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foundtherightwords · 3 days ago

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The Minstrel, the Maiden, and the Knights of Hellfire - Epilogue

Pairing: Hellcheer, Medieval AU

Summary: England, 1139: the civil war between King Stephen and Empress Maud looms large, threatening to tear the country in half. For Ed and his band of traveling minstrels, however, the more pressing matter is how to survive the upcoming winter, now that they were tossed out by their latest patron. When they stumble upon a naïve pageboy looking for warriors to escort the lady Christiana to safe haven in Wales, Ed comes up with a daring plan - pose as knights, take the job, and collect the reward. After all, how hard can it be? What Ed doesn't count on is endless battles, treacherous roads, marauding bandits, Lady Christiana's pompous fiancé, and his own growing attraction to the fair maiden herself.

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 2.6k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19

Epilogue

Our tale concluded, as these things often do, at a little shop in the town of Ludlow, one balmy autumn evening in the year of Our Lord 1154. It was a modest enough shop, tucked away in a quiet alley just off the Foregate, and was shuttered up for nearly half of the year. It was difficult to tell how the shop turned a profit from such irregular trade, but those who needed it seemed to have an uncanny knack of knowing when it was open and turning up at the right time.

The shop was closed now, though the sign—which bore the image of a lyre—swung eagerly in the autumn breeze, like the tail of a dog that could sense its master's return long before his feet walked through the front door. And sure enough, here came the master now—there was a rattling of wheels along with voices, happily singing "Merry It Is While Summer Lasts" to the joyful accompaniment of a pipe. A covered wagon, drawn by a bay horse, no longer young but still sturdy, turned down the alley. The driver was a man, no longer young either, perhaps two or three years shy of forty, but lean and wiry, with the twinkle of youth still in his large brown eyes, and his hair, which fell to his shoulders in soft curls, was still dark. His wife, sitting on his left, must have been a beauty in her youth, and that beauty was still now evident on her face, made even more charming by maturity and a life well lived. Strands of gold hair escaped her snow-white wimple to caress her rosy cheek, and her blue eyes danced as she sang. Sitting on their right was their daughter, a girl of fourteen, already with a hint of latent womanhood in the litheness of her movements and the bounce of her chestnut curls as she played the pipe to accompany her father and mother.

The song ended just as the shop came into view. The piper tucked her instrument into her girdle and jumped down to open a gate at the side of the shop. The horse, knowing home and rest were near, went straight into the little stable yard beyond without needing the driver to guide him.

"Home again," Ed said, helping Christiana—surely, the reader must have recognized them by now—down from the wagon with a gentle, almost reverent hand.

Christiana's smile was a little weary but content. "Just in time for winter too." Although the day was clear and warm, there was a bite in the air that signaled ice and snow were not far behind.

Once alighted, the three of them fell into what was obviously a familiar routine—Christiana went into the house and threw open the shutters to air out the rooms, while Ed unhitched Warlock and unloaded the wagon with the help of their daughter, Elizabeth. By the time Ed and Christiana settled into the front room that also served as Ed's workshop, Elizabeth already had a good fire going in the kitchen and was preparing supper. Ed started unpacking his tools, hanging up the chisels and files. The goods of his trade—the rebecs, gitterns, psalteries, citoles, and all the other instruments he'd lovingly made with his own hands—would be put up once the shop opened for business again. Christiana went into the kitchen, only to come out with a rueful smile.

"Elizabeth chased me out," she said, sitting down by the fire. "Said she could do it and I needed my rest."

"You do need your rest." Ed stopped putting away the gum and resin to slip a cushion behind his wife's back. Christiana leaned back with a long sigh, and Ed eyed her with growing concern. Fifteen years they had been traveling together, and he had never seen her getting tired so quickly, save for when she'd given birth to Elizabeth. "Can I get you anything?" he asked. "Are you still feeling nauseous?"

"I'm perfectly fine." She gave him a little affectionate push. "Go on, away with you. You know I hate it when you hover over me like that."

"I'd said you needn't accompany us this year," he grumbled. "You could have stayed with Wain on the farm."

"And I said, when we married, that I didn't intend to stay at home while you were gallivanting on the road," Christiana reminded him. "And I'm keeping my word."

And she had been. For years, they had traveled up and down the country in the summer and settled in Wain's farmhouse in the winter. The Knights of Hellfire and the Dancing Princess had become a popular troupe, always welcomed wherever they were, while the farm, bought along with Wain and Ed's freedom from villeinage using Christiana's inheritance, had thrived under Wain's hard work, and they always made sure to return in time to help with the harvest.

