Chapter 9

            The days and the nights passed in an endless pattern of anxiety.  The French king was pleading ignorance as to the whereabouts of Mordrid, but he had always hated the English king and was not to be trusted.  He would, no doubt, like nothing more than to waltz through the gates of the castle and seat himself upon the throne of England.  And so the search for Mordrid pressed on.

            The prince and his men had never trained harder in all their lives.  They grew strong, skilled, and wary.  The slightest odd noise brought their hands immediately to sword hilts, muscles tensed in readiness.  Rhain did not know how much longer they could go on that way.  Many of these men had wives and children outside of the castle walls.  They had their own homes that he knew they longed for, even if they never complained of it aloud. 

            Finally, after weeks of waiting, the king decided that he would send the men back to their homes.  He was simply tired of living in fear and angry that Mordrid had driven them all to that point and had decided that it was time for life to continue as normal.  He would not allow a traitor to ruin the peace of his kingdom.

            During this time, Rhain had seen and spoken with Keelin a few more times, but always in the presence of his friend Edwyn.  Now that the servant girl trusted the prince, she had no difficulty accepting the presence of his friend at their meetings.  Strangely enough, Rhain noted that she even had a look of relief on her face at times when she entered the chamber and saw the giant already there.  He felt a strange twinge at the relief on her face but he did not analyze the twinge.  Instead, he did his best to ignore it. 

            Every time he rambled through the forest, he found that he had to remind himself to breathe because he found that he was holding his breath in expectation.  With every turn he was certain that he would round the bend and come across her.  The sensation that accompanied this certainty was equal parts dread and hope.  He also did his best to ignore those sensations.

            One dark, cool night, Rhain found that, once again, he could not sleep.  He paced the floor of his chamber, his boots beating out a soft tattoo on the stone floor.  He wore only a blousy white shirt and tight black breeches.  The tails of his shirt hung free of his breeches and his laces at the wrist and chest hung free, undone.  He ran his hand through his already disheveled hair, which was also hanging loose.  Finally, he could stand it no longer.  If he paced the length of his chamber one more time, he was certain he would go mad.  He needed to escape, to get outside so he fled to the battlements.

            He walked briskly, taking deep breaths of the raw air.  The wind blew his hair around his face, caused his shirt to flap away from his body.  Suddenly, he looked up and swore he saw a ghost.  The solitary figure of a woman in white seemed to float along the battlements, her filmy gown seeming to flutter in slow motion.  As he watched, the wraith-like figure came closer and he could see a dark mass of curls flying in the wind like banners.  He caught his breath.  He knew who it was.

            She did not notice him, so he stood for several moments studying her, uninterrupted.  She seemed oblivious to the wind that whipped her skirts into a froth and molded her gown to her so that he could clearly see how her tiny waist curved down to the swell of one ripe hip, which in turn curved down to a shapely thigh.  The wind tossed her hair about, flinging it against her delicate cheeks and neck.  Her pale hands were at her throat, clutching at the neck of her white linen gown and wrap.  She gazed out into the night as if searching for something with all her might.

            When she finally noticed him, she gasped in surprise and perhaps a tinge of fear.  She froze, as if she were some beautiful work of sculpture, her eyes locked onto his.  At last, she managed to move, sinking down to her knee in front of the prince, her face respectfully lowered so that it was lost in a mass of wind-whipped hair.  She looked wild and lovely, causing Rhain to feel a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

            "Pray, arise," Rhain said, awakening from his stupor after a long moment of studying the woman before him.

            "I thank Your Highness," she said, her voice so quiet that it was almost carried away on the wind.  As he watched, she clutched the wrap more tightly at her throat with her left hand, her head modestly lowered so that he could not see the expression on her face.  Her right hand nervously grabbed at her hair, twisting it into a rope as if she were embarrassed by its appearance.  He knew enough about her to know that she was most likely thinking of the impropriety in a meeting like this.  He could almost say with certainty that she wished she had dressed in her usual servant's garb and that she had at least braided her hair.

