A Crimson Frost (31 page)

He stood a moment, gazing into the hearth as the fire kindled and next burned.

“Karvana is threatened. The enemy is at the gate,” he mumbled. He turned, his eyes narrow, smoldering sapphires burning through her. “You will have no need of the warming pan in your bed this night, Monet…for I must follow my charge…and take you to wife.”

Swift Break the Seal

Monet brushed the tears from her cheeks. He was angry; her heart ached with pain. In all the world she wanted nothing more than to be the true wife of Sir Broderick Dougray—to be owned by him—to own him in return. Yet in those moments she understood the cost of winning her deepest wish—Karvana.

“Tell me, Broderick,” she began in a whisper. “Tell me of the minstrel’s message. Please tell me all you understood that I did not.” Monet’s thoughts had been arrested by the ballad’s tale of the secreted love of the Crimson Knight and the Scarlet Princess. The minstrel’s song had woven a spell over her, it seemed—one that left only images of Ivan’s tournament in her mind and a painful curiosity about the leather strap and pouch around Broderick’s neck. Thus, she had not ably discerned many other parts of the message.

Broderick turned from her—exhaled heavy as he gazed into the hearth.

“It was certain it was written of Marius himself,” he said.

“How do you know this?” Monet asked. She did not doubt him—only wished to own the knowledge to discern Marius as ballader.

“It is sure Marius’s ballad…for there are markers,” he began. “Marius has placed particular words in the lyric…words he agreed to leave for me. In planning your exile, I bade Marius place sequences of particular words in a ballad if it were of him and meant for me. Marius penned a list—ten sequences of words to help me discern if a ballad were a message. There were four of these sequences in this ballad.”

“Which were they?”

He remained before the fire—did not turn to face her—yet spoke. “The first refers to the king’s state of health—‘diamonded frost.’ Diamonded frost…it tells me your father yet lives, rules, and is in good health.” Monet brushed another tear from her face and moved to stand next to him before the fire, for she was chilled.

“I am sore thankful for it,” she whispered.

“As am I,” Broderick said.

“Is there a sequence Marius will send if Father is not well?” she asked, for she wished to discern future ballads as Broderick was able.

“Crimsoned frost,” he mumbled.

“Yes…I see,” Monet whispered. “And next?”

“The second sequence is ‘battle’s bleak cloud.’ It refers to the enemy…tells us James is at Karvana’s gate, as a cloud hovers in threatening a storm. Marius openly referred to James being at the gate, of course. Yet this sequence, combined with the third and fourth, instructs me in my charge. The third sequence is ‘sweet nectar-laced’…and the fourth, ‘swift break the seal of forbearance.’”

“It instructs you to take me to wife…for the king fears Karvana may fall,” Monet said. “Thus he has doomed you to life as a peasant…with me as your shackle.” She brushed more tears from her face. Oh, how she loved Broderick—how desperately she wanted to belong to him. Yet he was the great Crimson Knight—the valiant knight who would battle to save his kingdom—the powerful knight now doomed to the simple life of a peasant. How could he truly want her when it would cost him all that he knew and loved?

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low. She sensed a thing akin to fear in him. “Your father sends a message to you, Monet…through the ballad. I see his wisdom in it…yet I fear he may be mistaken in your feelings.”

Monet frowned. “But I own no sequence of words to discern.”

“No,” he said. “You do not. But you know the tale the ballad spins…for you lived it. Your father has revealed something to you. There is revelation—proof of…of what he suspects in you…and what he knows in me.”

Monet felt as if she might simply fall to the floor in a heap of sobbing, heartache, and fear. Yet she was not so weak as she wished to be. Thus she began, “It…it is the tale of Ivan’s tournament…of the champion’s prize,” she said. “The ballad begins at the tournament, with description of the sun…of the prizes the knights who battle may win. It tells of the great champion’s prize…a kiss from a lady…and of the knight who wishes to win his lady’s kiss.” Monet glanced to Broderick, who studied her with narrowed eyes. Monet shrugged and said, “Naturally, Marius has woven a secret romance through the ballad…perhaps to represent our exile together.”

“Perhaps,” Broderick said.

