She woke with her heart firmly lodged in her throat, blindly reaching to push against cruel hands. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She gasped, fingers clutching at empty air. No blow came, no sharp blade cut her. All was silent around her but for her own stuttering breaths. Ragnelle stared at the raised hand as though she had never before seen it. Reality shattered the last dark dregs of the foul visions visited upon her. She lowered arm and hand alike, settling both against soft pelts. Her breathing grew deep as the fog cleared from her gaze, allowing her a better view of the chamber. She recognised her surroundings with fair ease. Her husband was a great believer in constancy.
Ragnelle pushed away the embrace of warm furs, shivering in the sudden cold. No wonder; she was clad in naught but a thin shift. Blushing to remember she had fallen asleep in the middle of conversation like some crone in her dotage, she cast about for her garb. They had left in great haste and she had no fresh clothing. Neither did she have her worn ones, it would seem, which left her in quite the tight spot. Nevertheless, she climbed out of bed, feet meeting the rushes beneath. The muscles in her lower back protested heartily. But were she to quail, the pain would be far greater on the morrow. Thus prodded, there was no choice but to press on and take the measure of the chambers in a few slow circuits of it.
On the third turn, her ears picked up approaching footfalls and she paused, leaning against the wall for support, gaze fixed upon the door. It opened quietly. Her husband strode within with a purposeful step and Ragnelle could not help but admire him. Tall and fair, broad-shouldered Gawain, the selfsame man who had ridden to her rescue all those years ago. The passing of years had been kind to him.
"Wife," he greeted without falter, walking up to her and blocking her view of the doorway, though she could tell by sound alone someone had followed within and felt her cheeks heat at her nakedness. Gawain suffered no such discomfort for his knowledge and gently took her in his arm. With the movement, she saw the servant woman, a comely young thing, carrying food within.
The girl saw her too and her eyes widened. Ragnelle observed the tremble of her lower lip for the briefest of moments before it downed her, with no small amount of horror, that her veil had been removed as well and, in the clear light of day, her ghastly scars presented a grotesque sight. Immediately upon the heels of that realisation, she turned away. Had she managed to loosen her husband's grip she might have even disappeared in the adjacent chamber. But Gawain's embrace, though slack enough for her to move within, was firm enough to hold her captive nevertheless. Her shoulder pressed into him at a slight twist. One of his hands came up to cup the side of her face. Warmth radiated off his skin. Calloused fingers stroked the uneven flesh of her cheek; she almost did not catch the thud of the door over the loud thumping of her heart.
"Forgive me, my lord," she managed after a moment, wisely used for regaining what little composure she could manage, "for not greeting you properly. The light, you see." Although she knew well his indulgent nature, the thought of him so boldly approaching her without the protective veil of night left her sick with dread. She had not even her own veil, for she would have happily donned that and given him his due.
"What about the light?" He pressed her into facing him, lifting her chin between thumb and forefinger. Gawain leaned in, careful in his scrutiny. She lowered her gaze, unable to hold his. Her husband called her by name. Not only did she feel cruelly exposed, but he helped the matter none by refusing her any escape. "Tell me of Beaulieu, my lady." Blood froze in her veins. Sick dread wound her stomach into a tight knot. Ragnelle shook her head, pushing feebly against him. "I have already conferred with young Galahad, but I should like to hear what passed in our home from your own lips."
"I have told all to Sir Galahad." Mutinously, her eyes refused yet to meet his stare. She might begin weeping. "We were set upon without warned and thoroughly unprepared."
"But I left men when last I came to you," he pointed out, clearly not placated by explanation. "Whatever became of them?" Ragnelle blushed. He had spent a goodly amount of time selecting those from her lands whom he thought skilled enough to provide protection for the keep.
Lifting her head a notch even as she sought some point over his shoulder to fix upon, she squared her shoulder in preparation of what was to come. "There were so many; I thought surely only half their number might do. And with raids at the border, a good number wished to return and defend their homes." His hands were upon her shoulders. Ragnelle winced as his fingers dug into her. Deafening silence closed a tight fist around them. She would not close her eyes; she would not show him fear. She would certainly not break before his very eyes. It had mayhap been wrong of her to let those men go, but she had done as she thought best. "'Twas I who gave them leave to depart, my lord. They did no wrong." Her voice, thin with anxiety, trembled slightly to Ragnelle's utter dismay.
