Chapter 1
The prince sighed in boredom. His father was getting ready to put on yet another show, in the hopes that his son would see reason and agree to marry Princess Maria of Spain.
"Have you any idea how important this treaty is to the future of England?" his father had cried, his voice rising with each syllable. His face had become beet red and the ugly purple vein on the right side of his neck had begun to bulge, as it always did when he was exceedingly angry. It seemed that the prince was seeing more and more of that vein lately.
"Arthur, calm yourself," his mother, the queen, said softly, half-rising from her chair in alarm.
"Quiet, woman!" the king roared. "You have always been too soft with the boy. I will handle this situation. You try to protect him as if he was yet a child but he is four and twenty. 'Tis time for him to begin acting like a man and a prince of the realm. I will no longer tolerate this spoiled, selfish state. He will learn to do what is best for this kingdom if ever he wishes to be king!"
It was not that the king was a bad man. It was just that his life's obsession had always been trying to expand the boundaries of England. No matter how successful or rich the country, he always felt that it could be richer and more successful. His ambitions had wrought havoc in his family over the years. All of his time and attention was devoted to his true love, England and its people. His family had always come second to his kingdom. As a result, his son was growing more estranged by the minute.
The prince cared about his kingdom. He loved his country intensely and was painfully aware that he would probably not be able to be as fine a ruler for the people as his father. Still, he could not help but long for the freedom to make his own choices. He did not want to be a slave to the crown and he was tired of always being his father's puppet. Whenever he did not do what the man wanted, he was accused of being selfish and behaving like a boy. He was becoming quite used to such outbursts from his father. At first, they had truly hurt him, but his skin had become progressively thicker, until he could barely feel the blows. Quite simply, all the prince wanted was to have some peace and joy in his life.
"Listen to me," the king commanded his son. "I have worked very hard at creating good relations between my kingdom and that of King Ferdinand, but he still does not place his complete trust in me. You have turned your nose up at every other princess I have brought before you, but this time you have no choice. You will woo the Spanish princess and you will wed her. She must become your wife. The future of England depends upon it," the king thundered.
"My lord, perhaps there is another way of appeasing the Spanish king," his wife interrupted timidly. She was forever anxious and eager to protect her son from her husband's tyranny. "Our son simply does not love the princess. Could we not offer an alliance between her and the Earl of Yorkshire instead?"
The king swung around to face his wife, his chest heaving. When he worked himself into this state, he truly resembled a bull about to charge. "Are you a fool?" he cried. "Do you honestly believe that the king would be satisfied with marrying his daughter off to a mere earl? Have you no sense, woman? Would I ever allow my son to marry beneath his station?"
"Nay, but..." his mother began, her voice quaking slightly.
"Then you should know that Ferdinand would not ever do anything so foolish either."
The prince was tired of watching his father frighten his mother. She was a kind, gentle woman and the king was too thick to see how lucky he had been to wed her. The prince could not stand to see her so badly treated, especially when it was on his account. "Father, do not turn your anger on my mother," he said. "'Tis I with whom you are angry and 'tis I alone who will suffer the consequences of that anger. No matter what you say, I will not marry the princess of Spain." The prince's voice was firm, causing the king to turn a most alarming shade of purple.
"Are you stupid, boy?" The king was now nearly screaming and the prince just knew that the servants were listening at the door, eager to repeat this newest battle to their friends and family. Unfortunately, the king was too caught up in his determination to break his son's will to notice the damage he was causing to his son's reputation. After all, if his father did not have any faith in his son's ability to be king, why should any of his subjects? It was a most dangerous situation, but no matter how hard he tried, the prince could not make his father understand that he was giving every excuse to his father's enemies to oppose the legitimacy of his son's future as king.
"Father, please calm yourself. You will only add fuel to the fire that already burns against me. You know as well as I that the walls have ears," the prince said, feeling his own anger rise in spite of himself.
"You have brought this on yourself by your willful disobedience! If you wish to quash this opposition, you will do as I say and begin to conduct yourself as befits a prince and future king. You have no choice in this matter. I have already invited the king and his daughter and you will be in attendance or you will be exiled and I will settle the throne upon someone more worthy."
