“How?” Lord de Mareys blinked. “I’ve thought of everything. I’ve done everything. When your father came here, he was provided for. He slept in this hall. When he stole from me I tried to temper justice with mercy, and even sent you the rose as a gift, a token of generosity.” He shook his head sadly. “It didn’t change anything. When you arrived I tried again to make you welcome.”
“You did!” Anwen interrupted.
“Thank you. But that hasn’t changed anything either.” He didn’t care to mention the way her presence had overturned his life and given him hope for the first time in decades, nor that he was becoming less concerned with his own fate and more concerned with hers as the days passed. Anwen herself could see the difference between the Lord de Mareys of her first evening and the man standing before her now.
“Well, what did the lady say, exactly?”
“I told you. I will be bound to the castle until I unlearn hardness of heart, that I will be lonely, and wish for someone to come, and that I will be hopeless unless selfless aid reaches me.”
Anwen bit her lip and thought. She wasn’t selfless. She was brave, and dutiful, but not selfless. She was determined to pay her family’s debt, and she wanted to get away from them any way she could. The adventure had as much an appeal as the necessity. It wasn’t entirely selfless, and her intent had never been to help Lord de Mareys. No, it seemed the unselfish help he needed would have to come from someone else. Her motives were too mixed.
“It’s true my motives coming here were not utterly unselfish,” she said at last. “I must admit if I’d known I wouldn’t have been brave enough to come. I’m sorry. Perhaps if I’d been less worried about my own wants and my family’s reputation I might have been that aid.”
“Nonsense,” he replied gruffly. “I’m glad you’re here, whatever your motivation may have been.”
“I feel differently now."
“Indeed?”
“Yes, because now you are much more to me than the lord of the manor,” she flashed a brief smile. To her surprise Lord de Mareys looked flustered. It might have been the glow of the fire, but she was nearly sure he blushed as he looked away. “We are good friends, and we have no secrets now.” Anwen said.
“Very true,” he replied quietly. “Well, then, my friend, how will you break the curse?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” she said, her brow wrinkled. “I’ve had so many dreams. In all of them I was looking for you. In one of them I head, very clearly, a voice saying “free him.’ I’m certain I’m meant to help you in some way. Perhaps by summoning unselfish help, somehow.”
“It would be nearly impossible to do that.”
“But not absolutely impossible.”
“I suppose not.”
“There are cracks in it already.”
“I’m not sure of that.” He shrugged and crossed his arms.
He is very stubborn.
“Of course.” she said brightly. “You were good to my father, even when you could have clapped him into irons in the dungeon. I did arrive on roads set by the fair folk. Had you been cruel or callous to my father I doubt the paths would have appeared for me, and I never would have found my way. You were a little hard and frightening, but not cruel. Perhaps the powers keeping those greenways knew you would be fair and just, after such a time as it’s been. I’ve seen roads that led in the same direction for over a year, you see.”
“You have?”
She nodded. “And the dreams. Something was guiding my way. And even Father finding the castle: the woman who turned him away from his proper road I’m sure was one of the fair folk.”
“Anwen,” Lord de Mareys sighed, pressing his knuckles to his eyes. “Maybe you are right. Maybe there is some hope. I just don’t trust to hope. It’s been so long.”
It was easy for Anwen to be hopeful. She was the one who had the dreams, and who had a definite end in mind: she would restore the rose garden, see the enchanted rose bloom there, which surely had to mean something, and then she would be free to return to Llanarth. She was not stuck at Castel de Mareys, doomed to a hideous transformation outside the castle walls, never really aging, always in one place, and alone. She tentatively reached out her hand and placed it on his arm, taking a step closer. How long had it been since someone laid a friendly hand on that arm?
“I’d break the spell at once, if I could.”
He placed his hand on hers and gently squeezed her fingers. “I believe you. But you are only here for a short time. Once you’ve done your work you will be free to go home, and I will not force you to stay, whether or not I’m still a beast.”
“But I could stay until you are well.”
He shook his head. “You will decide for yourself. It might be that such a cure will take more time than is given to mortals.”
The next day Anwen took the rose from her chamber.
It was still blooming, though several petals were limp and wilted, and threatened to drop. She tucked it into her belt and made her way first to the kitchen garden, now tidy and sprouting with seedlings planted from a store of seeds she’d found in a drawer in the recesses of one of the pantries. She collected shears, twine, and a pair of leather gloves she’d found in a shed by the kitchen and made the long way round to the walled rose garden. When she arrived, she found Lord de Mareys already there, sitting in the niche in the stone wall.
