Chapter Twenty-Three

“You never told me why you stole Frederick’s horse,” Sir Etienne asked Charlotte, when they slowed in their riding to cross a rocky, active riverbed. The water splashed up, cold against Charlotte’s legs, raising her to a higher level of consciousness.

“Other than to make him angry? Is that not reason enough? And to prevent him the ability to ride the horse he is used to, to catch up to us?” Charlotte asked innocently.

“It is more than that,” Etienne concluded. “Julien asked for him specifically, didn’t he?”

Charlotte said nothing, and in so doing, said it all.

“That is the Julien I remember. Despite any physical alteration, it is clear he is still of the same mind.”

“Again, sir, I believe you will find him a changed man in mind as well as body,” Charlotte said softly, with great sadness. “He has a hole in his heart, I doubt anything can fill it.”

“Hopefully time, and a measure of happiness with a good woman at his side and children at his feet, will heal the wound.”

Charlotte glanced back at Renee now, who was riding along happily behind Thomas on his horse. Thomas looked like he wanted to escape as she tightened her hands around his stomach to hold on.

“I hope he has many measures of happiness,” Charlotte whispered, though her words were lost now to the sound of hooves against the land, as the horses passed through their watery obstacle and were upon solid ground, once more.

* * *

Duke Frederick woke to discover he was on his back and looking up at a familiar set of bedposts. At first a smile crossed his lips, his mind still half in slumber from the medication Charlotte had administered. “Where are you my pretty?” he called, to the woman he imagined had left him in such a state. “Come out of hiding, show me what you really are.”

He looked around the room a second time and realized where he was: somewhere he certainly never would have been invited to spend the night. All at once, the memories came rushing back.

He stumbled to his feet and called for his guards. Fury consumed him, and he howled.

The men broke down the door to the room and he assailed them with questions. “Where have they gone? Where have they gone and what has happened to the Queen?”

“Who, Your Grace? The Queen remains as she will, in her chambers. Her welfare is assured.”

“Not for long,” Frederick growled. “She was to me a mere annoyance to be kept on hand to placate the people. But as soon as I have dealt with the rest of this mess, I shall deal with her.” He briefly explained what had happened and the guard turned pale. A second guard swept the room for any trace of those who may have left the Duke in such a state. Finally, he spoke.

“Your Grace, there is a note here, for you. It’s from the Lady Renee.”

“Bring it,” Frederick commanded, and quickly he read it and laughed. “Took her own life at the thought of marrying me? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true, Your Grace,” the first guard countered. “Someone drowned in the moat last night and we have been unable to recover the body. It must have been the Lady Renee. No one has seen her since last night.”

“That’s because she left the palace with the rest of them, you idiot!” Frederick bellowed. “Get my horse! A riding party! Tracking dogs! We will find them, wherever they have sojourned!”

“Your Grace, there is more. There was a jailbreak last night, and I fear most of your debtors have gone free…”

“WHAT!” Frederick yelled. “Could things get any worse?”

The guard trembled as he revealed there was, indeed, something worse. “There is… something else, here, for you, Your Grace.” The guard gestured toward the desk at the far end of the room where he’d found the Lady’s note. There was a bundled up blanket tied with string; and a note on the outside said simply Duke Frederick.

Frederick hurried so to unwrap the parcel that he caught his hand on the edge of the blade of the sword inside. He yelped in pain as it seared his flesh. He was puzzled, but only for a moment.

He recognized the hilt of that sword…

“Gather all available men for that riding party and get every hunting dog we have on the scent of that blanket.”

“Whose sword is it, Your Grace? What does it mean?”

“It means,” Frederick growled, teeth clenched, “Prince Tristan lives.”

* * *

I only hope Thomas’s copy of the Prince’s lost sword is enough to fool the Duke, thought Charlotte, as she and Sir Etienne led the pack through the forest to the clearing at the edge of her father’s land. It was here they’d found the Prince; here that her life had changed forever.

It would likely be here that the battle would occur, should there be one, and it grieved her to think blood may yet be spilled again upon the beautiful grassy fields.

Etienne slowed the horse now and waited for the others to catch up. It was approaching midday and the sun was high in the sky; he stopped to drink from a flask and offered some to Charlotte. At first she politely refused, but he insisted. “You must drink, we have been riding hard and long.”

“I would rather drink from the waters of home, sir, if you would but let me down.”

Etienne helped her dismount, and Charlotte moved toward the bubbling stream she knew so well. She started by splashing water upon her face, and then drank deeply. She glanced over and saw that Etienne had joined her and was doing the same.

“Where did you find him?” he asked softly.

“The river carried him far, or so he believes, Sir Etienne. We found him down there, so.” Charlotte pointed in the direction of the location where they’d discovered Julien, though she hated every time she had to remember.

The riding party took their cue from their leader and all dismounted, first drinking from the stream before beginning to water the horses.

“We are nearly there…” Etienne said, clearly growing impatient.

“We are, Sir.”

“I think it best that we leave most of the men behind here; there are many places for them to hide in and among the trees at the edge of the forest, yet they will not be far from reach when it is time to face what is coming.”

“How great a force can Frederick truly have left at this point?” Charlotte wondered aloud. “He certainly has made no friends among the people.”

As she spoke, a ragged band of locals came riding over the hill; upon horse, mule, or whatever manner of beast of burden they could wrangle to ride.

“What is this?” Etienne asked, his brow elevating.

“That would be what I believe you’d call a poor man’s army,” Thomas replied, approaching. “Led by the closest thing I have to a father. I must hurry to meet him, so they know all is well, thus far.”

