. She reached with a hand she extricated from a child’s grip and ran a finger over the device. There in the hilt of the sword was the secret she shared with Lawrence, that she had made a Celtic knot of their initials, L and J, as she embroidered it. It was his mantle. He would never be parted with it. He said it was almost like having her near him. She knew the sword was his, though it was possible that it could be copied. But the mantle could not. Anyone who tried would fail to include the knotwork.

“I don’t believe it. If he were gone I would have felt it when it happened,” she said with a firm jaw. “Peter, take your brother and sisters over to your pallet. I want you to huddle together and pray very hard for your father. Pray aloud. I want to hear you.” She pulled herself to stand, leaning as the children reluctantly dropped her hands and went to make enough noise that she knew they would not hear what she and the others had to say. She held the mantle in her arms, clasping it to her breast.

Gaylorde said, “Tell the ætheling to pray for himself too. He will be seeing his God quite soon.” He grabbed the mantle from her grasp and held it open. The sight of all the blood made her cry out. Elerde, who had winced at the sound, stepped forward to catch her as she started to crumple.

Gaylorde laughed with his hands on his hips and his head tilted back. “I should think you would be pleased. At least now you and your lord and children will be together again. There wasn’t much hope of that happening anytime soon with him still alive.” He shoved the mantle at Elerde. “It should make fine sport to see you all die. But why have all the fun at one time. Tomorrow will do for that exquisite sight." He spun on his heels and exited the chamber. "I think this calls for a feast today!” he called to his men, receiving a boisterous round of approval.

“I am so sorry,” Elerde said when they were alone save for the loudly praying children.

Josephine pushed him away. “Are you?” she snapped. “Isn’t this what you wanted? My husband dead?”

Elerde bit his lip at the riposte he wanted to make, that it was her husband who tried to kill him. “I won’t lie to you, Josephina, I am not sorry he’s dead. But I am terribly grieved at your own sorrow. Gaylorde is a cruel man. I wanted to break the news to you myself, more gently. Don’t you see now, that you need to leave immediately? Gaylorde is going to kill you all. Josephina, he will crow with delight to see you and the children die."

Her eyes flared anew at his affectionate name for her, but she knew he was being candid with his feelings. She dropped her eyes, looking like she would start to weep.

"My own darling, you have no more reason not to come with me. Lawrence is not coming back.”

She shot him a defiant look. “That is his grace the king to you, sir. You may not take such familiarity. With him or with me. he is not dead. I told you. I would know. I don’t know where he is, what has happened to him,, if he is well, but I do know he is alive.”

Elerde’s eyes were soft and pleading. “If that is true, then you are right. he will come home someday. But what matters is that Gaylorde thinks he is dead. He no longer has any reason to keep you alive and he must kill Peter so he does not become a rallying point for your people. “ He took her shoulders in a strong grip and made her look into his eyes. “What if the king is still alive? What if he comes back and takes the fortress? What will he feel if he only then learns that you have been executed, and your children slaughtered?”

She looked at him, stunned. She opened her lips to speak but could not. Her chin fell to her breast. He put his arms around her, and she let herself crumple against him. As he held her tight and kissed the top of her head, she let go and wept. The tension of maintaining her composure in the face of the privations, the fear, the loneliness could no longer be denied.

The children stopped their prayer and looked up alarmed. Elerde reached out one arm to them as an invitation. They came quickly, folding themselves into the embrace between their mother and the man who cherished her.

The mercenary felt as much as heard the queen’s single word. The girls and Tavish were crying and he had to bend his head down closer to her face. “What, my love? What did you say?”

She tried to pull herself together, lifting her face away from his chest and reaching to stroke her children’s hair. “I said aye.”

“Aye?” Elerde’s heart beat faster. “You mean.. you will..?”

Josephine turned reddened eyes to him. “Aye, but on one condition.”

He responded to the solemn look on her face which was formed on a structure of resolve. “Anything, my darling. Anything.”

She looked hard into his face. “That you take us to an abbey somewhere in England, not to Leon, and not to live with you. Swear it.”

He had known it was too good to hope for, that she would turn to him now with all her grief. He nodded. “I swear.”. He was patient. He could wait for her to come to him.

“Lady, you once told me you would not go with me even were it to the gates of Hell. Taking you to an abbey suits me greatly as a compromise.”

He wrapped her more tightly in his arms, put his cheek on her hair, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. "Josephina, my love."

Josephine pulled back from Elerde’s arms with a start. “Forgive me. That was most unseemly.” She turned away from him as he reached to take her back into his arms. His eyes implored her.

“Lady, it is natural you should weep. You have had a serious shock.”

She had knelt to her children, taking them all into an embrace, reassuring, calming, comforting. “I think you should leave me, my lord. I want you to take what time we have to think about what you propose to do.”

He dropped his arms to his sides and his eyes grew empty of hope. “My lady,” the man of Leon ventured, “I have no doubts about what must be done. You and these children must go far beyond Gaylorde’s reach.”

Without looking at him, she went on. “Sir, one thing must be clear between us. If I let you help me escape, there will be no.. expectations.. on your part that I will be yours. I am now and forever the wife of King Lawrence, living or…” Her voice caught, not wanting to undo the comfort she had given the children. "Grateful I shall be indeed, but I will not willingly become your leman."

Elerde drew himself up to his full formal stance. In a chilly voice, he said, “My lady, you misjudge me greatly. I both would not and need not compel women to be with me. I will help you however I may for our friendship’s sake and to prevent an evil man from doing even further evil. With your leave, I will go make what preparations we need to depart. I advise you to get your children ready.” He made a short, sharp bow, spun on his heel and left.