“I’ve been waiting for you. What have you there?” he gestured towards her belt.
“It’s the rose, my lord.” She lifted it from her belt and held it out to him. “Will you take it please?”
He strode over the mostly clear paths and held the flower between his thumb and forefinger.
He hissed, jerking his thumb away. For a moment a drop of blood shone on his finger.
“Did it prick you, sir?” Anwen didn’t look up as she kilted up her skirt to move more easily.
“It’s nothing,” he replied, pressing his thumb to his mouth. “What am I to do with it?”
“Follow me.”
The two crossed the garden towards the stone wall where the climbing rose had grown. The tangle of stems was gone, hacked away by Anwen’s little knife, and the brown, shredded base of the plant did nothing more than mark the spot. There was no green, no sign of life at all.
“They’re so ugly,” said Lord de Mareys. “It’s remarkable how such ugly stems can bear roses.”
“I like to think of them as being the ugly, menacing protectors of the pretty blooms. Like a princess’s bodyguard.” Anwen knelt in the dirt and pulled up the remaining stems. They came up easily, the roots shriveled and powdery. “Roses are very hardy,” she shook her head. “That they were blooming midwinter was surely a sign they had some magic in them. They shouldn’t have died so completely, so quickly. I’ve brought back roses I thought were done for,” she glanced up at her companion. “It takes a good deal for an ordinary rose to wither and desiccate like this.”
“It’s obviously enchanted,” he replied. “When it was plucked, I knew it would die, somehow. I’m only surprised the flower itself has only wilted a little.”
“I don’t like that it started wilting the day after you saved me from the fair folk. You mentioned your grandmother made this garden. The lady who cursed you also mentioned your grandmother. Do you suppose she had anything to do with the fair folk, my lord?”
“I wish you’d stop calling me ‘my lord’.” He reached around and grabbed the spade that rested against the wall and knelt down. “You said it would be unseemly to call me Beast, and you are right. I’m fully aware of the difference in our stations. Even so, would you object greatly to calling me by my Christian name?”
Once again, Anwen was surprised to see him flush as though embarrassed.
“It’s been a very long time,” he explained, examining an invisible speck of dirt on his tunic. Anwen considered momentarily. It was more than reasonable, she thought, to ask her to call him by his proper name after all they’d been through together. Formality felt out of place now.
“If you wish it, I will. Arthur.”
“Thank you.” His face lightened with a look of relief. “I am very grateful.”
“I hope it cheers you,” she smiled. “It’s only a small thing, after all.”
“Not small,” he replied. “What shall I do?”
“Would you be so kind as to dig a small hole just here?” she gestured to a spot next to the original home of the climbing rose. While he dug, she fetched a bucketful of well-rotted manure and vegetation that had been left for goodness knows how long. She drew on her gloves and scooped up handfuls of the dirt, mixing it into the soil Lord de Mareys turned over with the spade.
Arthur.
“Why is the rose stem wrapped up like that?” he asked, leaning the spade against the wall again.
“I’ve kept the stem in this little pouch of dirt,” she explained. “It was in a pitcher of water, but I thought I ought to see if it would put out any roots. And you can see it has.” She unwrapped the little cloth bundle from the stem, revealing white tendrils of roots. “I should have cut the bloom, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not without your say so.”
Arthur took the stem back into his hands, this time being careful to hold it lightly. “I had no idea it could grow new roots.”
“I was fortunate,” shrugged Anwen, waving aside the slightly awed tone in his voice. “It’s certainly ensorcelled in some way. That being the case I thought there was a good chance it would put out those roots. Whether it takes in the ground is another matter.”
“If we cut off the flower, will it help it grow?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “The stem will retain more strength, rather than sending that strength to keeping the flower blooming. Eventually the stem will put out new shoots. At least that is what happens with ordinary roses. There’s a chance something terrible will happen if we cut this one.” She spoke lightly, disguising her real worry at risking some kind of fae danger if the rose objected to deadheading. She couldn’t help comparing it to the beheading of the prince in the tapestry. He came to no permanent harm, to be sure, but there was no way to know if, in destroying the rose bloom, harm would come to Lord-no, to Arthur.
