Cardonaccum, The beauty of a thistle. Options

[haute ecole rider]

A/N: Hello all. This is a story I began writing for NaNoWriMo in 2011. Now that Julian has finished telling her story, Cora is impatient to take her turn. So without further ado, I will allow her to introduce herself and begin her story. Hopefully it won't be as long in the telling as Julian's. It is not as epic, nor does it have sweeping consequences, but as I see it, without Cora we would not have Julian's story at all.

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Chapter One

“Milady!” The lean form darted through the tall panels, the storm following hard on his heels. The doorkeepers struggled to close the doors against the pelting rain. For a moment, I could not see the courier’s face against the lightning flashes that limned his figure.

Finally he halted before me, bedraggled and breathless. Rain dripped from his sodden clothes, and plastered his black hair to his forehead. As my vision readjusted to the torches that lit the main hall of the donjon, I could recognize the young man. I stepped away from my comfortable chair and nodded at Jannet, who turned and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.

“Please sit down, Tavish,” I took the courier’s cloak and removed it from his shoulders. He reached for it reflexively, but I shook my head at him as Siné took the fabric from me and draped it near the fire to dry. I led him to my chair. He resisted briefly, but exhaustion enforced my quiet command, and he fell onto the soft cushion with a groan.

“I h- have n- news,” he met my gaze as I picked up the wine flagon and poured the mulled liquid into my goblet. I handed it to him with forced calmness. Around us gathered the thistlemen who had remained behind to defend the donjon, and those of our crofters who sought refuge from the oncoming winter in our snug shelter.

“I’m sure you do,” I answered quietly, gesturing for him to drink. “But partake of the wine first. You are shivering so much all of us can hear your teeth chattering!”

Jannet returned with more of the heated wine and warm blankets. She set the flagon down on the warming table beside the fire and turned to wrap the dry wool around Tavish’s shaking shoulders. He gulped at the goblet gratefully and snuggled deeper into the blankets before speaking again.

“Milord is at the Bluestone Tower,” the courier cradled the wine in both hands, seeking to warm his fingers against its heat. “The Colovian forces are there.”

“Who arrived first?” Robert Whitearm, the burly castellan, shouldered his way through the growing crowd to take his place at my right shoulder.

“Milord did,” Tavish responded. “But before he could take the high ground across the river, the Legions arrived. They possess the bluffs.”

I could see the dismay in Robert’s stony face as he absorbed the implications. From my own studies in milord’s library, I understood that Wallace had just lost the first battle. It would be far more difficult to take on the foe from downhill.

“How many are there?” Robert continued his line of questioning after a moment. Tavish met his gaze unhappily.

“There were three thousand there when I left,” he muttered into his wine. “Five cohorts worth. With more on the way.”

“Damnation!” Robert’s barely suppressed explosion lifted his heavy mustache away from his lips. I shook my head warningly at him. He fell silent, grumbling to himself like a cranky bear roused too early from his winter sleep.

“How are milord’s men?” I turned back to Tavish. He smiled bravely at me.

“They are in good spirits, m’lady,” he lifted the goblet at me. “The stores are full with provisions and arms, and their blades are keen.”

“Does milord require anything from us?” He shook my head at my question.

“M’lord asks that you see to the donjon.” His gaze shifted to Robert. “keep the men alert, and the crofters safe. Winter comes, and promises to be harsh this year.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I murmured, then turned to Robert. “Please send the patrol out one more time, to try and bring in the rest of the crofters. Things will be very hard for them this winter.”

“You know how they don’t want to leave their livestock,” Robert began. I drew myself up to my fullest height, though the top of my head still fell short of his broad shoulders.

“Then we must find room for all their livestock within the bailey,” I answered. “With so many men away, it’s the only way to keep them safe with the limited manpower we have.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Robert inclined his head in gruff acquiescence. He turned and stalked through the throng, shouting over their gathered heads for his lieutenant. I searched the surrounding faces. A lean man with a hatchet face stepped forward and bowed to me.