The queen looked after him, regretting the necessity of her words. The man was unpredictable, impetuous. She had to be rock hard against that.

“Come, children, I need to talk with you.” She led them to their pallets and bade them sit. “I need you to be very, very brave. And quiet. You must be silent. Lord Elerde is going to help us leave and go somewhere where your father can find us.”

Peter asked in a hushed voice, “Is Papa alive?”

“Aye, my love, he is. When he can find a way to do this, he will come find us.”

Josephine was not sure how the Man of Leon would accomplish their escape. She knew it would be within the next hours, for to wait would mean Gaylorde would send his guards fetch them so he could kill them all.

Soon she heard a great deal of noise growing in the stronghold’s grounds around her. She washed the children’s faces and hands, changed them into clean clothes, then bade them each use their chamber pots. “Put on your cloaks too.” She sat quite still herself once they were ready and lying tensely but quietly on their pallets. She listened to the commotion, the sound of horses being brought into the courtyard, of men’s voices shouting, first simply to each other, then in demanding tones.

Elerde had found his two lieutenants and told them to gather all his men mounted in the courtyard. Lagu and Heraral already knew what their commander intended. They quickly and efficiently made the rounds of the officers who made their own rounds to their men. Elerde himself made his way to the hall where the usurper greeted him and welcomed him at last to the feast celebrating the king’s death. But Gaylorde stopped in mid-sentence when he saw that Elerde was in full mail and armor.

“Sire,” Elerde interrupted the man’s initial words of question. “There is a force advancing from the east. I have ordered my men to prepare to ride out to meet them.”

Gaylorde rose. “Indeed, and will you take a number of my guard with you?”

Elerde gave a casual shrug. “If you wish, my liege, but ‘tis not such a big force that my own men cannot take them. Better to keep a strong force here in case there is an attack from another quarter. If it pleases your majesty,” he added.

Gaylorde was thinking how much easier it would be to dispose of the royal prisoners if the mercenary was nowhere near them. He smiled. “I commend you, my lord, for your quick action. By all means, take your men and go.”

Elerde of Leon bowed low and took his leave.

In the courtyard he signaled to Lagu. “Come.”

The two men went into the building in which the nursery lay. They approached the two guards who stood in front of the door of the small chamber. Elerde and the two men exchanged nods, then as Elerde and Lagu stepped past them, they turned and thrust daggers deep into the men’s sides. Elerde pulled his own dagger out of the older guard and then cut his throat with a slashing motion. Lagu meantime had snatched the other guard’s sword out of its sheath and buried it in its owner’s belly and twisted it.

The door to the nursery opened. The queen stood alarmed, glancing down to see the guards. “It is now, then,” she stated matter of factly. This is to be a bold escape then.” She turned and went to the children who were sitting up on their pallets. “Peter and Tavish, take my hands. My lord, can you take the girls?”

Elerde came forward and he and Lagu each took a little girl in their arms.

“I want you all to close your eyes tight until I tell you that you can open them. Do you understand?” Her voice was commanding.

“Aye, Mother,” chorused four little voices.

“Close them now. Boys, I will not let you trip or fall, I promise.”

The children squeezed their eyes shut.

The queen looked at Elerde. “Ready.”

Elerde patted Caithness, whom he held in the crook of his arm. “We are going on a horseback ride. We will ride very fast. You won’t be scared, will you?”

Caithness, her eyes shut tight, shook her head.

Elaine had her little hands pressed hard over her eyes on Lagu’s chest. "Mama?" she said in a whisper.

“Hush! Remember you must be silent.” Josephine chided.

The next few minutes were a blur. With a deep breath Lagu led the odd grouping out of the nursery and then out of the quarters building. Josephine realized it was the first time she had been outdoors in months. The sun hit her eyes and made her almost blind. She could not let go of one of her sons’ hands to shade her eyes. She felt a strong hand take her elbow. “Have no fear, my lady. Just close your eyes and come with me.”

“Must I also be silent, my Lord Elerde?” she asked with wry humor.

“I should not presume to tell you, your grace,” he replied. The queen could not read his inflection.

Soon she was up on a horse, her two girls seated before her and her arms wrapped securely around them. She was able to look now. Peter was in front of Lagu and Tavish in front of Heraral. Elerde lifted his hand and called “Forward!”

Gaylorde came out of the hall, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and clutching a delighted Ricca to his side, to watch the soldiers head out to stop the attacking force. He took one look at the four lead horses and shouted, “Wait! Stop them!”

He was too late. The lead riders had ridden through the inner and then the outer gate before his own men could react. “After them!” Gaylorde shouted. His men mounted as quickly as the stable boys and grooms could bring out the horses and saddle them. behind the last rider the two heavy gates had swung shut. When the first of Gaylorde’s men shouted to the guards to open the inner gates, there was no reply. “Hell and damnation,” the usurper cried.

“The gate is blocked!” came the voice of the first man who managed to climb up to the gate house. “It’s tied shut!”

“What do you mean, tied shut, whoreson?” Gaylorde snapped. He climbed the wall himself and looked. Indeed at some time someone had affixed ropes to the outside of the inner gate. They were now tied in elaborate knots. There were many of them and they were thick. As he ordered men to jump down and hack at the ropes with their swords and axes, there came a sharp whistle. All eyes looked to the two gatehouses of the outer gate. Each had an archer ready to loose arrows into the first man who tried it. Gaylorde and his men ducked rapidly as two arrows came sailing just over their heads.

“Where are we going, my lord?” the queen asked the mercenary commander as she rode up beside him. They were heading north.

“The Humber, of course, and across it to Northumbria. We can get a ship there for the south. Or you can make other arrangements if that pleases you, my lady.” Elerde was looking straight ahead, not at her. his voice was formal.