He thrust her from him. "Christ's wounds!" Disbelief clearly written across his features, Gawain's colour mounted. "Those men were meant to keep you safe," he hissed. "To avert just such an attack as this one." He turned from her just when she would have reached out in a bid to soothe him. His fist came down upon the table with such force that the platter and all its contents visibly shook. Ragnelle herself jumped in her skin. She would have vastly preferred to see his face. "You went over my word."
Flinching at the accusatory tone, she drew in a shaky breath. "Forgive me, husband; I was out of line. I did not see the harm in letting them defend their homes. It seemed to me the need of the smallfolk was greater than my own." No matter what she said he would be unhappy. But she had oft made changes to arrangements he'd come up with to nary a protest. "Besides, my lord, had they remained, they would have been slain just as the others were. So you see, their lives were spared in the end."
His temper finally exploded. "And what of your life?! You are certainly quick to dismiss that small concern." Unable to stop herself, Ragnelle stepped forth, his distress arming her against her own misgivings. She settled a hand upon the back of his shoulder. Gawain grew rigid beneath her touch, hard as stone. The rejection stung. She bit into her lower lip, wondering how she ought to proceed. What words were best to use? He shook her hold away and turned ever so slowly, once more master of himself. Implacable, his eyes bore down into her face. "I, at least, care for you, even if you do not." Her husband paused, slanting an odd look her way. "Why was Merlin in our home?"
Another woman might have suspected her husband of jealousy. Ragnelle knew better. "I was ailing, my lord," she replied woodenly. Best to simply come out and say it, she decided. "He suspected I was with child." And in fairness to the man's skill, she had been. Pressure built in her chest. Another mark against her as wife; she took a moment to get her bearings. "Naught came of it." Her voice was rather fainter than she might have wished. The shocked silence endured. It occurred to her, he might misunderstand, thus she hastened to explain. "It came about in the usual manner, my lord."
He caught hold of her hands. "No matter, my lady; it was my duty to watch over you and I have failed." Despite the harshness of the sentiment, Ragnelle doubted he would be bowed by it. But even so, she would not bear to hear her husband so disparaged, not even from his own lips.
"I place no blame on your shoulders," she pointed out, curling her fingers around his own hands. "Neither should you." He would in time perhaps reclaim those lands, if all worked in his favour. The King would surely not stand idly by as the borders crumbled under foreign attacks. "Take heart, my lord; all is not lost." Never for him, she would not allow for such an outcome. The good Lord might have not given her the heir she'd prayed for, but she had a worthy partner in her husband. A strong arm and quick wit, Gawain would not be daunted by the task ahead and had yet a chance for furthering the line.
"It does my heart good, to see your own indomitable." Within moments, the words yet ringing in her ears, she was treated to a warm embrace. Fragrant with the scent of sandalwood, the hold momentarily transported her to another place and time, drawing a dark veil over her eyes. Unthinkingly, her arms wrapped about his middle and she buried her face in his chest, doing her utmost best to linger in that faraway moment when life had seemed to her charmed and no ill could touch her.
She would have to let go sooner or later, but as the years were stripped away and she saw, in her mind's eye, the girl that had once been, Ragnelle could not keep from smiling softly at the poor darling, lying stiffly onto the matrimonial bed, looking with apprehension towards a door which would not relieve her by opening. Her husband had come, in the end, starkly sober; their marriage had seen precious little celebration and the wine they'd drunk as a toast after the vows had been made had done little to cloud the mind.
Ragnelle pushed away, feeling just as clear-headed gazing up. "I am determined you should not be robbed of your due owing to my folly. I have few men who may ride out with you, but I would be only too glad if you took Bertilak in particular. As for our people, they will rally to your cause." She spoke no word of her own private plans, for with emotions running high, her husband might set himself against her on principle alone. In time, though, she was certain he would come to appreciate the cleverness of it.
"And so I shall, after I have sought sufficient counsel." He led her to a chair and bade her sit. "And now, tell me of the villain Argarot who claims to be our kinsman." She obliged him by sharing such details as had not yet passed beyond recall, but nevertheless had to admit the bulk of her time had been spent within her own chambers.
"He would not touch me knowing I lay there with child; mayhaps his heart is not so black," Ragnelle mused quietly. She paid heed to her husband's reaction. "I cannot say much else, my lord. He seemed determined to have his way, but within such boundaries as he saw fit."
Gawain still stood and from his place above hers said, "Do not grieve for his passing when it comes." She breathed in sharply, surprised at the vehemence. "Make no mistake, wife, I mean to slay this foul Argarot when I find him. And I shall find him; I vow it before God Himself." The spilling of blood would bring her no pleasure, but she could not deny her supposed kin had called the doom upon himself by his own actions. "For now, however, let us put the topic aside." He directed her attention towards the food that had been carried within.
