Chapter 3.
Her voice still haunted his memory, making it almost impossible to concentrate on where he was going. He turned a corner around one of the small town houses in the lower part of the city.
She had seemed to glow as she stood there, singing her very heart to the crowd. He knew he was foolish to have challenged her like that, but the words just slipped right between his lips and he had found her staring at him, her posture rigid and defiant. Her eyes the color of the sea they lived by, glowing in the dimness of the tavern. The way she had stared at him still sent shivers down his spine. Lady Mairèad of Cilicader, the despised Prince Henrys' betrothed (Prince Henry, not Mairèad).
Nevertheless, for all his loathing and his despising, he could not shake how her spirit stood so proud and strong…how her voice opened the doors of the heavens above. Something about her had shocked him straight to the marrow of his bones.
He was startled from his stony reverie as he arrived at a door at the end of a dark alley. He checked his surroundings to make sure he was alone. Satisfied that he was, he whistled low once and then three short, high notes. He waited, and a slot in the door swung open to reveal one dark eye and the other covered with a crude eye patch.
"Foxley…"he whispered a warning, hoping the man wouldn't play games with him tonight. "Oh, it's only yer." The slot closed, and the door opened letting a bright stream of light penetrate the gloomy darkness of the alley.
He strode in, and the door closed swiftly behind him and bolted shut. "Her majesty has been waiting fer yah to return, she's in the dining hall with the others'." Foxley grumbled on, and then left him to make his way through the hallways. "Thanks, Foxley," he muttered.
He made his way to the second door on the left in the third hallway, and opened the door to reveal a brightly lit and loud room full of people dressed in all sorts of colors and styles. Apparently, the party was already in full swing, 'without me' he thought ironically to himself.
As he navigated himself through the drunken crowds and the many brawls taking place on the straw strewn floor, he came to a table set by the large hearth adorning the far end of the room. He approached the young women, clad in a green tunic and wide brown trousers, who sat in a hand carved chair with her back to the hearth. She sat with her feet propped up on the tabletop, rocking back on two legs and sipping a cup of sweet apricot ale.
She turned her head of full, auburn curls and glared at him with piercing hazel eyes, daring him to make his excuse. Inspecting him up and down, she smiled, apparently pleased that he was in one piece. "Cadvan, nice of you to finally join us…" she teased him, her somber voice lifting above the chaotic noise.
Cadvan sighed, relieved to finally be home. Then he bowed to her and addressed his best friend, the Queen of the Court of Rogues.
Philip and Mairèad left the lively tavern later that night, making slow progress up the gently sloping hillside through the city. Because Phillip could barely walk on his two feet, the pair had to make frequent stops along the sides of the shop-lined streets.
"This is the eighth time we have had to stop!" Mairèad cried. She was standing in the middle of the street impatiently waiting for Philips head to stop spinning. "I knew I shouldn't have let you drink that much! I knew it! I knew it! I knew IT!" she yelled, causing her voice to bounce of the walls loudly, and ultimately making Philip wince with pain.
"Oh please, Mairèad, please be quiet, don't you have any mercy?" Philip whined, his eyes closed and his head cradled between his knees. "MERCY! Why should I have mercy on some drunken bloke who should have had me escorted back to the castle three hours ago!" With that, she threw her hands in the air with exasperation. "Gods, why me?! Mother is going to eat me alive. I have no mercy!" Mairèad turned to face the looming castle on the cliff edge. They were still half a league from the castle gates.
"No mercy, eh? Well, then that makes two of us…" a harsh voice drawled from the shadows. Mairèad twisted violently around, searching the alleys to find the source of that voice. She could feel fear prickling up and down her spine.
She did not here the muffled gasp from behind her where Philip now lay unconscious on the ground.
"Who's there? We mean no harm!" her voice quivering, betraying what she was feeling. From the shadows of a doorway, a cloaked figure stepped forth.