The prince could hear his mother's horrified gasp and he clenched his jaw, wanting to explode right back at his father. "I will be at your farce of a gala, but I will never wed Princess Maria," the prince replied, his voice dangerously low. With that statement, he turned on his heel and stalked out of his father's chambers.
Now, two days later, he found himself being rowed around the river in a ridiculous barge with a princess who bored him to tears; that is, when they were actually able to communicate. It was bad enough that she was the world's greatest simpleton, but the language barrier between them only magnified his irritation. Besides, it was obvious to him that she had no more interest in him than he had in her. At dinner, she had been too intent on baring as much of her bosom as possible to the tall, rakishly handsome Lord Westshire to pay much attention to the prince. She was now pouting in the back of the barge, shrouded in yards and yards of gauzy material while the prince stood at the bow, looking morosely at the stars. He had spent the past hour thus and was contemplating the wisdom of throwing himself off the boat and swimming across the river so that he could flee to the sanctuary of his castle chambers.
He was just about to command his servants to put an end to the nonsense when he noticed a commotion taking place on a barge a short distance from him. Glancing around, he saw that he was not the only one who noticed the commotion. Every barge in the vicinity had stopped and every neck was craned to look toward Lord Mordrid, Earl of Essex's barge.
"You worthless bitch. You impertinent whore!" the man was yelling.
The prince straightened his back, standing erect now. He could feel the muscle in his jaw working, the one that always did when he became angry. And he often became angry with the earl. There was a strict code of chivalry that existed among his father's knights and peerage that Mordrid repeatedly broke. None of them were entitled to speak to a woman in this manner. Mordrid could choose to behave as he would at home, but the prince was livid that he would choose to openly defy the king, especially in front of the Spaniards.
"Approach that barge," the prince said quietly to his servants.
"Aye, Your Highness," they replied, instantly changing their course so that they cut through the water swiftly, approaching the barge carrying Mordrid.
The prince glanced behind him and saw that the Spanish princess's nose was fairly twitching in anticipation of what was to come. Her eyes were very wide and she had a look of excitement on her face that made the prince turn away in disgust. Her behavior only gave new strength to his decision not to marry her. Any woman who took such interest in the prospect of violence was not the sort of woman he wished to wed.
A woman's cry rang out in the cool night air and he quickly turned his attention back to the barge carrying Mordrid. He was almost to the barge, only a few yards off, and he could now see what was happening. A female servant was cowering before Mordrid. She was on her knees, crying and pleading with him.
"Please, my lord, have mercy. I did not mean to displease you. I am so sorry."
Mordrid grabbed the woman by the hair, yanking her to her feet violently. "Sorry? Do you think that is enough, you stupid little bitch?" The tone of his voice made even the prince's blood run cold. "You will pay," Mordrid growled. He backhanded her with such force that she was thrown from the barge and into the water. Her terrified scream tore through the night.
"My lord, I cannot swim. Please, I beg you..."
The prince was astounded to see the man snatch an oar from one of his servants and loft it high in the air, presumably with the intention of bringing it down on the woman's head. She ceased to make a sound and simply closed her eyes, waiting for the blow with a sort of resignation that made the prince's heart bleed for her. He felt rage washing over him. His barge was almost next to the earl's. Just as the man began to bring the oar down, the prince's barge reached Mordrid's and the prince reached out, catching the oar and wrenching it from the earl's grasp. The earl let out an angry yelp and was about to turn his wrath on the prince when he saw who it was. Instead, he sunk to one knee.
"Your Highness," he murmured, as if nothing at all had happened.
"Kindly help that poor woman into my barge," the prince said to his servants, careful to keep his voice even. "Rise, Mordrid."
The man stood and gave the prince a mocking smile, causing the prince's anger to intensify. "I apologize for the interruption, Your Highness. I can see that I unfortunately interrupted a pleasant diversion." He turned a lascivious gaze on the princess, causing her to giggle shamelessly. The earl smiled broadly.
