An Apple Festival (Grace)

[Grace de Beaumont]

"Let's just walk about." Grace stood, brushing grass from her old skirts. She was vaguely annoyed with herself for having soured the mood of the festive day. Just because she was feeling waspish didn't mean she had to take it out on loyal Richard.

Feeling like she needed to apologize, Grace searched for something to say. She noticed for the first time now nice he looked -- his shirt was clean, boots polished, and he'd tied some ribbon she'd bought for her hair at his collar. Impulsively, she stepped forward, touching the bit of coloured cloth. "You can look quite handsome when you make an effort," Grace mused clinically, squinting her eyes up through the sun. She gave him her best smile. "Come along, there must be more things to look at."

Walking along the periphery of the festival was an excellent way to catch nearly everything that was going on. A trio of acrobats in colourful tatters walked on their hands through the crowd, a bowl balanced on each of their feet for people to drop coins into. Two boys, brothers from the looks of it and no older than ten, had a two trained dogs, yipping and hopping through hoops. Grace laughed at how excited the dog had gotten, trying to obey two masters.

In short order, however, they had circled around to where they started, and Grace's eyes clouded a moment in disappointment. Other than the bard, there were no story-tellers in the crowd. She dearly loved to hear stories, but the foppish bard seemed more interested in pleasing the crowd with short ditties and getting as much coin as he could.

"I wanted a story," Grace sighed. "Do you know any? Something fanciful and mysterious?" Richard had gained a modest reputation back home as being an exceptional story-teller, mostly to the servant's children. He had told her a tale or two on their travels, but most time when they stopped, they were both too exhausted for idle banter. "Anything will do."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard blinked down at Grace but did not pull away awkwardly. Form her compliment, Richard supposed Grace was trying to flatter him into good mood. She walked off and Richard followed, smiling quietly as he mused that she needn't cater to his quiet moods. He'd still shadow her.

After their walk, Richard was pleasantly surprised by Grace's request. He had first started telling tales when Naula, his eldest, had reached her third winter. After that he had started collecting little stories, listening to bards and the tales told by mothers.

"Alrigh," he sat down. Again his legs were crossed and hands on his knees. For once, his gaze was distant.

"Tis tale takes place in a forest. Twas Autumn, the leaves changing colour, squirrels lookin' for acorns an' the people cutting and stackin' wood for a long winter. Autumn is a time fer changes, the time when we prepare for lack. Lack of heat, food an' moving water. We make changes ta survive the cold."

"Our hero was not making these changes. He was moonin' after a lass. The lass was also moonin', but not after a human. While he was hunting deer to present the horns to her as a gift, she was in a the forest an' explorin'. She traveled the forest day after day, sometimes not returnin' to her parents. She would climb trees and crawl down holes. She would stand still as an oak ta watch the wolf or she would run fast with the deer. Her hair became tangled an' her clothes tattered. But she didnae find what she searched for."

"The lass had seen lights. Wee little lights, smaller than yer thumb. They had danced around the ears of her milk cow an' knocked her bucket over. Then they had landed on a table and turned it into a wee apple tree before leaving. Magic, she had thought. She knew she had no magic. But mayhap if she found the Seelie and brung them a gift, mayhap they would give her magic. And so she searched, unmindful o' the simple lad seekin' to catch her eye."

Richard kept his voice low so that no one but Grace might hear. His hands and face however, were animated. Both working to try and illustrate the tale.

"The last moon of Autumn saw the lass back in her forest. Tha' was when she heard the jingle of horse tack and the bay of hounds. Nobles would not hunt at night, she thought and her heart beat fast but she stood still on the path. In her hands she clutched a pouch with a gift of sour milk and shiny rocks inside. Finally, she saw the dogs. They ran at her, their fur the colour of the moon and their eyes twinkling like night. They made as if to bring her down like game, but she stood her ground."

"Behind the hounds came the Seelie. Ye've never seen more beautiful horses. They were tall an' deep chested. Silver was in their bridle an' gold in the saddle. Gems were strung in the mane and tails and their ears were alert. They tossed heads, snorting and eyes smart. On their backs were the Seelie. Their ears were curled tight at the point and eyes so bright and colourful, it made ye forget the beauty of rainbows."