“My lord, thank you. For my children’s sakes.”

Elerde glanced at her briefly,and nodded. Then he spurred his horse forward.

The monk watched the party ride away, then heard the shouts from the inner gate. He stood near the outer gate, and he looked up at the archers’ Looking about, he tucked up his habit and slowly climbed one of the gatehouses. He called to the archer to let him know he was coming and was unarmed.

“Go, lad,” he said. “You and the other one follow your commander. I will take your bow and loose some arrows for a while to keep them from popping up to look." He planned to leave the bow up here and slide back down. No one will suspect a monk.

The man thanked him, handed him his bow and sack of arrows. “Thank you, brother,” he said.

“One thing,” Rory asked. “Where are they going?”

“To the river and Northumbria, then mayhap on to Kent.”

“Me warmest thanks, lad,” Rory said, pulling off his habit and taking the bow in his hands. “Now better go.” He loosed an arrow just as a head started to bob up on the opposite tower.

The archers gone and Rory doing his best to seem like two sets of bows and arrows, he thought to himself. “I will follow and find her. “

Next: Shannon Reaches Grantham

New Stories: Lagu Brings Proof of the King's Death (Happened)

Elerde looked deeply into the queen’s eyes. “Josephina,” he said, taking liberties, “you must listen to me. Your children’s only hope is for you to let me get you out of here and away.” He had his hands on her arms below her shoulders. She looked back at him with reluctance.

“My lord, please. I know I am in your power. But if you care for me as I think you do, please do not press.”

Elerde’s eyes clouded. “Why? Can you tell me? Why will you not leave for your children’s sake?”

They stood in the gloom of the nursery, alone with the sleeping children. Caithness was back in her bed, much recovered. She was still pale and quiet, but she was alert and eating proper food again. Still the children were all out of sorts continuously, cooped up as they were, with only their mother to look after all their needs. Their slumber gave Josephine the only respite she had.

She pulled away from him and turned, taking several steps into the center of the chamber. She turned with a tired but determined look. “This is my place, do you not see that? As long as Lawrence is away… I cannot leave. It is my duty to stay. The people expect it.”

“Damn the people!” Elerde’s temper was frayed. Both adults turned to look at Tavish who had stirred and whimpered in his sleep when the harsh words had been uttered. Elerde regained his composure and was ready to speak more calmly when the queen turned to regard him again. “Your grace, the people love you and your children and would want you safe.”

Josephine’s downcast eyes told him she knew he was telling the truth. “I don’t expect you to understand or like this,” she added quietly, “but I must stay here for my lord’s return. He will overcome this treachery. And when he does, I will be here, with his children, waiting. I love him with all my heart and will not break that faith.” Her last words were spoken through clenched teeth, firmly.

Elerde’s spirit sagged. He knew all this was true. But he also knew that Gaylorde was a hair’s breadth away from killing them all, the queen and her children. The man was angry about her brother’s escape and the fact that his men had found no trace of the man or his companions. He still held to the conviction that he could use the queen as a shield if all went awry, but his sanity, what tenuous little he had, was beginning to crack.

Elerde ventured, almost in a whisper, “But what if he is dead?”

Josephine shot a fiery glance at him. “He is not! I would know if he was!”

Elerde nodded and turned away. Without asking her leave, he went out the door.

The queen stared after him even when the door was shut between them. She was terrified. She held herself tight, chewing on her thumbnail, wondering. What if he was right? No, not about Lawrence. She could not entertain that thought. But what if Gaylorde did want to kill her? The two thoughts were inextricably conjoined, and it forced her to think about Lawrence’s death. If he was gone, oh God and St. Mary forefend, Gaylorde would not have any further reason to keep them alive. Worse, he would have every reason to kill Peter, the ætheling.

What if by staying she was putting not only her children’s future in peril but also robbing the people of the kingdom from their king’s rightful heir? Was she cheating all of them just because she was unsure of the mercenary’s motives? She suspected he was sincere in his desire to help her. It was not just a trick to put her fate into even more danger for the usurper’s favor? Why did it matter if Elerde wanted only to spirit her away and make her his? If the children were safe why would it matter, even if he succeeded?

A wave of exhaustion broke over her. Her eyes started to stream with tears. “Oh, Lawrence, my dear love, how much worse can this get? Where are you? When will you come to take back your crown.. and your queen?” She lowered herself to her own pallet, lay on her side with her pillow in her arms, and cried into it so the children would not hear her.


Elerde stood in the guard house and stared at what Lagu had placed on the small table between them. “He is really dead then?” he asked.

“My lord, I can’t say for sure. He was taken away by bandits. he might be alive and they holding him for ransom, though from whom I know not, or he could have died from the blow I gave him.” He watched Elerde for sign of displeasure and saw none.

Heraral inserted, “The important thing is that everyone thinks he is dead. And these things will confirm that.”

Elerde nodded slowly. He fingered the cloth of the mantle. “Is this his blood?” he looked up at his lieutenant. “Nay, I see it is not. But who could tell?"

Lagu observed simply, "Sheep and men both bleed red.

His commander was thoughtful. "And you went to Jehan?”

Lagu bowed in deference. “Aye, my lord. And he bit as quick as a dog with a flea. He has sent to Gaylorde to pledge his allegiance to him.”

Elerde hefted the king’s sword and examined it. “Is that what you have there, the parchment?” He glanced at the rolled up message that stuck out of the top of his lieutenant’s saddle bag draped over one shoulder.

“Aye, my lord. I watched him write it. You know how well I see. I could read every word. He has turned his coat.”

“Then you had better hasten to the 'king' and tell him he really is king now..” Elerde remarked acidly. He was already thinking of showing these things to the queen, both glad to have something to convince her to leave and miserable at how the sight of the things would pain her.

