Awakened by the cold that permeated the dense morning air, Alaina stirred beneath the covers, her body shivering involuntarily. Gathering the blanket around her, she rose from the makeshift bed and approached the door. As she opened it, a realm of enchantment unfurled before her very eyes.
A magical scene greeted her as the sun emerged from behind a cluster of clouds, casting its radiant beams upon the land. Golden light spilt over the fields, transforming them into a gilded fabric. The crisp and refreshing air carried the earthy aroma of fresh grass. Alaina closed her eyes, allowing the moment's tranquility to wash over her as she inhaled deeply, savouring the purity of the morning.
Within her sight, a few knights had already begun their daily tasks. A stout, shorter figure with raven-black hair diligently loaded a wagon with bales of wheat and an assortment of root vegetables. Another knight beside him secured a magnificent horse to the wagon. Alaina surmised that the wagon was destined for the town centre, where its contents would be sold.
Loosely tying her hair back with a ribbon procured from her satchel, she felt a surge of determination within her. Today, she would seek out opportunities to lend a helping hand. The purpose that burned within her heart urged her to contribute her efforts to their shared cause, hoping that she could convince the knights to fight on her side.
"Good morning, sirs!" Alaina called out to the two knights, waving enthusiastically. They smiled and greeted her happily.
"I am Sir Henry," said the shorter knight with black hair. "And this is Sir Olly, our youngest knight." He smiled as he continued to fix the horse's saddle. Alaina tried making mental notes to remember their names.
"Off to the town centre?" she asked as she went to pat the horse.
"Aye, my lady. We do this once a week to sell our produce," replied Sir Henry. "Sir Olly will return tomorrow with other food items that we use here in this village".
Sir Olly was very young, he looked at least five years younger than Alaina. His youthful face was slightly burnt from the sun, he only smiled at her when he noticed her looking at him, a soft blush spread across his cheeks.
"Sir Olly is… not a man of many words, my lady," said Sir Henry, noticing her gaze. "He lost his tongue to one of the barbarians during the invasion".
Alaina grimaced at the information. Sir Olly shot Sir Henry an angry look.
"I had to tell her, else she might think you rude for not responding!" Sir Henry said in exasperation. Sir Olly shrugged sheepishly and continued with his horse. Alaina realised that although the northerners had been nothing but kind to her, they were indeed gruesome warriors.
"I am sorry to hear, Sir Olly. I will make sure that you are compensated," she said as she patted Sir Olly on the shoulder. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment.
"Compensation? Hah! The only compensation I want is to return to my house and my family" Sir Henry bellowed loudly. "I am sure Sir Olly would agree."
"Is that what you would like? To return to your homes?"
"Sir Olly here had a lass he liked, they were going to be married," laughed Sir Henry. "Ah, but then here we are," he shrugged. Sir Olly dropped his head.
Alaina smiled, glad she had something that she could use to convince them to fight for her.
"What if I could have you returned to your homes and families?" she asked. She noticed Sir Henry's face change with a hopeful raised brow.
"My lady, we would forever be in your debt," he bowed to her. Alaina's smile grew on her face, she wanted nothing more than to make these knights pleased with her.
Throughout the ensuing fortnight, Alaina sought to occupy her days by immersing herself in the arduous tasks undertaken by the knights. Although they initially hesitated to accept her aid, her insistence left them no choice but to agree. From the crack of dawn, until the stars painted the sky, she toiled diligently, attempting to shield her eyes from the relentless sun that cast its scorching rays upon the land. Despite the chilled air that clung to her surroundings, her body was kept warm by the labour she undertook, causing her brow to glisten with perspiration. A sense of determination propelled her forward, even as her clothes clung uncomfortably to her form, marring her once-pristine appearance.
Seeking respite from the oppressive heat, Alaina retreated to her hut, retrieving a towel from the drying rack before submerging it within a bucket filled with cool well water. The refreshing touch of the chilled towel upon her skin offered a momentary reprieve as she sighed, closing her eyes. Rubbing the towel against the back of her neck, she relished the relief it brought.
