The forest of Speroa was far less romantic than Isabella had dreamed it would be. The trees that towered above the small caravan had shed their leaves for winter, leaving long lines of crisscrossing shadows across the road. Absent were the shady glens she had always pictured; in their place were trees packed so tightly together that she could hardly see more than a yard beyond the tree line. Though the road was mostly clear of dried leaves, ominous crackles could be heard all around them. It had taken nearly half an hour for Isabella to become enough accustomed to such noises to avoid spike of terror whenever she heard them. They still left her uneasy.
"The entire country's like this?" she asked Gavin, who was still flexing his hand after her latest white-knuckled squeeze.
"So I've heard," he replied. "I know as much about Speroa as you do. Most likely less, considering how much reading you used to do."
"It's like an enchanted forest," she murmured. "I keep seeing fairies out of the corner of my eye."
"Doesn't that make you feel better? I thought you loved fairy stories."
"Not the good kind of fairies. The kind you read about in the old stories, the kind that put curses on innocent girls." Like me, she added silently.
"Nonsense," he said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. "There's no such thing as fairies. And if there were, well, I've got my sword here," he patted the hilt on his left hip, "and I'll scare them off."
She smiled and nestled into his shoulder. She'd nearly forgotten how good it felt to be with him. He was solid, warm, and comfortable. How could she have let her anger over one mistake overpower all that?
She caught a glance of Nell's face out of the corner of her eye, the girl's frown a clear indicator of her disapproval. Though of course the younger girl was being petty by not accepting, or even believing, for that matter, Gavin's apology, Isabella could understand Nell's point of view. She had no background in the chivalry of knights, nor in the church's message of forgiveness, as Isabella did. She couldn't be expected to think Gavin was any different from some peasant boy who'd betrayed her sister.
Perhaps I should explain that to her, Isabella thought. We've hardly spoken since Bordertown; I've been too busy with Gavin. Maybe she thinks I'm neglecting her.
Nell certainly didn't seem to lack for company. She spent her days chattering with anyone who would listen, and although there were nearly fifty people in the caravan, Isabella had no doubt she was friends with each and every one. Except Gavin.
Though Isabella knew the names of most everyone, she hadn't really gotten to know many of them well. She'd spent the majority of her time reacquainting herself with Gavin, who had come back not only repentant, but also far more attentive than he had ever been before. He had hardly left her side since their reunion, and he was ever calling her sweet names and kissing her tenderly.
"I didn't know what to do when you left," he had told her their first night together. "I went back home to visit my father, but as soon as I saw the manor I thought, 'I could never live here again without Isabella at my side,' and I turned around and headed straight for Bordertown. I looked for you everyday until I found you, and seeing you again was the happiest moment of my life."
Isabella herself didn't think she'd ever been so happy in her life. Here she was, with the man she loved, heading for the capital of Speroa where they were to be married. She had evaded capture and arranged marriage in the form of Teren Thundergrad, and she had made a wonderful new friend in Nell. Now if only she could leave this awful woods.
Something sharp hummed through the air, and there was a thud as an arrow buried itself in the tree just left of Gavin. Isabella screamed as Gavin pushed her down into the wagon and covered her with his body.
"It's all right, love," he whispered. "It's just bandits."
"The Lord Leroi demands a tax on all caravans that pass on this road," a voice said from the trees above them. "If you surrender, we will take half your goods. If not, we will use force to take them."
"This lord must think he's awfully powerful if he makes such outlandish demands," Gavin muttered.
Isabella closed her eyes and wished the caravan would just surrender so they could continue on their way. A moment later she heard the driver's voice.
"We surrender, sir, though you can be sure we'll be tellin' the king 'bout you when we reach the capital."
Gavin sat up slowly, then helped Isabella back onto the hard wooden seat.
"Everything's going to be fine, see?" he said, noting her shaking hands.
Isabella nodded, then buried her head in her hands. "They could have killed you," she sobbed. "He barely missed."
"He wouldn't have taken the shot unless he were sure," Gavin reassured her, pulling her close again. "There's nothing to worry about. It's over."
Isabella continued sobbing into Gavin's shirt, paying little attention to what was happening around her, until they were pulled apart by rough hands.
"What's this?" one man asked, eyeing Gavin's sword. Isabella recognized his voice as the one that had spoken earlier. He was a rough man with a thick beard and braided hair. He looked half a wild creature.
"We need weapons, LeRoi says," said the other, his hands dipping inappropriately low as he restrained Isabella.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, squirming. The man's grip only grew tighter, and she could smell his foul breath.
"I quite like this one," he said. "Mayhaps I'll take her for meself."
"You'll die first," growled Gavin.
"Give them your sword," Isabella pleaded. "They'll leave us be."
The bearded man shook his head. "Bring them with us," he said. "There's something rich about them; perhaps we can hold them for ransom."
"No!" Isabella heard Nell scream, but her wrists were already being tied and Gavin was unsuccessfully fighting off the bearded man and then she was slung over the back of a horse and the ground was blurring beneath her.
The bandit's horse finally came to a stop in a large clearing. Isabella was unceremoniously tossed to the ground, then jerked roughly into a large musty tent.