Monet frowned. “The knight…the Crimson Knight…asks the princess for a token to bear in tournament that he may win her kiss.” She smiled a little and looked to him. “This is where Marius trips a bit…for he was not there to know that I asked you to bear my favour. You did not ask me.”

“Did I not?” Broderick said, a slight grin at his lips.

“No. You did not,” Monet said. “I came to you…to beg you not bear Anais’s favour.”

“But you did not ask me to bear yours,” he said.

Monet frowned, for he was indeed correct. She shook her head and said, “In the least you did not beg me on bended knee to carry it. Thus, Marius embellishes there.”

“It does not matter. Go on,” he said.

Monet nodded, struggling to remember the ballad.

“It goes on with description, embellishing my beauty…though I like that he sang my hair was woven with sapphire. That I liked.” She smiled, and Broderick chuckled lowly. She frowned again, pensive. “The knight begs her favour, and she grants it. And he is thoughtful as he leaves her, thinking on a token-shield…a secret token that had saved him in…in…” Monet was breathless, her heart pounding mad of a sudden. “A token that saved him in Ballist.” She remembered then what she had thought of only moments after the Minstrel Reynard had finished his song. “‘None visible,’ you said,” she whispered. “In your pavilion, when I came to you before Ivan’s tournament began…Anais told you it was said you had never before carried favour…and you said, ‘None visible, your highness.’”

With trembling hands, Monet took hold of the front of Broderick’s doublet. The Minstrel Reynard had indeed sung of the leather strap around Broderick’s neck—the ballad telling a tale of a token hidden in the pouch, a raven braid woven of the Scarlet Princess’s hair.

“It cannot be,” she breathed as she began to untie the points at his doublet. “It is not true!” Surely Marius had only embellished, desirous to pen a ballad that enchanted any who were to hear it. A ballad of secreted love and unquenched desire was always preferable to one of mere meadows and trees.

“Monet,” Broderick said as she continued to struggle with untying the points of his doublet. He took hold of her hands, but she broke his grasp. She fair tore open his doublet to reveal the pouch hanging from the leather strap around his neck.

“I first saw this at Avaron…in your pavilion…when I came to you after your final joust,” she whispered. “H-how long have you kept this? The minstrel sang you owned this at Ballist. That cannot be true. Surely it cannot!” Tears streamed over Monet’s cheeks. Surely it could not be that the great Crimson Knight of Karvana had borne such a token! Surely Broderick had not clasped a lock of her hair to his breast in secret.

“Since first your father charged me seek Lord Morven in Ballain…before Ballist,” he said.

Breathless, Monet opened the pouch. With trembling fingers, she withdrew the small ebony braid within, woven as a small ringed circle and tied with a tiny scarlet ribbon.

“Three years you have borne this?” she sobbed.

“Near four,” he mumbled. “Your father first charged me as Guardian of the Scarlet Princess near four years ago…in secret…and it did save me in Ballist.”

“I do not understand,” she whispered, still staring in confounded disbelief at the ebony braid she held. “How…how did this save you in Ballist?”

“It woke me from the Reaper’s grasp,” he said. “I was sore wounded…my blood trailing out upon the ground. Darkness had overtaken me…as had the crimson frost. I was cold…dead cold there on the battlefield. There was no warmth left in me. Thus the crimson frost covered my armor, littered my hair, froze my flesh. Yet of a sudden, something over my heart warmed a little…enough to wake me, and I drew breath once more. My eyes were yet closed, and I saw you. In my mind I saw you…the Scarlet Princess of Karvana…and the token your father had given me whence he charged me as your protector warmed me where it lay on my chest. My heart began to burn with life, and I rose…for I would not see Lord Morven lay siege to
Karvana
Castle
and harm you. In those moments, I cared not for Karvana, her king, or her people…but I would let no harm near you. Thus, I rose…as even the Reaper approached…for there before me was Morven, fresh and strong, having stood back in cowardice as his men fought and died. I was battle-weary and worn…near dead…but as Morven raised his sword to strike me down…I felt the token of your hair beneath my armor, and I ran him through.”

Monet replaced the token braid—placed it safe in the leather pouch hanging at Broderick’s stomach.