Next: Elerde Persuades Josephine to Flee

New Srories: Shannon and Rory on their Separate Roads (Hqppened)

We are back to paralleling the novel with this tale.

The tall monk in his dun colored habit stepped off the narrow road to let the cart have its entire width. Waiting for it to trundle by he bent one knee, put his staff on the ground, and retied a sandal that was coming loose. He did not see the nod from the carter as the man showed respect to the back of the cowled and bent head. He stood as the cart passed and continued his long journey east.

In the back of the cart another man sat, the sides of the cart higher than his own head but the back open. He slumped dispirited, weary but glanced up at the retreating figure. His own unruly mop of flame red hair was covered with a blanket, the blanket the carter had given him during a brief downpour. He had shaken his head when the carter asked him to sing a merry song, begging his weariness, and he just stared at the monk desultorily.

The monk kept to the path towards Lawrencium and did not turn and see his lifelong friend Shannon gazing after him. Rory McGuinness looked east toward the sunrise, to where the queen waited.

Shannon had left the gravely injured and sick Duke ably hidden with his betrothed at the fork of the river leading to the healer’s village. The mercenary’s lieutenant had left them long before to return and rejoin his commander in the sham hunt for the escapees. Shannon had been reluctant to leave but knew it was too much to hope that someone as distinctive as he could be so easily hidden. His best hope, their best hope, was for him to leave the area and head west to find the King and tell him all he could of the conditions at the fortress. He was headed to Grantham now, would be there in a fortnight or so. “When did I become a god damned messenger boy?” he muttered to himself. “I need a drink.” He had stayed sober for the Queen’s sake, but now he was alone with his grief and loneliness. The first chance he got he was going to get drunk.


Rory upon hearing of the usurping took his leave of the monks who had nursed him back to health. He had followed the abbot’s advice and allowed himself time to rest and contemplate his next move. He agreed with the old man that he might do the right thing by staying out of the ling’s and queen’s lives, taking the complication of his regard for her out of their lives as well, and out of his own. “But Shannon,” he had protested. “How can I let Shannon go on thinking I am dead?”

The abbot asked, “Can Shannon keep your living a secret from all?”

Miserably, Rory shook his head. “Nay, he can't. He can't hide his joy any more than he can hide his grief.”

He had just about decided to go back to Ulster and start his life over, to hope that Shannon would return to find him alive near their old home, when he heard of the usurping of the crown by the King’s cousin. “Your heart is telling you what to do, my son. Go to her,” the abbot told him. “. Mayhap Our Lord has put you hear and made all believe you were dead so you could go and be a comfort to her. It is clear you are not made for this monastic life.” He blessed Rory and his quest and sent him on his way dressed as a monk of the order.

Though he thought he was making steady progress along the dismal pathways of rural Críslicland, he had become acutely aware of life all around him since he had come within minutes of his own death by hanging. His long legs would carry him some distance then his keen nose or eyes or ears would catch him up short. Walking by shrubs he was caught up by a sort of clean, sharp smell and stopped to look at the plant with its narrow spiky leaves that were redolent with an almost exotic scent, earthy but with overtones of.. myrrh, that was it. Another time he heard a lark in song and had to leave the path to tread carefully through a woodland’s undergrowth until he found it, joined it in its song, and waved a greeting as it cocked its head at him and flew away. Then out of the corner of his eye some miles further at the ridge of the rolling wolds he caught the impression of a pattern at odds with what lay about it. He stopped and looked to see what it had been. It was nothing more than another bush, this one with deep green shiny leaves that were scored like a chevron with lighter colored waxy lines. It was so distinct with the other bushes about it being grayer or more yellow and dusty. While gazing at it he saw a pink trumpet shaped flower and had to stop and look at it.

He thought about the Queen as he started on his journey again, about time spent with her in her garden, how she would kneel in the soil and work patiently and meticulously to nurture one plant and then the other, regardless of their scent or color or other properties. If he had not been captivated by the very first sight of her he would have given her his heart for the beauty of her face as she smiled and laughed as they talked about the plants in her garden. He knew that for any woman to win his heart she would have to be someone who, like Josephine, knew the names, properties, care and use of every plant, could walk beside him now pointing out which leaf would be good in stew, what flower could clear a catarrh, what shrub would keep away melancholy, what thriving plant did so because of the angle of the sun and the nearness of the brook. And he would offer in return his songs, his stories, about these things, about flowers a lover gave to his betrothed, what bird sang a child into a wondrous underground realm, what secret a nymph turned into a stone would whisper to the tiny creature crawling in its crevices.

Rory fell in with a scruffy man who said he was also headed east on the road that would eventually fork north and south. He claimed to be an messenger taking news to the family of the thane Aldwin of Sleaford, but Rory did not think he looked much like someone who would be entrusted with this responsibility. The man drank a great deal when they had found somewhere to rest for the night. He had also taken Rory’s reluctance to seek shelter in monastic guest houses as a sign that the tall monk was evading something or someone and grew familiar and even conspiratorial with him, especially in his cups. After making numerous broad hints one night he came right out and told Rory he was a bandit by profession and on his way to deliver a ransom demand. They had Aldwin of Sleaford prisoner and hoped to make a fine fortune from him. He showed Rory his belt and said it was Aldwin’s and was proof they held him.

Rory eyed the belt, thinking it was rather rich even for a thane, and that it was considerably too short for the Aldwin he had seen in Lawrence’s court, a corpulent man who could barely buckle the long belt he had. He decided to say nothing. He looked forward to the fork in the road.