"It is surely not so late in the day as to be time for supper." She stared wonderingly at the shuttered window.
"Not so late," Gawain agreed, "but you have slept more than a full day since your arrival. I mean for you to eat your fill and build up your strength." He would not relent even in the face of a firm refusal. Instead, he broke off a bit of bread and some cheese, passing it into her own hands. "Eat, for thereafter Vivienne will see to your needs."
Seeing no recourse but to follow the order, she grudgingly put the food between her teeth, chewing without much enthusiasm. Gawain passed her a cup of wine and she took a sip. It was sweet fare, stronger than mead, but rather too much so for her taste. Still, she was no longer home and ought not to complain over so small a trifle. If wine was the preferred beverage, then she too must embrace it. Even so, she drank but half the contents offered her and ate less than a quarter of what had been brought before she had had enough; it was much too strange to eat with his constant watch upon her.
Having grown accustomed to her solitary ways, for even when visiting their home, he would not come to her unless she expressly invited his company, Ragnelle found it most uncomfortable to be the centre of attention. At lengths, however, he saw her to bed, insisting to draw the covers over her himself. "I will return with Dame Vivienne," he promised before setting off.
Left once more alone, Ragnelle sank back against the pillows and allowed her eyes to close. She did not sleep, nor even fell into a light doze. Though fatigued, she kept watch over the door, expecting the wail of wood and hinge as surely as the condemned expected the noose. She had to remind herself at that point that by accepting the ring of rope and its harsh kiss, she would be doing much good. Ragnelle took a deep breath before she might delve too deeply into the tangle of thoughts and do more harm than not.
The familiar fragrance of sandalwood rose insistently from the pillows about her, surrounding her and giving Ragnelle unsought-for comfort. She turned on her side, sinking into the father-filled pillows, taking her fill. Still her eyes would not close and her ears perked up with any sound. She was rewarded when after a short while the door did open, admitting first her husband and then the healer.
The woman, carrying a small jug, would not wait for permission to speak. "My lady, I am full glad to find you awake." Neither did she shy from approaching the sickbed. "How do you fare?" Ragnelle started to answer, but before she might get in more than a couple of words, she found her husband shutting the door and coming further within. If Vivienne thought it strange of him, she said naught.
Clearing her throat, Ragnelle made a second attempt at having her voice heard. "Well enough, I daresay, despite the weakness in my limbs." To that she was used. It would pass in time; a couple of moon turns would see her to usual strength. Luckily, the worst of it had come before they set off for the road.
Vivienne pinned her with a penetrating stare. Ragnelle blushed under the heat of her gaze. "There is a brew I have for you; a tincture of rue and tansy for your pains." That made her redden all the harder and she tried to refuse. "But my lady as I understood it, you were long in captivity."
"Neither so long," she deflected, "nor so grievously wounded." Despite it being mere truth, she could not bring herself to admit that the general condition she found herself in had repulsed even the avaricious Argarot. Beseechingly, Ragnelle turned to her husband, "My lord, I beg you, I am tired." Did he even know the use of rue and tansy? Herblore had ever eluded him, she'd wager.
Despite her every attempt at evasion, she was left with the contents of the brew and a few words of wisdom before the other left her to her spouse. Gawain placed the earthenware in nearness before seating himself upon the wooden edge of the bed. He took one of her hands in his own and set to stroking his thumb against the skin there. "I would not rush you for the world, but the thought of further suffering visited upon you brings me great grief. Tell me truly, wife, have you no need of the brew?"
So he did know. Her face heated once more. It seemed there was no escape. "He could not stand the sight of me," she gritted out. "And the sickbed hardly inspired fervour in his breast. Nay, husband, I've no need of the brew, for I am as empty as ever I have been." The last she said with some bitterness. Many attempts had she made to fulfil her duty. Each one was ultimately met with failure. "In the end, he was all growl and no bite." Ragnelle stopped a moment, considering what it must look like to him. "If you truly wish me to drink it, I shall obey."
He shook his head. "I believe you." The earnest light in his gaze only strengthened his claim. Drawing her into his side, Gawain stroked her hair with caresses long and gentle. Almost, it seemed to her, the threat of loss had awakened tenderness in his breast. In faith, he had ever been kind to her, but his actions in the moment she deemed different in nature. Trusting him, a choice she'd made time and again, and needing some small memory to cherish, Ragnelle leaned into the warmth and placed her free hand upon his chest, just over his heart.
