George
de Sand felt the wind rushing against him from all sides, whipping his
long hair around him like a glorious flag and tearing at his cape as he
rode after the deer, his crouched form rhythmically half-rising and falling
from his saddle with each pounding sprint his horse took. From somewhere
behind, the handsome youth could dimly hear the rest of his party begin
to catch up, the wild shouts and hoots of the other aristocrats noisily
giving away their presence, before one of them broke away from the rest
of the group and relentlessly assaulted his coal-black steed with his riding
crop in an effort to pull alongside George.
"Trying
to amass all the glory for yourself by single-handedly taking down the
game, are you, Comte de Sand?" he called out to George, his own hunting
hounds barking as if to emphasize his words as he finally caught up to
the younger man. George turned around, his violet eyes narrowing in recognition
before he replied in a carefully neutral voice, "I suppose in your eyes
I am, Marquis Mirabeau." Jean-Pierre Mirabeau merely smirked, before rapidly
shaking his reins to push ahead of George, intent on doing the exact thing
he'd accused the younger aristocrat of planning only a few minutes earlier.
"Watch
and learn, Comte de Sand," he ordered, half-rising off his saddle in anticipation
as his horse rapidly approached the herd. His arms moved swiftly toward
an elegant hunting rifle, and its owner took careful aim, while giving
every appearance of idle coolness, at a straggler who'd fallen behind...And
then Jean-Pierre was suddenly forced to slacken his posture, when George
reined in his horse to a stop practically directly in front of him, blocking
his perfect shot of his selected target.
"Comte
de Sand," the marquis demanded peevishly, "if it won't pain you too much,
please explain the meaning behind all of this!" The younger noble offered
an apologetic smile, but remained planted exactly where he was, even as
the deer hurriedly dashed away from the hunters and the rest of the party
steadily caught up.
"It
won't pain me at all, Marquis Jean-Pierre Mirabeau," George began respectfully,
"for as you can see, while I understand perfectly the ultimate goal of
a hunt, I simply can't allow you to kill a mother and her fawn."
"And
while I can admire your kindness," Jean-Pierre shot back,
putting a poisonous emphasis on the last word so as to make it seem the
most contemptible quality a man could have, "I would also like to remind
you, Comte, to realize exactly where you stand in the Royal Court. There
are those around you, with greater power and influence, who find these
irritating and rather effeminate qualities particularly distasteful, Monsieur
de Sand."
By
then, the rest of the party had caught up, unintentionally stifling the
rising animosities between the two nobles. They were a boisterous crowd,
young and vigorous, with a lust for life and adventure and wild, fiery
tempers lurking just beneath their outer veneers of utmost gentility. They
rode up to George and Jean-Pierre, noisy with their laughter and rowdy
whoops, playfully harassing that the two best riders in all of France had
managed to let the wild game escape so easily, cheerfully unaware of the
steely, meaningful glares the latter was giving the former, and respectfully
quieting down only when the King himself rode up to them, accompanied by
his daughter, the Princess Marie Louise, who was seated demurely on a dainty
little mare, sidesaddle as was befitting of ladies and peering up from
underneath her lacy pink parasol with barely concealed interest at the
virile aristocrats' antics.
"Is
there a problem, gentlemen?" the King asked calmly, surveying the now more
orderly nobles with a hint of amusement in his eyes. Jean-Pierre was the
first one to speak up, as he drawled casually, "Not a problem at all, Your
Majesty...the Comte here and I were just having a friendly little chat,
that's all."
"Yes,"
George reluctantly picked up on the cue, adding with his eyes carefully
lowered to the mane of his horse, "Marquis Mirabeau was merely giving me
some hunting advice...I...I'm afraid I let the wild game escape me, Your
Majesty."
"Oh,
that's not a problem at all, George--pardon me, Comte de Sand," Marie Louise
interjected herself into the conversation, flashing her brightest smile
at the handsome young count and hoping that he'd notice she'd arranged
her long blonde hair into a new style of coiffures today, or at least that
she was wearing her prettiest rose-colored moiré dress. George offered
a short, polite bow at the princess, but there was in his movement, she
noticed with disappointment, no sign of any affection deeper than that
of friendship or admiration.