When they finally reached the fork and the bandit turned south towards Sleaford and Skirbeck, Rory wished him luck and, at his insistence, said he would pray for him. The man walked jauntily off whistling off key, and Rory gladly turned his face towards the Humber and Lawrencium.

Being on foot Rory was easily overtaken by riders and often learned the tidings of the kingdom as he stopped in a town where the news had just come. He was still at least two or three days from his destination when he entered a town that appeared completely deserted. He heard the bell in the tiny timber and thatch church in the heart of it tolling on and on. He went to the church to find out what was amiss and began to hear wailing from within. Entering he found what must have been every man, woman and child and not just a few dogs packed into the stuffy nave. Light streamed through narrow windows and illuminated the dust that all were taking into their lungs. The priest prayed and wept before the congregation, and Rory recognized the lament for a death. The people wept, even most of the children, and dogs either barked or whimpered, disturbed by the concentrated emotion. He leaned to the man who stood furthest to the back by the door.

“What is it, man? Has someone great or dearly beloved died?”

The man turned red eyes and nodded to Rory, “Oh, holy brother, both. ‘Tis the King. King Lawrence is dead, killed by bandits.”

Rory stepped back almost tripping on the threshold with the impact of the news. “Nay, it cannot be.”

The man looked at him with sympathy. “Aye, we all loved the man, such a good man. Stay and mourn with us, brother.”

Rory’s eyes were darting about as he sought for a way to understand what he had heard. “Nay, nay,” he said almost incoherently. “She needs me. The queen needs me.” He turned and ran to continue his journey.

As he hurried he thought about the bandit who had taken so warmly to him. Could it be that the Aldwin he had spoken of was really the King? Was that why the belt was so richly ornamented and too small for a corpulent man? Was he alive then when the man had been sent to demand a ransom? Had he been killed afterwards? Might he be alive and his disappearance merely misinterpreted as his death? But Gaylorde would need proof and most certainly the queen would. He kept his pace almost too fast to be sustained. he would find out. he would see the evidence, if there was any.


Westward bound, Shannon was on foot again, and none too steadily. The carter had taken him as far as he could and shared a bowl of ale with him on their parting. When the carter went to his bed and his wife in it, Shannon stayed at the alehouse and drank himself stupid. In the morning he managed to retrieve his lute and to let someone point him in the right direction on the road, setting out unsteadily but determinedly to Grantham. This journey was even more interrupted than his friend’s, but it was alehouses and not fragrant bushes, wenches’’ dulcet tones and not lark’s, and periods of complete unconsciousness, patternless, and not striated leaves that detained him. Now that he could do nothing but, all he could think of was the loss of his dear friend, the pain of his marriage that now seemed inextricably ruined, and the loneliness for the son he had left behind as he fled.

He stopped at a crossroads where he thought he recognized the path he had taken before on his way to lawrencium. He waylaid a young woman with pale hair and the palest blue eyes, who was on her way to a nearby market town, a basketful of eggs balanced neatly on a delightfully curved hip. . Before she had scurried away with a sharp rebuke for his wandering hands he had learned something from her that his brain was sorting out as he watched her hurry away. “The Duke’s man, Earl Johan” she had said her uncle called the lord of Grantham. The Duke’s? Surely not Duke Lorin’s.. as meandering a route Shannon had taken to get this far, the Duke could not have healed that quickly and traveled that soon. He was suddenly stone sober as he realized the lass’s uncle was talking about the usurper, Duke Gaylorde! Was that possible? Could Gaylorde’s forces have defeated the King’s? And how was it that the King’s ally was now the Duke’s?

He hurried on, keeping an eye on the road for anyone he could stop and question. He paid less attention to those coming up behind as he assumed news of this eventuality would come from its source. He heard the group of horsemen but only as they came up the rise he had just topped. He leapt out of the way, thanking God he had not been drunk, and shouted after then , “Saints, you ruffians! Can't a man walk safe on the king’s roads?”

One of the men slowed his horse and looked back at him with a malicious grin. “King? What King?”

Shannon stared. “King Lawrence, of course.”

The man was gauging whether Shannon would be an enjoyable man to thrash, but decided it would be too easy, he would be unconscious long before the fun began. “Lawrence is dead. Killed these weeks by bandits in the south.ong live King Gaylorde!” He spit on the ground, wheeled his horse, and hastened to catch up with his fellows.

Shannon stood just long enough to comprehend the loss of one more dear one in his life. He let out a keening sound and crumpled to the dirt. He knew on some level he would have to get up and move sometime, if only to find a place where he could drink away the pain. He decided that could wait.

Next: Lagu Returns with Proof of the King's Death

New Stories: Rory's Choice (Happened)

September 769

"The scouts say there is a good-sized company of men coming along the road with at least two apparent commanders," Ruallauh told his resistance force as they prepared to lay in ambush. "Ioruert's men at arms will be ready for them, but we archers need to be where we can pick off as many as possible, make them skittish and if possible, kill the commanders. I think the trees will be our best posts. We do not have much time. Get into position."

Josephine was among that company of archers, and now she went to the pile and took a supply of arrows already in a sack. This might be her last chance to help her cousins before the upcoming dark of the moon when Shannon said to be ready and waiting for the King's rescue party. She would do her utmost to make this last battle a success. She pushed away the thought that she might not make it through to that midnight meeting just several days away.

The Queen was in position in the crook of a tree limb when she first heard the distant sound of mounted men and armed marching men approaching. She knew that if there were commanders, more than one the young Earl had said, Elerde of Brittany could be among them. She pressed her lips together. She wondered if she would be able to ignore the devices painted on shields and sewn onto banners. With helmets it was possible, just possible she would not know him when she saw him. Then she hoped she would see the devices. No, she would not kill him, not unless it meant the life of one of her band, but she knew that he might die this day at the hand of someone else.

