1 comments/ 4766 views/ 0 favorites It Was an English Lady Bright. By: hotturkey The Jousting Tournament was well underway on the unusually sunny spring day in the north of England, not too far from the fluctuating Scottish border. Oftentimes in previous years, raiders from either side would cross into the other's territory, stealing cattle, sheep, horses, crops or anything else that could be moved away quickly. Even the border itself moved as one side or the other gained control of land. For the brief time of the past few years, however, the raids had been few, not many participated and the border seemed stable for the time being. Knights from both countries now traveled freely to and from the gaudy jousting tournaments held in the warmer months. These relatively safe tournaments were meant to take place of deadly combat and give the Knights practice for war or crusades. In a broad field outside the walls of Carlisle Castle, a large spectator stand was erected with a small central platform and shade covering for Baron John and his attendants to comfortably watch his youngest son Sir James and the other Knights participate in the non-lethal combat. A low wooden fence or tilt ran the length of the field to keep the jousting Knights from crashing head-on into each other. Later on in the sword-fighting event, it would be used as a barrier to fight over, protecting the Knights' legs and keeping any combatants from rushing their opponents as they sparred with blunted swords. Brightly colored banners and pennants on the stands lazily stirred in what little breeze that happened by, often carrying the recognizable aroma of the nearby brew houses, bakeries and meat roasters. The heralds announced the next two Knights to joust in the tournament and they took their places at either end of the tilt. Sir Duncan MacBeadh, a visitor from north of the border, was one of the young knights thought to have a good chance of winning the day. Despite his youth he had a natural athletic ability and a good four years experience in the tiltyard, having run his first joust just before his sixteenth birthday. He was so far undefeated in this tournament, but he had yet to face the other favorite of the day, the Baron's son Sir James. In this bout, Duncan was set against an older knight, well experienced yet not highly rated in the tournament. At the marshal's signal the two knights couched their blunt-tipped lances, setting the hardwood shaft tightly under the right arm. Spurring their eager horses forward along the length of the tilt, each hunched behind his large, flatiron-shaped shield to present less of a target to his opponent. The two knights met with the distinctive crash of a joust and the sound of fracturing wood. Sir Duncan's aim remained true, catching the older knight on the inner portion of the shield, close to the center of his body. The force of the impact literally lifted him over the cantle of his saddle and deposited him in a clattering heap on the ground. Sir Duncan, seemingly untouched by the other's lance save for a shallow scrape across the leather outer covering of his wooden shield, wheeled his horse around end of the tilt to check the condition of his opponent. Seeing the unfortunate knight struggle to his feet, Duncan dropped his cracked lance, pulled off his thick barrel-shaped helm and grinned as a few of the crowd cheered. Even though he knew that Scots weren't well liked here, many of the spectators had doubtless placed wagers on his skill based on his past performance in the jousts. Without the helm it was easy to recognize the young man as a Scotsman. His fair hair hung shoulder-length in the Scots fashion instead of being cropped close in the Norman-style bowl cut popular in England. Duncan rode slowly along the stands toward his tent in the waiting area, waving back to those who dared wave to him and winking at the pretty maidens with their shy smiles and giggles. He had found that a pretty southern maid could often be charmed by his natural good looks, unusual manners and strange accent. Scotland was still considered an exotic foreign land, somewhat taboo because of the recent border troubles. This made the handsome young Scotsman almost irresistible to some girls and Duncan had no lack of warm cuddles on a cold evening, stolen kisses, and sometimes more. Passing the central covered platform, Sir Duncan stood in his stirrups and solemnly bowed to his host, the Baron. But just as he rode past the Baron's chair, his attention was captured by a slender young Lady. Her dark, wavy hair was unbound proclaiming her unmarried and hung in dark, shiny waves to her supple waist. Her expensive light-blue dress showed that she was well to do. Finally the thin silver circlet set above her brow advertised her status as noble born. Her heart-shaped face was fresh and well formed, her eyes so dark as to be mysterious. Sir Duncan openly stared for a moment and she stared back, her mouth partway open in surprise. But she had enough self-control to sit quietly, almost defiantly, while the young women around her, likely her friends and servants, giggled and whispered. Duncan favored her with a slight bow before he moved on, back to his tent to wait for the herald to call his name again. He didn't have long to wait. Two jousts later, he heard his name announced as facing the Baron's son, Sir James of Carlisle. Duncan fastened his helm and took his place at the end of the tilt. Oftentimes the younger knights taunted each other before meeting in tournament. "Well met, Sir James I hope you've been practicing since our last bout!" Sir Duncan shouted at his opponent waiting at the opposite end of the tilt. "Perhaps you'll stay in your saddle this time." Sir James snorted and did his best to ignore the words of his rival. The young Scotsman had been besting the young Englishman since they first met in a tournament nearly two years ago. Sir James always vowed to teach the Scot a lesson, but often turned out to be the student. It rankled James that a barbarian from north of the border should be allowed to enter civilized tournaments. His