With her body rejuvenated, yet still clad in clothes that unpleasantly stuck to her frame, she ventured towards the outskirts of the village. Her curiosity piqued by the sight of a group of knights engaged in a spirited display of swordplay, she approached with a mix of fascination and apprehension. Sir Horace, a formidable figure with an air of authority, stood at the front, addressing the two men who had caught her attention. Among them stood Sir Olly, holding a sword that seemed too large for his size.
"Bear your weight on both legs, boy!" Sir Horace called out, Sir Olly nodded and widened his stance. The opposing knight charged at him with such force that Alaina was certain Sir Olly would get pummelled into the ground. But Sir Olly held his ground and braced the hit with his sword. A loud clang bellowed in the air when the two swords crashed into each other. When the onlooking men noticed their duchess, they bowed to her and offered their greetings. Sir Horace turned to face Alaina, with a look of surprise.
"Good day, my lady" he smiled at her. "I noticed you have been working hard in the fields. Although I do not know why you would want to trouble yourself with such trivial labour".
"The days have been very fulfilling, Sir Horace. No trouble at all, I quite enjoy it," she could only hope that her voice sounded truthful.
Sir Horace turned and gestured to his men, "Just some light sparring to keep them on their feet."
"Perhaps you can teach me how to fight, Sir Horace?" Alaina asked as politely as she could. Sir Horace laughed a low and deep laugh.
"Did you hear that, lads? Her ladyship wants to learn how to fight! The next time I hear any of you whinging during training I will have you whipped!"
The other knights stopped and looked at her in amusement, she felt her cheeks flush red in embarrassment. She steeled her gaze and stood up straight.
"Well, Sir Horace," Alaina declared boldly as she locked eyes with the knight, "if my own knights do not share the will to fight on my behalf, then I shall take it upon myself to learn the art of defence." Her words dripped with confidence, leaving a charged silence in their wake.
Sir Horace stiffened visibly, his expression shifting into a mix of frustration and disbelief. He cleared his throat, coughing to regain his composure, his glare exuding an exasperated air.
However, another knight, his brow furrowed with concern, stepped forward to address Alaina's claim.
"What do you mean, my lady, that we do not wish to fight for you?" His frown deepened, mirroring the confusion etched across the faces of his comrades who joined in questioning her statement.
Suddenly, voices rose in protest, each knight eager to defend his loyalty.
"I would gladly give my life for you, my lady!" one exclaimed, his voice brimming with fervour. Another knight thumped his chest resolutely, emphasising his unwavering commitment.
"Here, here!" boomed yet another, his declaration echoing through the clearing.
Sir Horace ran his fingers through his hair, the weight of the situation weighing heavily upon him.
"Now look what you've done," he sighed, his words were laced with something Alaina could not understand.
Covering her mouth, Alaina was taken aback by the unforeseen outpouring of devotion from the knights. Confusion clouded her eyes, for she had believed that they all shared Sir Horace's sentiments. The revelation left her grappling for hope that convincing them was not as hard as she had once thought.
"What does her ladyship mean, Sir Horace?" asked a tall, strapping knight with dark, curly hair. He stepped out from the line of knights, his hand placed on the hilt of his sword.
"Continue your training, I will discuss it with Lady Alaina," Sir Horace said smugly as he turned to walk away. Alaina gave the knights staring back at her a timid smile before she followed after Sir Horace. Her heart raced in her chest like a child about to be reprimanded by their parents. She knew she had to hold firm and be confident with her words, she was, after all, their duchess. And that title demanded respect, even from knights whom she barely knew.
Stopping at the well, a distance away from the earshot of the other knights, Sir Horace leaned against the cold stone and stared at Alaina. He had his jaw clenched from trying to control his irritation, Alaina couldn't help but feel uneasy.
"I know what you're trying to do, my lady," he said sternly looking down at the mud at his feet. "I am trying to be courteous because you are my duchess, but you have overstepped".
Alaina clicked her tongue and held her head up high despite the beating drum of her heart.