The plain animal comfort of another's touch could not fail to ease her into a restful state. Ragnelle raised her head so she might see eye to eye with her spouse. "Before it slips my mind, I wish to grant my young champion a well-merited reward. Sir Galahad is better known to you, thus mayhap you've some notion of his fancies." Were she a great beauty of the court, she might easily contrive to bring him fame; were she rich or Ragnelle would pay him in silver and gold; she was neither.
Gawain frowned. "I know of naught," he confessed, "and though 'tis natural for a husband's first thought to be to his wife, I see now I have sorely neglected my duty." He thought a moment, before hesitantly offering, "He cares deeply for his mother, that I know."
"The Lady Elaine, of course" Ragnelle sighed. "He is a kind child, after all." She pondered in turn, hiding her face away. "My company is unlikely to elevate the woman's position any." Besides, the beautiful Elaine of Korbenic cared not to be seen with her. She could still recall the horrified expression she bore when they were thrown in company. As she had never made her husband aware of as much, she swallowed all further comment. "But there must yet be some aid I might lend."
"Trouble yourself no further; I will look into it and settle the matter." His tone brooked no argument, thus she let the matter drop, content to go along with his wishes when he drew her tighter against him. "The trees are in bloom without and the weather is fair." She thought of Beaulieu with its white walls and colourful gardens. Though confined to her chamber, she had still seen enough of the damage done to her home to know flowers had been trampled underfoot and white stone dirtied. The trees at least had survived and with some luck would even as they spoke be laid with a silver bloom. She brought naught to her husband's attention. "If you've strength enough, I know a quiet corner of the gardens where none might intrude upon us."
A bit of fresh air could not bring harm. "That would be lovely. But I seem to have misplaced my kirtle." Gawain had a solution for that, offering her the use of garments she had left in his keeping long years past. Ragnelle chuckled, "Would that they still fit." She nevertheless agreed to try on whatever was on hand.
He deserted the bed, in order to pull out from his own trunk a couple of garments she'd not seen in what seemed a lifetime. Having the use of his chamber and clad yet in her shift, Ragnelle found that though discomforted by the fact of his keen inspection she could not ask him to leave. Gawain passed her the first of the option and she slid it overhead, somewhat heavily descending herself. In spite of her height having remained much the same, her youthful figure had filled out, causing the garb to draw tight about her chest. Ragnelle winced, tugging on the collar. "Rather fixed." In a pinch, she supposed it would have to do. But Gawain insisted that she try out the other as well. Without much heart, she disrobed and then pulled on the second garment. It was somewhat better fitted than the first, its cut following older fashion. On the girl for whom it had been commissioned, it would have been loose. On her own frame, it proved almost forgiving.
Gawain looked her up and down and seemed pleased with what he saw. Ragnelle's heart thumped in her chest. "That will do. Come along, my lady."
She checked her step on the threshold. "My veil." She brought her fingers up to the prominent scar marring her cheek, feeling the slight rise of flesh. Those whom they passed along would stare with unabashed disgust, her heart grew sore with the pain of it. They would pity brave Gawain for having to wed a loathy dame and when understanding, as they must, her desire for his approval and affection, they would pity her for aiming so high. She wanted naught of that.
Unmoved, her husband tolerated no protests as he led her into the hallway. "The veil will be returned to you, in due course, but you will do without it for now" His word was law. Not many a soul loitered about, but for a few servants carrying out duties that she could see. Ragnelle kept still in his shadow, doing her best to hide away her face. To that Gawain said naught, but guided her towards the promised gardens. No one had approached them.
The spot he chose for them was apart from the well-trod path, with vegetation allowed to grow wild, clear sign that being out of the way might mean it had also been forgotten. It had a bench placed beneath the shade of a great tree. Thick roots had uplifted one end of the seat, creating somewhat of an incline. The same thick roots fed a shapely trunk and sturdy limbs laden with golden flowers. The sweet fragrance of the blooms took with upon a light breeze. It was not quite like home, but near enough to soothe her.
"What lovely flowers," Ragnelle commented, reaching out to touch a silken bloom hanging low. They were delicate things, though smooth and gaily coloured. All too soon they would fade. "You must come here often. It is truly peaceful." Pulling back lest she damage the flowers, Ragnelle turned around to gaze at her husband who was, in turn, observing her. She breathed in deeply, somewhat relaxed in the knowledge that they were, for all intents and purposes, alone.
