“These old buildings, they’re like people.”
Garrick looked upward, willing his eyes to adjust quickly so he could see the owner of the voice floating sweetly from the old barn’s rafters.
“Over time they begin to break down. They fade from neglect. But their hearts…”
There she sat, half way between one loft and the other. Her feet, covered in boots of the softest leather, swung freely and he marveled at her lack of fear as she rocked on her perch far above the floor of the abandoned barn. She’d traded in her dress, returning to breeches and a plain linen shirt. He wondered if she realized it made her seem no less a lady.
“Their hearts remain strong, waiting for someone to see the true beauty within, to love them and let them live again.” She finished with a flourishing sweep of her hand, displaying what she saw in her mind’s eye.
“Do you truly see beauty within these broken walls, Christiana?” The King, dressed in dark breeches and a shirt not too unlike hers, leaned against the doorframe long emptied of its heavy load. He glanced around then turned his face up to the maiden, watched her tuck away a strand of dark hair behind an ear before she rose to walk along the beam’s length.
“You do not see it, my lord?”
The momentary dashing of her spirits, displayed in the down-turned corners of full lips, had the King laughing. He was reminded of just how young she really was. “Oh no, my lady. I see the beauty all right,” he answered, looking right at her.
She smiled and cocked her head. “Listen then. Do you also hear the laughter of the children playing among the stacked bales, climbing about here on the rafters?”
Garrick laughed again. From her reflective expression, he could almost believe she did, indeed, hear the voices of days gone by.
“Come down from there that we may talk without me craning my neck so. I need to know more about this brother of yours and his plans to usurp my kingdom. He has pained me enough without my having to endure a cricked neck.”
With the agility of the girl from the forest hillside who had bested him, threatened him with his own dagger, and taken him hostage before their alliance, Christiana jumped from the rafter. His eyes widened as he watched her spin in the air and grab hold of a dangling rope that swung her close enough to drop before him. “Half-brother!” Her lips thinned and she reached up, cuffing him under the chin to close his gaping mouth before turning to march through a hole in the side of the old barn.
It took Garrick a moment before his mind cleared enough to go after her. That little swing she took through the air left his heart in his throat. “You know to strike a king is punishable by a stay in the dungeon at the very least, do you not, my lady?” he asked when he finally reacted and caught up to her. Though her stride was long, her steps determined, her size made it easy for him to catch her quickly.
Her sweet laughter rang out through the forest they had just entered. “No doubt I have a room already reserved, specially chosen by his majesty just for me. Though we have already established that you are not my king.”
He grabbed her by the elbow, halting her trek and spinning her to face him. Their eyes locked, each sized the other for several seconds before he pulled her tightly against him. “So you keep telling me, though you also know everything within the borders of my kingdom belongs to me.” His eyes roamed over the soft curves of her flawless features, taking in her unpretentious beauty, looking for signs of what she was thinking. “You scared me, back there,” he told her softly, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Flying through the air and climbing about high above the ground are not the place for a lady, Christiana.”
“I am not a lady…”
“But you could live like one. I have houses…fine places, a lesser palace where my mother used to spend her days away from the din of an overly busy castle back when my father held summer games and competitions. You could live there, you and your family. And I could come to you…”
Christiana stared up at him, the lines of her face remained unreadable. Garrick wondered if she could imagine herself walking through the walls of his home as easily as she had heard the voices of the children from the past. Did she see the beauty around her, picture herself wearing dresses of such fine quality that only a king could afford them? “I can give you things beyond anything you may have dreamed of.”
“And when you tire of me? When there is nothing to bind us together, no ceremony presided over by the man of God, or a decree throughout the land that tells everyone we are to be together for all eternity, unless you decide to lop off my head, what then?”
Garrick looked away from the blue eyes that bore into his, unable to answer her questions, not really wanting to think beyond his feelings for her and the here and now.
“Much like the old barn, time will take its toll on me as well, you know. I will not be young and beautiful forever. Someday, I’ll be old, like you!” The playful banter caught the King off guard. She laughed. “Did you expect me to fall to your feet in tears, my lord?” she asked when he looked back in surprise. “I may be young, but I know much about life and the affairs of the heart. We grow up quickly in the forest living as we do.”
An odd mixture of regret and relief flowed throughout Garrick. He no longer wished to deceive her, but had to wonder. Did he secretly hoped to see her beg as other women would and had? Would he have made promises to her then? Could he have done so with true conviction? He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was certain of was that his feelings for this young maiden were different from anything he’d ever felt. When the time came, if he had to, would he be able to let her go? He already knew to do so would test him more than anything he had ever endured.
“So,” she asked pulling out of his arms and taking his hand before continuing to move further into the forest. “Why is it your father had no children besides you?”
“I thought we were discussing your brother. Half-brother,” he corrected himself.
“Were we?” She shook her head and waved her free hand through the air as if swatting away a pesky bug. “That one is quite simple, really. Evian’s older than you. He believes himself wiser and more fit to rule your kingdom. He only needs you out of the way and then he shall do just that. The bigger question you should be considering is whether there are others. Even if you defeat the son of your father’s sister, are there others who will try to usurp your rein? As the youngest ruling king in this land you are bound to come upon opposition at some point in your time on the throne. What then? You seem to have no plan now, and without one, you will never be able to stand fast, prevailing over time like that old barn. Noblemen aren’t exactly known for their faithfulness. I’m sure your father had mistresses…Would you even know if there was another? Perhaps someone more directly linked to your father than Evian?”
