Annatrice of Cayborne (10 page)

“You are formally wed, now if you will excuse me...” The official waved the married couple out of his chamber with an impatient waft of his hand and Annatrice walked into the dark hallway a free woman. She stood still for a moment as the realisation hit home that she could now leave the castle boundaries without the need for escorts or chaperones.

“Are you well?” Charleroux asked curiously as he examined the pale and suddenly timid woman.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Take me out of here Charleroux; take me far from this place.”

Annatrice strode boldly forward as they descended the great spiral staircase and exited through the thick wooden gate. Into the soft, muddy compound she waded, her small shoes failing to keep out the squelch underfoot. A brigade of Charleroux's private foot soldiers awaited, their green and gold livery neatly matching their masters, their horses impeccably groomed. A single, small white horse danced upon the spot, its back saddled but with no rider.

“My first gift to you my lady.” Charleroux said his voice once again unsteady. It was apparent that Annatrice had shattered his bravado at the feast. She preferred him this way; she might one day even grow to like the man depending on what the future held.

Annatrice stopped at the beautiful white mare and patted her neck. Looking back and up at the castle's keep she craned her neck to see the small shuttered openings that belonged to the day room. She could not see Marianne of the other girls from afar but she imagined them to all be there, waving and weeping with delight for their departing sister. She held aloft her hand and offered a fleeting wave. It was a symbolic moment, for as much tenderness emanated from her hand there was bitterness in equal measure. She wondered if from a small window high up, Tragian also looked out on her departure, perhaps with a jealous sense of loss or an arrogant sense of good riddance. Either way, she knew that she would be back soon enough.

Mounting her new steed, Charleroux gave the order to proceed and the slim sliver of light between the gates grew to a bright and blinding portal, the morning sun low in the sky and beaming through the main entrance. As Annatrice rode through the gates, she heard someone call her name and looking back there was a lone guard, waving frantically bidding his own farewell. Annatrice smiled and waved back with equal vigour, the fresh frosty air never smelt so good as the horses shifted into a canter and the pounding motion set her senses afire.

With every ending there is a new beginning. Annatrice did not yet know if the life she left was to be better than the life she now headed towards, but at least it was a free life, her happiness or sorrow of her own making.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The journey to Noxleigh was long, tiring but stimulating nevertheless. Annatrice took in sights and discovered places that she did not even know existed. She had forgotten how beautiful her lands were; even in the harsh wintry months there was beauty to be found everywhere. As they traversed a dense woodland area where the track was less pronounced, the horses slowed and recovered their breath. The forest floor was deep in fallen leaves and the golden browns of the decaying mulch lay like a carpet before them.

Charleroux pulled his horse alongside Annatrice and nodded a greeting, or was it an intention of the cessation of hostility?

“Annatrice, I want you to know that despite your wish to aid our cause, my heart is warmed in that you have broken your bonds of captivity. I am naturally fascinated by you; your beauty belies your inner strength. I believe you to be a formidable character. I should like to get to know you better.”

The soft padding of horse's hooves accompanied the lengthy pause that ensued as Annatrice decided how to proceed.

“I believe that if your intentions are true then your wish will be granted, however at this time, I am no less a prisoner than I was in Tragian's keep. I only hope that my new master is a man of his word and will accept my freedom when my part of the deal is fulfilled.”

Charleroux turned the corners of his mouth down disappointed by Annatrice's want-away spirit.

“Indeed I will be indebted to you if you choose to aid us and for this I will offer you great reward, but let not that cloud the magnitude of what I have already done for you my lady. It is written in law that you have joined me in wedlock and as my loyal wife I shall expect to consummate our marriage on our return to Noxleigh. Let it be clear that I will not be dictated to by a peasant girl with delusions of grandeur.”

Annatrice looked over to Charleroux with contempt. She bit her lip and chose to remain cautiously protective of her most profound of secrets.

“A peasant girl, I see the King himself has been speaking on my behalf. I can also see that this will be a marriage of mutual manipulation and personal gain, if that is the way it shall be, I will live with this but be assured of this; every time you enter me it will be one stroke closer to your doom.”

Annatrice kicked her horse onwards and she cantered forward of the group who followed, the other steeds not wishing to fall behind. Charleroux cursed his bride as he watched her flailing hair billow in the wind. She was indeed a witch, her beauty compelled him to seek her womanly comfort yet he knew in his heart that he would never have the courage to take her.

The town of Noxleigh stood proudly upon a high hill overlooking the rugged coastline and the treacherous green seas. It was a windswept place but picturesque nonetheless. Annatrice had only ever seen the dark waters once when she was very small. Her father had journeyed a day to the east and they had sat on a shingle filled beach where the waters lapped gently upon the shore. The salted breeze excited Annatrice as she could taste it upon her lips as they rode up the steep incline to the market town. Noxleigh was a town without walls; its exposed houses were toughened and shaped to repel the winds. The streets were wide and the people many as they went about their toils. The pungent smell of fish and other sea treasures hung in the air and it was an alien experience for Annatrice for who this was all very new.

Charleroux was respectfully saluted as he passed by the townsfolk. They reminded Annatrice of the people of Cayborne. They were simple, hard working families who wanted for little and gave much. After being embroiled in the embarrassment of riches for the latter part of her life, it was a reminder of the past when life was hard but worries were few and far between. Some of the towns girls, both young and old whooped with joy and bounced up and down at the sight of her, resplendent in her flowing gown of crimson and white lace. She even heard one shout out over the hubbub, 'she is beautiful!', and Annatrice blushed with a rare feeling of inflated self worth. Charleroux kept his nose high in the air as he made his way through the crowded market place. Annatrice soon discovered what it was to be nobility in a place such as this. The perceived differences between ordinary and the extraordinary people had to be kept large and wide at all times. Class was not a matter of science; it was a matter of perception.