As the years went by, their troupe grew—Elizabeth, named after Ed's mother, had been born in the wagon and raised more or less on the road—and then shrunk again. Gareth, much to everybody's shock, had taken the cowl and was now a choir brother at the abbey in nearby Shrewsbury. The others often joked that he'd done it to save himself from temptation, though Ed, who had once contemplated doing the same thing out of a broken heart, believed he understood Gareth's true calling. Geoff had met a Moorish girl, brought to England by the Earl of Leicester from the Second Crusade, and left the troupe to join her in the Earl's household as the music master to the Earl's children. Even Tadhg, always a farm boy at heart, had quit the troupe just last year to take over Wain's farm—Wain, now too old for farmwork, had rented it to him while staying on as landlord. Ed didn't begrudge his friends' departure—he had been fortunate enough to marry someone willing to travel and perform with them, but he knew not everyone would want such a life. Other lost sheep joined them from time to time, some staying for months or even years, others leaving as soon as they found their feet. Ed and Christiana and Elizabeth kept the troupe going, only now they added Shrewsbury and Leicester to their yearly circuit. Occasionally, Geoff and Tadhg and their families would join them on the road for old times' sake, and though Gareth could not leave the abbey, he always welcomed them to its guest hall.

Yet there had been times when Ed himself wondered if such a wandering life was good for his own little family. First, there was the war. The year after Elizabeth's birth had been a bad one. The King had been defeated at the Battle of Lincoln and imprisoned, and for a while, it had seemed Empress Maud would take the throne after all. Barons previously sworn fealty to Stephen had flown over to Maud's side like weathervanes blown in the wind, and there had been chaos all over the country. But the tides of war are as unpredictable as the loyalty of men, and Stephen had regained not only his freedom but much of his power as well. The two royal cousins had been locked in a stalemate ever since, and the country had enjoyed a period of peace, albeit an uneasy one.

And then there was Christiana's health. Elizabeth's birth had been difficult, and though their girl had grown up as strong and graceful as one of the willow trees on the bank of the River Teme, Christiana had never quite recovered from that ordeal, and there had been no more children after that. It was after Stephen was freed that Ed had decided he needed something more steadfast to provide for his family. So, with what was left from Christiana's inheritance and the skills he'd learned from Brother Elias of Bromfield Priory, Ed had opened this shop in Ludlow, where he made and repaired instruments. He would tout his wares on the road as well, and now musicians and minstrels across Worcestershire and Shropshire, some even as far as Wales and Leicestershire, all knew to come to him when they needed new strings for their gitterns or resin for their rebec bows. The shop would never be prosperous, Ed knew—for one thing, he often undercharged his fellow minstrels, out of professional courtesy—but it was steady and respectable.

Yes, respectable, Ed reflected, watching his daughter through the kitchen door while she moved about setting the supper table, her light and springing steps so like her mother's, yet there was something of himself there as well, in the stubborn set of her chin and brow, in the dimple that dipped and rose on her cheek whenever she smiled. Christiana had managed to make her own way in the world, but Elizabeth would have a better chance in life with a craftsman for a father instead of an itinerant musician.

Turning back to Christiana, he said, "Perhaps we ought to stop traveling so much. You and I are not as young as we used to be, and neither is Warlock."

"Nonsense," said Christiana. "Elizabeth would be so disappointed. And you know how Geoff and Gareth look forward to our visit every summer. I told you, I'm fine. The reason I've been feeling more tired than usual is because—"

A knock on the door cut her off. Who could it be? It was too late for a customer, and besides, the shop wasn't even open yet. Must be a neighbor. Frowning to himself, Ed got up to open the door.

Standing on their front steps was a man in his prime, not much over thirty. He was dressed modestly for traveling, though his garments were clearly well-made. There was something boyish still in his chubby cheeks and laughing eyes, and when he removed the hood of his cloak, messy curls sprang up around his head like a halo.

"Pardon me," the man said. "Is this the shop of Master Edmund and Mistress Christiana?"

"Yes," Ed replied warily. "May I ask who inquires?"

"Come now, my friend," the man said with a grin. "I know we haven't seen each other for a good while, but you can't have forgotten your squire already?"

His squire... Ed looked at the man's gap-toothed smile, and recognition finally dawned. Before he could say a word, though, Christiana had barreled past him and thrown her arms around the man, crying out, "Dustin!"

"My lady." Dustin bowed to her, making her laugh.

"I haven't heard that in fifteen years," she said, patting his shoulder.

"Come in, come in," Ed urged. "What are you doing so far up north? We haven't had a letter from you since last year, when you said you were part of the King's delegation to broker a truce with Henry Plantagenet in Wallingford."