The prince ignored them both. "Once again, Mordrid, you have chosen to openly defy the king's authority and in front of our Spanish friends. What have you to say for yourself?" The prince's voice was deadly calm and the earl's eyes flashed as he turned to address his sovereign.
"I humbly ask that you forgive my trespass," the earl said. His voice had a sarcastic edge to it, but the prince refused to be provoked.
"Rest assured, Mordrid, that this trespass will be the last of many." He gave the earl an angry grin. "I will address this occurrence with my father, the king. I do believe that His Majesty's patience with you has run out. His Majesty most certainly will not tolerate the embarrassment that you have brought upon him in front of his most honorable guests."
The earl shot him a look of pure hatred. "Perhaps His Majesty will have a different opinion."
"Oh, I assure you that this is one matter upon which His Majesty and I are in perfect agreement. The king demands total compliance with his code of chivalry. Your transgression is tantamount to treason."
"She is a mere servant wench. His Majesty will surely overlook..." The prince could now see the fear in Mordrid's eyes that was caused by the use of the word treason.
"The code of chivalry clearly states that all women shall be treated with reverence. You know that as well as I. My men will be happy to escort you to your accommodations for the night." The prince turned to his men, immediately dismissing Mordrid. "Take him away. The very sight of him disgusts me and makes a mockery of all that England holds most dear."
He could see a look of approval and admiration in the eyes of his father's men. He fully turned his back on Mordrid, turning towards the servant woman and the Princess of Spain. The Spanish woman's eyes were as wide as saucers and, as she looked at the servant woman, her nose wrinkled in distaste. The prince shot her a look of sheer disgust and then ignored her too, concentrating all of his attention on the woman he had rescued.
She was huddled in a sort of ball, shrinking away from the gentle touch of the servants. She clutched her knees tightly to her chest, rocking herself slightly as she cried. Her face was mostly hidden, but the prince could see a bright purple bruise marring her forehead. She was soaked to the skin and was shivering violently. The prince frowned in concern and then knelt down in front of the woman.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice very quiet and gentle.
The woman gave a prolonged shudder at the sound of his voice, burying her face deeper into her knees. Now the prince was truly worried. He looked up at his men, indicating that they should move the barge back to the dock. He wanted to get the woman some medical attention and had already decided that he would call his own physician to attend to her. He felt a surge of fury for the bastard Mordrid and then returned his attentions to the woman. He took his voluminous cape off and reached out slowly, draping it across her shoulders gently. She gasped loudly and jumped, causing her to sprawl backwards so that her entire face was now exposed. The prince was horrified to see that it was livid with bruises and that blood was beginning to flow again from a wound on her right cheek and from her split lip.
"I will not hurt you," he said softly, approaching her again slowly. "You are bleeding. Please, allow me to help you."
The woman finally looked up at him and when she did, even through her shock and fear, he could see recognition and amazement spread across her face. Before he knew what was happening, she had thrown herself at his feet and was kissing his boots.
"Oh, Your Highness, please forgive my insolence. God bless Your Highness for your chivalry. I owe you my life. Please, allow me to call myself your most humble servant."
As he looked down at the bedraggled woman, the prince felt a surge of pity mingle with his worry. "Maiden, please do not prostrate yourself this way. You are injured and my only care is to be of assistance to you."
"Oh, nay, Your Highness. You must not lower yourself so. I am perfectly all right," she said, hastily. She quickly rose to her feet, wanting to prove it to him, but she swayed and would have fallen if the prince had not moved quickly to catch her. She immediately tried to pull herself from his arms, but he gently lowered her back to the floor of the barge so that he could try to stave the flow of blood from her wounds. Fortunately, she was too physically weak to continue to put up a fight but the mortified look in her eyes was almost worse than her vocal protests. The prince dabbed at her wounds gingerly, but she refused to meet his concerned gaze.
"Have you any other injuries? Tell me, is this the first time that the earl has mistreated you so?" the prince demanded once he had managed to all but stop the ooze of her wounds.