The archers were well hidden among the autumnal foliage of the forest. There was plenty of green in the mix, making the green and brown clothing of the men and women somehow more useful as cover than in the apex of summer. Each man and woman was in position, bows strung, arrows cocked, ready to draw the strings taut when an enemy came into site. Each one of the archers could loose and have another arrow ready very quickly, creating a seemingly unending and overpowering shower of deadly missiles on the unlucky soldiers. Ruallauh could do this even faster and with deadly accuracy.

Josephine heard the soft whistle from the foremost archer that signaled the nearing of the party. She wondered how they would manage if it was a larger force. It would depend on the archers to reduce the ranks. She had her share of kills now, and she knew she would have many more today. She began to hear the sound of the horsemen coming into the forest path, the sound of the hooves changing from the clack on beaten earth shifting to soft thuds on the leave thick path, the swish of branches and bushes against the sides of the horses and the soft oaths of men who were hit by the branches that snapped back into their faces. In another part of the woods not far away Ioruert, sword in hand, knew the terror the men must be feeling coming into the thick woods where anything could be lurking whether with arrows or claws or unearthly teeth to spill their blood to soak the matted leaves underfoot.

Josephine caught sight of the first movement. A small band of armed men on foot led the rest of the troop. The archers had orders to let the advance party come fully into the area where they awaited them so that any commanders riding near the fore would be in range of their arrows. From her perch she watched as the men, some of whom may very well have been her own loyal subjects just months ago, came through looking nervously about and up at the trees. They carried shields and spears, the latter upright before them. Just behind the double row, for the path was narrow, came a standard bearer. Josephine sighed with relief, seeing the red cross held by a blue clothed hand. It was O'Donnell.

The double line of spearmen passed through, slowly, nervously, and the hoofbeats grew louder. Josephine knew she would be among the first to see the riders, perhaps even the commander. A scout had long ago described O'Donnell as a tall man with bright red hair and a long drooping mustache. Whether this hair and mustache would be visible under his helm she did not know, but she felt she would know the man from his bearing and how he was equipped. She anxiously waited to see the horsemen as they slowly came into sight.

Finally she saw them. The first two ahorse did not appear to be commanders. Then two men came riding in single file. The first fit her idea of how O'Donnell would sit in the saddle and hold himself, shoulders squared, chin up. Her fingers itched to loose an arrow into his heart, but that was for the master, Ruallauh, who would not miss.

The second man looked like a commander as well. As he cleared the leaves of trees between her and him her heart stopped for a moment. She recognized the armor and everything else about the man. Elerde. She saw that no doubt to improve his view as he rode that the Breton had pushed back the hinged cheek pieces of the helm, and as he drew near she could see the dark eyes, the short black beard. She relaxed her pull on the arrow for just the time it took him to pass. In her heart she called to him, "Farewell, dear Elerde." Someone further along would be the one to take that poetic soul out of this world.

She bit her lower lip as she took her gaze away from his retreating form. It took her a moment to focus on the third man. This one was not armed, not helmeted, and was clearly not accustomed to riding by the tight hold he had on the reins of his mount. She peered, unbelieving, at the tall figure, taller than O'Donnell had been, with the dark auburn hair, the finely molded cheekbones, the clear and honest blue eyes. She stared as she saw him advanced to the spot where she knew the leading marching and mounted men would be in prime position for the ambush.

"Stop!" she screamed without a chance to consider. "Stop, it's Rory!" Her blood went cold as she realized the bargain she had just made. But Rory! She could not let him be cut down. She couldn't.

The two commanders before the minstrel spun quickly towards the origin of the shout. Both Elerde's and Rory's hearts froze as they recognized the voice. She could not clearly see O'Donnell but she did hear him shout something in Irish and heard the horsemen who rode in the fore spur their animals towards her.

Josephine's archers did not know what to do at first. Ruallauh shouted, "Take the horsemen, don't wait!" Josephine heard the zip of arrows and without a second thought dropped her own bow and slipped quickly down the trunk of her tree. She did not see him, but Rory too slipped from his own uneasy mount on the horse. He headed for her just as she did for him, each wanting to shield the other. She heard her cousin shout an oath and then for his men and women to hold their arrows.

The pair met simultaneously with the arrival of three of O'Donnell's horsemen who leapt off their mounts and kept to their own side. One had held the bridle of his horse and maneuvered it as best he could a nervous horse to make a shield between the five and the hidden archers. Josephine and Rory grasped each others' arms, then turned their backs to each other as if on cue. The Queen quickly saw that he was sheltered from arrows by the horse and the three riders. Her shoulders sagged as she realized that though Rory was safe she was now a prisoner. No rescue, no longed for embrace from her beloved husband, no reunion with her children, and who knew what other disasters would follow from this moment. But she couldn't let Rory be killed. She couldn't.

A voice with the same brogue as Rory's and Shannon's came closer to where she and Rory stood with the three men who had drawn their swords and had them held towards herself. This time the man shouted in English. "We have the lady at sword point. If just one arrow flies or anyone interferes in any way, she will die."

She heard her oldest cousin shout back, "You won't kill her, O'Donnell. She is too valuable for that."

O'Donnell laughed derisively. "I care not for that. The longer this war goes on the richer I and my men will be. So if she should come to harm, I shall not weep for her."

Behind him Elerde had his sword in his hand, frantically trying to work out how he could go to Josephine, somehow give her a chance to flee. He knew that if he so much as came within sword's reach of any of O'Donnell's men, he would be cut down and she would still be a prisoner. And he had reason to know she would need his protection again soon, no matter whether she was captured now.