"With a voice of music, the leader bade the lass to show what was in the pouch she clutched so tight. There was a fox's cunning in his face but the lass replied smoothly, 'I ask a boon from milord. If ye grant me my boon I will give you the pouch.'" Richard paused and stroked his chin, eyes on Grace to ensure she still listened. Then he continued.

"Now all the Seelie chattered among themselves in a language the lass did not know. Finally they came to a decision. 'We have watched ye, we have seen ye run an' look an' climb. We know you seek magic. Well, magic be hard to give and so we need more than what ye can give. We need a life.'"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace, now sitting in front of Richard, clutched bunches of skirt-cloth in her fists. She could feel the power of his story, the otherworldly quality of his descriptions of the fae making prickly bumps on her arms and neck.

"A life!" Grace breathed, all eyes and startled looks. "Who's life? Hers? Her parents?"

[Richard Cabal]

"Nae," Richard murmured. "They had not only noticed the lass, y'see an' they do like toying with the changing emotions of man and woman. 'The lad who gives ye antlers. Tell him of this pact, tell him that we will take him to our court and ye will have the magic your heart so desires. Tis a fair trade.' Then they made a noise and the hounds raced off and the seelie followed, laughing."

"The lass stared after them as they left an' could not shake the cold in her spine. Those who are taken by the Seelie are often cursed in some shape or form, like Honest Tom. Cursed to tell naught but the truth and confined to the Court until it was broken. Troubled, the lass left the forest and returned to her ma and da. They clicked their tongues and shook her heads, and so she could not ask them for advice. Instead she sat on the floor o' her room and asked for Morrigan for advice. No raven called to her and the moon offered no words."

"The next morning she met with the lad an' he gave her the antlers. She dropped them in fright and covered her eyes to stop the tears. This lad, he was sweet with a kind smile and eyes like a dog. She could not send him to the Seelie. The lad waited and waited, his hands all nervous an' eyes looking from her to the ground. Why had he scared her? The lass could feel the seelie waiting for her words. With a deep breath for courage, she told him what they had said to her and the lad's face changed. He looked hard an' distant."

"'When I give my life to ye, you still have no right to give it away again.' The lass was suddenly quite angry and she yelled at the lad. 'I didnae ask for them to take ye. I did not know they would want ye!' They stared at each other, equally strong an' powerful. The lad then went ta pick up the antlers, but she stopped him, holding them to herself instead."

"'I will not go to them, I want a life here.' He said and the lass nodded with the seelie laughing in her ears. Still, the orange leaves fell and promised change. A time of seeds sown an' maybe seeds that would come to flower come Spring."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace sighed happily. She just loved this story! And the way Richard told it..... she gave the older man a shrewd, pointed look, both sly and admiring. "Who would have thought that under your crusty, warrior's exterior lay the heart of a romantic? Your reputation is utterly ruined!"

Chiding herself for interrupting, Grace waved her fingers at Richard impatiently. "Is that the end? Did the lass accept the lad's hand? Did they marry and have twenty-three children?"

[Richard Cabal]

Richard lifted his brow in response to Grace's accusation. He hadn't realised he had a reputation to ruin. Rubbing his knees, Richard waited for Grace to settle before answering.

"Opportunities were lost an' seeds were sown. I don't know which seeds flowered into somewhat, perhaps the lass grew sullen about her lost chance at magic. Perhaps the lad was embarrassed and refused her advances. Mayhap he died and that was why the seelie laughed, because he could have been saved by them."

"I do not know of romance, young Grace. But I do know I was married and I loved my family." Richard smiled gently at Grace, hoping that someday she would meet a person who made her world so much better.