anger was all the more bitter that the Scot always seemed to win. Duncan's practiced eye noticed that James' horse was a bit nervous and hoped that would work to his advantage. The Marshal gave the signal and the two Knights spurred their mounts forward, lowering their blunted lances into position. They met at the center of the field with a greater crash than usual. The Englishman's lance hit the upper corner of the Scot's shield, breaking off a chunk of the wood under the leather covering and leaving a deep gash along the leather surface. The tip of his lance narrowly missed Duncan's helmet but the Scotsman kept steady in his saddle. The Scot, however, kept his aim true. The flat tip of his tournament lance just missed the edge of James' shield and impacted full force into the upper part of James' barrel helm, snapping his head back. The Englishman reeled in his saddle, using all his riding skill to narrowly keep his seat, but dropped his lance in the struggle counting the joust as his loss. James dismounted and tried to retreat to the solitude of his tent, but Duncan had wheeled his horse back along the tiltyard and caught up with him. "Sir James, who is that bonnie young lassie in the light blue dress near your sire's platform? Never have I seen such a beauty." "That's my little sister, you barbarian. Go near her and I'll have your head." James hissed at the Scot, then turned his back and stomped into his tent. He didn't emerge until the herald announced the main tournament over and the field now open for challenges. He headed straight for Sir Duncan's encampment where MacBeadh was lounging on a folding camp chair to watch the various challenge bouts. "You'll not best me again!" Sir James sneered as he loudly thumped the shield hanging in front of the Scot's tent, the traditional issue of a jousting challenge. "I'll teach you not to raid our cattle or even dare look at a civilized lady." "Care to set a wager on that, wee bairn?" Sir Duncan grinned at his challenger as he picked up his helm. Duncan was hoping to anger him into making a foolish move on the jousting field by calling him an infant, even though James was the older by a couple of months. Duncan fastened his helm in place without waiting for an answer and prepared to mount his horse. "The usual wager will do, Scot." Sir James tossed a small pouch of coins at a waiting attendant to hold for him as he spun on his heel, heading back toward his horse. The Scotsman likewise surrendered his coins to the attendant. Then he mounted up, tightened his helm strap, adjusted his shield and waited patiently for a chance to enter the lists field. It just happened that they were the last challenge of the day. With the field finally clear, he picked up a lance off the weapons rack, calmly walked his horse to the edge of the tilt and stared at his opponent. Sir James' horse looked nervous, pawing the ground and snorting while Duncan's horse stood as still as a statue with an occasional flick of his tail as the only motion. When James lowered his lance into position, Duncan spurred his horse forward and couched his lance in one smooth motion as his mount gathered speed. The two Knights met with a resounding noise, James' horse slightly breaking stride. It was a small movement, barely enough to notice, yet it was enough to throw off the Englishman's timing. James' lance skittered off Duncan's shield with no effect. The Scot's lance however, caught James squarely on the inside edge of the shield, mashing it back into his body. The force of the impact was so great it shattered the wooden lance to splinters and caused James to lose his grip on the stirrups. Sir James found himself whisked off the crupper of his horse and dashed to the ground with a loud thud. Duncan rode back along the tilt without dropping the remains of his lance, but pausing to be sure that Sir James was able to rise and stalk off to reclaim his horse. Before Duncan could return to his tent, the herald had taken his place in front of the central platform of the stands and was announcing the winners of the day. Duncan peeled off his helm just in time to hear his own name. He turned his horse again and stopped in front of the Baron's platform, saluting the nobleman with the stump of his broken weapon. The Marshal of the day held up the slim wreath of flowers for the winner, the colorful ribbons hanging from its edge trailed over his arm. "Take this wreath Sir Knight and as champion you may bestow it upon any lady who has inspired your fighting prowess this day." He announced and slid the wreath over the jagged end of what was left of the Scot's lance. Duncan slid his shield around to his back on its guige strap, plucked the wreath off the stump of his lance and discarded the broken weapon before riding to the far end of the stands with the beribboned wreath in his sword hand. Deftly turning his horse without using the reins, he rode slowly along the line of eager young ladies until he paused at Sir James' dark-haired sister. Gazing at her for a moment, still captivated by her dark eyes, he slowly extended the wreath that would declare her as the Queen of Love and Beauty for that tournament. The young Lady stared back, hardly moving, her eyes wide in surprise and dropping her needle and strip of embroidery to the bench beside her. "Sir Knight?" She seemed unsure what to do. "Duncan MacBeadh, ever at your service my Lady. Pray you, take the wreath for I am smitten with your beauty." Duncan leaned closer to the girl. He could see that she was just into her first bloom of womanhood, about seventeen or eighteen years old, certainly of marriageable age. She was not as stunning as many of the other maidens in the spectator stands, but she had a certain air about her, a deeper beauty of spirit that was more attractive to Duncan than any mere superficial good looks could be. "Sir Duncan MacBee?" she asked, not quite getting the Scottish name right. "MacBeadh, there's a wee breath through your teeth at the end." Duncan gently corrected her. "Try it again lassie." "MacBeaths, MacBeathe, MacBeadh." She smiled