“There are no others!” he answered a bit too defensively. “And what do you know about my father, or running a kingdom for that matter? You’re barely out of short skirts and long stockings!”
Christiana laughed at his deeply creased brow above eyes that glowered at her. “Do you always react by flinging insults when you feel attacked, my lord? Truly it is most unbecoming of your position. It belies your maturity, you know.”
“Woman!”
“Ah, now he sees that I am a woman after all. One who sorely vexes him. Shall I kneel before you to apologize and vow my allegiance, my king?”
Garrick’s tight grip on her arm pulled her up before her knees could reach the ground. “There are no others,” he said again, his words ground out, though decidedly milder in tone. The King sighed. “How many children did your father have with Denley’s mother?”
The young maiden cocked her head, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out how this all fit into the puzzle. “Just the one, but I don’t see…”
“And he was twelve when my father’s sister died, yes?” Christiana nodded. “Don’t you see? We are plagued, this family, with an inability to beget children. And without heirs our bloodline dies, our kingdom passes away anyway, and all that we fight for is for naught. That’s why my father gave his sister those papers - for fear that an heir would not be born to him. With lineage being so important to him, if there had been others that were truly his own, do you not think he would have offered the same to them? No, he wanted someone of Travensworth blood on the throne.”
“He had another sister. What of her?”
“She bore two daughters, one of whom was marked for the Dremis in order to unite our kingdom with Dorengar to the South.” Garrick laughed, a hollow sound. “Ironically, the oldest was also barren, though the younger … she bore two sons and four daughters, numbers unheard of in our lines.”
“And the sons?”
“Barely older. Both holding papers should anything happen to me, though your brother received his promise before any of us were born. He’s the eldest of the three.”
“Half-brother,” she reminded. “I do not like the thought of sharing even that much blood with the likes of him.” She looked down and away leaving Garrick to believe there was something more she wanted to tell him. He waited, his innards quaking at the thought of what Denley might have done to her as a child to make her dislike him so.
She continued to stare away. Garrick could tell whatever it was weighed heavy on her heart. “What is it, Christiana?”
“It makes no difference,” she told him, shaking her head.
“Obviously, it does to you. Tell me, please,” he coaxed.
“Remember when I told you my father saved the princess from being accosted and ransomed by vagrants from the other side of the forest?”
Garrick nodded his head, watched Christiana struggle with whatever more she had to say.
“My father denies it, has refused all these years to speak of it, but many of my people believe she was already with child when he rescued her. They say it would explain Evian’s dark nature.”
“And what do you believe?” he asked her. He hated to admit her words were actually a relief.
Christiana crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down as if the winds had produced a chill. She smiled a little then shrugged. “I suppose I would be pleased to know we are not related, though my father … regardless of all he did, my father continues to love him as any man would love a son. As far as he’s concerned, Evian is his son whether he is flesh and blood or not.” She shrugged again. “Besides, no matter what, there’s no denying the Travensworth blood.” She reached up and pushed Garrick’s hair back from his face. “Have you ever noticed that he has your eyes? Only colder. Uncaring.”
Garrick frowned. “Denley does not deserve my kingdom, blood or no. No offense to your father in his upbringing, but I see nothing of good in that man. Of the two of you, it is clear you would be the better of the two to rule…other than that you’re a woman, of course.
Christiana laughed and put her arms around him. Resting her cheek against his heart, it was her turn to sigh. “I wonder how long it would take me to grow used to the feel of extravagant clothing, or how quickly I would grow round indulging on the delicacies of a king’s table instead of climbing through the tree tops and swinging from the rafters of an abandoned barn?”
The King lifted her face with a gentle finger beneath the chin. “Perhaps a lifetime. I could promise you no more.” He kissed her tenderly before he continued. “If I make it out of all this alive, I ask but one thing of you. That you will truly consider my words a sincere offer.”
“When we get out, I promise I shall do so, my lord. Though I do not think your bride-to-be is going to take kindly to the idea of sharing you with a vagabond mistress. I shall need added guard to go with those fine dresses…”
Garrick stared down at her as she continued to talk, wondered whether her words were an answer as true as his promise or if she was on another of the flights of fancy she seemed so prone to take. They needed to discuss Denley. If anyone might be able to figure out his plan of attack, the King sensed it would be this girl. Still, he thought as he held her tighter to where her head rested against his chest, he’d much rather hear of this dream life she was concocting. He could envision happy days with her.
Kissing the top of her head, he ran a hand down the curls that hung down her back before laying a cheek against the softness. He thought of the old barn, had trouble imagining Christiana in that day when time had taken its toll on her. Unlike the barn, she would never be neglected or abandoned. Her heart, pure and kind, made others want to do all they could to ensure her happiness. What had she said about the old barn? Its true beauty radiated from inside, from a heart made strong by love. He breathed deeply, his heart swelling with what he felt for her, though also mixing with a sadness greater than any he’d ever known. Without a doubt, the King of Corigan was falling in love with the girl who could never be his bride.