"I am not a romantic, I just experienced something grand. Now, how do ye think the story ends?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

"Richard!" Grace showed shock and dismay. "No-no-no! It couldn't have ended so dismally! We should probably get one thing straight right now, Man-At-Arms Richard Cabal -- all the stories you tell me from this day forth must have happy endings. And so the story ends thus.... 'they lived happily ever after!' "

She was teasing of course, feeling impetuous and spoiled, and Grace experienced a powerful wave of homesickness. Talk of romance and match-making reminded her of many things about her life before. Things she had just been on the cusp of but now would never have a chance to experience.

Lacing her fingers over her knees, Grace blinked wistfully at Richard. "What's it like to be married? How did you meet -- some magical encounter in a forest perhaps? Did you bring her antlers?"

[Richard Cabal]

"Yes, milday," Richard murmured after chuckling quietly. "I'll be sure ta tell happier tales. With twenty three babies although I do not think that is a happy tale. Two is a handful enough." Grace's queries made him hesitate. Partially he was not sure if he should talk of his old married bliss nor was he sure that he even had the right words for it. There was a wistful look in Grace's eyes however and so he began to speak.

"I was fencing, it was dawn and Clarine was watching. I didnae think I had an audience. When I finished she brought me water and some food an' she said that she liked to watch people fence. Said it had ..." he trailed off as he tried to remember his wife's exact wording. "Terrible beauty." Much later, when they had tumbled each other in the stable loft, Clarine had admitted she had liked watching his body move.

"My lady brought me the antlers or water in this case. Nothing magic. She liked ta talk and I preferred to listen. She laughed alot. She had a quiet strength in her . . ." his eyes had gone distant with memory as he remembered his wife. She had moved with peace and grace but was a pillar for anyone who needed strength. His gut ached for her and suddenly the pain was fresh in his heart. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm the ache.

"Gettin' married . . . its I think, the second most life changin' thing ye can do. The first most life changin' thing is having children. Its not great all the time but its nice knowin' that ye've committed yourself ta someone and they've done the same with ye. Its hard to describe, probably because its also very mundane."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Listening to Richard speak in his quiet, measured voice, Grace's gentle heart nearly broke. Wrapped as she had been in her own grief, it was at times easy to forget that others had their own personal tragedies. What he had experienced with his wife, what he had lost, was almost more than she could bear to think about. Grace looked quickly away, fighting hot tears behind her eyes.

"Far from mundane," she managed. "You chose one another, freely of your own will. I call that exceedingly romantic. Do you know....?" Grace rubbed her nose, sniffing softly. "...By this time my father would have arranged a suitable match, some noble's son or other. Most likely I would have met him for the first time at the betrothal dinner, some polite conversation while our relatives congratulated themselves over a brilliant match and exchange of dowers. All very proper, respectful, dutiful. It's what I've been bred for."

Grace looked over to the peasants, all dancing about to a fiddler's reel. "And now.... that world is cut off from me. I do not know whether to rejoice my freedom or sorrow over the lost security. My father would have made sure he was a good man, an honourable family."

Now, if ever I get back my fortune and position, there is no one to act as guide.... but should that not happen and I had to make due with what I have now, I am not even a fit person to serve as a common wife. I have never learned to sew, cook, or keep a home. I am a useless bit of chaff with one foot in both worlds.

The sun didn't seem so warm anymore; Grace reflexively rubbed her arms. "It was cruel of me to ask about your wife. I'm sorry, Richard -- I did not want to cause you pain, but I was curious. My parents' union was arranged by their families, and theirs before them. To now have a choice in such things is.... unsettling."

[Richard Cabal]

Bred. That word put a sour taste in his mouth. That word made Grace sound like a prize mare, bred in a way to show pure bloodlines. He shrugged off Grace's apology, he could now see why she had questioned.

"Grace, you have a choice in how you live your life from here on. That is a grand thing. Unsettlin' yes, but a grand thing. Yer breeding is less important now, its yer ability and your character that will matter. An' maybe it will be all proper and respectful, or maybe it will be pure sin with no duty." Richard's eyes twinkled and then he was on his feet, grabbing Grace's hands and pulling her to her feet.