“Niall,” I said to the steward, “please see Tavish settled into the thistlemen’s dormitory. Get those wet clothes off of him before he catches bloodlung. And feed him something hot and filling before he falls asleep.”

“As you will, milady,” Niall inclined his upper body again and motioned for Tavish to follow him.

“No,” Tavish rose unsteadily to his feet. “I have a message for m’lady’s ears only.” He turned to me. “Please let me say it before you send me away.”

“Then we will go to milord’s study,” I turned toward the stair set into the wall at the north side of the donjon. “Niall, Jannet, with us please.” I caught the breath of protest the young courier drew and shook my head at him. “Come,” I waved him ahead. He moved forward and fell in behind me obediently.

Wallace’s study sat on the second floor, at the south wall of the donjon. When we reached the entrance, I waved Tavish through, and paused in the doorway. “Niall, Jannet, wait out here. I’ll not keep you long.” They nodded their acquiescence and I closed the door before them.

In the center of the book lined room, Tavish turned uneasily toward me. “This is a message from milord,” he spoke quietly. I stepped forward so we were mere inches apart.

“Tell me.” I said softly.

“Milord says to make the donjon ready to receive wounded,” Tavish’s blue eyes grew unfocused as he recalled Wallace’s exact words. “He expects massive casualties at the blades of the Legions.”

“Does he still expect to defeat the Colovians?” I asked. Tavish looked down at me. Not quite as tall as Sir Robert, he still had height on me, as did most of the residents of Cardonaccum. “Tell me the truth,” I demanded softly.

“Yes, m’lady,” Tavish answered. “Though Sir Laird and Sir Rodric do not agree. Sir Broc sides with milord.”

Of course he would. I kept my initial response silent. “How soon?”

“As soon as their General brings up the rest of his Legions,” Tavish responded. “Milord expects tomorrow or the day after.”

So soon? I hid my dismay and nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else, Tavish?”

“That is all,” the courier ducked his head and swayed slightly. “Milord said you would understand.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I returned to the corridor door and opened it. “Niall will see you settled for the night. Sleep well.”

“Milady,” Tavish bowed deeply to me. For a breath’s space I feared that he would pitch forward onto his face, but he recovered his balance and shuffled to the door and the waiting steward beyond. After the young man departed, I crossed the corridor to the sleeping quarters I shared with Wallace. Jannet followed me into the sitting room and closed the door behind her.

“I will make it an early night,” I said, turning for the connecting door that led to my sleeping room. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Jannet banked the sitting-room fire and tidied up the reading table while I changed into my nightdress. She peeked into the sleeping room as I pulled the bedcovers back. “Will milady be needing anything else?”

I shook my head at the older woman. “No, thanks very much. Sleep well, Jannet.”

“You as well, milady.” She closed the door after her, and I listened to her footfalls as she crossed the sitting room to her sleeping alcove at the opposite side.

I slipped into the bed and drew up the thick pelts over my lap. Leaning back against the stead, I picked up the book resting on my nightstand. One of Wallace’s volumes, it detailed the attempts of King Vrage of Skyrim to free the Bretons of High Rock from their supposed enslavement. As I opened it to the place marked by a dark green ribbon, something landed on my feet. I looked up as the big black-striped brown moggy padded along my legs to settle beside my right hip. She curled up contentedly and began purring squeakily.

I smiled at her attitude and reached my hand down to stroke the soft fur of her back. The purring rose to thunderous proportions, and she adjusted her position slightly for better gratification. “Cinnie, let me read a bit,” I whispered to the cat. Then I returned to the book. Crossing the River Bjoulsae. I had read it once before, when I married Wallace ten years ago. I had found it difficult to understand then. Not so much now, thanks to my husband’s guidance.