The man inside was tall and thin, she noticed immediately, and when he turned around she could see his long beard and the two long braids on either side of his head. His eyes were a piercing gray, such as Isabella had only seen once before, and they only added to his wildness.
"Who are you?" she asked, unable to keep her voice from trembling.
"I am called LeRoi, lord of the bandits," he said. His voice was cultured, as though he was educated, something Isabella had not expected. "The more important question is, who are you?"
Isabella took a deep breath and tried to recall the lie she and Nell had concocted. "My name is Isabella. I'm traveling with my cousin Nell to my sister's house. She's due to give birth, and she needs me to help her. Please, Lord LeRoi, let me go."
A faint smile pierced LeRoi's beard. "I think not. Your accent betrays you, my dear. No Kellinean peasant speaks so well."
"I've worked as a lady's maid these past seven years," she said. "I learned from her."
"And what lady is this, if I may ask?"
"Maria Lichen, daughter of Count Lichen, if it please you, my lord." Isabella hoped her friend wouldn't begrudge her the use of her name.
The smile grew broader. "A well-researched lie, at least."
"What—"
"My men found you with a man, not a cousin Nell, for one thing—"
"My brother—"
"Forgive me for doubting you, Miss Isabella, but I am told your embrace was quite amorous." His eyebrow raised in challenge.
"He's my betrothed. He came to protect us."
LeRoi's condescending smile grated on Isabella's nerves, but she dared not contradict him lest she fall deeper into her lies. He already had her well caught.
"Very well. You and your betrothed both speak quite well for two peasant children, and he bears a Kellinean sword of finer make than any mercenary I've ever seen. Either he is a bandit and has stolen it off some noble lord, or he is a noble lord himself. As for you, Miss Isabella, either you are an incredibly impertinent lady's maid, who interrupts her betters and drops titles when she is speaking, or you are a noblewoman unaccustomed to such humility. So tell me, which is it?"
She was trapped. She had no choice but to tell the truth and surrender herself until her parents could ransom her. She drew a deep breath.
"My name is Isabella Ivonson. My grandfather is Yurick Ivonson, king of Kelline. My father is Frederich Ivonson, and my mother is Hélène des Fleurs, niece to the queen mother of Ilia."
LeRoi's smile widened, and Isabella caught a glimpse of straight white teeth. "Am I to believe this any more than I did the story of Isabella the lady's maid? Offer me proof, my lady."
"What can I offer you? I have nothing but my word."
"Then tell me something only Isabella Ivonson would know."
Isabella searched her mind frantically, but kept getting distracted by LeRoi's eyes. They seemed so familiar…
LeRoi, she thought, thinking back to her mother's lessons in Ilian. The king.
It was as if a floodgate opened in her mind. "I've seen your eyes before," she said. "When King Reynard of Ilia was crowned. My mother is his cousin, so we attended the coronation. I was very young, only seven or so, but I remembered thinking his eyes were the loveliest I'd ever seen."
LeRoi's smile had vanished. "Very well, Lady Isabella," he said slowly. "I believe you."
"What happens now?"
"Now," LeRoi said calmly, "I release your friends and you join me for dinner."
Nell's enthusiastic embrace when she saw Isabella alive and well was easily the best thing that had happened to her all day. But seeing Gavin bruised and bloodied after challenging LeRoi's men immediately drove that thought from her mind.
"Are you all right?" she asked, gently skimming her hands over his face.
"No thanks to him," Gavin replied, nodding roughly in LeRoi's direction.
"If you hadn't put up a fight, you wouldn't be in this condition," the older man replied calmly. "So you're Isabella's paramour. A knight?"
A muscle in Gavin's jaw twitched. "Not exactly," he replied. "But nearly so."
Nell, irritated by LeRoi's treatment of the three of them, began to rail at him. "What're you thinkin', kidnappin' innocent people on the road? Whaddya want with us, exactly?"
"Nell, it's all right, he explained himself to me—" Isabella began, only to be cut off by LeRoi.
"You must forgive me my rough treatment, my lady. My men acted without my consent. I should have corrected them long ago. I most humbly beg your pardon."
Nell's frown eased, but didn't disappear entirely. "There's no need to act like I'm some sorta 'igh lady. I'm just Nell."
"And I am just LeRoi. Please, will you sit with me at dinner? I should dearly like to hear more of your adventures."
Isabella wrinkled her brow at his way of speaking, suddenly more like that of a court-raised lord than a woodland bandit. She wondered who this man was and wished he would explain himself. Instead he turned and led them out into the campsite.
Dinner with LeRoi and his bandits was quite unlike anything Isabella had ever experienced. The men grouped around the various campfires with bowls or plates in hand and chatted merrily while they ate. A lucky few had daggers and spoons, but most ate with their hands. As she remained by LeRoi's side, she noticed that almost all the men switched fires periodically, socializing easily with all different types of men.
And different types there were. Isabel heard Kellinean accents as well as Idaarolaan, Ilian, and Speroan. She even saw a few dark-skinned men she could only assume were Pynterri, though she had never met a Pynterri before. Here they were all one group, one people.