as she tried to get his name right. Duncan's heart melted at hearing his name on her lips. He moved his horse as close as the wall of the spectator stands would allow. "That's it." Duncan nodded in approval. "But please, call me Duncan. And take this wreath from me before I perish from the radiance of your bonnie smile." She finally recovered her senses enough to lean forward and reach for the wreath. However, Duncan subtly pulled it back towards him so she had to lean even further, to the point of being precariously balanced on the edge of the bench. As she grabbed the wreath, Duncan caught her hand with a quick move and brought it to his lips. She gasped at his touch but didn't pull back and kept hold of the wreath. "Why does he set me off, why is my heart beating so?" She thought silently to herself as she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "I've kissed boys before, even on the lips. One of Father's squires squeezed my bum while we kissed and I wasn't this excited. How is he doing this?" She cast her eyes downward, swallowed hard and finally regained her composure after Duncan released her hand and waited for her to move. Janet realized that she still had her hand out at arm's length and the Knight was waiting for her to do something. She pulled her arm back as sedately as she could, hoping that he couldn't see how her hands were shaking as she set the flower wreath on her head. Her friends and attendants noticed, however and stifled their giggles behind kerchiefs or hands. "Thank you Sir. Sir Duncan MacBeadh for honoring me this day. Uh.I, uh. Oh. Please accept this token as my favor." She snatched up the nearly forgotten strip of unfinished embroidery, a half-done cross and lion emblem of Carslie, remembering to at least remove her needle before offering it to the Scot. He took it gently and kissed it before tucking it though his belt. "I'll carry it from now on to inspire me to greater feats of arms. But might I know your name, bonnie lassie?" "It's Janet, daughter of Baron John of Carlise." "Then Lady Janet, I'll hope you'll forgive me for unhorsing your brother, Sir James." Duncan grinned at her. "James? Oh, yes James will get over it soon, it's mostly his pride that's hurt. He tries so hard to be as good as our oldest brother William." Baron John suddenly interrupted the proceedings, leaning towards them as far over the rail of the central platform as his bulk would allow. His voice seemed to have lost a bit of its usual jollyness. "Sir Duncan, my little girl seems to have taken a fancy to you." He rumbled in his bass tones. "Join us for the feast tonight. We need to talk." Duncan bowed to the young lady, then her father and rode away ignoring the titters and whispers father back in the stands. After seeing to his horse, collecting his winnings and doffing his coat of chain mail armor, Duncan watched the rest of the sword tournament from his encampment. When that winner was declared, he washed up and changed into dark baggy trews tucked into his boots and his best red bliaut tunic. Though slightly faded with use, the Norman-style clothing still looked impressive with its dark blue, bright yellow and dark red embroidered edges. He buckled his long belt over the tunic and adjusted his dagger, but left off his sword. It would be considered impolite to enter his host's hall armed for battle. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he made his way into the courtyard of the castle and was directed across to the great hall by the gate guard. The feast was still being set up. Servants were busy at all manner of tasks, assembling trestle tables and benches, spreading fresh rushes and fragrant blooms on the floor, hanging banners along the walls of the hall and the innumerable other necessities to prepare for a feast. Duncan tried his best to stay out of the way of the busy staff and passed the time chatting with a few of the other tournament Knights. When the Baron entered with a fanfare, Sir Duncan was surprised to be approached by one of the stewards and escorted to a seat at the high table next to Baron John. While waiting for the ladies and other guests to arrive, His Excellency wasted no time in getting to the point. "Sir Duncan, I've been asking about you. I understand that you're the youngest son of a noble family, but without holdings of your own." "That's partially true, your Excellency, I am the youngest son of my Laird and father. But inheritance works differently in Scotland. I have my own small fief. A wee fortified house, a brewery with its own heather fields, some cattle and a salmon pool. Not much by your standards," Duncan waved his hand around the great hall, " but enough for my simple needs. About three dozen vassals all told. All else I get by my skill with the lance." "Hmm." Baron John stroked his gray-flecked beard in thought. "So you're not rich, but not completely without means and I know that you do come from an old and powerful family. The connections could be to my advantage. Hmm. Very well, then. You have my permission to put forth your suit for my youngest daughter. But let me warn you, she's headstrong and I'm afraid that I've over-indulged her since her mother died." "I had no hope of more from her or you, Excellency. I'm flattered that you'd consider me at all. But I am surprised at a few things." "What things?" "Firstly, that you consider me important enough for your daughter. Secondly that you'd rely on her judgment in the choice of suitors." The Baron laughed. "I told you I indulged her too much. Ah, here she is now." Baron John, Sir Duncan and the other seated guests quickly rose at the sound of the fanfare as the ladies of the household were escorted in by the Baron's attendants. Lady Janet was on the arm of her brother, who led her to the empty seat next to Sir Duncan. "You are in MY chair, Sir!" James growled and leaned menacingly towards the Scot, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Sit over here James," The Baron cut in loudly, "our guest is in that seat by my invitation." "He has not that right." "But I have. This is still