“What are you doing here, Cora?” Wallace’s gentle voice reached me from the doorway of his study. I jumped guiltily and clutched the heavy book to my bosom, afraid of dropping it. The sun shone warm on my back as I turned away from the window to face him. Instead of the wrath I expected to see, his weathered face held only surprise.

“I- I was c- curious,” I stammered, bowing my head in shame. “Forgive me, milord.” I moved to return the book to its place among its brethren on one of the library shelves. In a long stride Wallace placed his sword hand on my wrist, the calluses of its palm hard against my skin.

He plucked the book from my hands and glanced at the cover. “Crossing the River Bjoulsae?” He turned to me. “Look at me, Cora.” Hesitantly I obeyed, looking up into his lean visage. “Why are you reading a military history book? My first wife’s romances are over there.” He gestured to the opposite side of the room. I flinched at the reminder of my predecessor.

“Th- they’re n- not in- interesting.” I managed to get the words out. His grey brows rose, startled.

“Not interesting?” he repeated disbelievingly. “And this is?” He hefted the thick volume and regarded me thoughtfully. Silently I nodded. “Do you understand any of it?”

I had to shake my head. “I- it’s not e- easy, milord.”

He touched my lips. “It’s just the two of us, Cora. You don’t need to address me so formally.”

Again I lowered my eyes. “Yes, mi - Wallace.”

My husband set the book back on the shelf with greater ease than I had in obtaining it from its high perch. “Come, sit down a moment, Cora.” He drew me to one of a pair of leather upholstered chairs placed near the fireplace. “Why do you want to learn military history and tactics?”

I looked up at him as I took the indicated chair. He met my gaze when he had seated himself in the twin. When I didn’t answer, his brows rose. I found myself still fascinated by them. Wonderfully expressive they were, as were his stormy grey eyes. For all that he was so much older than me, by a good thirty years, Wallace was still clean-jointed, still limber and trim after years of fighting and training. Once again I saw the sadness in his gaze, the sadness that never left. Once again I renewed my private vow to dispel that private grief.

“When I sit with you and your men at dinner,” I made myself speak slowly. I didn’t stammer, and felt proud. “I want to be able to understand your conversation.”

He leaned back, his eyes steady on me. “Really? Even when their wives discuss things with you?”

I shook my head. “Talk of spinning and dyeing wool, of crocheting, of pickling and salting food for the winter doesn’t interest me.”

“They should,” he shook a callused finger chidingly at me. “The work of women are just as important as that of men. More so, even. For without their hard work, we’d be too hungry and too cold to fight!”

“And without men who know how to fight, there’d be no women to feed and clothe them!” I countered with some heat before I caught myself. My eyes sought the fire. “I’m sorry, mil - Wallace.”

“Don’t be,” Wallace’s tone turned gentle again. “Cora, are you truly interested in our conversations over dinner?”

I peeked warily at him. Unlike my guardian, who had scorned and ridiculed my interest in military tactics, Wallace seemed genuinely accepting. I nodded.

“Very well,” he set his hands on the arms of his chair. The leather-covered wood frame creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. “Then it would be wise to begin with this,” he moved back to his collection of military books and ran his finger along their spines. Finding the one he sought, he pulled it out. “This book is the first book I ever read. It will explain the basics you need to understand everything else, including Bjoulsae.” He tapped my ambitious selection with a knuckle, then returned to the hearth with the slimmer volume. “Start with this one, and work your way up to that one. We’ll talk about it some more after you finish reading it. Understood?”

I looked at the cover of the book he handed me. Art of War. Breathlessly, I looked up at him. He smiled, that sadness not quite disappearing, and waited for my answer. “Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I managed to whisper. He touched my cheek with his fingertips before turning and leaving me alone in his study.

“Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I whispered as my eyes refocused on the book in my lap. Cinnie picked her head up at the sound of my voice and yawned, before shifting back into sleep.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jul 1 2013, 03:03 AM

[haute ecole rider]

@McB: Thanks for your warm welcome for my newest character, Lady Cora. I rather suspected you would like this story. There's more to like coming up!