“I see,” he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, thinking. “Do you think that restoring this rose will restore the garden?”
“I do. This climbing rose seems to have been the heart of the garden.”
“My grandmother loved this garden. She let me watch the gardeners work here when I was a boy. I never really appreciated the work, and they wished me well away. Little lordlings were better left to their own devices. I loved the place all the same.”
“Did she never tell you where she found this rose?”
“No, never. It was well established when I was still small. I remember it bloomed from St. John’s Eve until Christmas. My grandmother was strange,” he furrowed his brough. “She would disappear and not come home for days. Not long enough to have visited another castle or manor. Just missing long enough for everyone to wonder where she’d gone. She never said anything, though she often brought back other plants.”
“My lord-Arthur,”
“Yes?”
“I think she must have visited that fairy woman.”
“The thought has crossed my mind. Here” he knelt down beside her. “I will cut the flowerhead.”
Anwen handed him the shears. She looked very serious. He glanced at her, his mouth quirking upwards in a half smile. “What is it? Are you afraid something will happen to me?”
“Yes.” She shook herself.
“I will be all right. Are you ready?”
She nodded. He cut the bloom at its base and handed it to Anwen, who placed it carefully in her pocket. Together they waited. A few minutes passed, and both heaved sighs of relief. A finch flew by, singing, and clouds rolled in overhead. All was well.
“Thank God,” Anwen breathed. “Are you quite well?”
“I am. Are you?”
“Yes.”
She dibbled her fingers in the soft soil bed they’d made and carefully stuck the stem and its little roots down, patting it in firmly as they tucked it in safely.
“It looks like rain,” she said, squinting up at the clouds now darkening. “I had planned on spacing some of these dormant or dead plants today to see if a little care will wake them in time for the summer, but I don’t fancy getting soaked.” She sighed. “I don’t want to waste my time here. You must wish for the debt to be repaid.”
“You’ve already done so much.”
“Not enough, and while I will help you break this spell, I still have the workaday things to attend to.”
“You can’t help the weather,” he stood and held out his hand to her. “Come. Bear me company today while it rains.
Anwen fretted a little as they walked back to the great hall. They’d spent very little time during the day together, mostly keeping to themselves before meeting at the magically provided evening meal, and she wondered how she would fill the time. Sitting idle never felt right to her. Checking and wrapping her scratches would only take a few minutes, and there was no weaving to be done.
“Is your arm better?” asked Arthur.
“I believe so. It would be good to check, though.”
He stopped short, as though caught by a sudden flash of brilliance. “Why don’t you run ahead and fetch your medicines and come to me in the hall?”
Amused, Anwen agreed, and quickly jogged away to the courtyard, turning in time to catch a glimpse of Lord de Mareys making his way to the stable block.
“Don’t do anything silly,” she murmured. “I do like you so much. Despite everything.”
Was he going to run out of the castle again? She hadn’t spent much time exploring the old stables, now empty. He’d mentioned his old horse, long gone now, the victim of the disappearances, and how much he’d loved hunting and practicing tilting in the stable yard. Of course he’d received knightly training in his uncle’s house. It was expected; the master of a castle had to be well able to fight in real battles as well as in the ornate spectacles of tournaments. He must have been an impressive sight, galloping towards his opponents in his armor. She wished she could have seen it.
He wouldn’t have paid me any mind. I’d be far too beneath him, just a girl in the crowd. She couldn’t decide if it was better now, despite his unfortunate condition, or if he ought to have been left alone to live out the life of a spoilt lord.
At least this way we met.
She fetched the medicine and bandages and set them up on the settle in the light of the hearth. By now it was raining properly, and the light coming through the windows was dim and gray. At last, the great doors opened and in came Lord de Mareys, dripping wet and carrying a wooden board with a target painted on it, along with two bows, their strings wrapped in oiled cloth, and two quivers hanging on his back. By his side hung a belt with a pair of knives, long and dangerous.
“What is this?”
“Rainy day things to do,” he smiled. “I thought you might enjoy learning to shoot, if you don’t know. I haven’t done any archery in an age, but after your adventure in the woods, it would be good for you to know how to defend yourself.”
Anwen clapped her hands in delight. She couldn’t remember anyone ever thinking she would want to learn such things.
“I was just thinking about tournaments and how I always enjoyed them. You must have fought in some. Were you more for jousting or archery? Or single combat?”