my hall. Sit down!" Sir James snorted and in a huff stomped to the other side of the Baron's central chair, neglecting to seat his sister. Duncan quickly stepped into place and held the chair for Janet, relishing the brief sweep of her rich brown tresses across his hand as she sat. Duncan was pleased to see that she still wore the flower wreath from the tournament. "Sir Duncan," Janet fixed her dark eyes on the Scot, "I've heard that you win often at jousting. Do you have plans for all your winnings or is jousting all you do?" "Aye, lassie, uh, my Lady, I have some plans. Someday I'll widen my wee fief, but for now I just want to save up enough to go on Crusade, a pilgrimage to the Holy Land." "Are your sins so terrible that you need to go on pilgrimage? You don't look old enough to have such a dark stain on your soul." She smiled at her own jest. "It's not that my sins are so dark, but I was given this talent for the joust for some reason. It only seems right that I use it in service of God or for the good of the vassals that depend on me." "How soon will you depart?" "That depends on how much I can win or if I can find a good reason for staying here." He reached for his cup as he spoke and his hand brushed against hers as if accidentally, but Janet wasn't sure. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "Tell me about your lands." She asked, trying to ignore her own blush. "My holding isn't as grand as this, just a wee fortified house, an oversized cottage really, a pool with a stream to the sea where the salmon can breed and enough heather fields to run the largest brewery for a hundred miles. Oh, I wish you could see the heather when it blooms, the hillside is covered with bonnie wee flowers, all purple and pink." It Was an English Lady Bright. "Heather for ale? I thought that barley was used for ale." "Malted barley, aye. I get my barley from the neighboring farms and we malt it ourselves in the brewery. When the ale must is ready, we put heather into the mix to give it a slight bitter flavor, otherwise the brew is too sweet and acid to drink. It has to be done at just the right time or the ale is ruined. Sometimes we use other flavorings besides heather, like hops from the Low Countries, but heather's the most popular in the different ales." "I thought ale was just ale. How many different kinds are there?" "There's as many different ales as there are master brewers' moods, more really. At my brewery we only make six different kinds through the year. There's one for each season and two for special occasions. A nut-brown ale for spring; a pale, sweet ale for summer; autumn gets a red ale, but the dark winter ale is the strongest." "You'll have to bring me some next time you're jousting here." Janet took a sip of her own cup. "Is your ale anything like this? Which one is your favorite?" "Forgive me lassie but this is poor drink by comparison. I'll have to bring you some of our strong winter's ale, that's my favorite. The malted barley is toasted over peat fires until it's a dark, dark brown and it makes the ale much stronger. It's as dark as your bonnie, sweet eyes and nearly as intoxicating." Janet found herself blushing again under the steady gaze of the Scot. She tried to continue the conversation to keep him from noticing, but he was already aware of her continually reddening cheeks. "How does a nobleman know so much about brewing? Isn't that a peasant's craft?" "My father always said that a Laird should know what's to be done in his holdings. It keeps him aware of what his vassals should be doing." "Sir Duncan, you've told me of your lands, would you like to see my garden?" Janet's shy eyes changed, flashing at her guest boldly instead of looking down at the floor. The Scot nodded, then realized that he was being watched. Baron John cleared his throat. Duncan turned toward his host, worry evident in his eyes. "You may go Janet, but be back quickly." Baron John rumbled, ignoring the look on the Scotsman's face. "The dancing's about to begin." Janet took Duncan by the hand and led him down the kitchen passage and out through a side door. They emerged into the twilight of a secluded portion of the courtyard tucked between the great hall and the kitchen, filled with neatly arrayed plots of herbs and flowers. "This is my favorite spot. It's more kitchen herbs than flowers, but I tend them all. I'm very fond of my little garden." She gestured around at the plants, then pointed out one particular shrub. "This one is called basil. It's from the Holy Land, doesn't it smell wonderful?" She crushed a leaf in her fingers and inhaled its scent. Putting her hand to MacBeadh's nose, she urged him to sniff it also. "How do you like my garden, Sir Duncan?" Duncan grinned. "It's beautiful, but not half so bonnie as its mistress." He grabbed the hand she waved under his nose and brought it to his lips. She giggled and blushed again as he kissed her smooth hand, but her eyes remained boldly on his. "I would that you'd kiss me properly." She whispered and leaned forward, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. Duncan leaned down toward her, touching only her lips with his mouth. Gently at first, until she responded in kind. He shuffled a half step forward and placed his hands on the gentle curve of her hips. She snuggled against him, her arms snaking around his neck, pulling him tighter into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist, relishing the feel of her supple body pressed against his. After a time they broke the kiss and stared into each other's eyes for the space of a contented sigh. Janet's eyes grew mischievous. "Squeeze my bum." She murmured. Confusion crossed the Scot's face. "Huh?" "Squeeze my bum," She repeated. "Like this." She unwound one arm from his neck and reached around his waist. Grabbing a handful of his firm rump, she quickly mashed it with surprisingly strong fingers. He almost jumped as her touch sent a thrill up his spine. It took him a second to catch his breath. "Now you squeeze mine." She tilted her head back and prepared for another kiss. "Aye, m'Lady. My