Amaskan's Blood, Raven Oak [read me a book .TXT] 📗

ear and used the motion as an excuse to brush aside the tear that carved an unwilling path down her cheek.

The motion was not hidden, and her father’s joy lost its zeal. “Poppet, everyone gets nervous before their wedding day. It’s perfectly natural. Your own mother fainted four times before our wedding—in fact, she had fainting spells throughout the ceremony itself. All the fuss will be over soon enough. You’ll be Alexander’s queen, ready to rule our lands once I’m long gone from this world.”

She gasped. “But I’m not ready to be queen. Besides, you’re well and healthy, Father.”

“Life is flighty, poppet. And no one is ready to rule.”

He cleared his throat to cover a cough and then drank deeply from his cup. “Is your cough still bothering you?” she asked. He busied himself by summoning a servant for more ale. “I thought the healers had given you something.”

“They have, but you know how Echain is—one moment the trees are blooming and the next, they are tempered with frost and the bite in the air sends one’s lungs to the dungeon.”

He spoke of the season as if this cough visited every Echain, and Margaret wracked her brain. How many seasons had passed since the cough had arrived? How many more would he carry it? What if… She halted the thought. Her father, the King, was strong. He would live a long while before Margaret would rule.

“I wish Mother were here.”

His face froze, all humor in his eyes dissolving. Margaret wished she could erase the words, take them back into her mouth to stay politely in her head where they belonged. Once again she’d caused him pain. As her own did, she was sure his mind rushed back to that memory, her younger self sitting in front of her mother while they both clung to the saddle.

Their horse climbed a hill during the heavy rains of Echain, mud splashing them both in their escape from Alexander. The memories were hazy, but even in the warmth of the dining hall, Margaret shivered. Bone cold had pierced right through her woolen cloak, and rain had pelted her hood. This time, closing her eyes didn’t rid her of what came next.

The snap of a twig sounded up ahead, and the guards in front of them stopped. They shouted orders several times, all of which was muffled by Margaret’s hood. Her mother’s hand clamped over Margaret’s mouth, and she whispered, “Shhhh…"

They sat astride the horse, unmoving as they waited for something, some action to dictate fight or flight. Margaret leaned closer to her mother, and Catherine wrapped one arm around her. “It will be all right, Margaret,” she whispered in Margaret’s ear.

A cry from the trees sent most of the guardsmen running toward the source. Margaret clamped her eyes shut, and when a nearby guard uttered a short gurgle, she opened them as he slid to the forest floor. Margaret and her mother were alone, and the sound of fighting in the distance diminished.

Her mother lurched forward, pressing Margaret against the saddle. The pommel dug into her shoulder, and she twisted in an attempt to free herself from her mother’s weight.

"Momma?” she called out, but her mother didn’t move. Margaret waited for a guard to free her, but no one came.

It wasn’t until the horse moved on its own to reach the nearby grass that Margaret realized just how silent her mother had become.

“Your mother would have been a nervous wreck about this wedding.”

Her father’s words jerked her back to the present, and a frightened squeak escaped her dry lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said King Leon and he leaned over the table corner to pat her hand. “You must have been long lost in thought.”

Margaret didn’t trust herself to speak. She stared at the table to hide her tears. King Leon cleared his throat and resumed cutting another apple into thin slices. When her courage returned, she said, “I was thinking about Mother. About the day she died…”

“I’m still amazed you remember. You were only five.”

“It’s like a plague I can’t cure. I remember it too well.”

Nodding, he said, “For me, too. Well, a change of topic is in order—think on your prince instead. Surely that can cure you of your blues.”

Despite the melancholy that threatened to swallow her good mood, her prince gave her partial reason to smile. “Maybe there will be a son in my future. Surely a child can cure what ails me.” Even her arms flushed at the audacity of such a bold thought, and King Leon bellowed a laugh that bounced around the empty hall; tonight was a private dinner, held at a late hour.

“Once again my daughter thinks ahead to the kingdom’s health. A grandson. My girl, that would be wonderful.” He gave her hair a slight tussle, an action left over from childhood, and she lowered her gaze to the table. “I wish the two of you all the world’s happiness. May your days be warm and full of laughter, and your nights full of love.”

If she could just survive until the wedding, all would be well. It has to. Margaret stood and rounded the table. When her father rose, she embraced him and pressed her head gently to his chest.

His heart beat in her ears, and for a moment, a fainter heartbeat, lighter and slower pulsed. The smell of rain surrounded her until she could feel the forest’s stillness. Margaret could sense the horse beneath her, feel the pommel digging into her shoulder, and then the extra heartbeat faded away. It left her beside her father as she sought the strength of knowing he would always be there, that he would never, ever leave her.

Then he coughed.

A great shudder ran through him, and she thrust his cup into his waiting hand. Another hack shook his frame before it settled, leaving him pale and shaking. “Father, are… are you sure you’re well? Maybe we should delay the wedding until you’re better?”

His energy waned