As they took their seats at the table below, Jeniver’s chamber door quietly opened. Courtly poked her head out, looking to see if Maximus or even Gallus were anywhere nearby. She had awoken nearly the moment Gallus had opened the chamber door and she had heard what was subsequently said. She heard everything.
As she knew, her father had not been receptive to Maximus’ offer of marriage. That was no surprise. But the attack Gallus and Maximus spoke of was indeed a surprise, at least against the two de Shera brothers. Her father was aggressive, that was true, but he usually was careful with his aggression. He picked fights that he knew he could win. Clearly, the man could not win against the de Shera war machine, but she could imagine how irate he must have become when the question of marriage had been introduced. She had no doubt that he was indeed amassing a raiding party to come and claim her.
Closing the door quietly, she looked at Jeniver, sleeping heavily upon the bed. The woman had been good to her, at leastin the short time she had known her. She liked Jeniver a great deal and after Jeniver had fainted in the common room, she was greatly honored that Gallus allowed her to sit with his wife and tend her. Jeniver had come around, briefly, but she had fallen back asleep again and even now, remained sleeping heavily. It was clear that the day in general had been very taxing for the woman.
But a party of armed men would tax her even more, de Lara men that were after one thing– Courtly. They would come for her and even though Courtly was positive that Maximus and Gallus and Tiberius could fight them off, it would not end the situation. Her father would come and come again in his attempts to regain her. It would truly never end until one of them was dead– her father, or Maximus, or even Courtly. Kellen de Lara would never give up. She knew her father well enough to know that.
Therefore, there was truly only one solution– she had to return to her father of her own free will. Only then would Kellen consider the matter settled, as he would have no reason to continue his aggression against Maximus. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of the situation and of her life with Maximus that would never be– no sons in his image, no life of love and joy in the de Shera household. Much like Ellice, Courtly was destined to be a spinster because of Kellen’s unnatural fear of men who would pursue the women in his family. At the moment, all she could do was hate her father for it. God Bones, she hated him so much. She hated him because he did not want to see her happy or in love, with Maximus or with anyone else.
She stifled a sob as her gaze fell upon the new possessions that Maximus has purchased for her that day. She would take none of it, of course, except for the garment she wore. She had nothing else to wear so there was little choice. Dear God, was this really to be her life? Living alone and unloved, without theman she had very quickly fallen in love with? Aye, she loved Maximus. There was so much to love about the man that her heart was full of it. They had shared special moments and a kiss that had spoken of untold passion, quickly ignited between the two of them.
But it would be passion unrealized. It would be love unrealized and un-nurtured, but she knew her love for him would never die. It was a part of her, permanently, as he would be. She wished she could tell him that before she left, but she knew she had to leave without his knowledge. He would never let her go and that would only cause his family great pain. She didn’t want to be the cause of great pain to people who had been quite kind to her.
As she wiped at her eyes, her gaze fell upon a small table that contained pieces of vellum, an inkwell, a quill, sand, and a seal of some kind. She knew that Gallus had been conducting business from the inn so she assumed they were the earl’s possessions. Given that Courtly could both read and write, it occurred to her to borrow a scrap of vellum and leave Maximus a note. She had to. She simply couldn’t leave without telling the man what he meant to her. She couldn’t leave without begging him not to pursue her for the good of all. She hoped he would obey her wishes. There were things in life that simply weren’t meant to be and, because of Kellen de Lara, this was one of those things. Her love for Maximus was over before it began.
Quickly, she pulled forth a small scrap of vellum and dipped the quill into the inkwell. Carefully scripted letters began to appear on the page, a short note for Maximus that would be the only thing left from a marriage that was not to be. She tried not to weep while writing the note, keeping her attention focused on Lady de Shera to make sure the woman remained deep in slumber. Courtly didn’t want to explain what she was doing or why she was leaving. It would have simply been too painful.
She finished the note without sanding the vellum. She was in too much of a hurry, too fearful that her plans would be discovered. As Jeniver snored softly on her rented bed, Courtly opened the shutters to the window that overlooked a livery and alleyway behind the tavern. The ground was uneven here and a portion of the yard backed up to the wall, meaning that the drop between the window and the ground below was eight feet or less. In her new lavender gown of heavy brocade, Courtly climbed from the window and hung from the sill by her fingertips, finally letting herself drop to the ground below.
