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Ygraine stood before the mirror as her maids placed the finishing touches on her bridal veil. She knew she looked good, with her pretty flushed face and her elaborate braids of golden hair, held up with jeweled pins. This day was the culmination of a decade of planning and covert manipulation of her wealthy merchant father.
Today was the day she became royalty instead of a mere Dame of the Realm. That her bridegroom had absolutely no interest in her meant nothing to her. His father, the King, was forcing him to comply to secure the trade route that gave him ready access to the rare (highly addictive) wine and valuable silk cloth that added wealth to this tiny highland kingdom’s coffers. It mattered not that she would not be a queen (too many tiresome duties), she would have the titles of both Duchess and Princess, access to the wealth provided by a duchy and she would have the third son of King Malcolm MacTavish as her lawfully wed husband. The most handsome and quick witted of this lot of highland princes.
That the man was reluctant, meant little to her. In fact any of the princes would do to achieve her goal of wealth and security. Ygraine was not meant for some doddering merchant’s son. She was a well educated and ambitious woman. There were in fact four MacTavish princes. The eldest Colin, was already wed by proxy to a Vikinga princess, and she was due to arrive the following Spring. The second, James, was intent on the clergy. John, the third was a warrior in the King’s Company and held the rank of Sergeant because he insisted on working his way up through the ranks. (The youngest son, Fergus was a smirking knave, all long limbs and poor jests. He annoyed Ygraine because he flirted and teased her mercilessly.)
Ygraine thought it foolish to vie for a ceremonial position until she saw the Prince’s facial scars (and worse when she saw him shirtless and sparring with his fellow knights) and realized with a shock that it was not a ceremonial position, the man was indeed a man who fought in the first ranks with his men. He was a battle seasoned warrior, no courtier or diplomat. Yet he was the handsomest and fittest of them all and for the first time in her sensible life, Ygraine knew the pangs of pure lust.
She could not wait to share his bed. She would give him a child to cement her position as soon as possible and regulate the birth of any others. She knew her simples and was not ignorant about what transpired in the bedchamber and was confident that he would come to welcome her womanly attentions. To be certain of his compliance her father had made it a point in the marriage contract that the proof of consummation would be publicly provided afterwards—a bloody sheet might be an antiquated custom and crude evidence, but it was also binding.
His father the King was eager for his latest delivery of wine casks (her father had expertly reduced the amount delivered over the past six months and whetted the King’s craving) and signed without thought. That the Prince refused to sign had stung, but he had no choice and would comply. If her plans went well, she would be at peak fertility on her wedding night as well. She was leaving nothing by chance to cement her position.
That the man dismissed her and barely spent time with her unless commanded by his father was embarrassing, but she would endure it. She made sure that she was nothing but sweetly mannered and courteous to him, hoping to win his favor. It was all for naught. When seated next to her at the High table, he spent the majority of the meal conversing with the hulking knight on his right. Ser Riley was a formidable man and apparently a friend as well as a bodyguard and companion. His face was very unsightly with its disfiguring scars, but she would keep silent about this revolting display at table until after the wedding. The hulking knight was rude as well to any who dared speak to him, he made no small talk and indeed spoke little even to Captain Price and the charming Ser Garrick.
In the month leading up to the wedding Ygraine made it a point to ingratiate herself with her future mother-in-law though she had little in common with the brisk, no nonsense maternal woman. Ygraine loathed textile work although the kingdom’s wealth was based on sheep and despised spending hours in the solar spinning and weaving. She preferred dancing and arranging flowers. Still, she gritted her teeth and endured the Queen’s well meaning criticism of her uneven weaving. Once she was installed at Prince John’s estate and house, she would run her household as she pleased. Ygraine was an expert at delegating unpleasant chores.
She had hoped for a courtship from Prince John, a chance to build affection but it became clear that was not going to happen. She had made the mistake of eavesdropping over a conversation between John and his father and was mortified to hear him describe her as a ‘vapid, whey-faced chit with more ambition than wit’. To her horror, the Prince still refused to wed her despite his father’s increasing ire. John had stormed out of the room not even noticing her, face like thunder to join Ser Riley in the Great Hall and they immediately rode out on patrol and did not return for a week.
However, John returned calmer. Bronzed from the sun, loose limbed and in a sweeter temper, with his looming shadow Ser Riley at his heels. He treated her with cool courtesy but never sought her out, which rankled. There was not even a pretense of courtship, nor were there the traditional sweet tokens of affection. No little gifts of posies, fine kerchiefs or pretty gems. It was…telling. Yet she held her head high and ignored the hushed, tittering conversations of the servants and the giggles of the young princesses, Eleanor and Elizabetta.