“I dind’t know you enhoyed sport.”
“I do, but it’s very frightening.”
“I was more of an archer, but only moderately good at it. I’ve fought in a few tournaments but generally was unhorsed quickly. I was never patient enough to practice. But now,” he shrugged deprecatingly. “After everything changed, I spent a good deal of time practicing with my bow. Would you like me to teach you?” He looked at her hopefully, and, to her surprise, with something more than hope lurking in his blue eyes. She blushed and glanced away. That would never do.
“I would, thank you. I warn you I’ve never used a bow before. I might be terrible.”
“I doubt that. And if you are we can try knives. But first your wounds. Let me help.”
Wondering at his enthusiasm, she sat down lifted her sleeve to above her shoulder, allowing him to unwrap the linens. The scratches were less livid than the day before, only a little sore to the touch, and already beginning to scab over.
“With luck it won’t scar too badly,” she said, pleased.
“Does it need more ointment?”
“Yes. The same as before, and wrapped up again.”
Arthur delicately smoothed the medicine over the scars one by one, and wound a bandage back around her arm. He kept his eyes firmly on his task, as he’d done the day before.
“Now for your cut,” she said quietly. His expression made her a little—what? Nervous? Flattered? Whatever it was, it was unsuitable for their situation, even if they were on first name terms now.
“I’m sure it’s well enough,” he objected.
“You ought not fool about with cuts. They can get infected. Come now,” she risked a smile. “Please, Arthur. I don’t want you to be hurt any more than you’ve already been.”
Now it was his turn to look nervous. The mention of his Christian name made him nearly laugh, but then cough and stay stoically still as she removed the bandage pad. The wound was still oozing, but only a little, and she quickly doused it in wine. Arthur winced.
“I’m sorry!” Anwen said, dabbing gently. “With any good fortune at all you will not have to fight off the fair folk for me every again.”
“It was my honor.”
“You are very kind,” she smeared some ointment over his brow and replaced the bandage. “There. I will change it again tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Again, his gaze held hers for a moment before she turned to put away her supplies.
“So, what are you going to teach me?” she said cheerfully. “I feel like I should call you Sir Arthur if you are going to give me tournament training. A noble name.”
“King Arthur seems to have been a bit of a letdown, to be perfectly honest, Anwen.” He chuckled, a low, vaguely growling sound that was not unpleasant to her.
“Oh, no, I will not allow you to say that! He was betrayed so often, and didn’t always make good decisions, that’s all.”
“Do you like the romances, then?” He picked up the wooden board and walked with it to the far end of the hall, setting it down so it stood freely.
“I do,” admitted Anwen, picking up the smaller quiver and slinging it over her shoulder. “I think they’re very entertaining, though I don’t care for much of the courtly love stories.”
“No?” He took up his own quiver and a great bow, then handed Anwen a lighter one. “Here. It takes a good deal of strength to use one of the long bows, and while you’re certainly stronger than any of the ladies who used to haunt my court it’s better to start smaller and lighter.”
The bow was clearly meant for women, to be used as a very dangerous plaything, but Anwen was determined to master archery before she returned home. She’d be able to bring home rabbits, if she got permission from Lord de Mareys. She liked the feel of the bow in her hand, and the way the string made a twanging sound when she plucked it, like an instrument. It was good to do something with a friend, to feel like she was on a nearly equal footing with someone she liked and respected, and who liked her, too. For the next hour she learned how to grip the bow, how to stand at the correct angle, and how to notch an arrow to the string. Drawing the arrow back was harder than it looked. She could feel her chest and shoulder and arms burn as her muscles worked to hold the bow steady and pull back firmly. The first dozen arrows missed the target entirely, bouncing off the wood or falling pitifully on the floor without making it as far.
“You’re nearly there,” Arthur encouraged her quietly. “I like that you don’t get angry when it’s difficult, Anwen.”
She smiled and focused on the target. “My life has been difficult. If I let myself get angry I would have been angry all the time. Besides,” she drew back her bowstring, “I like being here with you, and I very much like learning to shoot.” She loosed the arrow, which flew towards the target, sticking in the outermost ring.
“I did it!” she jumped up, laughing delightedly. “I’ll never make a soldier, but I can hit a target!”
Lord de Mareys clapped her gently on her good shoulder and smiled his half smile. “With practice you will be able to hit more than a wooden target. I’ve never met anyone as determined.”