pleasure." He swallowed hard. Duncan avoided her lips and instead planted a kiss low on the side of her neck. Slowly he nibbled his way up towards her ear. Meantime his right hand was making a leisurely progress down her spine, over her round left cheek until he was cupping it gently in his palm. He slowly increased the pressure of his fingers until they were pressed deeply into her young flesh. Then just as slowly he eased his hand open and back up to its previous position at the center of her back. Tearing his lips away from her soft neck, he leaned back and looked for her reaction. She was still in the same position with her eyes closed and lips pursed, completely unaware of the soft mewing sounds she was making. "Lassie? Lady Janet?" Sir Duncan tried to rouse her. She blinked her eyes open and quickly shook her head to clear it. "Do that again." She sighed. "Your Ladyship," another voice interrupted. "My Lord your father sent me to remind you the dancing is about to start." The servant had just stepped through the kitchen door. If he had seen anything, his face didn't show it. Janet blushed again as she led Duncan back into the great hall. Inside the tables had been cleared away to make room for dancing. Janet was pleasantly surprised to find that MacBeadh danced as well as he jousted. He knew the steps to several popular dances and his athletic good grace had her whirling around the floor energetically enough to take her breath away. Meantime her brother was getting drunk. "Look at that beast with my sister. They ride across our borders to steal our gold, cattle and women." James took another swallow of his ale. "This is intolerable. I'd like to. to." "Go ahead, you're better than him." His equally drunken friend urged. "Your father is the law here, no one can stop you. Do something about it." "Aye, do it." Another besotted companion urged. "Be bold man." "By damn, you're right." James staggered to his feet and lurched onto the dance floor. With drawn dagger he approached the Scotsman. "Take your hands off our women, you barbarian." He slashed wildly with his dagger, nowhere near his foe and nearly stumbled. Duncan quickly pushed Janet behind him and out of the way. With one arm spread wide he urged the revelers away from the drunken Knight. The other rested on the handle of his dagger, but he didn't draw it yet. James leaned toward Duncan and aimed a slash at his breast, which MacBeadh easily avoided. "Why won't you fight me?" James roared. "Stand still." "I proved myself against you in the joust twice today." Duncan's voice was low and steady. "Put away your wee toy until you're sober." James drew his arm back to slash again and suddenly found his wrist caught in his father's iron grip. "James, stop this! Don't humiliate our house in front of all these guests." Baron John hissed through clenched teeth. "It's that foul barbarian that humiliates us. How can you even let him touch my sister?" James staggered backward, trying to get out of his father's grip. He only succeeded in dropping his weapon. "Don't you see? He's just here to steal our cattle and our women." "Guards, Sir James has had too much to drink." The Baron raised his voice. "See that he stays somewhere quiet until he's sober again." Once James had been escorted out, Baron John signaled for the musicians to start playing again. "Dance, everyone, dance. The night is still young." He scooped up a plump blond matron in a costly gown and twirled her through the intricate steps of a bransle. Janet linked her arm through Duncan's and urged him into the dance. She danced silently, not speaking for a while. Duncan was starting to think that he had somehow offended the Lady. "You didn't draw your dagger on James. Don't Knights live to fight?" There was a hint of disapproval in Janet's voice when she finally spoke. "I was always taught that a Knight sees to the safety of his people first and foremost. A true Knight should only spill blood in defense." Duncan led her to one of the benches along the side of the room where they could talk more easily. "I have a high ideal of Knighthood. A Knight should be more than just a ruffian with armor, a true Knight should be gentle unless violence is necessary. A Knight has to be many more things than a warrior." "How many things can you be?" Janet wondered, surprised at the enthusiasm in MacBeadh's voice. "As many as needed. First of all a Knight should govern his people for their own safety and well being. Not just guarding them from attack, but managing the lands and other holdings for the better. A Knight has to know what his vassals do." "So you have to know farming and husbandry besides being a warrior." She paused a moment in thought. "That's why you know about brewing. There must be a lot to know." "Aye, there is. There's also the gentle arts. I was taught to read and write letters and numbers, dance all sorts of dances, sing, play chess and even recite poetry." He shrugged. "But I'm not very good at poetry." "It sounds like there's so much more to being a knight than swinging a sword." She looked around the room. The musicians were packing up and the other guests were leaving. She stood up to go. "Will I see you at prime in our chapel tomorrow morn? Best be early." "With pleasure Lady Janet." He kissed her hands and stood there watching her walk across the room to the passage up to her solar. ====== "Duncan!" Janet's whisper caught the Scot's attention as he crossed the courtyard toward the chapel. "Over here." Janet leaned out from an alcove behind the great hall. Duncan could barely see her beckoning in the gray, misty predawn light. He followed her and found that it led to her little garden. A sly grin crossed his face as he thought of yesterday's kiss and hoped for another. "I want you to see this. Just at sunrise all the flowers release their scent." Janet leaned against his side, wrapping one arm around his back and facing both of them toward the rows of blooming plants. He draped an arm across her cloak-covered shoulders, watching the plants intently for any sign of motion. Just as the first rays of