He caught Rory's eye. Rory pled for him to act. He conveyed to Rory the slightest shaking of his head to show that he could not do anything. Rory's face fell and he looked hopeless.

"If you value your own Queen's life," O'Donnell called to Ruallauh and the archers, "You will throw down your bows and knives and come down where we can see you. And tell your men at arms to stay back as well and throw down their weapons."

There was a pause, the Ruallauh's dispirited voice called "Do as he says." Josephine could hear the bows and belt daggers of the archers falling to the underbrush and as she also heard her band sliding down out of the trees, there was a shout and the sound of heavier weapons being dropped by Ioruert's men at arms. She tried to push away the icy feeling in her middle that told her all was lost and that she… had brought this about.

One of O'Donnell's lieutenants ordered his men to gather up the weapons. The remaining horsemen in the advance party rode around to cut off any man who tried to escape. In the meantime O'Donnell just sat astride his horse and stared at Josephine and Rory who still stood back to back in the midst of O'Donnell's men.

When all seemed to quiet slightly, he said in an even voice, "Take her." The men surrounding her and Rory pulled her away. Another man came with a rope to tie her. Rory whirled and tried to prevent the men from taking the Queen, but one of the men struck him hard in the face making him fly back onto his side in the brush. He groaned as he fell on something hard and sharp under the leaf mould. Josephine cried out to see him hurt.

O'Donnell growled, "I will deal with you later, McGuinness." Elerde had sheathed his sword and still hung back. "Shall we not, Breton?" O'Donnell shot at him. Elerde said nothing.

The Breton's thoughts were spinning in his head, the strong urge to act swirling around with the anger at the Queen for not getting away, out of Affynshire as he had told her, saying that he could not protect her if she stayed. His words had become prophecy now. He hoped he would still have a chance at least to keep her from further harm at the hands of O'Donnell and Malcolm and that villainous lot.

O'Donnell's face had taken on a thoughtful, thinly smiling look. "Unless…" he said, almost inaudibly. As all around them watched, the archers standing in a group guarded by O'Donnell's and Elerde's men and those guards themselves, O'Donnell walked his horse around where Rory stood with the bound Queen and her captors. Elerde looked puzzled as he saw O'Donnell's smile broaden.

"Unless," O'Donnell repeated more loudly, "we can exchange." He was now staring directly at Rory, who had clambered to his feet, holding his side, with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. O'Donnell edged his horse closer to the minstrel. "Is she worth it, my friend?"

Rory stared back, unsure of what O'Donnell meant. They locked their gazes and slowly it came to Rory. He looked surprised, then resigned, and replied, "That and much, much more, Finnegan."

O'Donnell smiled more broadly. "You agree, then, in exchange for her life? You will.. come with me?" In spite of his smile, O'Donnell's eyes held a spark of fear.

"For her life, and her liberty, I will do anything. Anything," Rory echoed what he had said just weeks before to Elerde. "But she must go free."

O'Donnell stared at him for some time, then let out a laugh. "Then she goes free." He leaned towards Rory to offer an arm so Rory could climb up to ride pillion behind him.

Several of O'Donnell's men exchanged knowing glances, but not within sight o f their commander.

Josephine was mystified. What could this possibly mean? She was facing Rory and the Irish commander now, saw the latter's look of triumph and Rory's defiant acquiescence. Rory glanced at her, tried to smile reassurance. He said, "Go. Go now and leave the fighting to those who are less precious. Get out of here and go to your children." There was a tightness in his voice. The smile left his lips. His face filled with pain. "God be with you." He turned and let O'Donnell pull him up behind him. He put his arms around O'Donnell's waist. The look on O'Donnell's face was unfathomable.

Elerde stared in complete disbelief. Not at Rory's choice, but at O'Donnell's. His action was entirely unpredictable. Could his lust be so great? But then a thought struck him. Had he had Josephine in the same position., would he not make the same bargain with the Devil? Then did men like that, like O'Donnell, love that deeply, like any other man? He shook his head. "Not O'Donnell," he denied. "Mayhap others like him, but not O'Donnell. He is too savage." No man like that could love so deeply.

O'Donnell, fully aware that all about him were straining to understand, quickly barked commands at his men. "Take all their weapons. And take… " He looked about. "Take that one." He pointed to Earl Ruallauh.

"No!" shouted the Queen. She looked from Finnegan to Rory, whose head was turned away from her.

Elerde finally spoke. "Give him to me."

O'Donnell looked warily at the Breton but then nodded. "Do it." Ruallauh was pulled roughly from where he stood with the other archers and tied just as the Queen had been. "But not to Keito Uxello. To Horsfort."

Ruallauh was tied behind one of Elerde's lieutenants and would be forced to walk along behind his horse. He glanced at the Queen his face a mask of defiance. He glanced quizzically at Rory who averted his eyes.

O'Donnell was ordering his lieutenants to divide the men in their companies so that a larger force went north to Malcolm's fortress of Horsfort. It seemed that he would take the rest south, to Hucknall Manor, his own stronghold, given to him by Malcolm. To the Earl he said, glancing up as well at Elerde, "If you try to escape.. or have help escaping, the old woman, Modron, will die."

Then he called to his commanders, "Come," and turned his horse the way they had come into the forest and rode away with Rory, his head turned towards the Queen now, flashing her one last look before the forest swallowed her up.

O'Donnell's chief lieutenant gave Elerde a scowl and said, "Let's go. " To the three men who had been holding the Queen, he ordered, "Leave her." He watched as Elerde tried to salute her. Josephine looked away with some puzzlement still coloring her angry face. Elerde bowed his head and spurred his horse. The usurping forces advanced and quitted the path, leaving the rest of the Queen's allies to rush to her to free her from her bonds.

