Tonight’s installment of Mariel.
“Larger than even Andrew, this man seemed to loom over me, something to which I was not accustomed. His voice was deep, deep like the darkness under the keep, like the voice of the waves on the floor of the sea. I found myself listening intently, not to his words, but to the rolling cadences and tone they were spoken with. Andrew seated him next to me, so that they could converse more easily. Gareth spoke of the training his men had received, their discipline and loyalty. Andrew listened with keen interest, but once the wine in his cup was drained his thoughts turned to other things and I found myself seated next to a silent mountain.
“Do you truly come from Whitehall?” I asked politely.
“Aye.” He rumbled.
“I have the understanding it is an uneasy place to live.” He eyed me then, and I noticed his eyes were blue, not the icy windswept blue of winter, but the dark, mysterious hue of the night sky.
My words seemed to stick in my throat under those eyes.
“For some. What do you know of it?”
My words unbound a little then, and a quick glance at Andrew told me he was deep in some tale of his prowess, whether in bed or in battle I could not guess. “One of my ladies came to me from the lands around Caer Whitehall, she and I have spoken of it often.”
“So, did your lady tell you of the spirit folk, those creatures said to walk the hills and valleys of the place, did she seek to frighten or entertain with the slow seep of magic the denizens have endured?”
I felt my spine straighten at his offence. “She spoke of it at my request, and magic is not a thing I fear.” My reply drifted boldly between us.
Reaching out in that way Betsey had shown me, I wrapped a thin filament of power around the crystal of his goblet, willing the wine within to turn to frosted ice.
His stony expression did not change, but rather the tone of his words. “So I see.”
I clasped my hands tightly under the protection of the table linens. Urgency, of a kind unfamiliar to me, pulled at my limbs, called for action, for movement. Movement and action that I could not afford, that were unwelcome and dangerous in this place.
A heavy hand clasped my shoulder hard enough to bruise, its twin causing less damage on Lord Whitehall’s tabard. Andrew’s voice fell between us like an executioner’s blade.
“Mariel,” I winced as he used my name as if I were a peasant child, instead of his wife, and Queen, “dance for me.”
The brazen demand stole from my throat any reply I might have dared to make. The magic still twisted between my fingers, I kept them beneath the table, lest I be tempted to try something rash. The hand on my shoulder dug deep against the silk of my gown.
“Lord Gareth, please do me the honor of escorting my wife to dance.” The King’s voice had grown darker still.
I hardly dared draw breath. The glacier under Andrew’s right hand moved to rise. Daring a glance at Lord Whitehall, the stillness within me turned cold. The sharp features held a carefully contrived mask of courtesy, but his eyes were alight with seething emotion.
A meaty paw was extended towards me, the weight on my shoulder lifted. “If it pleases my Queen,” the words parted the air like an avalanche.
Lord Whitehall was bent almost double, his eyes were even with mine. I had no choice, I placed my own hand in his.
“It would be an honor to join the Master of Caer Whitehall.”
His eyes sparkled at that. I allowed myself to be led away from Andrew and his jealous games. If he wanted me out of hearing, it was a fools ploy, I would know all that was spoken before sunrise. His motivation could not be making a spectacle of his inferior wife, I was an accomplished dancer, even if my height kept my partners to those hoping to curry favor, or more likely the favor of my bedchamber. I was no fool, I knew what happened to those in Andrew’s court who took lovers. If the man was in favor with the King, then he was congratulated heartily, if he was not, then the woman was imprisoned, used for the sport of his soldiers, and if she survived that, she was hanged. I did not hesitate to think that my position would keep me from a similar fate. I did not crave the pleasure of the flesh or heart in a quantity that I would take a lover, no matter how comely. We arranged ourselves neatly among the other couples, all eyes on us. I did not fool myself, while I was accomplished, I was not elegant nor graceful. It was whispered behind glove and fan that my insistence on martial training had robbed me of my feminine grace and poise. That may have been, but I would rather face an enemy with a blade than a pavane.”