"You may mean no harm…" a gloved hand drew the hood off the man's head. Mairèad gasped, "Lord Bourseu! What are you doing here? You won't get away with this…" she struggled against the men who now held her arms.
"Oh, my dear, but I will! Prince Henry would never dream of letting anybody find out…" he paused, letting the meaning of his words sink in.
Then, before she could shout out, something hard hit the back of her head. The last thing that she saw was the looming figure of Lord Bourseu silhouetted by the bright stars of the night.
Mairèad woke to a pounding headache and a nauseous stomach. Fear gripped her in a wild force as she realized that she could not see anything. Her hands groped her head, and she realized with a sigh of relief that she was blinded with a rough burlap sack of some sorts. She took account of her position. She seemed to be lying on the ground on some tree roots. 'I must be a forest near the city…"' she thought to her self. Then she suddenly remembered Philip.
From somewhere near her, she heard a low groan of pain.
"Philip? Philip, is that you? Philip! Can you here me?" her questions were only answered with another low moan, followed by a cross between a hiccup and a cough.
"I feel like a boar is dancing on my head, and he's very enthusiastic about it too I might add…" Philip mumbled, she pinpointed somewhere on her left side.
"Well, that's what you get for drinking yourself into a stupor, you dung brain!" She retorted. "If it weren't for you, we probably wouldn't be in this mess!"
He only groaned louder.
"Can you move your hands to get your sack off you head?" Mairèad asked, starting to concoct a plan.
"Yah, they left my hands untied, probably thought I was dead or something." He whispered, no doubt trying to spare himself more pain.
"Alright," she said, "I want you to free yourself, and then come take this smelly thing off my head. I'm starting to feel sick myself form all this dust I am inhaling!"
She heard him move, leaves crunching as she heard him grunt with the effort to reach his feet and sit up. Then she heard a something soft hit the ground.
"Okay, I got it Mairèad." Philip whispered.
"Then get your walnut-sized brain and its body over here and untie me, Philip." She half-yelled, frustrated, it is like handling a child when it came to him, and she never had that kind of patience. She heard him scoot closer, and then big hands loosened the sack around her head. As her eyes were exposed to the sunlight, the pain in her head suddenly spiked.
He slowly got to work on the ropes that bound her wrists together behind her back. Normally Mairèad could be patient for the time it took to do that, but she was just anxious to rush along through because of the circumstances. It was probably all the tension in the air, or the fact that their captor could come back at any moment, in any minute. Finally, she was free.
"You know if you didn't get so darn drunk at that stupid tavern we wouldn't have this issue. We could be safe in our beds, or walking in the garden, or…"
"Alright, alright. I said I was sorry!"
"NO, you didn't. I'm still waiting for an apology to be said." Mairèad retorted crossly, arms folded.
"Well, excuse me, your royal highness. I'm sorry, but you are not queen yet, so you can't even think about ordering me around this much." Philip stated firmly.
"No, but I will be. Once I marry Prince Henry."
Philip rolled his eyes to the sky. "You hate the guy, and he just tried to kill you." Mairèad looked at him thoughtfully. "What?" He asked suspiciously.
"Maybe I can have him assassinated…"
"Mairèad!"
"Well we can at least put him on trial, can't we?" She asked desperately, wanting her disgusting betrothed punished in some sort of way.
"He would just deny everything. Same with Lord Bourseu. We don't have solid proof." Philip stopped, taking a deep breath. Mairèad huffed loudly, hating how she would have to admit Philip was occasionally right. "Now we could argue about this all night long, or both of us could get a move on."
"But…but we aren't in the best condition. We…we won't be able to make it to the castle swiftly." Mairèad sputtered as Philip put her arm around is neck, supporting her slightly. Even though she wanted to leave just as much, her body was reluctant to move.
"We can get help somewhere. Maybe stay at inn. I think I have a few coins." He said encouragingly, though doubted it a bit as well.