@Sage Rose: Dooms indeed! There will be more coming. I wanted to show the typical life led by the wife of a minor noble. Only in my eyes, both Lady Cora and Lord Wallace are not typical, and their relationship is something special. She is very fortunate in this marriage. We will see more of the previous's wife's lingering ghost in this newest chapter.

@Acadian: Yes, Lady Cora has grown tremendously in the ten years of her marriage. Lord Wallace played no small part in that. I hope to show more of just how special their relationship is in upcoming parts. I think you hit the nail in your description of Cora's nature - a hint of the complexity that she is.

@TheSkyMan: Welcome! I hear you about trying to read already established stories - it's something I reserve for "empty" days, which unfortunately are currently few and far between. Sorry that I had to make you look things up - I wanted to create a medieval feel for this story, and went searching for terms I could use instead of "castle" and "keep." I preferred to use "crofter" in place of "serf" as I see the relationship of this Lord and Lady with their land being more of a lord-tenant relationship rather than a master-slave setup. As for "thistlemen," that was something I changed (after I initially posted the first chapter - sorry McB and Rosa!) - in reviewing what I had written so far, I found that I had started using the term in place of "guards" or "men-at-arms." I liked the sound of "thistlemen" considering that the emblem of Cardonaccum is the humble thistle. Thanks for your words of praise - I hope you continue to read and enjoy this story!

@KC: I'm glad you're not the only one that enjoyed the interaction with the kitty. Cinnie is one of those characters that insist on her share of the text. It seems I cannot write one single novel without some animal butting in and taking over the keyboard. And yes, you're right - the military history books Lady Cora's been studying are invaluable to her. We'll see just how right your guess is about the timing of this story.

In the first chapter we met Lady Cora, the wife of a Lord who has gone off to battle with Colovians. Now in this chapter we learn a little more of her background and nature. I want to take a moment right now and send out a shout to two people who helped me begin this story two years ago. Destri Melarg and his Interregnum for getting me interested in the Lore, and Olen for his help in world building for this story. I hope they are finding the time to read this story too!

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Chapter Two

“That’s that for the salt,” Jannet declared, closing the door on the cellar room. “It should be enough for everyone through the winter months.”

I checked another item from the list. “That’s good, because we may not get more until the spring.”

“Aye, that’s true enough, milady,” Jannet nodded emphatically as we made our way through the storerooms. “Though we are short on salted beef and mutton.”

“If Robert can convince the remaining crofters to come here with their livestock,” I mused thoughtfully, “that might solve that problem.”

Jannet slid me a sidelong look. “As long as we don’t kill off all their kine,” she reminded me. “They need those animals for their income.”

I agreed silently. Jannet regarded me a moment more, then turned into the last storeroom, where we kept the wine. There we encountered Niall, the steward. He bowed to me and greeted Jannet with a wordless nod.

“How do you find the wine stores, Niall?” I looked around at the wine casks.

“One of them,” he pointed at an oaken barrel upended over the drain in the floor, “went bad. The rest are fine.”

I could smell the sharp odor of vinegar, mixed with the sickly scent of mold. “I see. No point in using that one for pickling vegetables.”

Niall shook his head. “Not unless you want to poison everyone.”

I snapped my fingers. “Could have made some to send up as a gift to that Colovian general!” Niall’s lips twitched and he looked away. I sighed at yet another failure to make him laugh or even crack his imperturbable exterior. “Thank you very much, Niall.” A glance at the ledger showed that we were finished. I closed the volume and handed it to Jannet. “Thank you too, Jannet.” She bobbed quickly as I turned for the stairs leading out to the courtyard of the donjon.