"In what way did I overstep, Sir Horace?".
"My men are dying to wet their swords. They will follow you into battle even if it kills them".
Alaina stalled, she did not want the knights to die. In her short time working together, she had built a friendship with most of them.
"Are you doubting the capabilities of your men?" she pressed further.
"Yes, and no. While they are capable, we would be going into the battle blindly. Do you know of the regions that could have heeded the call of the King? How many are we fighting against? How many northerners will fight with us?"
Alaina frowned, she had not heard back from her father since the last message. If the King managed to summon all the other regions, then Sir Horace was right. But she knew that Gareth would pull through with his plan, it was just a question of when he would return.
"Gareth is seeking aid from all the tribes of the north. They are ferocious warriors who would die willingly for their leader," she was surprised by the tenacity of her voice. She almost did not recognise the person speaking.
"Then why would you need our help, then?"
"Sir Horace, do you not wish to fight for your land? Or shall you wish to be labelled as a deserter?" Alaina's eyes burned with frustrated tears that were threatening to fall, but she blinked them away angrily. Sir Horace swallowed, his jaw clenched in a mildly unsettling way. "What are you so afraid of?" Alaina placed a tentative hand on his arm. Sir Horace flinched.
"I am not afraid! Those men drove us out of our homes! You cannot expect me to become their instrument, a willing pawn in their battle with the crown!"
"They have aided the people! Our people!" Alaina threw her hands up in exasperation. "Your wife and children are not for want of food because of their help!"
"Do not dare speak of my wife and children!" Sir Horace spat out, his anger igniting like a blazing inferno within him.
Alaina, although seething with indignation at his disrespectful tone, exhaled deeply. Instead of chastising him, she extended her hand, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Standing on her tiptoes to bridge the gap between their statures.
"I know that you bear a heavy burden, Sir Horace," she murmured softly, her grip on his shoulder tightening in a gentle squeeze. "I feel the weight of your pain."
Tears welled in Sir Horace's eyes, his facade of rage crumbling under the weight of his internal struggle.
"What do you truly know of pain?" he questioned, his voice trembling with vulnerability.
Alaina met his gaze with empathy, her voice gentle. "I know more than you may realise. I understand the conflict raging within you. On one hand, you are indebted to the northerners for their aid, yet on the other hand, you grapple with the conflict between their ways and your own unwavering code. Aid me, Sir Horace. Aid me in restoring Dunkeld to its former glory. Together, we can banish the starvation that haunts our people."
His gaze bore into Alaina's eyes heavy with pain.
"I will not fight for the enemy," his words a mere whisper that slipped beneath his breath as he turned and trudged towards his dwelling.
Alaina released a soft groan of irritation, the weight of her task settling heavily upon her shoulders. This was proving far more challenging than she had initially anticipated. If Sir Horace's own knights were willing to rally to her cause, then why did he persist in his resistance?
Alaina, however, grasped the moral implications that Sir Horace wrestled with. The notion of fighting alongside an enemy that had long been entrenched in animosity clashed with his unwavering moral code. Yet, she saw beyond the boundaries of the past. The tides of time had shifted, and the imminent resolution of centuries-old conflicts beckoned on the horizon. The kingdoms and tribes of the north stood poised to embrace an era of unity and cooperation. The potential for a brighter future and a true combined kingdom.
As she reflected upon these thoughts, a spark of determination ignited within Alaina's heart. She refused to falter in her belief that this alliance was not only necessary but also paramount for the betterment of all.
That day, Alaina sought the solace of her modest dwelling early. The sun had barely begun its descent, yet her body ached from the relentless toil in the fields, a painful reminder of the day's exertions. Sir Olly visited her quarters, bearing a simple fare of porridge and roasted rabbit, his demeanour was warm as he arranged the food on her unadorned wooden table.
"My thanks, Sir Olly," she expressed, her words imbued with genuine gratitude. He offered a respectful nod before making his exit, leaving Alaina alone with her meal. The porridge was plain, but the aroma that wafted from the roasted rabbit hinted at a rustic, earthy flavour. Roused by hunger, she ate with relish, the meagre food quelling the protests of her empty stomach.