the sun penetrated the mists, the blooms swayed faintly and a sweet scent drifted through the air. Duncan took a deep, heady breath. "It is as beautiful as you said, but I still think you're more beautiful." He drew her towards him and leaned down to meet her sweet lips once more. She responded immediately and even squeezed his behind again. But before he could grab her bottom, the bell for prime began to ring. Janet broke the kiss and gently pushed him away. "Duncan, we've got to go. Mass is nearly starting and we'll be missed if we're not in the chapel." "Aye m'Lady." Duncan answered groggily, his head still reeling from the scent and her kiss. "Come on, come on, my father wants to discuss wedding arrangements later today." Janet took hold of his hand and tugged him along. "Already?" Duncan regained his senses and matched Janet's quick stride. "Yes, already. Isn't it wonderful?" Janet giggled in excitement. "Oh, and we're supposed to go hunting this afternoon. You'll get to ride through my dowry lands. And I'll have to stay close to you while we hunt, you might get lost in these unfamiliar woods." "Hmm." The thought of more kisses danced in the back of Duncan's mind. "Perhaps I should take care to get both of us lost in the woods. together." He thought to himself. ====== Some weeks later, Janet and Duncan knelt side-by-side in the chapel as the priest offered the final wedding benediction. Because of the small size of the chapel, the crowd spilled out into the courtyard. Only the most important guests were able to secure room inside the chapel itself. Baron John's family occupied the area nearest the young couple. However the Baron's oldest son, William, had secured a front space, not only for his wife, but also for his companion-in-arms from the crusades, a Templar Knight named Richard. Sir Richard was the youngest son of the local Duke, the Baron's overlord, and had joined the warrior monks of the Temple, showing his allegiance by his white robes emblazoned with the red cross patee of the Templars. Sir William had accompanied his childhood friend to the Holy Land, but had not taken the monk's vows of poverty and chastity, and so was dressed in brown as a common crusader and lay sergeant of the Templar Order. They were two of a kind, recently returned to England and were still deeply tanned from the fierce sun of Otremere. They both possessed the grim expressions of hardened warriors who had seen many battles. Judging from the protective way William's Lady held onto him, there would be no more going on crusade for the Baron's oldest son. The gaggle of other siblings, cousins and highborn guests crowded around as best they could in the cramped quarters and surged forward after Janet and Duncan rose and turned towards the door. A merrily grinning Baron John used his bulk to elbow clear a path for the young couple and led them to the great hall for the feast. The hall was arrayed as never before, far outdoing the tournament feast. Tables groaned under the weight of all the food and drink. Near the high table, there was a stack of ale kegs tended by one of Duncan's vassals. The kegs contained the best dark winter ale from MacBeadh's own brewery. At a nod from the Scotsman, the attendant filled the high table's cups with the heady brew. Baron John waited for the rest of the guests to find seats before raising his flagon. "To the newly wedded couple!" He boomed and nearly drained his mug all at once when the guests repeated the toast. A surprised smile crossed his face as he lowered his drink. "Is this your brew Sir Duncan?" "Aye, that it is, my Lord. The best ale saved from this winter's batch." "This is good strong brew." He held out his now empty cup to the attendant. "I'll have more." Janet, however, was no so pleased with the drink. She made a face after tasting it. "This is too strong a taste for me. Is there any wine?" She gestured to a servant holding a wine pitcher. Duncan looked somewhat disappointed in his new wife's behavior. He had wanted to give her a pleasant surprise with his best ale, brewed as dark as her pretty brown eyes. Now it seemed she preferred wine to the best effort of his brewery. Baron John stood again. "As a welcome to Sir Duncan MacBeadh to our family and to show that he and my daughter are now bound together, I gift you with these." He opened a small, carved box and displayed two matching, jewel-encrusted brooches. "These brooches have been in our family for generations. Wear them to show that you cannot be put asunder. Are there any other gifts?" Sir James rose from his new place, farther along the high table. "Why yes, I have this little token for my sister and her new. husband." He said it as if it pained him, but covered his expression by leaning down and producing a ceramic wine flask from under the table. "This is a costly vintage brought all the way from Gascony. They say it's the best wine in the world. You two should share it." He set the large jug in front of Janet. Janet drained the rest of the common wine from her cup, then re-filled it from the flask that James had given her. Duncan refused to mix his drinking and preferred to stay with the strong winter ale in his flagon. Janet took a long drink of her wine and made a face. "Eww, this tastes strange." She sniffed at her cup, then at the jug. "It smells funny, too. Here, see what you think." She offered the goblet to Duncan. Suddenly her hand was seized by a tremor and some of the wine sloshed out. "Lassie, what's wrong?" "I don't know. I. Aack!" Was all she could answer, anything else was lost in gurgling gasps. The wine cup crashed to the floor as her eyes widened in panic. She clutched her throat, then clawed at it, straining to take another breath. "Janet!" Duncan leapt from his seat and tried to help her, but he had no idea what to do. Janet shakily rose to her feet in desperation, still unable to take a breath. Her eyes were on Duncan, pleading, desperate. He was close to panic himself, unable to think of any way to help her, but wanting more than anything to save her. After a shuddering spasm that shook her entire