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WHAT THEY'RE SAYING!

Krista at Coffeetime Romance: 

Emotionally charged and against all odds is what this story seemed like to me. Ms. Grady has a way of weaving a tale that cannot be denied. The characters entwine themselves around your heart so that you must know what is going to happen next.

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Read an EXCERPT:

There in the courtyard tonight, the wretched man’s body would dangle upon the gibbet until the butcher would cut it down before dawn, burying the poor man in a pit somewhere unknown.

Sick at the thought, Eric stumbled behind the throne and into the Inner Throne Room, seeking surcease from such morbid thoughts.

Marsy and Burghy entered moments later.  Eric listened as they set out books, quills, ink and proclamations upon the table awaiting his attention.  He eyed the piles.

“Can’t those wait?”

The councilors looked at each other for a moment before Burghy cleared his throat to speak.  “There’s much to do, sire.  With the throne room cleared of petitioners, we thought to take advantage and settle some administrative demands.”

It was too much.  The days, weeks, months of questions, demands, and requests piled up before Eric’s eyes.  Without a word, he turned to the door connecting to the corridor and left.  No more!  Not now!  Dimly aware of the councilor’s pursuit, he wandered from hall to hall.  At length he paused at an intersecting corridor, deciding just what he might want to do.

The low “he-hem” behind him snapped his patience.  Eric looked behind him to see Marsy and Burghy eagerly rolling forward on their feet, scrolls and quill in hand.

“Enough!”

The King’s Council stood in stunned silence as their new monarch disappeared around the corner of the hallway after his short outburst.

Eric flew down the corridor, running from the incessant questions and demands.  During the first month of his reign, much had been taken care of through the age-old pomp required of crowning a new king.  All of that was over.  The lavish dinners, dancing until dawn with all the eligible maids of the court, endless fittings with the Royal Rober and accepting the fealty of all the ranking lords of the Kingdom of Stilem.  Even receiving The Blessing of Providence from his Bishops had taken precedence over the actual running of the realm.

Now the details left too long on the shoulders of the Council had finally found their way to the Royal Apartments and Eric had had enough.  It was nearly Midsummer.  Almost half the year had been spent in listening to questions and demands.

The three elderly men spoke of nothing else.  From morning ‘til night questions of taxes, betrothals, gifts to fellow monarchs and political bills haunted his every step.  Indeed, each morsel of food that entered his mouth was accompanied by a question.

Eric understood that this was his solemn duty, the years spent in foreign courts had taught him well.  However, the brutal knowledge that his choices could and did result in the death of his subjects…it was not something he wished to dwell upon just now.  His steps slowed as he realized that the Council had chosen not to follow him.

Then he passed a carven door in the stone corridor and studied the image depicted on the panel: a woman held a child tightly to her bosom, a halo of heavenly bliss hovered over the pair’s brows.  Eric paused.  No wonder the Council did not give chase.

He had entered the Queen’s wing that would normally house the Queen, her attendants and the royal heirs.  Men were creatures of burden in this wing, not visitors or even friends. 

He laughed silently at his success in evading his responsibilities and opened the door to the nursery.

Eric blinked, blinded by the light flooding the chamber from large casement windows set in the pale gray stone.  The room echoed.  Empty, devoid of laughter and furniture, the lack of royal children reverberated through Eric.  Even here, in the depths of the castle defenses, the facts of his precarious hold on his lands taunted him.  Dust motes danced in the morning light.

Just one more thing that demanded his royal attention, and quickly.  He required a comely queen with healthy hips and a hearty disposition.  One that would be able to survive numerous birthings, for Eric was certain he needed to provide more than one heir for his courtiers.

He wandered to the windows and looked down on the Queen’s Gardens.  Early roses bloomed in riots upon trellises that climbed over benches.  A fountain bubbled in the midst and a tame deer nibbled at a well-tended lawn.  The four walls of the enclosing castle provided protection to any that would walk there.

He looked up.

Another set of windows faced the nursery across the courtyard.  He could see a woman’s profile bent over something in industry, her long black hair spilling down her back.  An unusual sight.

The women of the court always had their hair hidden beneath their fashionable wimples.  His hands itched to touch something so innocent as a maid’s locks, for no other reason then it would please him and let him think of prettier things.  She looked up as if somebody was talking to her and he recognized her, the Widow Queen Lavinia.

She appeared much as she had six years ago, small and dark with a dimpled smile.  She did smile.  He had been wondering if life with his deceased uncle has stolen that pleasure from the girl. 

A longing stirred in his breast.  Echoes of shared laughter from long ago and an ease of companionship urged him to act.  With a lighter step and a much-unused smile, Eric left the echoing nursery and went in search of the Queen’s Solar and a moment of friendship.

***

“I’ll just see to your chambers and be back in a spot, my lady.”  Nurse Posset curtsied to Lavinia before taking her leave of her charge.

Lavinia nodded absently as she placed another stitch in the small square of embroidery she held in her lap.  The colors were golds, dark greens, browns and sunny yellows, as the colors in her stitching always were. Right now, she was adding just the smallest chain stitches in black to the hart’s eye. 

The magnificent stag stood in the center of the square, looking startled into the viewer’s eyes.  Behind him in muted greens was a hedge that filled the background.  The ground beneath his hooves—a rainbow of autumnal leaves.  A wild creature caught between two immoveable objects; her possession of its soul in this cloth and the hedge behind him.

He would be hers forever, locked into his private maze, unable to move forward or even escape his fate.  It was in Lavinia’s power to launch the arrow that would free the beast.

Such thoughts were her comfort.   

Grimly she snipped off the black thread and turned the piece over to study her work. 