“Thank you,” she said, returning his half smile with a grin. “I’ve never met anyone as impressed by my determination. My family always said I was just stubborn and a shrew.”
“I’ve never seen anything shrewish about you.”
“Well, that relieves my mind. You asked me about romances earlier. I wanted to say how much I love tales, and tales of adventure and true love, but the way nobody ever seems to fall in love with their wives or husbands in the tales is irksome to me. Surely that is not impossible!”
“Noblemen and women are meant to marry in order to seal alliances. Love doesn’t enter into it. Very good men will learn over time to care sincerely for their wives, I believe, but it doesn’t happen as a rule.”
“I think that’s very sad. Villeins and freemen who aren’t burdened with land and titles seem to have better chances at happiness, then.”
“I would agree with that.”
“You were meant to marry before—?”
“I was. They’d picked out an appropriate lady I’d never met. She was, from what I remember, the daughter of an English earl. It was a far better match for me than for her, but she was a younger daughter and so wouldn’t have as many chances at a great match.”
“Oh. And did she want to marry you?”
“She had no choice, really. Why?” He looked puzzled.
“I only wondered. It’s difficult for women in those positions. My father tried valiantly to marry me off when I came back from the abbey. It never worked. I always ended up boring any suitors with my hobbies. Then my sister was abandoned by her sweetheart just before her betrothal when Father lost his ships. She’s probably married by now, to the miller’s son in the village.” She sighed and leaned against the settle, resting her arm. “Perhaps we are as callous about marriage as your family. Avice will marry anybody rich who will have her, and John will find a willing wife as soon as he thinks of marrying. Godric won’t ever find anybody—he needs a rich wife, but no one with her own wealth would waste it on Godric. Oswin is for the church.”
Arthur walked towards the target and moved it farther away. “Callous, or merely prudent? One has to be able to live, after all. Now, let’s see who will win.”
“An unfair decision, to move it so far, my lord!” laughed Anwen. “I’ll never hit it now. I haven’t the arm strength.”
“I think you could,” he said matter of factly. “Can any of your siblings shoot?”
“No, but John is fairly good with a cross bow for hunting.”
“Once again proving you are superior to them all,” he smirked. “I can’t imagine you letting anyone dictate who you married or why.”
“Now that is unfair,” replied Anwen, drawing back her bowstring as hard as she could to make up for the distance. “You don’t know any of them, and it isn’t as though they’re uncommon in their attitudes.” She loosed the arrow and watched as it flew towards the target, hitting outside the bullseye but sticking. “Oh! Look!”
“Well done,” Arthur smiled. “You see? I knew you would hit it.” Now it was his turn. He took up his bow and aimed. “Their ideas are not uncommon, but your distinction among them is obvious. You think differently than they do.” The arrow sped towards the target and hit the outer ring.
“A beautiful shot!” approved Anwen. “I’m speaking like I know what I’m doing. I don’t think my ideas are very unusual. I’m just stubborn. If I was in a position where I was forced to marry without loving or respecting my husband—well! It would be a cross to bear. We all have crosses to bear in each of our stations. Your station has its own crosses.” She turned her frank gaze towards him. “I’ve never been forced into a path in order to secure alliances or power.”
“But then,” He watched her pull her string back and notch an arrow. “Here, allow me,” he placed his hands on her shoulders and maneuvered her to a better position. “Keep sideways. There.” The arrow loosed, this time hitting the outer ring. He smiled.
“You were saying?”
“But then I’ve never had to worry about the necessities of life, even after things changed,” he said. “You are right. Every position comes with its advantages and disadvantages. I think it would be harder to go without the necessities of life, though. I think it is easier to choose security over love, at least for most people.”
She watched him aim and heard the thud as the arrow hit the bullseye in the venter.
“Oh! I think you win.”
“Last try for you, then.”
Once again, she notched her arrow, planted her feet firmly on the floor and pulled back. “Ow!” she let the bow fall.
“Anwen! What is it?”
“My arm,” she rubbed the bandages below her sleeve. “It hurts rather badly. I’d better not shoot again.”
“Can I help you?”
“No,” she shook her head. “It hasn’t broken open, though it will if I don’t rest it. Thank you for showing me how. I enjoyed it enormously.”
Arthur gathered up the spent arrows and put away the bows and quivers by the target. He glanced back at Anwen, who sat down beside the fire. She looked peaceful and content.