"I-I deserved the punishment," she said. He could tell that she was terrified to say anything against her master.
"Nay, you did not," the prince said firmly. He moved his head around until he had finally captured her gaze. "My father does not permit such savagery in his kingdom. Such treatment of women is not to be tolerated. The earl knew that and he chose to openly defy the king's edict. He is the one who deserves to be punished."
The woman did not reply. She merely averted her eyes and then looked in dismay at the cape she was wearing, as if it was the first time she had noticed she was wearing it. He could see a look of dawning horror spread across her face as she saw the state of it. It was made of fine red velvet, elaborately embroidered with gold thread and edged in ermine, and showed large watermarks where it had absorbed the water from her wet clothing. She quickly scrambled out of it as her bruised, swollen eyes filled with tears once again.
"I have ruined Your Highness's cape. Oh, forgive me." She buried her face in her hands and he noticed how red and raw they were.
The prince gently, but deliberately, picked the cape up and draped it around her once again. "'Tis only a cape and 'tis I who ruined it, and I did so purposely. I do not wish to see you fall ill."
"My sincerest thanks, Your Highness," she replied, her voice muffled behind her hands.
They had finally reached the dock and, to the woman's obvious horror, the prince scooped her up in his arms and carried her off his barge, ordering his men to summon the physician. He carried her all the way to the castle, moving through the throng of people without really noticing them. The spectacle caused much excitement, inspiring some distaste among the peerage and admiration among those of the lower classes.
Some of the servant women had hastily prepared a bed for the patient and he laid her down on it, waiting at her side until the doctor came to examine her. Mercifully, she had passed out from sheer exhaustion and the trauma of her injuries and so she made no protest at his presence. In a matter of moments, the prince's physician entered the chamber, bowing before the prince.
"Alward, I want you to attend to this woman as carefully as if you were attending me. I will send my scribe to take your report. I request an audience with you on the morrow so that you may give me a full report of all injuries suffered. We shall then meet with His Majesty so that he may pass his judgment."
"Aye, Your Highness," the physician said, bowing again.
"You have my complete trust," the prince said. He briefly touched his hand to the man's shoulder as he left the chamber.
In the quiet of his own chambers, he paced the floor restlessly, giving free reign to his own thoughts. In spite of his differences from his father, he had a great deal of respect and admiration for him and for the way he ruled his kingdom. He was truly angered that Mordrid had committed this final insult against his sovereign. The prince hated the man because he found him a ruthless, cruel, and faithless person, but also because he seemed to enjoy openly challenging the authority of his king. The prince did not believe that his father would need much convincing, but he was determined to make a case for the immediate banishment of Mordrid, stripping him of title, wealth, and property. As long as things remained as they were, the prince feared that Mordrid would be a threat to the throne.
At last, the prince stopped pacing. Wearily, he leaned against one of the massive, ornate posts of his bed as his thoughts turned to the woman. He had never seen such a pitiful creature in all of his life and it sickened him to think that such suffering could exist in his father's kingdom. He also decided that he would ask his father to keep her in the castle, where she was sure to be safe from Mordrid. After all, they could always use another chambermaid. He was slightly bothered at the thought, but he knew it was the natural order of the world, that such a woman was meant to be a servant. Everyone knew that this natural order was ordained by God.
His thoughts turned to the appearance of the woman he had saved. He could tell that she was young, probably no more than eighteen years of age. In spite of her battered face, he could see that she was a lovely woman. She had wide, soft brown eyes, a straight nose, and full, well-formed lips. He hadn't been able to tell what color her hair was because it had been soaking, but he had noticed the curly tendrils that had escaped during her struggle with Mordrid. The rest of her hair had been perilously close to tumbling out of the roll that had once sat at the nape of her neck.
Finally, the prince could no longer fight off his own exhaustion. He had dismissed his servants as soon as he returned to his chambers, so he undressed himself slowly, wearily pulling his fine linen sleep shirt over his head. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched his pillows, his dreams filled with the image of the young woman's terrified face. His last thought before he slept was that he did not yet know her name.