body, her eyes rolled up in her head and she pitched forward into Duncan's arms. "Someone, help us!" Duncan called out in a shaky voice. She sagged against him limply, a dead weight. Some of the other guests crowded around the couple as Duncan gently lowered Janet to the floor and tried to revive her. Rubbing her hands and pressing her chest, trying to get her to breathe, calling her name over and over again. Meeting no success after several minutes, he pressed his ear against her bosom. There was no sound. "No, no, no! She's dead!" He howled, looking up with a ghastly expression on his face. Baron John collapsed in his chair, covering his face with his hands. Duncan rested his head again on Janet's breast and openly wept. Sir Richard noticed Janet's goblet lying in a puddle of wine near her overturned chair. He picked it up and sniffed at the remaining contents with a grimace. "Poison! She's been poisoned! There's wolvesbane in this wine." He announced. Duncan's head snapped up to look at James. "You gave her that wine. You killed her!" He uncoiled from the floor and lunged at James with his dagger suddenly in his hand. Richard quickly grabbed his arms and restrained him as Duncan spat curses in Gaelic and English. "That wine was meant for both of you. My sister was a traitor for marrying a barbarian." James sneered. "Now I'll have to kill you myself." James reached for his own dagger. William was on his brother instantly, keeping the two Knights separate. "Guards!" The Baron nearly sobbed his words as he pointed at his son. "Take this murderer away. He's no son of mine." "No!" Duncan let his dagger slip to the floor and dropped to one knee in front of the Baron. "I claim right of trial by combat. No foul murderer can win against a pure heart." Baron John nodded. "They fight tomorrow at noon. See to it." He commanded his seneschal, nearly choking on his tears. "William, Richard, take my little girl to the chapel and have a bier set up. I'll be with you shortly. Keep an honor guard by her through the night. The rest of you clear the hall. See that both these men stay under close watch. I want no more murder done here." With a chorus of "Aye, m'Lord." Everyone scurried about their business. "Let me go, I want to stand vigil for Janet." Duncan attempted to shake off the attendants trying to drag him away. "Let me go to the chapel." "Tomorrow, Sir Duncan. It is proper that you stay under guard tonight." The Baron heaved his bulk out of his chair and left the hall for the chapel. His head hung down and he didn't even look at his younger son. ====== Just before sunrise, Duncan was putting on his armor when Richard appeared. "Sir Duncan, I'm to escort you to the chapel. Baron John will let you watch over Lady Janet's body until the joust." "Brother Templar, I would that you'd hear my confession." The Scotsman asked as they walked toward the chapel. "But I'm only a brother of the order, not a priest. I can't give you absolution." "Nay, you're under Holy Orders and can hear confession and can even give absolution in times of need. I have that need now. I have a deadly battle today. Hear me out and promise me this. No matter what happens, let me be buried in a Templar habit, but next to Janet." It Was an English Lady Bright. "I'm not sure I can promise that." Richard shook his head. "Promise me that and I'll promise you this. If I live, I'll take the cross and go with you to fight in the Holy Land. There's nothing for me here." "But your lands." "I've given them to Baron John." Duncan snapped. "The warrants are already drawn up, you'll find them with his seneschal. Promise me, promise that you'll make me a Templar after the joust." "That I can promise." Richard nodded. Duncan kneeled in front of Janet's body and crossed himself. He stayed there, motionless in prayer for a long time before he could bring himself to end the prayer and try to rise. As he braced himself to stand, he felt the Templar's hand on his shoulder. "Duncan, let me hear your confession." ========== Nearly at noontime, the early morning mists were finally lifting when the Baron's marshal led the observers and spectators out to the jousting field. This was no pleasant tournament with only a few coins wagered on the outcome. This was a fight to the death. There was no tilt to keep the horses from colliding, no bright banners, no pageantry or pomp, no blunt points. Only the two warriors with cruelly sharp war lances. Sir Richard, in full armor and his white tabard with its red Templar Cross, left Duncan's side and walked to the center of the field to pronounce the benediction, loudly praying that God would give victory only to the true of heart and defeat to the guilty party. The Knights mounted their horses and at a signal from the Baron, the deadly contest began. Both Knights urged their mounts forward. Sir Duncan aimed his lance point at Sir James' helm, but James hunkered down behind his shield and was only grazed by the weapon. He had escaped the first pass with only a bright scratch along the dark iron surface of the armor. Duncan had caught James' lance on the surface of his shield and turned it aside so that his shield's leather surface was deeply gouged by the steel point and the outer corner was damaged. The wooden core had cracked under the force of the impact and the corner was visibly flapping about, only held on by the leather cover. The two knights turned their mounts and made another pass. James' lance was deflected as before, but the tip caught in the loose, broken edge of Duncan's shield and snapped in two. Duncan's lance suffered a shattering blow against James' shield yet James managed to maintain his seat and keep hold of the stump of his lance. Attendants rushed in to replace the broken weapons and offered a replacement shield to Duncan. He refused to change shields, keeping his cornerless one in hand. When the Baron saw both knights re-armed and at the ready, he signaled for them to begin the third pass. Duncan gripped his lance harder than he had ever done before as he spurred his mount forward. James aimed his lance for Duncan's