In the aftermath of her meal, she washed and changed herself before surrendering to the call of the rudimentary bed. Despite its lack of plush comfort, her fatigue rendered such concerns insignificant. As her eyelids fluttered shut from the overwhelming weight of exhaustion, she realised it was the first time in her two-week sojourn that the discomfort of her resting place seemed not that bad at all.
The sound of urgent knocking against her door jolted her up from sleep. She wiped the crust from her eyes and dashed to the door. It was Sir Horace.
"I wish to apologise for my discourtesy yesterday, my lady," he said as his feet shuffled in embarrassment.
"No apology necessary, Sir Horace. You simply have your men's best interest at heart," she smiled. Did he have a change of heart?
"You wanted to learn how to wield a sword, come, we are training".
A grin of sheer delight blossomed on Alaina's face as she hastily snatched her overtunic from the table. With her crimson hair hastily secured in a loose knot atop her head, she trailed after Sir Horace to the spacious clearing of the fields, where the sounds of steel against steel echoed through the morning air.
"Here, take this," Sir Horace offered, extending a lean, metallic sword towards her. To her surprise, it was surprisingly light and manageable in her grip. Seizing it with both hands, she tentatively swept it through the air, her movements awkward yet eager.
"Mind you don't harm yourself," Sir Horace chuckled, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Now, position your legs like so," he instructed, demonstrating the proper stance. "Balance your weight equally on both feet."
Alaina complied obediently, her eyes locked on him in anticipation of his next instruction.
"I am about to launch an attack. Hold your sword out and grip it with conviction. Aim to counter my strike." With a gentle tap of his sword against hers, he demonstrated the ideal defensive posture.
"I'm ready," she responded, her voice barely more than a whisper. The pounding rhythm of her heart echoed in her ears, excitement coursing through her veins. This was the moment she had yearned for.
Sir Horace retreated a step, before swinging his sword horizontally towards her. She felt the tremor of contact reverberate up her arms as her sword met his in a clash of steel.
"Good, again." he said, "this time from the left". He swung his sword again, but this time the impact made her sword fly out of her hands and land dejectedly on the floor.
"Oh," she muttered, embarrassed by her failure.
"That's alright. Pick it up. Again"
They persisted with this regimen, alternating strikes from left to right. Alaina clung tightly to her sword, determined to prevent it from slipping again. A sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow as the exercise grew more demanding on her weak arms.
"Now, you attack me. I will parry," Sir Horace instructed, his brow remaining remarkably dry in contrast to her sweat-drenched appearance. Her fiery curls clung to her damp neck. Steeling herself, she launched an attack which he easily deflected.
"Quicken your pace," he encouraged. The nervous glance she cast him in response elicited a hearty chuckle. "If I should falter under your flurry of attacks, I would be unfit to bear the title of a knight."
Energized by his words, Alaina unleashed a volley of strikes against him, her sword swinging left and right in rapid succession. Each forceful blow she landed was punctuated with a grunt, her hands aching from the relentless grip on her weapon. Droplets of sweat began to trickle down her cheeks, seeping into her eyes and causing them to sting momentarily.
"Now, defend!" he shouted before launching his barrage of hits.
"Wonderful!" Sir Horace praised, his smile broadening as she parried each of his blows.
A brief respite was granted, allowing her to replenish her spent strength. Her arms throbbed from the exertion, prompting her to set her sword aside and knead her aching muscles. Sir Olly made a quick dash towards her, offering a waterskin which she gratefully accepted and proceeded to drain, its cool contents soothing her parched throat. She then upended the remaining water over her tousled locks and chest, the sudden chill from the liquid offering a welcome respite.
A flush of embarrassment crossed Sir Olly's face as her dampened attire clung to her, revealing the contours of her body. Sir Horace, evidently aware of the situation, awkwardly averted his gaze and cleared his throat.