"I do not understand," she said to her cousin Ioruert. "What was the exchange? Why free me and take Rory?"

Ioruert shook his head, unable to explain. He pulled the rope off her and threw it on the ground. "Let's get back to camp. We need to decide what to do now that Ruallauh has been taken.

Josephine looked up at his face and slowly nodded.

Next: A Royal Reunion

New Stories: Malcolm Makes his Plans, Part 2 (Happened)

Pictured left: Elerde of Brittany

Continued from yesterday's post.

Elerde of Brittany rode towards the nearing fortress of Ratherwood at a leisurely pace. Lagu, his lieutenant, rode alongside him. "My lord, if I may," he asked his commander, "what shall you tell Lord Malcolm of the Queen?"

Elerde glared back at his longtime ally and friend. "What Queen? I saw no Queen?"

Lagu grinned and nodded.

Many rows back Rory McGuinness walked between two guards. Over the past many days since he had been discovered looking in at the fortress Elerde held, Rory had succeeded in freeing himself from his bonds in the stable. He had managed this by recalling every Breton song and tale he knew, and he had drawn his captors to him where he played on their nostalgia for their homes. He had continued to play up effeminacy as well in order to appear as unthreatening as his muscles and height would allow. Against his general best judgment the commander had agreed to release him so long as he did not leave the compound. Rory was now a great favorite with Elerde's men, and they had begged to be allowed to bring him along on this journey.

Before departing Keito Uxello Rory had managed to find an opportunity for a few private words with Josephine's aunt, Modron. She had asked Elerde to let him come to sing to her husband who was deathly ill. She said she had heard him singing from the stables. Elerde had agreed, but had had a guard on the three in the uncle's chamber nevertheless. One brief opportunity presented itself as the guard stepped outside to send for ale for the coughing Ceretic.

"My lady, I thank ye for not givin'; me away," Rory had whispered to the old woman.

"How did you get here?" she had quickly asked.

"I was after lookin' to see if your niece was here when they found me peerin' in. She and her cousins must yet be at Ingbirchworth. "

Modron eyed him. "Were you not as well, you and the other Irishman?"

Rory looked at the floor. "We left the party early to go on our own way. I now wish we hadnae done that." He glanced at the pale, raspy breath man on the bed. "Your lord has worsened much."

Modron nodded sadly. "He had a spell when the soldiers arrived. I have little hope now." After a pause, she added, Where is Shannon?"

Rory put a quick finger to his lips as the guard's footsteps sounded coming towards them. "I am hopin' in Críslicland guidin' the King to his dear wife."

On the journey to Ratherwood Rory's heart was in his throat. The guards teased him as he tried with difficulty to entertain them with song. It was one thing to hide in plain sight where no one knows you, but at Ratherwood the potential to be recognized was much greater. He tried to cover his furtive glances back and forth for a means to escape. His own popularity with the men now worked against him. They crowded about as they walked, keeping him close to hand.

Malcolm greeted Elerde with narrowed eyes and compressed lips. "Breton, I would hear your report." He nodded to a servant who departed for refreshment. He gestured to a chair, then took his own seat.

Elerde sat casually, maintaining his disinterested expression. "Lord, I have sent you dispatches.."

"Aye, aye, dispatches. Brief dispatches."

"I am a man of few words.." the Breton began.

"Your parsimony with words is not helpful, sir. There must be more to report than that you arrived and took the fortress, but found no Queen there."

Elerde's eyes smoldered. "Are you suggesting that I am lying, lord?"

Malcolm's own glare burned into him. "What I am saying, old friend, is that you are not telling the entire truth. Do you mean to tell me that you did not search for the Queen? That is precisely why you were given this assignment."

The Breton examined his fingernails. "Aye, we searched. There was no sign of the cousins or of the Queen. The servants, as I have told you in the dispatches, had little to say even under duress save that the party had gone into the mountains for Bealtana. The Earl is at death's threshold, and I will not press the old woman. I do not need to, and I do not think she would reveal what she knew in any case."

"Where in the mountains?" Malcolm demanded.

Elerde looked vague. "Ah, such a long name, Ing birch something. I do not remember."


Malcolm grew angrier. "You may think your act amuses, but it does not, sirrah. The place you name is Ingbirchworth. It is the Earl Ceretic's hunting lodge. And you are not going to tell me you did not search there, are you?"

Elerde raised a frank gaze to his soldierly companion of the past and responded, "Aye, we did, with no success. She is in hiding, perhaps, or has fled to Mercia or Northumbria.."

Malcolm held Elerde's gaze for some time. He reached to his table and removed a small scroll of parchment. "Would you be surprised to hear that I have received reports of garrisons being shot at by bowmen along the Ermine Road from Horsfort?" He watched Elerde's reaction.

A small derisive smile played on the Breton's lips. "Resistance?" he said with unmistakable amusement.

Malcolm glared with more intensity. "We may be old friends and comrades, Elerde, but I am your commander in this war. I hired your sword arm. Have you forgotten that?"

Elerde looked thoughtful, then leaned forward towards the other man. "You are right, Malcolm, and I do assure you. I am not hiding the Queen nor have delivered her to her husband. That should be the last thing I wish to do."

Malcolm considered him, then seemed to be content. "That I can believe. Not only do you want her, you want her royal husband to suffer."

Elerde smiled to himself but said nothing.

Malcolm concluded, "Críslicland is on his way here now from the river. Ricbeorht and his men are impeding his progress, but we need to meet in council ere you and Sven Ormyngel depart to prepare for the next phase of our strategy. Ricbeorht will arrive by the time we sit down to meat this evening. Sven is already here. In the morning you and your men and all of theirs must be out of the fortress."

Next: Josephine Resists