            "What brings you out on such a night?" he asked, looking away from her for a moment and staring out into the inky darkness.

            "I could not sleep," she answered, simply.

            "Are you not comfortable?" he asked, immediately.

            "Oh, nay, Your Highness.  I have never been happier in my position.  'Tis simply that my thoughts are troubled."  As he turned to look at her again, she turned her face toward the abyss beyond the castle.  She stared up at the moon, as if hoping the answer to her problems was written upon its face.  Its light shone down on her, doing nothing to dispel the illusion that she was actually a ghost.

            "What is it that troubles you?" he asked her.  He propped his right foot on the battlement's low wall, resting his wrists on his knee so that his hands dangled loosely.  She turned to look at him and he could see the surprise clearly written on her face.  She was astonished that he might care about what was bothering her.  Embarrassed, he turned his gaze toward the moon.

            "Things do not seem quite right," she said, her voice growing very quiet once again.  "He has been too quiet."  She spoke almost as if to herself, almost as if she had forgotten that he was present.

            "That is what troubles me as well," Rhain sighed.  He ran his hand through his mass of unruly red-brown hair.

            "Perhaps this is just what he wanted," Keelin mused.

            Rhain turned and looked at her in surprise.  "What do you mean?"

            She blushed and averted her gaze from his.  "Not that he wished for me to be under Your Highness's protection.  I mean that I cannot help but think that he is baiting us, knowing that we will worry, and knowing that we will fear.  I believe he will let us wait for a long time, until we become confident that the threat of him no longer exists.  Then, he will strike."

            Rhain considered her words.  "There is sense in what you say," he replied.  "Mordrid thrives on knowing that we suffer and lusts at the thought of our growing comfortable once more.  He is certainly capable of such diabolical actions."

            "Aye, but what is to be done?" Keelin asked, her voice suddenly pleading.  She was now looking directly at the prince.

            Rhain moved his leg from the wall and stood to face her again.  "We can continue searching for him.  We can continue training so that our men are strong and ready.  Most importantly, we can be certain that we never let our guard down for 'tis then that he will strike."

            She gazed once more out into the night.  "I wonder that God created such a man."

            "He is no creation of God," Rhain replied.

            Keelin turned again to look at him, her eyes pleading and soulful.  "I fear him so," she said.

            "There is no need.  He cannot possibly reach you," Rhain said, by way of simple reassurance.  His voice was firm and confident.  If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Mordrid would not ever get a chance to touch even one hair of this woman's head again.  Keelin shivered slightly and Rhain eyed her critically.  "You should not be out here.  You are not properly dressed.  You will catch your death standing on such cold stones in such unforgiving winds."

            "Could not the same be said for Your Highness?" she asked, softly.

            "I suppose it could be," he admitted.  "Then there is only one thing left to do."

            She eyed him quizzically.  "What is that, Your Highness?"

            "Why, to return to our chambers, of course," he answered, his voice soft.

            The look she gave him was a mixture of surprise and of something that looked like disappointed expectation.  He felt himself quiver at what had just passed between them.  He wondered how they had managed to get themselves into such an awkward situation.  There were so many things he wanted to say to her at that moment, but he couldn't seem to find his tongue.

            "Aye, I believe Your Highness is perfectly correct," Keelin answered, her voice sounding somewhat strained.  "Excuse me, Your Highness."  She went into a low curtsey before him.

            He was now truly flustered.  "Might-might I escort you to your chamber?" he asked her, stammering over his words.

            "I have no wish to trouble Your Highness," she said, and this time he could hear quite clearly that her voice definitely was strained.

            "'Tis no trouble," he offered, very awkwardly, but she was already hurrying away from him.  Whether she had heard him and pretended she had not or she really had not heard him, the prince could not say.  All he knew was that he felt strangely rooted to the spot as he watched dumbly while she hurried away from him, her white gown and her golden curls flashing in the moonlight.