"Come dance with me, like a peasant. Kick decorum ta the wind." Richard tugged on Grace's hands, pulling her towards the fiddler.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace was saved giving Richard a lecture about blasphemy against the nobility by his impulsive pull on her person to rise and join the crowd's dance. She tried to resist but the man was hearing none of it.

"But wait!" she tried to laugh, tugging uselessly on his iron grip. "I don't know this kind of dancing!" That part was true. Grace had been trained in the courtly dances -- the promenades, the rondes, estampies -- stately movements that were slow, regal and controlled. But those were nothing like what was happening around the festival now. People, presumably strangers to one another, were joining hands, swinging about with abandon, twirling partners around by the waist. All about was laughter, shining faces and flashing teeth.

Standing stunned in the middle like a deer come before the bowman, Grace couldn't help a girlish squeal as Richard twirled her about. She was so startled at the man's lack of propriety, his open laughter and course (but mostly pleasant!) man-handling that she gave no thought to resisting. Around they flew, moving in and through other couples, joining them in the revelry. Grace found herself passed from hand to hand and back again to Richard, and by the end of the set, she was quite giddy with the wildness of it all.

"Enough!" she cried, giggling helplessly. "I need to catch my breath!"

[Richard Cabal]

It was complete abandon. He twirled Grace in his arms, laughing down at her and her first moment of fear. Then he twirled off to another partner, capturing a stranger in his arms. Complete abandon. He laughed and danced with strangers, eyes snapping and chest heaving from exertion. Then Grace was back with him, giggling like a young thing.

"Already?" Richard released Grace and ducked out of the crowd. His cheeks ached from laughing so much and he had trouble smoothing the smile from his face. "Here," he led Grace water containers. Cups were pressed into their hands, water slopping over the edges. Richard drank deeply from his cup.

"Bad stuff has happened to us," Richard murmured suddenly. "But there are always new things waitin' ta happen. Don't be a'feared."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Waving hands in front of her face in an attempt to cool off, Grace was still breathlessly laughing. "I can't help it! Weak as soft porridge, don't you remember you used to say that of me when we first started journeying? I'm not all big and brutish like yourself!" She poked him playfully with a finger and accepted the water, drinking it in three gulps.

Handing the cup back over, her eyes darted to Richard's as his voice grew softer. "I know," Grace murmured back, equally soft. "I know it in my head but my heart.... it still feels like it's holding its breath, waiting to exhale but afraid to do so. And besides...." Her mouth quirked in sad amusement. "How do I know these 'new things' won't be something worse? How do you know?"

[Richard Cabal]

"Faith," Richard answered. "If ye don't have faith that things will get better then yer carrying too much weight on yer shoulders." Reaching out with one arm, Richard roughly tugged Grace against his side and kissed her forehead briefly.

"It'll help deal with the grief, wee lass. I do promise. It helped me after I lost my family. Just one day, I knew I needed ta hope again. Gave me more energy . . . maybe then ye wont be as weak as a spring kitten." Richard's eyes glimmered with amusement and all at once, he felt completely at peace with the world.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace blinked back abrupt tears, her nostrils filled with Richard's scent as he embraced her. He smelled of sunshine and wool, and overwhelmingly male. A good smell, a protective smell, like her father and brothers but yet different. It reminded her of when she was little and crawled into her father's lap during a storm.

Too overcome to speak, Grace looked down, patting Richard's chest with clumsy fingers. "Faith, huh?" she finally managed, her voice rough. "You're.... either an extraordinarily wise man or a very foolish one. But thank you. For the encouragement." Faith.... oh Richard, you don't know what you are asking.
Wiping at her eyes, Grace looked down at the moisture on her fingertips with some annoyance. "You shall entirely ruin our reputations," she went bravely on, even managing a chuckle. "Being kind. Nobody will ever believe we are master and servant." In a lighter tone, Grace looked up and smiled. "You probably need to cuff me.... just for show."

She joked about it but a few people wandering by looked curiously in their direction. Grace sniffed and rubbed her face vigorously trying to do away with the emotion. "Do we dance some more? I wore you out last time but I shall allow you another go if you think you can keep up."