Ygraine was beginning to grow uneasy as she came to realize that she was not only unwelcome but unwanted and no command from the King could protect her from her future husband’s cold shoulder, and a thousand tiny slights from her future household. Servants could make her life miserable in a thousand different little ways. Her household was John’s first and always and he was clearly much loved by all.
When there was a dance to celebrate her betrothal, her future husband danced with her once only, then ignored her. Instead it was his brothers who partnered her and Prince Fergus was as persistent as a pesky fly all evening. For such a tall, gawky crane of a man, he was surprisingly nimble on the dance floor and quite witty.
Ygraine began to slowly realize that perhaps she had a rival. Some lady who held the prince’s heart. This was not good, especially if the slattern produced a child before Ygraine could. She sent her page to spy on him, but the youth reported that the prince spent his time with his knights, especially Ser Riley. If there was a mistress, she was well hidden. Vexed, Ygraine renewed her efforts to gain her future husband’s affection. She could not fathom why he lacked interest. She was both cultured and beautiful and leagues above these course Highland wenches.
Even the little princesses ran about in home spun wool and linen and pestered their brothers to take them riding daily. Ygraine was horrified when she found Prince John and Ser Riley actually teaching them how to use a bow and to throw a knife. The Queen encouraged their martial exercise, vowing it made them both strong and skilled. When she saw that Prince John doted on his sisters, she thought she might gain interest by befriending the girls, but they ignored her and fled every effort to ingratiate herself.
Prince Fergus continued to plague her and she did her best to coolly ignore him after her one attempt to make his brother jealous by flirting with him at dinner failed dismally and Fergus redoubled his attentions. Prince John had been so busy talking quietly with Ser Riley, their heads together over their shared trencher that he never looked up. It had been a miserable meal because the Queen noticed and sent her a steely eyed glare. Now the entire keep thought her a flighty, indecisive flirt.
Finally the day of her wedding dawned and she dressed with care and some relief. The hall had rung with shouts last night as the KIng bellowed at his son. Prince John remained stubborn in his refusal to wed and shouted back that he would not take her to wife as he cared naught for her. King Malcolm had ordered him to his chambers and he had strode off with a glare of such dislike at her that she faltered for a moment. His huge shadow, Ser Riley echoed that look of hatred and she felt a chill up her spine as she realized the man would kill her if he could. Many an unwanted wife died by ‘accident’ from a fall down twisting stone stairs or via horse during a hunting accident.
Now she spun before the mirror noting her fine pale blue wool dress and silk, fur trimmed pelice looked wonderful on her. The veil she wore over her hair was sheer and nigh priceless lace and her embroidered ceinture was studded with tiny pearls and sapphires. Her father had done well for her and she smiled at his beaming face as he waited to escort her to the chapel. She took his arm and head held high, glided regally towards her future.
The King and Queen sat in the high seats in the tiny chapel where the priest waited. The rafters were decorated with pine boughs and banners. The air was sweet with the scent of meadowsweet, lavender and incense. The choir sang softly in the loft and Ygraine held her head high as she swept down the aisle. She had won and soon would rule her own keep. She noted that the princes waited together near the altar as their brother’s groomsmen. Prince Fergus sent her a wink and cheeky grin that made her flush. He appeared in a great humor today.
It was only as she approached the altar that she felt a niggle of doubt because her bridegroom was nowhere in sight. Murmurs arose as she waited and eventually a telling silence descended on the chapel, as apparently those present, both family and guests were just noticing this as well. She waited uneasily on her father’s arm.
And waited.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the King murmur something to his seneschal and the man hurried off, apparently to chivy her groom along. She hoped the prince was not drunk or hungover. The guardsmen had certainly celebrated last night in the Great Hall. Their drunken, lewd caterwauling lasted most of the night
Well, drunk or not, it was his wedding day.
Suddenly the sweating man scurried back in and hurried to present a folded letter to the King and Ygraine felt the first beginnings of panic. Her father patted her hand to calm her, frowning as he waited for the King to finish reading the short missive which he did and stood with a bellow of rage.
Prince John had fled the keep. In fact he had fled the country. All to avoid wedding her.
Ygraine bit her lip and fought back tears of rage and humiliation. Left at the altar. There was no greater shame for a maiden. She listened to the clamor as the King sent his personal guard after Prince John, knowing in her heart it was too late. Last night had been a diversion while the Prince escaped and he was long gone, taking his huge bodyguard with him. The sea was too close, and the port harbor busy with daily traffic. By now he could be well on his way to either the Northern isles or the Southern plains, or even the far away tropical isles.
Suddenly Prince Fergus stepped forward and called for order, and clapped his hands briskly, drawing all eyes. He flashed that confident, annoying grin and spoke directly to his father.