*****

            Keelin felt her hands shaking as she walked away from the prince.  She could not believe what had just transpired between the two of them.  He had acted so strangely toward her that it was now clear to her that he really wished to have nothing to do with her.  He had probably been acting so obligingly simply in the hopes that she would continue to spill her secrets to him.  Never in her life had she felt so used, not even by her former master.  She tried to tell herself that it did not matter what he did.  He was her sovereign and it was her duty to serve him in any way that she could.  Still, in spite of her reverence for king and country, she could not help her all too human feelings from surfacing.

            She heard him call out after her, but she pretended that she had not and continued walking.  She hurried off the battlements and practically hurtled herself down the winding staircase of one of the towers, fleeing for the safety and familiarity of her chamber, but stopping outside of its door.  Keelin flung herself back against the wall, willing her sobbing, heavy breaths to quiet and slow themselves.  She could not go into the chamber in her current condition for she did not want to risk waking the other women, especially Alinda.  Her friend was certain to be concerned and question her if she saw Keelin in her current state.

            With all her might, she tried to push her thoughts of the prince from her mind, but she was not very successful.  She kept picturing him as he had looked up on the battlements.  He had always been so perfectly and richly dressed, so impeccably elegant when she had seen him in the past.  Tonight, though, he had looked so raw, so natural that it was uncanny.  Never in her life had she felt so certain that she was nearly his equal as she had this night.  She found him so much less intimidating in his simple breeches and flowing white shirt that flapped around him in the wind.  His hair had whipped across his face as he spoke with her and she was surprised at how badly she wanted to reach out and smooth it away.  It was such a striking auburn shade and she had wondered how it would feel in her fingers.

            Pressing a hand to her forehead in distress, Keelin gritted her teeth and pushed as hard as she could, mentally slamming the door on such recollections.  They were over and done with and all that was left was for her to learn from her own foolishness.  She should never have let herself become as caught up as she had.  She should simply have provided the prince with the information he wanted and then faded away as any other respectful servant would have done.  Keelin had not been mindful of her place and she began to feel that she deserved any pain that was the result of her impropriety.

            After a few moments her breathing calmed enough for her to return to the chamber.  She held her breath, tiptoeing through the sleeping forms of the other women in the hopes that she would not wake anyone.  Much to her relief, she did not, and she was able to slip back into her pallet without incident. 

            It was a restless night for her and she felt relief wash over her as she saw the tint of dawn spilling through the window slits.  She rose before all of the other women and scrubbed her face vigorously with the cold water that was in their chamber.  She yanked a comb through her hair and twisted it up on top of her head severely, finding some relief in the physical punishment.

            "You are certainly the early riser this morrow," Alinda said sleepily as she stumbled over to wash her own face.  She yawned, her mouth opened very wide.  Keelin had to smile.

            "I was eager for a new day to begin," Keelin said, truthfully.  She was glad for the new day because it was to also be the beginning of her new life.  She would no longer allow herself any more of her ridiculous fantasies with regard to the prince.  It was time she learned her place in the world.

            "I am never eager to leave the comfortable embrace of night," Alinda replied dreamily, as she slowly washed her face, hands, and neck.

            Keelin laughed softly at her.  "If you continue to speak thusly you will have to give up your sewing in favor of becoming a minstrel."

            Alinda laughed as well.  "Me, a minstrel!  That is certainly an amusing idea.  I suppose I could be quite a good minstrel.  I would simply cut my hair short and take to wearing a man's clothes.  No one would be the wiser."

            Keelin laughed at the mental image.  "And what a pretty man you would make!  I think that would not escape anyone's attention."

            Alinda smiled at her friend.  "That is better.  You seemed so serious a moment ago.  Have you something you wish to tell me?"

            Keelin's expression darkened and then softened.  "Alinda, you are a good friend and I know you ask only because you care, but I have nothing to tell.  I conceal nothing of importance from you."  She felt with all her soul that she was speaking the truth.  Alinda knew she was helping the prince by giving him information about the former earl.  And, since that was all that had occurred between them, Keelin was not keeping her friend in the dark.  There was no need to tell her friend about her foolish fantasies.  Those were best kept to herself.  At any rate, she was over them now.