He is behaving more like an ordinary man now than he ever did before, she thought as he made his way towards her. She wondered what he was thinking. Feeling in her pocket she brought out the handful of petals, all that remained of the enchanted rose.
“What shall I do with them?” She raised them for him to see. Arthur stood by her, looking at the red petals, like droplets of blood, in her hand. Her hand was calloused, far more than he remembered the white, soft hands of the lady he’d intended to marry all those years ago. He frowned.
“Your hands look like they hurt.”
“What? Oh no, they are perfectly well. Only a little rough.”
He placed her hand, palm side up, in his and tipped it over into his other hand. “If they hurt you should tell me.”
“Of course,” she said, confused. “What about the petals?”
“I would like to be rid of them, unless you have a purpose in mind,” he said.
Surprised, Anwen raised her eyebrows. “Why? I don’t have any purpose. I actually thought it felt strange to keep them now.”
“In that case…” he tossed them into the fire, where they blazed briefly. A soft, clean scent wafted towards them. “My grandmother used to burn rose petals or scatter them on the rushes on the floors. I won’t feel badly for doing as she did.”
For a moment they were still, Anwen seated, her hand still held by her companion. She felt content, listening to the rain beat down on the windows, smelling the woodsmoke and roses, with her hand resting in Arthur’s. It felt dreamlike, but not with the urgent intensity of most of her dreams. Then he let go, breaking the quiet.
It was for the best, Anwen thought, remembering her position.
“Anwen,”
“Yes?”
“What will you do when you go home? You said your siblings will marry or join the church. What about you?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Is there nobody in Llanarth for whom you have a preference?”
“You mean someone marriageable? I’ve no dowry, and my friends are all either married or have sweethearts, or are quite old,” she laughed a little. “After I leave here I have no idea what I will do. My family will be angry with me. And in any case, I’d like to marry only if I knew I was truly loved, and if I loved in return. It’s unlikely.”
“I see.”
“Mistress Richildis will be cross with me, for running off, unless Master Steward gives her news of me when he visits next. I will have to be very careful to make sure nobody impugns my virtue, you see. We are already an unpopular family; if the responsible daughter has a black mark against her virtue, it will be hard going for me.”
“Any influence I have I could use—”
“To find me a husband? Thank you, but it would never do. I can manage gossips and busy bodies well enough.” She spoke lightly, not wanting to think too much about the inevitable difficulties of a return to Llanarth. “And you? Do you intend to marry?”
As soon as she realized what she’d said she regretted it. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think.”
“No, please don’t concern yourself.” He sat down across from her, his face a study in resignation.
“I should not have asked if you meant to marry, my lord.” She pressed her lips together in embarrassment.
“Not ‘my lord,’” he replied with a brief smile. “And I did ask you first.”
“If you’d like to know, there was one man…”
“Oh?” Was it her imagination or did a scowl pass quickly over his face?
Anwen leaned back and thought. She somehow had a very difficult time keeping the image of Sir Everard in her head. He had been the only man to show an interest in her since their arrival, and she doubted he had marriage in mind. He looked so much like that changeable figure in the tapestry.
“There was a knight,” she rubbed her arm as she remembered that persistent, unsettling man. “My family met him and his fellow knights on our way to Llanarth, and he returned during the winter. He paid me a good deal of attention, but I did not like him.”
“Unwelcome attention?”
“Not exactly. Not at first. It was flattering,” she shook her head. “My sisters were very jealous, but he paid them no mind at all. I distrusted him after the first day. He is the one who filled Godric’s head with nonsense about restoring our fortunes, and he is the one who told us a rumor of the ships not being wrecked after all. He-,” she pressed her hands against her forehead as though trying to clear her mind. “He wanted me to run down a greenway with him, to go away with him.”
“Down a greenway?” Arthur’s brows snapped together as he leaned forward. “He could see them?”
“Yes. I thought he might be fae, but that couldn’t have been. He looked quite ordinary. Handsome, but ordinary.”
“What did he look like?”
“Fair haired, like you, but sort of willowy. Tall and green eyed.”
“What device did he wear?”
“I don’t remember,” she paused. “That is strange that I don’t remember. I remember he wore a green surcoat. Like the figure in your tapestry, but not as tall, and his complexion was human. Ruddy and healthy looking.”