“Your craft has grown with you, my lady.”

Lavinia started before looking up into the intrigued blue gaze of the King.

“Your majesty!” she squeaked before sinking to her deepest curtsy before him.

His hand appeared before her panicked vision, “Come, Lavinia.  I would rather be known to you as I always was.”

Lavinia’s hand shook as she took the King’s offered hand and stood on wobbly legs.  She reached for her hair in alarm.

Eric laughed.  She remembered it well, though his voice had deepened with maturity and perhaps grief.  “As a young lady, even though you were my Queen, I do not remember your hair covered when we ran wild in the woods.”

Those memories Lavinia had not visited in many a year.  “I had nearly forgotten, your majesty, that we shared such familiarities.  Even so, it is not correct for you to join me here.”  Her hand lingered on her locks, still damp from her bath that morning.  “If you would permit it, your majesty, I would wish to make myself presentable.”  She stepped back from the King.

She bit her lips as Eric gave her person a thorough look.  He was taller, too, she thought.  Now she barely reached his chest, such was her small size.  However, the thin, wiry youth, that shared her terribly short joy, running wild about the castle lands, towered above her with a muscular frame.  Of course, the elegant dark blue velvet robe and matching hose set his light blue laughing eyes and nearly blond hair off with quite a striking visage. 

She tugged at her worn but serviceable brown gown.  It was old, but comfortable.  In these dark days of her public mourning, this was one item of her wardrobe she hadn’t altered.  The bodice, normally a stiff, jewel encrusted piece that flattened her stomach and chest, was nearly useless in its purpose.  It sagged alarmingly.

She placed her other hand over the gaping view of her breasts.  “I should at least don a dressing gown.”  Blushing in confusion, she looked up.  So far up.  He was simply not the boy she remembered from so long ago.

Instead of disdain for her disrepair, or indeed even an abiding interest in her exposed anatomy, Lavinia was surprised to see sorrow darken her sweet prince’s brow.

“Your majesty?” she asked even as she reached for him, her hand settling on his wrist tentatively.

He smiled a crooked grin that did not quite reach his eyes.  “I was simply hoping to sit with a friend for a moment or two.”

Automatically she offered her chair, “Please.  I will call for refreshments.”  Without her familiar armor of wimple, heavy court gown and her ladies-in-waiting, she found it difficult to fall into her court manners.  Nothing was right.  She hesitated before walking to the bell-pull and then seated herself on a low upholstered bench to the left of King Eric.

With her feet tucked beneath her and her hands held limply in her lap, she thought desperately for something to speak of.

“How have you been?” he asked.

Lavinia peeked.  Eric’s fingers thrummed on the arm of the chair, his face pale and taut.  “Quite well, your majesty.  Thank you for asking.  And you?”

He snorted.  “Well enough.”  He wiggled a bit in the chair.

Silence settled into the room. 

“Is there news of the court?” Lavinia asked, not really wanting to know. 

Eric chuckled.  “You sound ever so interested in gossip.  I would think you’d prefer to go for a walk in the woods.” 

Lavinia blushed.  His teasing eyes nearly drawing a giggle from her.  “I’m afraid I haven’t had the opportunity to take such liberties in quite a long time.”

“Now that does sound like a wish.”  He leaned forward, a smiling intent about his lean lips.  However, a curious sadness shadowed his gaze and tone.  “As king I am able to grant such things, you know.”

Lavinia’s heart skipped. She felt her face falling. 

“Come!” He held his hand out as he stood up.  “We’ll take a turn about the castle.”

“I couldn’t.” The rejection escaped her lips before she could think.

“Why?”

Why, indeed?  Lavinia searched for an excuse that would make any kind of sense.  What would she say?  She no longer knew of the world outside her window?  That she was afraid of it?

“Your highness?” he prompted.

Lavinia settled upon an excuse he could not refute.  “I am still in mourning, your majesty.  It wouldn’t be seemly.”

Anger colored Eric’s cheeks.  “Are you going to let my uncle keep you locked up forever, Lavinia?”

She swallowed.  “You knew?”

He sat back down, a sullen look about him.  Bending over, he picked up her embroidery from the floor, where she had dropped it in her initial surprise.  He traced the outline of the hart with long fingers. 

They were the hands of a gentleman, Lavinia thought, but one with little familiarity of brutality.  Never would Harold have held her bits of embroidery with such wonder or tenderness.

She looked again to his face.  He appeared lost in the hedge maze with the stag, startled and frozen.

“It occupies my mind to make such things as that.”  Her voice sounded small and trivial.

“Why is he trapped?” 

Lavinia blinked.  Eric didn’t appear to be condemning her work, his brows raised in curiosity. 

A maid entered, nearly hitting the floor in her curtsy when she saw who accompanied the Widow Queen.

“Wine, bread and fruit for His Majesty, if you would Pearl,” Lavinia asked of the girl before answering Eric.  She looked to him to see if he still required a response.  He appeared interested.

Lavinia made several attempts at answering before she stated, “No creature is truly free of their destiny, your majesty.”

He blinked once before looking again at the animal.  “I suppose no other but one fated for a life as royalty could understand that.”  His fingers ran over the fabric absently.

Lavinia searched for a reply.  Words caught in her throat.  Her hands twisted.  She whispered, “Yes.”

“We couldn’t have known all that during our days in the sun.  Could we Lavinia?”

She blushed.  “I treasure those memories, your majesty.  They were my only happy days since coming to Stilem.”

The King did not look up but simply nodded his understanding.

Lavinia sighed, looked out into the walled courtyard and smiled.  Yes, those were happy days.

~~~~

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