            Alinda smiled briefly.  "I believe you tell the truth as you see it," she said, insightfully and then changed the subject.  "You are dressed already.  Do not wait for me.  I will see you in the sewing chamber soon enough."

            Keelin nodded and then headed for the door as her friend turned to dress.  It would be good for her to walk to the sewing chamber by herself and clear her head a little more before she was in the company of the rest of the women for the rest of the day.  She walked briskly through the corridors, clearing her mind of all thoughts of the prince.  It was time that she truly devoted herself to her work, and there was much of it.  Since the king had relaxed his defenses, the women of the castle had once again begun to demand new gowns and headpieces.  The sewing women were currently employed with embroidering and piecing together much finery.

            She reached the sewing chamber and sat down to her work.  It was a green head roll made of rich velvet that had been ordered by one of the countesses at court.  Keelin was busy sewing pearls around its circumference as the other women entered the chamber, quickly settling down to their own work.  She continued for a few hours, her fingers making swift, perfect stitches, until their peace was interrupted by an additional presence in the chamber.

            "But we have so much to complete already," Anne, the head seamstress, was saying.

            "Do you wish to argue with His Majesty?" an imperious male voice asked.  Keelin looked up curiously.

            "Of course I do not, but how are we to have such work done in the matter of a week?" the seamstress asked.  

            "I am certain you will find a way," the male replied.  Keelin could see that it was one of the king's personal tailors.  His tone of voice clearly implied that it was none of his concern just how the women were to get it done.

            The seamstress started to protest, but the tailor swept haughtily out of the chamber, and she turned to the other women in frustration.  "Good women, lend me your ears."  The other women now gave her their attention without pretense.  Most of them had been paying little attention to their work while the tailor was in the chamber, but none would admit to it.

            The seamstress was wringing her hands in distress.  When she noticed, she smiled nervously and promptly dropped her hands to her sides, scrubbing them against the coarse fabric of her servant's gown.  "There is to be a royal ball in a sennight.  The ladies of the castle require new frocks and we, as always, will not hesitate to supply them."

            A soft murmur swept through the chamber.  The women were looking at each other in disbelief.  They all could not help but wonder what had come over the king.  Just a week or two ago the castle had been in a state of lockdown and now he was suddenly throwing a ball for no reason.  It was all very strange.  However, aside from the strangeness of the sudden ball, the women were also very distressed due to the short amount of time they had to produce the necessary frocks and accoutrements for the ball.

            "I fear we shall have to work double shift," the head seamstress continued, eliciting groans from some of the women.  At the sound, the seamstress straightened her posture and glared out at the women.  "Are there those of you who do not believe it necessary to serve the king as His Majesty asks?" she demanded.  No one bothered to remind her that she herself had been protesting in much the same manner merely a moment or two ago.

            "We shall work double shift or even triple shift.  We shall do whatever is required to oblige His Majesty," Alinda spoke up.  Keelin was surprised by her normally shy friend's show of boldness.

            The head seamstress nodded in satisfaction.  "That is as I believed.  We must never forget that it is our good fortune to serve His Majesty as we do.  We shall work very diligently to ensure that 'twill be a splendid ball."  The women all murmured their assent and returned to their work.

            Throughout the day, the sewing chamber was flooded with requests for gowns, banners, and various other accessories for the ball.  It seemed the whole castle was in an uproar but Keelin could not feel sorry for herself.  She would be working long hours, it was true, but so would all the other servants in the castle.  It seemed that this was to be quite a grand ball, although the women were still unable to learn why the ball was to occur.  The curiosity ate away at Keelin as she stitched and stitched until her eyes burned and every muscle and sinew in her back throbbed.

            She worked a sixteen-hour shift with only a short break for her dinner.  When she was finished, she could scarcely drag herself back to her chamber to grab a few hours of sleep.  Just before she drifted off, she realized with satisfaction that she had gone nearly the whole day with nary a thought of the prince.