"She's
right, it shouldn't prove to be a problem, Comte de Sand," the King agreed
amiably, then added with a light smile, "And even if it does, I'm sure
your future bride won't mind too much--I hear she's quite the easygoing
and carefree young lady." A noisy clatter interrupted the monarch before
he could go any further, and George hastened to leap off his mount and
retrieve Marie Louise's parasol, which she'd suddenly let fall from her
grasp. As he returned it to the princess, whose expression had hardly changed
but whose face was now as white as snow, he forced a bland smile on his
own face while asking in what he hoped was a steady voice, "I beg your
pardon, Your Majesty? My future bride, you said?" The King leaned back
on his saddle, looking a bit surprised at George's ignorance, before clearing
his throat and explaining to himself, "But of course...you've been away
at Spain and Italy for these past six months, protecting my wife and daughter
on their Grand Tour--I suppose, then, that my letter never came to you?"
George struggled to remember all the mail he'd gotten while accompanying
Her Majesty and the princess, dimly hearing his own voice reply, "I'm afraid
not, Your Majesty...was there a, er, notification of my engagement in your
letter?" The King looked slightly embarrassed, rushing through his explanation
as he admitted, "Well, yes. I had hoped to consult with you first before
consenting, but it just so happens that while you were gone, the Royal
Court of Sweden offered to give the hand of their princess, Allenby Beardsley,
in marriage to one of the high-ranking nobles in our court in an effort
to make an alliance with our country."
"I
see." George's voice was deceptively quiet. "And the high-ranking noble
Your Majesty chose was myself." Now the King actually looked uncomfortable
by the coolly unattached calm with which George accepted his engagement,
and he fumbled for an apology while saying, "It will be quite a good match,
Comte de Sand--your marriage with Princess Allenby of Sweden. I hope you
understand--"
"I
do," George replied in words so soft, they were barely above a whisper.
His face had metamorphosed into a blank, unreadable mask, as he asked his
next question. "When will this wedding take place?" The King looked relieved
that George hadn't created a scene or staunchly refused his engagement
to the princess of Sweden, and in his haste to explain the details of the
wedding he failed to notice that his daughter had been clutching her parasol
so tightly during the conversation that her knuckles had turned as white
as her face and the silly little sunshade nearly broke and snapped in two
between her small palms.
"It
will be on the first day of spring--to symbolize a beautiful new relationship
that will bloom between France and Sweden," he divulged. "We're hoping
that Princess Allenby's ship can arrive in time for the wedding date."
Seventeen-year-old Allenby Beardsley made a very pretty picture as she sat on a velvet chair and listlessly gazed out her window at the endless stretch of blue ocean in front of her, with her seafoam-green hair carefully combed down to startlingly contrast the dainty fairness of her skin and her slim form decorated with a bright silk dress that boasted extravagantly voluminous skirts and endless yards of ribbons and flounces. But the sorrowful expression ingrained in her usually pert features and the dullness that had seeped into her once animated eyes betrayed the Swedish princess's true feelings, and she sighed before angrily kicking a dent into the wall in a very unladylike manner.
Her
abrupt, aggressive movement caught the attention of her waiting gentlewoman
Rain, who gave a start at the sudden noise before deftly moving toward
the princess and laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"You're
not very happy about this arrangement, are you?" she guessed quietly, and
was answered with a sarcastic smirk as Allenby came back with, "Oh, I'm
perfectly happy about this, Rain--you know me, heh, there's nothing in
the world that I love more than having my life decided by a bunch of stiff-necked,
impersonal old goats who call themselves nobles and whose only concern
is to protect their own lands and riches!" Rain drew back, stunned by this
arsenal of bitingly cynical words, before a half-smile emerged on her lips
and she tried to lighten the mood by saying cheerfully, "That's certainly
the most interesting description of the aristocracy that I've ever heard
in all my years at the palace. Swedish theaters lost a valuable actress
when you decided not to take up comedy, Miss Allenby." A sour grin greeted
her words, before Allenby pointed out grudgingly, "I was forbidden to take
up any form of drama, for fear it would debase my royal reputation, remember?
I didn't choose to not pursue acting on my own free will...just like I
didn't choose to marry this French count." A shadow of a smile had begun
to play at the corners of her lips, and Rain was observing with relief
that her mood was beginning to lift ever so slowly, but as soon as Allenby's
words switched to mention of her marriage, the tiny grin was instantly
smote and replaced by her old bitter scowl. Rain sighed, dropping her voice
to an understanding murmur as she dipped a brush in water and began to
smooth down Allenby's hair.