"Let's take a breather. Join the others and observe their training," he suggested, still not meeting her gaze. Self-consciousness swept over Alaina as she glanced down at her soaked clothes. She crossed her arms over her chest and followed Sir Horace and Sir Olly towards the other men, plopping down on the grassy turf without a care for mud.
With rapt attention, she observed the men in their sparring, focusing on their footwork and the way they absorbed the force of each blow with their leg movements. Sir Horace sat beside her, quenching his thirst with a waterskin. He explained the importance of footwork and the necessity of anticipating attacks to defend successfully. Her mind hungrily absorbed his words, making mental notes.
The knights' combat style was akin to a well-choreographed dance, their swords tracing fluid arcs in the air as their bodies seamlessly followed the momentum. It was a stark contrast to the brutal tactics of the Northerners she had witnessed.
Further back, Sir Henry and Sir Phillip were engaged in their practice session, an elegant sequence of lunges interspersed with graceful, descending sword swings. Despite wielding weapons that appeared far heavier than her slender training sword, they seemed to handle them with an effortless grace. But the rippling of their muscles beneath their skin was a sign of the true weight of their swords. Their synchronised movements, alternating between offensive lunges and defensive back-steps, incorporated stylish spins with their swords whirling overhead. The sight of their harmonious practice was utterly captivating for Alaina.
"Come, let us practice again," Sir Horace said standing up. He reached out his hand to Alaina who took it and brought herself up.
"I'll teach you something very important in basic sword fighting. But I would need you to wear some armour just in case."
Alaina trailed after him to a ramshackle outbuilding nearby, where he rummaged through various items before finally procuring a suit of weathered leather armour and a metallic chest piece. Alongside these, he brought forth a pair of lengthy gloves crafted from interwoven rings of chainmail, all of which appeared several sizes too large for her petite frame.
"This belonged to Sir Olly during his squire days. It may be a trifle large, but it will have to do for now," he commented, his brow furrowing with concern as he helped her don the oversized armour. Once she was suitably attired, he guided her back to their initial training ground and commenced the next lesson.
"Now, I'll instruct you on disarming an opponent. This skill could potentially be the difference between life and death," he cautioned, his voice adopting an ominous tone that set her heart pounding. "Successful disarming could afford you precious moments to make your escape while your adversary scrambles to recover their weapon."
Alaina nodded, her blood pulsing in her veins as the reality of his words sank in. The prospect of facing such peril made her complexion pale.
"Now, lunge at me," he ordered, bracing himself for her assault. Alaina steadied herself, took a deep breath and lunged at him with all the energy she could muster. In a fluid motion, Sir Horace deftly twisted his sword around hers and broke her hold. With a startled squeak, Alaina watched her sword slip from her grasp and skid several meters away. She stood still, her eyes wide in awe at the swift manoeuvre he had just executed.
"How did you manage that?" she queried, her mind whirling with the implications.
"Retrieve your sword. I'll demonstrate again, but at a slower pace this time," he replied.
Obediently, Alaina retrieved her sword and reassumed her stance. As Sir Horace explained each movement in meticulous detail and she attentively followed his guidance. After repeating the disarming manoeuvre several times for her comprehension, he finally stepped back.
"Your turn now," he encouraged.
Anticipation coiled within her as she waited for Sir Horace's advance. When it came, she met his sword with her own, skillfully guiding her blade around his until it caught at the junction of his hilt. Summoning all her strength, she gave a forceful wrench, managing to pry the sword from his grip. While his weapon didn't sail as far as hers had under his disarmament, it clattered to the ground, the sound echoing triumphantly in her ears.
"I did it!" she exclaimed, her excitement manifesting in a delighted leap.
Sir Horace's smile met her exuberance.
"Indeed, you did, my lady. Now, let's try again. This time, exert all your strength. Your opponent will not be as obliging as I am."
Thus, the drill resumed, her body moving in repetitive, tiring patterns as she sought to perfect the technique. Not just her arms, but her entire torso, from upper to lower back, screamed in protest. Out of the eight attempts, she successfully disarmed him only thrice. A crestfallen frown tugged at her lips, disappointment looming large in her eyes.
