Tristan leaned forward, positioning his elbows against the taffrail. “But, it’s more complicated than just my personal preference.” He took another long pull of ale, watching the stern of their ship plow forth across the Narrow Sea. “As the heir to the kingdom of Cornwall, I know my uncle expects me to marry a princess. Not the daughter of a lesser lord.” Tristan stared off at the horizon.
“I knew that if I accepted the invitation to Kennall Vale this summer, it would be as if I were agreeing to the betrothal. Yet, by declining their hospitality, I have affronted Lord Treave,offended Elowenn, insulted Vaughan, and lost the friend whom I loved like a brother.”
Taking another gulp of ale, Tristan turned to Lancelot and searched his knowing eyes. “I don’t know if she even exists, Lancelot, but I want a woman who makes me feelalive! I want her kisses to arouse my passion, her heart to sing to mine. I want a muse to inspire my song, a lady to whom I would pledge my sword—and my life.” Tristan shook his head and sighed. “Is such a love even possible?”
The First Knight of Camelot responded with a sad smile. “It is indeed possible, Tristan.” Lancelot turned his pensive gaze to the vast expanse of sea. “In French, we call such a lovel’amour fou—a passion so intense… it can drive you mad.”
Lancelot glanced back at Tristan, a forlorn smile reaching his intense blue eyes. “When you find such a woman, Tristan, the love she gives you fills every empty hollow in your soul. She completes you; she invigorates you; she thrills you. And, when you consummate such a love, the exquisite blend of the spiritual and physical realm will satisfy you more than the finest wine or the greatest victory in battle. The love she gives you with her body will transport you to the stars, and you will never experience a greater joy.”
And, though he smiled, Tristan saw that the First Knight emanated loneliness, suffering, and sorrow. As Lancelot returned his gaze across the faraway sea, Tristan knew that the White Knight of Avalon longed for the beautiful blond queen of Camelot.
Chapter 17
The Master of Horse
Deirdre had been drinking the herbal tea that Maiwenn had given her, followingMamie’s instructions religiously, but it made no difference, since Branoc had not touched her for weeks.Not since he saw that witch Églantine in the waterfall. He never wants me anymore—he lusts for her! How can I possibly conceive a child when he wastes his seed on her? I hate her!
As Deirdre stood behind the counter of the blacksmith shop, despairing over the loss of her husband’s affection, a handsome lord entered and greeted her cheerfully.
“Good day, my lady! I need to have my horse reshod. The nails have come loose on her right rear hoof. Is it possible to have her shoe replaced while I wait?”
Branoc, who had been working in the back of the shop, came forward to greet the gentleman. “Good day, sir. Yes, I can repair or replace your horse’s shoe. Bring her on in, and I will take good care of her, rest assured,” he said with a grin, wiping his blackened hands on his apron.
As the customer brought in his horse to be shod, Deirdre could not help but notice the fine quality of his clothing, the cleanliness of his shiny blond hair, and the confident air in which he carried himself.He is a wealthy lord,she mused.He is someone of importance, to be sure.
With a courteous smile, Deirdre attempted to make small talk while the gentleman waited for Branoc to reshoe his horse.“It is such a fine day today, a lovely day for a ride. Are you headed to the castle, my lord?”
The customer replied courteously, a friendly smile spread across his handsome, youthful face. “As a matter of fact, I am comingfromthe castle, my lady, delivering a dozen horses, including this lovely gray mare.” He gestured to the horse in Branoc’s care.
“I am Liam, the Master of Horse at the castle of King Donnchadh. I am bringing these fine animals from the royal stables to their new owner, just outside this village of Sligeach.” He smiled warmly at Deirdre, who blushed under his gaze.
She preened at his attention, smoothing the folds of her dark blue homespun frock. “We are most fortunate that you have brought your business here to us today, my lord.” Glancing out the window, Deirdre noticed half a dozen royal guards, as finely dressed as the one before her, tending to several horses just outside the shop.
The Master of Horse responded kindly, “And I am fortunate to have found a blacksmith on my way to deliver these magnificent animals.”
Liam gestured to the horse that Branoc was busily reshoeing. “That lovely dappled gray mare is named Luna. She was the Princess Issylte’s horse, the king’s daughter who died in a tragic accident four years ago. Do you remember?”
Deirdre had a vague recollection of the events surrounding the death of the princess, but she wanted to hear more. “I do remember hearing something about that. Wasn’t it an accident with her horse?” She observed the palfrey in her husband’s care. “Is that the mare she was riding when the accident happened?”
The lord replied sadly. “Indeed, it is. Princess Issylte was riding with her guards along the coast, where the cliffs overlook the sea.” The Master of Horse stared off into the distance as if remembering the past.
“The edge of the cliff was unstable, and her horse reared when it started to crumble.” He glanced down at his feet and whispered, “The princess was thrown into the sea. The king’s guards searched for days, but her body was never found.” When he raised his eyes to meet hers, Deirdre saw in his forlorn expression how much he had cared for the king’s daughter.
“The princess loved this horse so much that the king refused to sell her. He insisted that I ride her every day below the window of his royal chambers, where he sat watching, as if it kept the memory of his daughter alive.” He gazed up at Deirdre and smiled sadly. “But now, with King Donnchadh bedridden and ailing, the queen has decided to sell Luna after all. Along with these other fine horses from the royal stables.” He paused for a moment to admire the pretty gray mare, his eyes filled with regret. “The Morholt—the one they call the Black Knight—needs war horses for his army, not gentle palfreys like Luna.”
Liam gazed at the dappled gray mare, as if lost in reverie. “She was such a lovely girl, the princess. I used to ride with her every day—giving her equestrian lessons, teaching her to care for the horse herself.”
He glanced back at Deirdre. She saw a mask of pain across his handsome face. “We’d gallop across the plains near the castle, and through the forest that she loved so well. They called her the Emerald Princess, you know.”
The Master of Horse was clearly fond of the princess, his eyes sorrowful as he held Deirdre’s gaze. “I can see her now, her long blond hair whipping through the wind, her cheeks pink from the thrill of the ride…She was so beautiful…. such a tragic loss. She was only fourteen years old.” The Master of Horse glanced down at the floor, scuffling his feet as if he could wipe away the pain.
At that moment, Branoc brought Luna over to the handsome blond lord, handing the reins to the Master of Horse with a hearty grin. “There now, she’s as good as new. The nails hadcome loose, so I removed the shoe, filed her hoof properly, and replaced it. It’s even better than before.”
Deirdre shot Branoc an eager look, indicating she had something important to tell him.
Branoc said to the Lord Liam, “That’ll be twelve shillings, please, my lord.”
The Master of Horse paid his bill, led Luna out of the blacksmith shop and, with a cheerful goodbye to Branoc and Deirdre, rode off with royal guards to deliver the horses to their new owner just outside the village.