“No one knew of this token,” Broderick said. “Only your father and I. Not even Eann knew what the leather pouch held. Do you then see how your father speaks to you through Marius’s ballad?”

“The ballad tells me you will long guard me…as ever you have,” Monet whispered. She could not believe more; she would not endeavor to hope that her father spoke to her of Broderick having secreted a love for her.

“The ballad speaks far beyond, Monet,” he said. “You know this. In your heart you know this.”

Monet knew well then—that Marius and her father had conspired to reveal to Broderick her secreted love for Sir Broderick Dougray, for the ballad spoke plain of it. Yet still she could not believe the Crimson Knight of the ballad true loved the Scarlet Princess—that the Crimson Knight, there in the cottage, loved her.

“In my heart I do know it speaks to you of more than your charge,” she whispered. “Yet if you would have me know revelation in it…then you must know revelation, as well.”

“I would face any legion alone…battle the Reaper himself…and still I would not be so fearful as I am before you here,” he said. She could not look up into his face—simply she stared full at his chest, bare before her, adorned by the leather strap and pouch that hid a token of her own hair.

“What has the Crimson Knight to fear here?” she asked.

“Marius’s ballad revealed my heart,” he said, his voice low and alluring—the flavor she so delighted in. “I would bed you as wife not for the sake of your father’s charge…but for my own sake…for that of my heart, which you alone hold. Further, I would have you because you wished to have me. Thus, you have made a coward of me…for the ballad reveals my long and secreted love for you, Monet. Yet Marius may have well embellished the thoughts and longings of the heart of the Scarlet Princess. In this, I stand before you more fearful than ever I have been in all my life.”

Monet brushed tears from her cheeks—smiled as she wept. She placed a tender hand to his chest—felt his heart beating strong beneath her palm.

“I was…I was so young when first you came to Karvana with Sir Alum,” she whispered. “You were young as well…just fourteen years. Yet even then your jaw was square and strong. Your eyes were pure as sapphires. Even Mother said they were more beautiful and bright than the jewels in her crown. Your hair was as raven as midnight…and your shoulders far too broad for one so young. One day, I was with Mother, visiting a sick woman in the village. You were there. An old man had stumbled and fallen. Several young men were mocking him. They did not move to help him…only stood in cruel taunting.” Monet smiled at the memory. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she looked up into the ethereal comeliness of Broderick’s face “You bested them…all three…with naught but your fists for weapons. Then you lifted the old man into your arms and carried him to his family. It was in that moment that I first loved you. I used to lay in my bed at night…weeping…sobbing…for I knew my husband would be chosen for me…that I could never own you. Even if you cared for me I could never belong to you. Then Ivan’s tournament was upon me…and the champion’s prize. I determined it would be enough…that the memory of your kiss would carry me through life…and that…and that…whomever Father chose as my husband…I vowed it would be you. Your kiss I would feel pressed to my lips whenever I must endure…the touch of another.” She paused—glanced away a moment—shy and blushing. “Marius did not embellish the love I have long secreted for you, Broderick. And I am wicked,” she breathed, “for often I have wished that James would pound at Karvana’s gate…so that I may be your true wife.” She looked up, and the smoldering emotion in his eyes caused gooseflesh to race over her limbs. “What use is such a wicked princess to poor Karvana now?”

Broderick smiled, one powerful hand cupping her chin.

“More use than the wicked knight who loves her,” he mumbled. His thumb caressed the softness of her lips, and she smiled.

“You would be my wife?” he asked in whisper. “You would give yourself to me?”

Monet let her arms go around his neck—wove her fingers through soft raven hair.

“Only if you love me…and not because it is your knightly charge,” she whispered.

“I do love you, Monet,” he said. “Ever I have loved you.”

He gathered her in strong arms, pulling her body flush with his own.

“And I love you…my pretty Crimson Knight,” she breathed.

His mouth descended to capture her own, in the blending of ambrosial, nectar-laced kisses—the beginning, at last, of true love’s blessed consummation.



Monet knew cold no more. In the dark nights of early winter slept she warm in the arms of her lover-husband, Broderick—the horseman of Ballain. One week passed, then two. Three weeks wasted since the Minstrel Reynard had delivered the ballad message to Broderick and Monet.