"Your performance was commendable for a first attempt. Remember, squires spend years perfecting swordplay. You can't expect to master it in a day," he consoled, a warm smile accompanying his words. "Actually, I believe you have a natural aptitude for this."
At his praise, Alaina's face blossomed into a shy smile, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
If only Gareth could see me now…she thought to herself. Her whole body ached from the exercises, she did not think sword fighting would cause such a strain. After all, they had made it look so easy.
Though the sun had yet to dip below the horizon, Alaina was already nestled in her bed, her body pleasantly full from the hearty chicken stew and tangy sourdough bread that Sir Olly had kindly delivered to her quarters. As she was on the brink of succumbing to sleep, a knock at her door roused her. It was Sir Horace, who promptly apologised upon realising she was preparing for rest.
"Forgive my intrusion, Lady Alaina," he uttered, his gaze respectfully averted when he noticed her clad in her modest nightdress. With innate chivalry, he averted his eyes, offering her a sense of comfort and privacy. In his hand, he held a steaming cup of peculiarly scented tea, which he set down gently on the bedside table.
"A brew to soothe your aching muscles," he explained with a warm smile. Alaina's brow furrowed as she gingerly picked up the cup and brought it to her nose. The liquid was an odd shade of orange and carried a scent that was far from pleasing.
"What is this? It has an interesting aroma," she attempted to be diplomatic about the rather off-putting scent, but her grimacing features betrayed her true feelings. Sir Horace chuckled in response with a paternal pat landing on her shoulder.
"It's a concoction of turmeric and willow bark. It's a remedy my wife used to prepare for me after I returned from battle. She would render it more palatable by adding fresh ginger and honey. The ginger aids in digestion, especially after drinking the tea, and the honey... well, the honey was her secret to making sure I drank it at all," he explained, his gaze growing distant as if lost in a cherished memory.
"I imagine you miss her deeply," Alaina ventured softly, taking a cautious sip of the potent brew. Its flavour was an assault on her palate at first, but the honey's sweetness made it surprisingly tolerable.
"More than words can express," he confessed in a whisper so faint that Alaina barely caught it.
"I could help reunite you and your knights with your families if you would join my cause. I swear on my life, you will not have to continue this life of farming," she offered earnestly.
"Please, my lady, let's not tread this path again," he sighed, already turning to leave. "My decision stands firm." With a grunt, he offered her a brief goodnight before exiting the room.
Alaina exhaled a deep, weary sigh and stretched out on the unyielding bed. Her body ached, her bones protesting with each slight movement. After several attempts, she found a position that was, if not comfortable, at least bearable. Finally, she closed her eyes, allowing sleep's gentle embrace to carry her away.
Alaina fell into a rhythm with the knights over the fortnight that ensued. Each day she faced the steely edge of her training sword, crossing steel with Sir Horace and the others. She felt the stirrings of competence, the dance of swords against swords becoming somewhat more familiar, a language she was starting to speak. She also found herself in the stables, tending to the horses, their large, intelligent eyes watching her as she groomed their coats to a sheen and scraped clean their sturdy hooves.
Her thoughts, however, often strayed to Gareth, her heart echoing with the phantom beat of his absence. She wondered about his journey, about the moment their paths would cross again. Yet she also acknowledged the weight of her own role in this grand plan that he had. Her task was to sway these farmer-knights to side with the Northmen in the storm of conflict brewing on the horizon. She knew Gareth was on a similar path, seeking to rally the fierce tribes of the North, a land notorious for its icy winds and relentless snowstorms.
A part of her yearned for her father, praying for his safety in the face of such uncertainty. It had been a long time since she had last heard from him, and her heart ached with the worry of the unknown. Was he making any headway in his attempt to soothe the volatile temper of the King? Was there any hope for him to sway the monarch's unforgiving mind? These questions swirled in her mind, punctuating the routine of her days and the silence of her nights.