Six

 

Rosamond tired easily on the first day, and the second, and the third. When the guards pitched her pavilion by the setting rays of the sun, she had been quite ready to retire early for the first week of their journey home. Perhaps travelling did not agree with her, or the magic she had expended in healing Lady Penelope's daughter Melitta had taken its toll on her strength. She might not have swooned, but she was certain if she tried to use her magic again, she would most certainly faint.

So she stumbled to bed with the sun, falling asleep to the low hum of conversation between the guards, Monika and Sir Warin. Aside from Monika and Warin, the others maintained a respectful silence in her presence, but once she was inside the pavilion, they thought nothing of making bawdy jokes that still made her blush. So much for not knowing what a couple did on their wedding night, though that seemed tame compared to their stories about the goings-on in the brothels they'd visited while staying in King Erik's capital.

Usually, Monika rode at her side. No matter how many times she asked Sir Warin to ride with her, he insisted that he was better at protecting her than making conversation that would amuse her.

Rosamond privately disagreed. Monika said little, and what she did say usually involved minding the skirt of her gown, or not overexerting herself. It was like travelling with her mother.

At the end of the sixth day, Rosamond was delighted to find Sir Warin riding beside her. "Welcome home, Princess."

Rosamond glanced around, but she saw nothing new except the edge of a wood they were about to enter. "Are we home already?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in puzzlement.

"You are, for those bramble hedges mark the boundary of your kingdom, Princess. One of your ancestors decreed that his borders must be marked with berry bushes, and no one disobeyed the king, so it was done. Now the thickets are so dense the farmers at the borders regard them as another crop. If we didn't export our berry wine, every man in the kingdom would be drunk as a lord, every day of the year!" Sir Warin laughed.

Rosamond shuddered. She'd seen far too many drunk lords at King Erik's court. There were so many reasons she didn't want a husband.

Sir Warin had not been drunk, though. She had never seen him anything but sober and alert, as befit a knight and a captain of the guard.

Could a princess marry a knight? Her mother had told her to look for a prince or a lord at least, but they were all foreigners. A knight who was her own countryman was surely more acceptable than some foreign barbarian, no matter what title he held. Sure, foreigners might bring extra lands to the kingdom, but what need had they for more land? Her kingdom's borders were already marked by berry bushes. If they expanded their territory, her people would have to plant more bushes just to know where the boundaries lay.

Rosamond trailed her fingers through a bush that grew beside the road, and felt an overwhelming sense of welcome, as if the plants were as delighted as she was that she would soon be home again.

Rosamond almost laughed. Such sentimental nonsense. Plants didn't have feelings. She stripped off a handful of berries and nibbled on them as she rode.

Sir Warin called a halt, setting up camp in a clearing amid a collection of particularly bountiful berry bushes. Some of the guards had picked handfuls already, but Sir Warin called them to set up camp first. They set to work as Rosamond slid from her mount, intent on picking her own share of the red berries before her greedy guards could choose the best ones.

For when it came to picking wild berries, a princess had as much right to them as the lowliest peasant. Her several times great-grandfather, the first King Almos from whom her father got his name, had decreed as much when he ordered the berry bushes to be planted, and no one had dared to rescind his law. Why would they? There were berries aplenty. Far more than the royal household could ever need.

But the more she picked, the stronger the feeling of welcome became. Rosamond thrust both hands deep into a berry bush, heedless of the thorns, and grasped a branch thicker than her arm. Power surged into her – like magic, but more, somehow. It coursed through her, singing of leaves and buds and berries, sap flowing and new growth stretching toward the sky, with the thunderous percussion of the deep draught of sustenance roots drew from the rich soil. The bush lived, with as much passion as she did, and it bade her welcome home.

"Are you all right, mistress?" Monika called, making her way over.

Rosamond released the bush, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Never would she have thought plants could have such powerful emotions, let alone share them with her. "I'm fine," she said.

"No, you're not. Look at your poor hands!"

Rosamond glanced at the slight scratches on her hands, which faded even as she watched. The blood that had trickled from the cuts still looked ominous, though. "I am fine," Rosamond repeated, lifting her chin as she looked Monika in the eye. Her maid did not look fine at all. In fact, she looked unusually pale, with a thin sheen of sweat on her face. "Are you well?"

"Of course, mistress," Monika said. "It is hot, is all. Perhaps I have been too close to the fire. Surely you are thirsty. Shall I fetch you a drink?"

Monika needed refreshment more than Rosamond, but the princess followed her maid back to the pavilion where there was a jug of cider waiting for her. For them both, Rosamond corrected, making sure the maid poured two cups instead of one.

She vowed to watch Monika carefully tonight. The woman was certainly behaving very oddly.