"I
understand your feelings, how frustrating it must be to forfeit your personal
life for the sake of your country," she began kindly as she continued to
brush her mistress's hair. "But try to understand that, with your dear
parents' passing just two months ago, your position as the heiress of the
Swedish throne has been unexpectedly pushed to the forefront...and I'm
afraid that the royal advisers--"
"Just
aren't ready to accept a woman as their leader, which is why they're in
such a hurry to marry me off to the most powerful fool they can swindle
and secure a strategic alliance for Sweden," Allenby finished bluntly,
and Rain had to wince at the cold truth in her words.
A brief
silence settled between the two women, as Rain continued to brush her mistress's
hair and Allenby returned to glaring at the dark blue waves, before the
older of the two resumed conversation.
"I
hear this young man that you're engaged to--Comte George de Sand--isn't
altogether that bad, Miss Allenby," she spoke up after a moment's silence,
skillfully maneuvering the conversation away from the Swedish royal court
the princess hated so much for wrangling her into marriage.
"If
my loyal and faithful advisers have deemed him worthy, then he can't be
altogether that good, either," came the prompt reply, as Allenby screwed
her features to make a funny face. Rain smiled, mentioning in an effort
to lighten the mood, "He's supposed to be quite the handsome and gallant
gentleman, you know--in fact, the most eligible bachelor of the French
royal court."
"In
that case, he's probably also narcissistic enough to value the latest fashions
more than his bride," Allenby prophesied grumpily. "I wouldn't be too surprised
if it turns out that his ego is bigger than all of Europe--"
At
that moment, the noisy sounds of army boots marching swiftly against wooden
floorboards interrupted the princess before she could list any further
faults she was sure Comte de Sand possessed, and a soldier attired in the
uniform of the Swedish royal army slammed the doors of the cabin wide open
to poke his head inside.
"Princess,
you must hide at once!" he ordered, for once failing to adhere to standard
courtesies paid to ladies as his hat remained on top of his head and he
gave no indication that he was planning to bow any time soon. Rain looked
merely startled at his rude interruption, but Allenby wasn't held back
by any graces from unleashing her pent-up misery on the hapless cadet,
and she gritted out acidly, "And what, pray tell, drives you to barge in
here unannounced, when I might have been dressing, and just order me around
as though I were your pet cat?" The soldier's next statement canceled out
all animosity between the two, as he uttered a single word, the one most
feared amongst all sailors.
"Pirates!"
he revealed frantically, not bothering to cushion his words for delicate
female ears. "Our navigator spotted them charging right at us from the
horizon--they must be intent on plundering this ship...or even worse, kidnap
the princess! You must hide, immediately!" Allenby drew back, stunned by
this unexpected news.
"I...I'm
terribly sorry for snapping at you like that," she apologized, flustered.
"I didn't mean--" Rain seized her hand and started leading her toward the
cellar, hurrying the startled princess along and saying, "There's no time
for apologies...Right now, we must ensure your safety as best as we can."
Still, Allenby moved along with slowness, even as the soldier joined Rain
in helping her to safety.
"But
I can't just huddle around without even putting up a fight against these
pirates, or even--" she was protesting.
"Princess
Allenby, believe me--the worst decision you could ever make in your life
is to try and fight these ruffians," the soldier told her impatiently as
they reached the three-masted sailing ship's cellar and he led the ladies
inside. He closed the door and turned around to join his fellow cadets,
but before he left he could distinctly hear the princess mumble, "No, the
worst decision I can--and have--made is to just accept this marriage to
Comte de Sand without putting up any resistance."
Allenby
sat crouched in the dark cellar, wrinkling her nose as the smell of aging
wine seeped up her nostrils and pulling her cloak tighter around her slender
shoulders. A couple of paces away, Rain had positioned herself protectively
in front of Allenby, as if with her slim form she could shield the princess
from the horrors of an unruly crew of armed pirates. The two women crouched
in silence, listening intently to the sounds of battle raging above them--intently
and with sinking hearts, for the rowdy laughter and loud, boisterous yells
of the freely-cursing buccaneers soared effortlessly to drown out the muffled
commands of naval officers and painful groans and cries of dying soldiers.