She landed awkwardly and fell over, but she was able to regain her footing quickly and run to the stable where her borrowed palfrey was stabled. The little gray mare they had acquired at the livery near the Street of the Merchants was in her stall, fat and happy, and Courtly collected the animal, putting a bridle on her but nothing more. She didn’t want to take the time to put a saddle on the little beast, so she quickly mounted the animal bareback and proceeded from the livery, losing herself in the collection of buildings of the town before finally finding the road south.
As the storm finally rolled in and the rain began to pour, Courtly made her way towards Kennington House, praying she was in time to prevent her father from doing something very, very foolish. The rain poured and the thunder rolled as if reminding her of that which she would never have: the Thunder Warrior in the flesh. He would be hers only in memories now.
Farewell, Max… my love….
*
St. Héver wasn’tsure he was seeing correctly.
Standing at the gates of Kennington House, he had been called forth by a soldier who swore he saw something movingin the darkness along the road, something small and distant. The storm had fully engulfed the land with whipping winds and lightning, and St. Héver stood out in the elements with several other men, watching the road for signs of the mysterious wraith he had been told of. He stood there for several long minutes, waiting, until the lightning flashed again and, for a brief moment, he could see what the soldier had been indicating– there was something approaching.
Whatever it was, it was a solitary figure. St. Héver saw no threat in that, so he continued to stand by the gates, those oddly built, iron slat gates, and waited until the figure drew close. Then, and only then, could he see that it was a small figure astride a sopping palfrey. As it drew closer still, a flash of lightning illuminated it yet again and he realized it was Courtly. In a panic, he ordered the gates opened.
Soldiers threw the bolt and began heaving the gates open, made difficult because of the mud build-up from the rain and further made difficult from the rusting joints on the hinges. But it opened enough so that St. Héver managed to get through, racing to Courtly and realizing she was without a cloak or any protection whatsoever. She was soaked through and through. He pulled her off the palfrey and carried her in his arms back through the gates as another soldier went out to capture the palfrey and bring it in. By the time St. Héver reached the great hall, he was bellowing for food, wine, blankets, and servants. His loud cries woke up the entire house.
St. Héver set Courtly down on a bench near the hearth with only a few burning embers in it. She was half-unconscious and so cold that her skin was nearly blue. St. Héver began to stir up the fire, coaxing forth a blaze, as Courtly sat there and shivered. As the heat from the fire began to reach her, she began to come around a bit.
“Wh-where is my father?” she asked, teeth chattering.
St. Héver was working furiously to build up the blaze, which was growing fairly large the more he stirred it. Sparks flew into the air, drifting out into the great hall. “In his chamber, my lady,” he replied. “The last I saw of him, he was sleeping off too much drink.”
Courtly pushed the wet hair out of her eyes, focusing on the fire that St. Héver was so vigorously stoking. She slid off the bench and crawled on her hands and knees to the hearth, closer to the warmth. She held her shaking hands out against the heat of the blaze. She’d never been so cold in her entire life.
“What about his army?” she wanted to know. “Why is his army still here?”
St. Héver looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean, my lady?”
Courtly looked at the young knight. “Is he not going after the de Sheras?” she asked. “I know what happened tonight. I assumed he would be amassing his army to attack them.”
St. Héver was trying to piece together what she was talking about and began to understand. “Your father was very drunk, my lady,” he said. “What happen with the de Sheras… your father will indulge in a fight at the slightest provocation, you know that. After they left, he wanted to pursue them but I convinced him it would not be wise, especially with the storm coming. We would be trying to battle them in their own element and we would surely lose.”
Courtly was trying to stop her chattering teeth. “What do you mean?”
St. Héver smiled thinly. “The storm, my lady,” he said quietly. “Have you not heard of the Lords of Thunder? They use the storm to their advantage in battle. It is their preferred medium. Some say the lightning does their bidding. I have heard from more than one man that it is true.”
Courtly was warming up, becoming more lucid, and her mind began to mull over St. Héver’s words:the Lords of Thunder.Aye, she knew that was what the de Sheras were called, everyone knew. But now she understood why. Thoughts of Maximus filled her brain and the tears that had flowed since nearly the moment she left The One-Eyed Raven returned with a vengeance. She turned her face to the fire, unwilling to let St. Héver see her tears of utter sorrow.
“Courtly!”