”Father, do allow me to take my brother’s place and restore our honor for contracts kept. I will happily take this fair maid to wife!”
He knelt with theatrical flair and even produced a jeweled ring with suspicious swiftness. There was something afoot here, she noted mistrustfully as his brothers hid smiles in their beards. What was happening here? Had they planned this farce?
Ygraine bit back a dismayed protest. What better choice did she have? Word would travel about the hastily discarded bride and there would be endless speculation about her virtue or lack of. Her father would never be able to provide a better match after the word spread. She blinked hard as her dreams dimmed and faded like fog. Fergus was the fourth son and while that meant a title, it did not mean wealth. They would be bound here to the castle, except perhaps for a modest estate.
Her father, ever the merchant, stepped forward to fiercely negotiate a revised marriage contract and she was further dismayed when he demanded most of her dowry back. Gone were the silks and fine linens and silver plate and jewels. They ignored her as they hammered out a swift contract and within an hour she found herself exchanging vows with a grinning knave of a prince. Just not the one she wanted.
****
It was only some years later, after the old King died and Colin was crowned that she learned the truth when her husband informed her that Prince John was on his way home. He had left everything behind—family and country— for his beloved husband, Ser Riley. His brothers had aided his escape knowing their father, rigid in his beliefs, would not yield, and Fergus had fallen for her at first sight and was more than willing to salvage her honor.
Ygraine sat back in her cushioned chair, hand on her gravid belly. This was her third child and she was more than ready to be done with labor. She has two rambunctious sons and hoped for a daughter this time. She has come to both love and respect her husband. After all, clever Fergus practically ran the keep as well as the country. He was aware of all the trade deals and the wool production and resources in the entire kingdom and the land prospered because of his shrewd management.
Ygraine lacked for nothing.
She watched as Fergus ran an eye over the accounts, head together with Colin. He kept the king apprised of everything from the number of towns and fiefs in the realm to the amount of sheep. Colin’s talents lay in justice and he ruled with a firm, but fair hand. His wife, Ingeborg, a tall, broad shouldered woman with a plain face, but pale laughing eyes made an excellent queen. Her marriage contract brought in a wealth of trade opportunities with the North. She has already provided the king with twin sons and three daughters.
Now as Igraine sat and pondered, she wondered how she had been so blind to Prince John’s affections. Thinking back she realized that she never saw John apart from Ser Riley. The man was always there, silent but present in the background. When she hesitantly inquired the Queen herself had kindly told her the truth. John and Simon knew each other from boyhood and were inseparable.
Simon’s sire had been a vicious and miserable knave of a man who had brutalized his wife and sons. His downfall had come when young Prince John had deliberately stepped in between them once and taken the harsh blow meant for Simon (and Igraine recalled the scar slicing down through John’s brow to his cheek). The elder Riley had lost his hand and was exiled for the crime of striking a royal prince. The only reason he was alive at all was because his wife had begged on her knees for mercy and a furious Malcolm had begrudgingly granted it. He had exiled the couple and kept the sons to raise in his household.
The two young men had wed secretly in a pagan ceremony and were entirely devoted to each other. Where one went, the other followed. The entire keep was aware of this, but the old King chose to ignore it, devout to the laws of the One God, harsh though he was. Now with his sire dead, John and his love could safely return home because Colin believed folk should worship as they pleased and follow their hearts regarding marriage.
They had never ventured far from home for long and quietly served as couriers and Diplomats while they patrolled the harsh and dangerous borders of the kingdom and their elite company of warriors had suppressed more than one upstart invasion before it could even begin. This was witnessed by the mysterious deaths of the neighboring Baron Makarov and the warmongering King Shepherd. The pair had acquired a very dangerous reputation that in itself provided an extra layer of security. Invaders thought twice when they realized they were up against the Highland Prince and his knight, the Ghost of the Mountain.
The day Price and his company returned was met with glorious Spring weather and a cheering crowd. Ygraine watched benignly, nursing little Alys and begrudgingly admitted they made a very handsome couple as they rode in, John on his dappled warhorse and Simon on his huge black stallion. Prince John wore his clan plaid and waved, beaming at his mother and teen sisters, happy to be home with his huge, black armored husband at his side.
Simon as always bared his fair head and scarred face to the world, knowing his scars were marks of honor in defense of his beloved and not of shame. His cold eyes met hers and he gave her the slightest of nods and she was very glad that she had wed the ‘wrong’ man that day because deep in her heart she knew that had she succeeded in wedding Prince John, Simon of Riley would have eventually hurled her arse off the parapet and no one would have said a word.
FINI
12/31/2025