Older than Wallace, Jannet had been his first wife’s maid, and her mother’s maid before that. She was intimately familiar with Wallace’s holding, with every nook and cranny of the old donjon. She had frightened me ten years ago, when I first came to Cardonaccum as a nervous bride of eighteen. Her wrinkled, worn face, those canny eyes that missed little, and her curt manner did little to set me at ease. I had refused her aid as lady’s maid, fearful of being compared to her previous charge, the Lady Elspeth. Described as tall, willowy and beautiful with a fall of golden hair that shimmered at night and by day, Wallace’s first wife was the total opposite of me. How could Jannet find anything to approve of in me?

“Milady,” Jannet bustled up to me as I was sipping my breakfast tea. “How do you want dinner prepared?”

I looked up at her blankly. “Dinner?” I had just eaten breakfast! “Wh- whatever y- you have in st- stock,” my stammer chose that moment to re-emerge. I hid my shame behind the clay goblet.

Jannet crossed her arms over her ample breasts and gazed at me with a forbidding cast to her gnarled features. “You are the Lady,” her tone turned strict. “It is your duty to assign tasks to your cook, steward and housekeeper here.”

“Y- you have been d- doing th- this for m- much longer th- than I,” I began, but Jannet plucked the goblet out of my hand and set it down firmly on the table.

“Milady, come with me.” It was an implicit command. Meekly I rose from the table and moved to follow her. Jannet led me outside, through the courtyard, and down into the cellar. She paused only long enough to pluck a burning torch from the wall beside the wooden door that gaped open on this warm summer day.

As we entered the warren that formed the storerooms of Cardonaccum, Jannet fished out the heavy ring of keys and handed them to me. “As Lord Wallace’s wife, you are expected to know what stores we have put away, how much of each and how to obtain more,” she began speaking in that highland burr I found incomprehensible at times. Over the next two hours she took me through each underground chamber, pointing out every barrel, sack, and container, explaining their uses, their origins, and how quickly we could expect to consume them. She made me repeat the information after her room by room.

Then she led me up to the kitchen, where she called to the stout woman elbow deep in dough. “Machara! Milady has instructions for you.”

The cook, nearly as wide as she was tall, turned to face me. I could see the Nordic features in her flushed face as she blew a stray lock of faded blond hair from her face.

“What is it?” Machara’s pale blue eyes flickered over me with something approaching contempt.

I glanced nervously at Jannet, who said nothing. Somehow I found the courage to rise to my station. “Mi- milord would like a c- cold salad and gr- grilled beef t- tonight.”

“And how would milord like the salad dressed and the beef seasoned?” Machara demanded. My mind blanked. The cook huffed and pushed that stray lock impatiently back with a flour-coated hand. “Why milord married such a useless s’wit -“

“Machara!” Jannet’s voice cracked across the kitchen, bringing silence in its swift wake. I wanted to dissolve through the floor when I became aware of several pairs of eyes focused on the three of us. “This is milady you are speaking to! Give her the courtesy due her station!”

“Very well,” Machara bobbed resentfully. “Milady.”

Jannet turned to look at me. When I glanced at her in trepidation, she nodded curtly. Somehow her look conveyed the confidence she had shown me in front of all these people. I took a deep breath and turned back to Machara, reminding myself of the trick Maester Oricharo had taught me for my stuttering. “Milord likes the way you prepare the cold salad with lemon zest and white vinegar, Machara,” I spoke each syllable carefully. “Please be sure to include the goat’s cheese - I understand we just received a fresh supply of it. And I would like to try the beef with your rosemary and black pepper rub.”

Machara’s brows, pale in her red face, rose nearly into her hairline. “Very well, milady,” she said finally, her tone and expression much less resentful. “It shall be so.”

Jannet turned to lead me out of the kitchen, but I hesitated. “Thank you, Machara.” I said finally. Now genuine surprise flickered across the cook’s face, and the scowl lightened into something resembling a smile.

“Thank me when you’ve eaten dinner, milady!”

Out in the corridor leading from the kitchen toward the main hall, Jannet stopped and faced me. “People around here will compare you to Lady Elspeth,” she said quietly, her eyes on the wall just past my shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you. Lord Wallace married you, Lady Cora, not some replacement for Lady Elspeth. Don’t forget that.”