"There's
no need to worry too much, Miss Allenby. I have confidence that our men
will drive those pirates away," Rain tried to lie, forcing a reassuring
smile on her face even as she dug her fingernails into her palms when a
particularly heartbreaking dying cry pierced the air following the unmistakable
sound of metal slicing across flesh.
"That's
a lie, Rain, and you know it," Allenby spoke calmly, without the slightest
hint of contempt in her voice. "What we both don't know, however, is just
how badly these outlaws are beating our men...and I don't intend to continue
hiding here like some frightened mouse without an idea of what's going
on." The green-haired girl spoke her last words simultaneously with her
movements, when she stood up and irritably pushed down her billowing hoop
skirts and three lacy petticoats and made a beeline directly to the cellar
doors. Rain got up after her, crying out in dismay, "Miss Allenby, what
do you think you're doing?" with a sinking feeling in her heart that she
knew exactly what the headstrong princess had in mind. Allenby mounted
the steps leading to the doors, throwing them wide open and looking around
for any discarded weapons she could use.
"I'm
putting up a fight against these renegades, like I should have done in
the very beginning," she replied, with the same nonchalance that would
be used when revealing something as casual as if she were having tea with
the court ladies that afternoon. Rain felt like she would faint if that
should happen, as she gathered her own rustling skirts around her and chased
after the princess, even as the latter finally found a gold-hilted saber
some poor soldier had dropped when he'd been slain by one of the pirates.
"Miss
Allenby, you can't do that!" she cried. "As your waiting gentlewoman and
chaperone, I forbid you from entering the battle like this! It's far too
dangerous, and a completely different matter from our previous disputes
over relatively harmless decisions like riding astride instead of sidesaddle!"
Allenby ignored her pleading, testing out the saber and making a couple
of tentative thrusts into the air, before her eyes narrowed and she ran
off where the battle sounded the most intense.
Sai
Saici's eyes gleamed on his deceptively child-like face, even as the cadet
he'd just taken down gasped out his last words.
"You...you
can't tell me that you're only sixteen!" he whispered feebly, and Sai Saici
tripped the much larger man, making him fall flat on his back while twirling
around his staff and gloating, "Hah, believe it, Bro--and there's plenty
more where that came from!" He raised his staff to deal the final strike,
when a gleaming saber blade seemed to fly out of nowhere to parry his blow,
and Sai Saici immediately leapt back, stunned and crouched in a defensive
stance as his eyes wildly rolled over his immediate surroundings.
"All
right, who did that?" the sixteen-year-old boy demanded crossly, and nearly
fell flat on his face from shock when a woman--no, not even that, a girl--emerged
into view, expertly holding her saber as though she'd been sword fighting
her entire life, even as the bright silk of her skirts and endless yards
of ribbons, trimmings, and loops of excess material of her dress canceled
out some of the effectiveness of her blade-wielding entrance.
"Don't
even think about robbing from this ship--not while I'm around," Allenby
declared proudly, looking both dangerous with the offensive stance she
took with her saber and rather silly due to the wide skirts and tiny satin
slippers she was wearing along with her weapon. Sai Saici smirked, goading,
"You really think you can take me on, Sissy, dressed like that? You'll
be lucky if you don't trip over those ridiculous tents of yours that you
call skirts!" Allenby looked like she wanted to bite his head off for that
particular remark, as she charged at the much shorter Sai Saici with a
wordless cry of fury, nearly cutting him in two with a wide slash of her
saber had he not expertly ducked and leapt out of the way.
The
two dueled on for several minutes, with neither side gaining a significant
advantage, Sai Saici flying from every which direction to deal swift, short
blows, Allenby moving surprisingly gracefully, despite all her skirts and
ribbons, as she parried each and every one of his strikes.
"You're
pretty good for a girl, you know that?" Sai Saici spurred on, causing Allenby's
eyes to narrow before she thrust forward with her saber in an attempt to
run him through while admitting grudgingly, "And you're not so bad yourself,
either--for a little boy." Sai Saici huffed, insulted, as he screeched,
"Hey, who're you calling a little boy?!" swinging at her with his staff.