Thomas hurried to run as fast as he could given his limp, and Etienne shook his head. “That one has the noble heart of a knight, if not the body of one.”

“He should have the mantle of one, as well,” Charlotte replied. “And will in time, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Indeed,” Etienne agreed. “I had best instruct my men. If you will excuse me, My Lady,” he bowed to Charlotte, though the gesture made her uncomfortable. She was nothing but a girl from this humble country village, knights did not bow to her, or at least, they shouldn’t.

Renee approached. “Are we almost there?” she half asked, half cried. “Every part of my body aches from the exertion of the ride, and I am desperate for sleep.”

“Soon. We are nearly to his location now.”

Renee stood up straighter. “The Prince?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. Who else, she thought. “Yes, My Lady.”

Renee paled, and collapsed upon the tall grass.

“Are you all right?” Charlotte shook her a little, cursing herself for not bringing the smelling salts. “You must stay with us, we are almost there now.”

“I know, and I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of seeing him!” Renee exclaimed, burying her face in her hands and again giving way to tears. “I am afraid to see what has been done to him.”

“I am certain he will be pleased to see you,” Charlotte said, though she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than anything else. “I do wish you would consider how lucky we are, we all are, that he lives.”

“I have, and I do,” Renee answered, sniffling as she spoke. She then grabbed Charlotte by the hands and held on desperately. “Don’t you understand? The man is a stranger to me. I never wanted to marry him to begin with.”

“So he was right,” Charlotte whispered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, My Lady. Nothing at all.” Charlotte wondered what this meant for her, for Renee, and for Julien, once all was said and done.

Thomas approached and as he neared, Charlotte felt another pang in her heart. She wondered what the future held for him, as well. No matter what else occured, if they survived, it seemed to Charlotte that someone was going to end up with the deepest of all possible wounds; the lifelong blight of unrequited love.

“I have spoken to Rowan,” Thomas said, first to Charlotte, then to Etienne. “He has managed to arm anyone in the village capable of holding a weapon, be it a mace, an axe, a sword or hammer.” He struggled to catch his breath. “They have weapons at the ready for any men from the village who may join the fight when they arrive. They are as ready as they will ever be.”

“That is a good thing,” Etienne replied, “because Frederick will have the fastest horses and most ruthless men in the land at his command, and he will arrive upon the location of the Prince more quickly than you can imagine.”

“Then we had best be certain the Prince is ready,” Charlotte replied. “We have everything he asked us to bring. We should make haste home, Thomas.”

“Home?” Renee asked. “Yours or his?”

“Mine,” Charlotte replied, whispering so only Renee and Etienne could hear. “The Prince is with my family, as he has been since the day we found him.”

“I alone will ride with you,” Etienne replied. “It will bring me great pleasure to present the horse of Duke Frederick to my friend, and future king.” He turned to Thomas then, realizing he may desire the honor. “Unless you’d prefer to?”

“No, Sir, the honor shall be yours. Lead on.” Thomas mounted his horse and pulled Renee onto it along with him. Charlotte rode with Etienne, and they led Frederick’s horse.

Thomas positioned his horse right alongside Etienne’s, and he gave Charlotte a look that promised he was watching over things, with one hand firmly upon the hilt of his sword should this man prove to be less, or more, than he claimed to be.

* * *

“Again, I hear horses,” Walter said, excitedly glancing out from the curtains. “I see Thomas and Charlotte! Julien, they have a strange man with them, you had best hide in the bedroom.”

“No… wait,” Julien’s mouth fell open when he saw the rugged, enormous man upon the horse. He knew him as well as he knew his own reflection. “He is… oh God, it cannot be!” He rushed out the door without thought to his safety, and moved as quickly as he could upon his crutch toward the approaching party.

Etienne handed the reins over to Charlotte and hurried to dismount. He ran at full speed toward Julien, though once he reached him he stopped short and knelt on the grassy land before him.

Etienne struggled to speak. “Your Highness.”

“Rise, Sir Etienne,” Julien replied, his own voice choked by emotion. “My friend.”

“Julien!” Etienne embraced the young Prince, nearly lifting him right off of the ground. “By God’s mercy, you are alive. When we lost Francois, we were certain there was no way that…” The brave knight stopped and stared at the altered face of the Prince. “What have they done to you, Your Highness?”

“Nothing that time and gratitude for life cannot overcome,” Julien said, and again he embraced Etienne, fiercely. “It is your brother, and mine in spirit, who sleeps alongside the King in my place.”

Etienne closed his eyes, grieving anew.

“There he will remain, in that place of honor, only all will know he sacrificed his life to save mine. I swear to you, Etienne, his name will never be forgotten.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Etienne knelt again, and was still kneeling before Julien when Charlotte and Thomas finally rode up and secured the horses.

The next sound Julien was aware of was that of a gasp; a vaguely familiar voice speaking his name, and then a rush of action toward her as the Lady Renee took one look at the Prince’s disfigured features and promptly wilted to the ground.

“Father!” Charlotte called, shaking her head as Thomas and Etienne scooped up the unconscious Lady and carried her forward. “Fetch the smelling salts!”

As she approached Julien, every part of Charlotte cried out to embrace him. He had tears running down his face from his reunion with Etienne, and she longed to tenderly kiss them away.

“Charlotte.” He whispered her name as one whispers something holy, secret, or sacred; and she nodded to him, then stopped to bow before moving toward the house.

“Your Highness.”

Without another word, she hurried inside to help administer aid to Julien’s poor, overcome bride-to-be.