"Nay, for such sights are meant to be shared." His mien remained altogether stern. "I will bring you here as often as you please however." She ought not to bother him with such trifles, but could not bring herself to refuse the offer, all things considered. A faint half-smile answered her favourable reception. "I have only one condition."
"Say on," she encouraged hesitantly, her mind coming up with all manner of stipulations. Ragnelle reminded herself that he had, thus far, been an exemplary husband of who, no complaint could be made.
"In my presence, abide without covering your face." The words struck her. Ragnelle tensed, a complaint springing upon her lips. Gawain held up his hand. "When we left the chamber, I ordered your obedience as your lord and master. I now ask compliance as your husband." She sensed there was deeper meaning to what he said, but could not figure out his aim. "Should you not wish it, I shan't force you to it. If you refuse, I will not bring it up another time." There was aught else there; something which he would not speak to her.
Ragnelle pondered his request a few long moments, feeling the sun and wind on her face. She had in the past conceded to remain unveiled when he came into her. It was after all an occurrence tied with his visits to her home and there was still the cover of darkness to soften her features. She wanted, desperately, to reject him. "You would make me an object of derision, to be whispered about as I pass by. Why not set me aside, my lord, if matters be so. You need not trouble yourself on account of the lands, for I've no need of them. Indeed, I should think they are more yours in truth."
"You must think me the veriest knave." He shook his head and took a step towards her. "I know honour and duty, and even for their sake alone I should never plot such a nefarious scheme. But I have also a heart. Nay, I no more mean to expose you to ridicule, than I mean to relinquish my sword and armour. I only ask to see your face when I am with you."
"'Tis a mean sight," she pointed out vehemently. Her face felt hot, undoubtedly pained by a strident blush. "Not fit for anyone to see." Let alone for many to see and jeer at. That experience she could do without repeating.
"Surely, I may be the judge of what is fit for my eyes or nay." There she could not gainsay him. "But as I said, my lady, the choice rests in your hands."
An incredulous huff left her lips before she could stop it. "It seems an unequal trade that I should pawn my dignity for the sight of a flowering tree."
He shrugged. "What else would you have of me? Name it and it is yours." He offered with such ease.
Floundering, she found little to say. What she wanted was nothing less than his person, but she could not and should not have him, for the sake of her lands, for the sake of his line and not only. He'd given her an opening. She could encourage him to set her aside in truth and seek out a woman who might better do her duty by him. The chance would be past her soon. Ragnelle bit her lower lip in frustration then released it. "I cannot say."
"If I pledge to honour one request you make in the future, whatever it might be, would that suffice?" He was minding her, she understood, staring into his untroubled gaze. It truly seemed that he was perfectly willing to pacify her in whatever manner she deemed fit. Since he had given his word, it had to be enough for her. Ragnelle allowed it was a proper solution. "Very well, then no more mentions of the veil in my presence."
"But without it, I may still wear it as I choose?" He nodded. "That suits me."
Gawain caught her about the waist. "Let us seal the deal as if proper then." She had not expected that he would kiss her out in the open, but as he seemed determined, she dissuaded him in no way, either by word of action. His lips brushed her own in a soft manner; a tentative touch might describe it best. She recognised the difference in quality from such affection as one might encounter elsewhere. He pulled away, then with a contented sigh leaned in for yet another taste. Had she known no better, Ragnelle might have considered he were truly pleased about some victory.
He released her at lengths and sought to keep her well-guarded against the rising wind. A particularly strong gust tugged on her tresses, whipping them about as they turned around, walking together back towards the safety of a comfortable chamber. In short order, he had her deposited back in bed, with a firm order to take some more rest. "I am to attend the King now, but will return for supper." Worry wormed its way into her features and she gave it away without compunction. It would have been rather odd of him not to catch it. "Fear not, I do not mean to overwhelm you. We dine in private. They can do without us down in the hall for a while yet."
But what should happen when the time ran out? "You need not stay behind on my account. I am used to dining alone."
His canny look set her on edge. "In time you will grow used to dining with many." So he meant not to show even a shred of mercy. Gawain leaned in and pressed his lips chastely to her brow. "If you've need of aught, pull but on the rope and someone will hasten to your side." With that, he left her to her own devices.
Not minded to put anyone out with requests, she soon found herself settling in a light doze, then slipping into deeper sleep and downwards into the dreams and even more dreams. For though the events of the past were but shades, ghosts had been known to haunt when it so suited their fancy.