The entourage kept a brisk pace until it was clear that Charleroux's fortress was on the horizon. Compared to the grandiose keep of the ruler, her new master's home was little more than a fortified hall with the most meagre of moats to keep any invaders at bay. It was little wonder that Annatrice sensed that Charleroux was pensive about her perception of his wealth. It was quite apparent that her husband was a small fish in a very large pond.

Annatrice dismounted her mare and a number of servants scampered about her, curious and eager to please. The castle compound was compact; a small garrison of soldiers appeared to keep the order. They were clearly on their best behaviour as their lord arrived with his new and captivating lady. At the gates to the main hall, a line of servants stood to attention to welcome their Lordship back into his home and as Charleroux took Annatrice's hand much to her embarrassment, they bowed with considerable enthusiasm as she passed.

The hall was tall and lengthy; a large chamber seemed to be the reception area where quality wooden furniture stood, shrouded in plump opulent cushions. A well maintained fire blazed in a central hearth and there were ornaments of precious metals adorning every available space. Upon the walls, a series of large portraits hung, warriors and kings of ages past, perhaps even ancestors of Charleroux?

“I beg of you, sit and take the weight from your feet.” Charleroux motioned for Annatrice to take comfort in a long, softly lined bench by the fire and then waved his hand, clicking his fingers at an attentive servant who stood behind him.

“Bring wine and a platter.” He barked, the servant shuffling off with all haste leaving only the wedded couple remaining.

“I see your influence in this room. It speaks for you.” Annatrice said as she sat, looking around fascinated by the assorted paraphernalia which included a large stuffed bears head, mounted upon the wall.

“I'll admit there is little to appeal to a woman’s sensibilities.” Charleroux replied as he too sat but not too close to his bride.

“I am not a typical woman, it interests me.” Charleroux took some comfort from this admission.

“That you are not. You are unlike any I have encountered. You have the wit of a poet and yet the patience and voraciousness of a hungry wolf in the fold, you are blunt like a cudgel but as sharp as a warrior's sword. Were it not for your humble origins I would think you to be of royal stock such is your power to command men to do irrational and foolish things.”

Annatrice looked over to Charleroux, his eyes red and tired, the strain of the journey and perhaps his lack of sleep clear to see.

“You are tired, as am I. I should like to take some rest after supper and then talk more in the morning when we are both a little more lucid.”

Charleroux nodded in agreement.

“I wish you could understand the power that you have over me, it is all encompassing, fearful even. You can see my every weakness, my hopes and desires; surely you can see that I offer only my best intentions towards you?”

Annatrice rested her face in her hands.

“I see that.”

Charleroux nodded once more. He felt oddly ill at ease being so meek around a woman of such tender age but she had intensity, an air of intangible essence which demanded respect. Charleroux stood up and walked towards the doorway.

“I shall see what is taking so long.” He said quietly.

“Let them be, they tend you with great loyalty. Show them your care and they will serve you even better.” Annatrice said, her face still buried in her cupped hands.

“Are those the words of a peasant?” He quipped, wondering where she acquired such wisdom.

“Peasant, noble, I am neither. I feel their anxiety to please. That is all.”

Annatrice looked up to Charleroux who stood lingering on her every word.

“I am sorry.”

Charleroux looked baffled.

“For what?”

“For the way I have embarrassed you, I have regretted the words I used at the feast but they were in some ways, necessary. I needed to earn your favour and demonstrate my usefulness.”

Charleroux was somewhat taken back by the welcomed but belated apology.

“I accept your most sincere words; my heart has carried a heavy burden since that moment. You are however, a rare and formidable ally to those who pursue power in this land or any other. If that display was even the limit of your abilities, people will seek you out.”

Annatrice sat back and closed her eyes. Charleroux had brought up a relevant point. Annatrice could feel her powers growing stronger by the day, even with the mild discomfort from the horses back on the long journey, her senses were coming alive, and the voices in her head floating in and out of her thoughts like a wisp of ether. When would these feelings stop and how would she ever be able to trust herself not to invade the privacy of the people that she met, her irrational yet increasingly paranoid fear of betrayal beginning to grow by the day?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Annatrice awoke the next morning in Charleroux's long, soft bed. He had curiously not attempted to consummate his marriage as he had stated the day before, but had slept soundly beside her, his eager hands resisting the urge to touch. Annatrice rolled over and saw her husband, quite awake and looking at her with his dark brown eyes.

“Did I snore?” Annatrice inquired, her juvenile sense of humour finding its way to the surface.

“Absolutely not. You took the form of a sleeping goddess and did not utter a sound.”

The flattery was unwarranted but received with a smile.

“After you retired, I sent a messenger to Deo Canthi requesting a conference. Things will proceed quickly now, he is impatient to move forward.”

Charleroux was straight to business, Annatrice sensed that he was making a conscious effort to be rather matter of fact about things and not let other issues cloud the reason why they had joined.

“So Deo Canthi is close by?” Annatrice asked.

“Close, yes. Forgive me for being vague, for me to disclose such things would be careless, although if you wanted to find out you need only administer another cut?”

Annatrice sat upright and looked down at the smooth flesh of her inner arm. A series of healing wounds were clearly visible as the sleeve of her nightwear had ridden up. Annatrice felt threatened by her husband's new knowledge, it was one aspect that she did not care to share with anyone.