"How does a bandit lord acquire so many retainers?" she asked LeRoi after observing for some time.
"There's more to what we do here than banditry," he replied. "We're the rebellion. We're fighting to take back the Ilian throne."
"Take it back? From whom?" If Isabella remembered her novels and histories correctly, thrones were only "taken back" if they'd been taken by force, yet King Reynard was assuredly the son of King Reynold. Her own mother, his cousin, had seen nothing amiss at his coronation.
LeRoi sighed. "It is a long tale, and one that would surely bore a girl of your age. Unless you can offer us aid, there's no reason for you to know."
"What are you going to do with us, then? Hold us for ransom?"
LeRoi shook his head. "While we need money for the cause, we need support more. The last thing I want to do is alienate a potential ally by kidnapping his granddaughter."
"So you'll let us go," Gavin growled.
"I don't know if I can do that, either."
Isabella felt her anger growing. "Why not?"
"I don't know what your plans are. You're a liability. Who's to say you won't go to Ilia and tell the king all about my plans, my numbers, my location—"
"I'm to say! I won't! I'm going to the capital to get married, and then I'm going home."
The older man cocked an eyebrow. "Why come to Speroa to get married? Unless…you're eloping?"
She stared into the fire, unable to meet the disapproval she was sure she would see in his eyes. "My parents don't want Gavin and me to get married."
When she dared to look at him again, he was smiling. "Oh, to be young and in love," he said. "I remember those days."
Isabella couldn't help but notice the sorrow in his expression. "What happened, if I may ask?"
"That is not a story to be told here," he said. "Come, we'll retire to my tent, and perhaps I can offer you an explanation."
Isabella and Nell lounged on cushions in LeRoi's tent, while Gavin sat on a stool at Isabella's side. LeRoi paced anxiously in front of them.
"I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't think you could help me," he said. "As it is I have my doubts. Few of my men know the entire story, and fewer still are nobles. Still, I must trust you. At this point, you may be my only means of legitimizing my claim."
"What are you talking about?" Gavin asked. "You have a claim to the Ilian throne?"
"The only claim," LeRoi corrected him. "I am King Reynold's only trueborn son."
Nell opened her mouth to question, but a glance from Isabella stopped her. LeRoi continued.
"I was sent to the Idaarolaan school as a boy with my servant and companion, Roald. Though I didn't learn this until much later, he was my brother, my father's son with a maid when he thought my mother incapable of conceiving."
"Your father purposefully had a bastard child?" Gavin asked in disbelief.
"Better a bastard heir than no heir at all," LeRoi replied. "Unfortunately for Roald, I was born not two months after he was. He resented it his entire life. So when the opportunity came as we returned from school, he overpowered me and assumed my identity. The men were all his friends; there was no one to contest him. He left me in an Idaarolaan village and returned to Ilia, where he was crowned king."
"And ever since then you've been fighting to get your throne back?" Isabella finished.
LeRoi shook his head. "I stayed in the village for a while. I met a girl, and we fell in love. We were wed, and we had a daughter, Anna. Then he came back and he took them. My whole family. He says they're his, and there's no one to disprove him. No one but us." He gestured around the camp.
They sat in silence for a long moment as LeRoi finished his story.
"What do you want us to do?" Isabella asked finally.
"You say you're going home once you've wed in the capital. I don't know if I can wait that long. Something is changing, and not for the better. Send word to Yurick. Tell him my tale, and whatever needs be told to convince him. I can write a letter to Hélène if you think it necessary. We must have Kelline's support, and you are the only one who can give it to us."
"Th' bastard deserves it." Nell's normally pleasant face was twisted into a scowl that Isabella found a bit frightening. She shot her friend a questioning look.
"Anyone who'd take a woman an' 'er child from 'er 'usband deserves wha'ever's comin' to 'im," the girl explained. "An' I'm glad to 'elp."
LeRoi's face broke into a smile for the first time since Isabella had met him. "I thank you," he said earnestly, "all of you. Welcome to the cause."
Hey babes. I know. It's been a while. Basically what has happened is that I have finished part 1 of APOP (huzzah!) and am suffering severe writer's block on TITW (boo, hiss), but I crave attention so badly that this is what is happening. So.
These chapters were all written during NaNoWriMo last year. I apologize for them. But I am not apologetic enough (at least this time around) to actually edit them and make them presentable before posting them. I shall try to post one chapter a week (again, they're all written, I just have to remember) until we are done with part one. And who knows. Maybe by then I will have written enough of part two to start posting that. Or maybe by then I'll have gotten over my writer's block and finished TITW so I can post that. We're playing it by ear, folks. Watch this space.
I should also add that this part was one of the hardest I've had to write so far. Mainly because LeRoi was one of the original characters I had in my head, and I didn't feel like he was translating to paper (or, you know, digital...whatever) properly. I still don't. LeRoi is hard to write because he's the single character I know best in this universe. My entire NaNo of 2009 was his backstory (which I may post someday. But not for a while. If ever). So yeah. Lemme know about him, yes?
If you're still with this story, I'm sorry for the wait. And the quality. And thanks for reading still and drop a review if you would be so kind!
~Mazzie