helm while Duncan held his steady at the center of James' chest. Remembering the skittish behavior of James' horse in their previous bouts, Duncan shouted a loud cry just before the instant of contact. The unexpected noise startled the English Knight's mount, causing a slight misstep. It was enough to throw off the aim of James' lance. Its forged point wavered slightly away from MacBeadh's head and merely tapped against the side of his helm. Duncan kept his aim true and impacted James' shield along the inner edge. The sharp steel caught in the leather covering, tearing it asunder as it split the wooden core beneath. Duncan held his lance absolutely straight so the lance shaft held together for a few precious moments without shattering, sending it past the broken shield into the armor rings of the Englishman's mail coat. Tiny golden sparks leapt from the point as it stretched the iron rings to their breaking point, snapping them and creating a hole just large enough to admit the deadly weapon. James had no time to even gasp in defeat as his heart was pierced through by the Scot's lance. The hardwood shaft was snapped in two by the force of James' falling body. Duncan reined in his horse and wheeled around just in time to see James collapsing to the ground, half of the lance still lodged deeply in his chest. James lay there in a twisted heap without moving. A few of his friends rushed over and finding him dead, started advancing on the Scottish Knight with drawn swords. "Hold!" A loud cry from the Templar stopped them. "Sir Duncan is under my protection. He has proved his innocence." He stepped between the Englishmen and the Scot with his own sword drawn and accompanied by two of the Baron's men-at-arms with their crossbows at the ready. Without turning his head he shouted at MacBeadh. "Duncan, Get to the chapel for sanctuary. I'll be there soon." At the Baron's hasty order, his son Sir William and a handful of castle guards surrounded James' friends. Sir William pointed at the angry cluster of Knights. "Put up your swords and help me carry my brother to the great hall. We need to prepare for a double funeral." Seeing the situation under control, the Templar sheathed his sword, quickly made his way into the courtyard and across to the chapel. Duncan's horse was outside the chapel door and he found the Scot kneeling in front of Janet's shrouded bier next to a confused guard. He gave Duncan a moment more before interrupting, setting his hand on MacBeadh's shoulder. "Sir Duncan, are you serious about taking Templar orders?" Duncan looked up in surprise, then nodded. "Then swear on your sword." Richard quickly administered the novice oath, then handed Duncan a white surcoat with the red Templar's Cross sewn on front and back. "Put this on and come with me. We have to leave now, they need the chapel for a double funeral mass and you're not safe here." "But Janet. Her burial isn't until." "We have to leave now! There's no time to wait." Richard bodily dragged Duncan out of the chapel to his horse. "I'll take you to the Templar commandery where you can finish your vows. You'll have a chance to send letters." "Just send a note telling Baron John where I've gone." Duncan shook his head. ============ Four years later. The Templar Knight rode slowly up to the gate of Carlsie Castle and asked the guard if he could see Baron John on a matter of importance. The guard recognized Sir Richard, but glanced dubiously over the dusty Knight, spattered with road grime and leading a packhorse and cart burdened with a single oaken barrel. Noting the serious expression on Richard's haggard face, he called for one of his companions to carry the news to the Baron. He then waved the Templar into the courtyard. Baron John stepped out through the door of the great hall, surprised to see the Templar Knight here after so long. "Sir Richard, you've returned. Is Sir Duncan with you? What news do you bring from the Holy Land?" The Baron looked confused at seeing the Templar Knight alone. "I'll send for William, he'd like to talk with you." The Templar shook his head and dismounted without answering, his face grave. He bowed in greeting and spoke in a low voice. "Sir Duncan is here, I've brought him to be with Janet." "What?" The Baron exclaimed. "I. I don't understand, where is he?" "There were too many of them, Saracen marauders. They outnumbered us nearly ten to one, but Sir Duncan couldn't be stopped. He killed as many as he could and drove off the rest before. before." Richard had to stop for a moment, choking back tears. "Duncan is dead?" Baron John leaned back in surprise and sagged against the doorway of the hall for support. "His wounds were too deep and he'd lost too much blood. All the pilgrims would have been slain but for him." Richard placed his hands on the barrel, his head bowed. "We preserved his body in this cask of brine for the journey home. His last wish was to be laid beside Lady Janet." Here is the poem that inspired this story: It Was an English Ladye Bright By Sir Walter Scott. It was an English Ladye bright, The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all. Blithely they saw the rising sun When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all. Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; Her brother gave but a flask of wine, For ire that Love was lord of all. For she had lands both meadow and lea, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he swore her death, ere he would see A Scottish knight the lord of all. That wine she had not tasted well The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell, For Love was still the lord of all. He pierced her brother to the heart, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall:-- So perish all would true love part That Love may still be lord of all! And then he took the cross divine, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And died for her sake in Palestine; So Love was still the lord of all. Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, Pray for their souls who died for love, For Love shall still be lord of all!