“You refused him, didn’t you? When he wished to take you away?”
“Of course! I may have come here a little impetuously, but I would not run off with an unknown knight. I never even knew what lord he served.”
“Anwen, you had a narrow escape,” he exhaled and took her hands in his own, clasping them. “I can’t be sure but—”
“What is it?” Her hand felt warm in his, and her heart surprised her, giving a fluttery leap that felt too much like happiness.
He shook his head. “It is almost certain he was one of the fair folk. It’s very good thing you kept your head about you. You know how they can muddle your thoughts.”
“He did try,” Anwen admitted. “At a feast. He wanted me to wait for him, and to dance. His eyes were strange that night. Do you think he lied to my father about the ships? I thought he might have done so.”
“It is very likely. He may also have poisoned your brother’s mind so it would become obsessed with seeking out your lost property.”
“Why, though?”
“Mischief. Arrogance. Wanting to gain your favor.”
“Why would he want that?” Anwen said lightly. She really needed to tamp down the fluttery feeling that refused to go away.
“Because you are a beauty,” he said, looking at her too seriously. “Anybody would wish for your favor. I count myself very fortunate to have gained yours.”
“I must find a ribbon to tie around your arm the next time you enter a tournament, then,” Anwen said, still speaking lightly. “When the spell is broken—“
“If. And that’s not likely.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Still, we should try to find a way. Unselfish aid, and unselfish welcome. Surely there is a way to make that happen.” Anwen met his eyes, forcing a practical tone into her voice.
Arthur looked away.
“The only thing I’ve thought of is something out of a tale. And we both know that tales are wonderful for ideals but not a guide for how to live well.”
“We will have to disagree a little there, my friend,” Anwen replied. “What tale? I know many where the knight rescues a damsel in distress, but they always have some kind of combat, and everyone marries or dies. I would rather we end our story well.”
“Then you will dislike the idea.”
“I may, but I would like to hear it all the same. I’m sure I’m meant to help free you.”
“Do you know the tale of Sir Gawain and the loathly lady?”
“Yes.” She did know the tale. If only she could get the flutters in her belly to go away she’d be able to think more clearly.
“When Sir Gawain met the loathly lady,” continued Arthur, “She was under a curse and he wished to help her, so he married her, and she turned into a fair maiden. She gives him a choice of whether to see her as ugly in the night or in the day, and he turns the choice back to her, which was the way to break her curse. He left her to decide, leaving his own preference aside.”
Anwen did not like where this was leading.
Arthur let go of her hands. “Perhaps you are the Sir Gawain in this situation, Anwen. Perhaps you might marry me.”
A silence rushed towards Anwen. The flutters were gone now, leaving a hollow feeling. Of course she could do no such thing. Anwen blinked rapidly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I only thought of it as a possible way to break the spell,” he said apologetically.
“But I cannot!” She clutched her kirtle between her fingers and twisted. “It wouldn’t be right. I have a duty…it isn’t that…,” she wanted to say it wasn’t because he could transform into a beast, but while she could forget temporarily, feeling drawn to him in a way that alarmed her as she forgot his curse, the fact remained that he was under a spell. If she could break the spell first. . . No. Even then it would not be acceptable. He was a lord, and she was a tenant on his land. It was unsuitable.
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
“Arthur.”
“Arthur.” She shook her head.
“Please don’t worry, Anwen. It was only a thought. I’m sorry to have upset you.”
“I’m nobody,” Anwen stared at him. “If I can break the spell, you will be once again sought after and powerful, and I will be in my cottage.” She had to stop thinking he meant it personally. It was only an idea, a theory worth exploring but one that could not work for so many reasons.
“You are not nobody,” he said firmly, and then laughed ruefully. “Can you think of any lady fair who would have me knowing what I am or even what I had been, should the spell come undone? My thought was merely that it would be unselfish aid on your part and hospitable on mine.”
“I see.” Anwen felt her insides go cold. The fluttering of her heart stilled. He really did mean it as a thought exercise. Nothing more. She coughed. “It’s certainly a-a clever thought. But—”
“But you won’t.”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right. I meant what I said about love and marriage. And it would be wrong for you to marry if you didn’t—”
“Say no more,” he stood up. “I’m sorry I surprised you. We will speak no more about it. It was only a thought. I don’t wish to be the loathly lady any more than you wish to be Sir Gawain.”