Since that moment, I hadn’t doubted Jannet’s confidence in me.

I paused in the courtyard, glancing up at the grey sky overhead. The storm had passed during the night, and the morning dawned cold and muddy. I had breakfasted with Edine, Sir Laird’s wife, and Larena, Sir Rodric’s lady. They had moved into the donjon the day their men departed with Wallace. Their manors were unprotected, and the men felt the ladies would be more secure here. In some ways I was grateful for their company, for it helped me to keep my mind from the dangers Wallace and the others rode into. But already I missed Wallace’s companionship, our discussions of the holding’s affairs and of the lands beyond Cardonaccum.

I moved to the center of the courtyard before the great gate towers that led out of the bailey. I looked up at the parapets around the high walls. Sentries stood quietly or patrolled with slow steps along the battlements, ever gazing outwards. It was here, just a couple of days ago, that I said farewell to Wallace.

They brought up his big black destrier. The stallion jibbed at the bit and pawed impatiently at the cobblestones until sparks flew from his iron shoes. Wallace rubbed the horse’s arched neck fondly. Nightshade calmed down, peering at me through the long fall of his wavy forelock. I leaned forward and whispered a charm of safekeeping into his fluttering nostrils.

Wallace turned to me, the dark forest green of his cloak swirling in the late autumn sun. “Milady,” he spoke formally in front of his gathered men, “give me your blessing too.”

His iron helm tucked beneath my arm, I reached up with my free hand and cupped his cheek. He bent down as I stood on bare tippy toes to kiss him full on his lips. “It is as Arkay wills it,” I whispered against his neatly trimmed beard as his men cheered and banged their shields.

“Let it be so,” he matched my tone, his arms tightening around my body until my toes barely brushed the cobblestones. “And remember, you must be both Lord and Lady while I am gone. Do not forget the lessons you have learned.”

I fought down the shiver of foreboding and looked into his cloud-colored eyes. “No, Wallace, I won’t forget. Not as long as I shall live.”

“Promise me, Cora,” his voice became gruff. I caught my breath, a flicker of unease causing my hand to tremble on his cheek. “Promise me you’ll always look after the good folk of Cardonaccum as I have these past many years.”

“I - “ I had to stop to draw a deep breath. “I promise. As Arkay is my witness.” Satisfied, Wallace lowered his hands to my hips, setting me back down.

“Thank you, milady Cora,” Wallace smiled. His eyes held none of that sadness I had sworn to dispel. Instead, it was I who felt sad, I who felt like grieving. I kept my head high, my eyes on his, reluctant to be the one to look away first.

Wallace turned to Nightshade and swung easily up into the saddle. I stepped to the horse’s side and passed his helm up to him. Wallace set it upon his head, giving me one last look. Then his squire handed him Cirsium, the shield with the Red Thistle emblazoned upon it, and followed with the great sword Thistlethorn that had been passed down for five generations. Wallace gathered up the reins and kneed Nightshade into a tight pirouette.

I remained rooted to the spot as Nightshade pranced out through the bailey gate, the knights and men-at-arms falling in behind. Edine and Larena stood beside me as the last of the men filed out, and the castle thistleman closed the great gates upon their flashing spears. Something twisted in my heart as the huge bolt dropped home. I broke my stance and ran for the narrow stair leading up to the gate towers. I wanted to keep Wallace in my vision for as long as I could.

There he was, at the head of the column. Nightshade, a patch of midnight on this grey morning, set a fast pace for the foot soldiers following behind the knights. On his back Wallace sat as if part of the stallion, tall and straight-backed.

I shook myself as the vision of Wallace’s departure faded away. I had known then, and I remained convinced, that that would be the last time I saw him alive. I had kept it to myself, reluctant to share it with anyone. Perhaps if I kept silent on that foreboding, it wouldn’t come true.

I hoped.