Allenby didn't bother to respond as she instead ducked to avoid his blow,
but finally disaster struck when she backed away to avoid a second hit
and wound up tripping over her extravagant skirts, ripping off the seams
of her petticoats and falling flat on her bottom. Sai Saici smirked, raising
his staff and twirling it around expertly over his head.
"But
you're still not good enough to defeat me," he taunted, making as if about
to land a fatal blow right on top of her head. Allenby squeezed her eyes
tightly shut, her saber clattering lifelessly out of her hands while Rain,
detained by a pirate a few yards away, watched the scene unfold with helpless
blue eyes...
...When
at that moment, another buccaneer swooped in to intervene, literally flying
down in an exaggeratedly valiant fashion from a rope and landing with the
easy grace of a panther in front of Sai Saici and Allenby.
"What
do we have here?" His voice was a pleasantly amused drawl, rather impudent,
but then again, what else could ladies expect from pirates? Allenby opened
her eyes with a snap, glaring up at the new arrival--a tall, well-muscled
youth around twenty who easily dwarfed the impish dark-haired boy she'd
just battled and lost to, obviously the leader of this motley crew of pirates
and sporting a forever unruly mane of dark blue hair that held a curious
pink streak across the front. Grinning down at her with light green eyes,
a sprig that matched the color of his eyes dangling from the corner of
his mouth, he gave off a rather dashing impression with his indigo damask
waistcoast, rawhide breeches, and silver-handled pistols hanging from crimson
silk sashes. His lips curled up in a smirk as he added, "What do you know,
a little lady who actually knows how to hold a sword, albeit quite badly.
Nevertheless, it's quite impressive...and most amusing, if I do say so
myself." Allenby growled at his shameless display of male chauvinism, spitting
out, "As soon as I change out of this ridiculous dress and into something
more manageable, I'll show you how much more I can do than merely hold
a sword!" The young man flashed an insolent grin at her fiery response,
humoring her, "And I'm sure you will, little princess, one of these days.
I am Chibodee Crockett, by the way, and it has been an absolute delight
to meet you." Allenby's eyebrows met together sharply across her forehead
at his mocking sarcasm, and she snapped sullenly in response, "An American.
Of course." Chibodee grinned.
"No
more, no less," he agreed good-naturedly. "And your name is...?"
"None
of your business," she fired back, her cerulean-blue eyes glaring daggers
into his own green ones. Chibodee smirked at her response.
"An
obnoxiously frank little spitfire--I like that. It's a welcome change from
all the simpering, weak-willed ladies that I'm afraid our stuffy society
has bred," he retorted playfully, adding as he began to walk away, "In
fact, I like your attitude so much, I think I'll just have to keep you
for myself." Allenby's mouth dropped open in shock.
"But
you can't!" she stammered, her high airs temporarily forgotten. "My country
won't let you do that...and if you aren't afraid of the Swedish army, then
you ought to know that the government of France won't allow it either!"
Chibodee stopped in his tracks to toss a languid look in her direction,
one eyebrow cocked in a maddening way.
"Oh,
really?" he wanted to know. "And why not, if it's not too much below your
dignity to explain to a lowly American, er, privateer like myself?"
"You're
not a privateer--you're too much of a boor to even be called a pirate,"
Allenby snapped. "And as for why not, it's because I'm...I'm engaged to
be married to the Comte George de Sand of the French royal court. That's
why I'm even making this voyage in the first place." Chibodee retraced
his steps and walked back toward her, his eyes meeting her own until she
had to turn her face away, blushing slightly and irritated at herself for
doing so.
"But
honey, I'm not afraid of uppity French aristocrats," he chuckled in a way
that infuriated her, before straightening up and nodding toward two of
his men, who immediately descended upon Allenby and yanked her to her feet,
leading her after Chibodee, one on each side. Another moved toward Rain
and roughly dragged her after her mistress, and together the party boarded
a little sloop, with Chibodee at the helm. As the fast little sailing boat
started toward the pirates' imposing 46-gun privateer flying the Jolly
Roger, a smirking Chibodee turned to Allenby and sarcastically assured
her with a laugh, "Don't worry, little princess, I'm not going to hurt
you. After all, even if I do change my mind about liking you later
on and decide to hand you over to France, I'm sure your precious Comte
de Sand won't agree too hastily to ransoming damaged cargo!"