"Indeed, and a good job that was, even if I say so myself," Dustin said as Christiana guided him to the fire and called to Elizabeth to bring refreshments. "Neither Stephen nor Henry was happy about it, but it ended the war."

"And now?" Christiana asked, handing him a cup of wine.

Dustin drank. "Stephen is dead," he said shortly.

Ed and Christiana looked at each other. Though Ludlow, as had the rest of Shropshire, had remained loyal to Stephen throughout the war, the castle had recently returned to the possession of Lady Sybil's kinsman, Gilbert de Lacy, who was Maud's supporter. Ed and Christiana knew that, as commoners, their opinion was of little consequence in the grand matter of court and country, but they had always had a soft spot for Stephen, least of all for the great favor he had done them.

"And now Maud's son, Henry, is to be King," Ed said. "Long live the King."

"Yes," said Dustin. "I'm afraid this is no social call. I'm here to spread the news to the barons and ask for their oaths of loyalty to Henry."

"And will they give it willingly?" Ed asked. Stephen's eldest son and heir had died, but his younger son, William, still lived, and there might be those who saw the boy as a more rightful heir to the throne than the son of Empress Maud. The fear of yet another civil war was very much still in the air.

"I believe they will," said Dustin. "We are all tired of living in a war-torn land. Henry Plantagenet is going to bring peace."

"Right, enough of war talk," said Christiana, getting up. "I know you have your errand, Dustin, but you must stay with us. Oh, but I insist," she said, when Dustin started to protest. "It's not every day that we have the King's envoy under our humble roof."

That evening, over the supper table, they ate and talked of old times and old friends. Dustin told them about Maxime and Lucas, who had settled in Exeter and were doing well, while Ed and Christiana filled him in on the news of Gareth, Geoff, Tadhg, and Wain. Dustin then regaled the family with tales of his own adventures, how he'd started out as a poor squire and worked his way through the ranks until he became herald to King Stephen himself.

"But I shall be forever grateful to you for giving me my start, Sir Edmund the Banished," he said to Ed with a wink.

"Why does he call you that, papa?" asked Elizabeth.

"It's a long story, which your mother and I shall tell you when you're older," said Ed, sharing a conspiratory smile with his wife.

"You always say that!" the girl whined, and the grown-ups laughed.

Later, after Dustin had gone to sleep on a cot in the corner of the workshop, saying it would do him very well and that he'd had much worse receptions at some manor houses that shall not be named, Ed and Christiana retired to their own bed.

"All that fighting and bloodshed, only to have his rival's son succeed him," mused Ed, still thinking of Stephen and Maud and Henry. "Such folly."

"I wouldn't call Stephen a fool," said Christiana, loosening her hair from its braids. "He must have known what he was doing."

"You were always partial to him."

"As were you, my love. Don't forget that if it hadn't been for him, none of this would have been possible," she said, gesturing to their modest chamber.

"No, I shan't forget." Ed came over to help Christiana brush out her hair, a small act of intimacy that he'd always loved doing for her. "By the way," he said, remembering. "What were you saying about your tiredness before Dustin came?"

"Oh, that." In the candlelight, he could see a hint of rose tinting her cheeks, making her look again like the girl he'd fallen in love with so many years ago. "I believe I'm pregnant."

Ed couldn't quite believe his ears. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"Quite certain."

"But I thought—after Elizabeth—it's been so long—"

"I thought so too." In the dimness of the room, Christiana's smile was radiant. "But miracles can and do happen. Aren't we living proof of that?"

Indeed. A lowly minstrel and a highborn lady, finding love and building a life together? It was the stuff of fairy tales and romantic ballads. And yet it had happened. As Ed gathered Christiana into his arms, as they kissed and laughed together, both anxious and happy for what the future might bring, he thanked the stars that, out of all the tall tales he'd told, this was the one that had come true.

THE END

It's a little sad to end on Stephen's death, but Henry II brought some much-needed stability to the country, and I'd like to think our troupe would live out their days with their loved ones in peace and prosperity. Anyway, here we are, at the end of the journey, and I cannot thank you enough for following along.

I will be back soon with more Hellcheer fics, so stay tuned!

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #joseph quinn fic #medieval au

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foundtherightwords · 10 days ago

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The Minstrel, the Maiden, and the Knights of Hellfire - Chapter 19

Pairing: Hellcheer, Medieval AU

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 4.1k

Chapter 19

Ed looked up from the ground. Christiana's hair and veil were blocking his view, so he couldn't see much of what was happening around him, but he was too exhausted to move, and he had no desire to, as Christiana was still clinging protectively to him. It did not matter to him whether Dustin's mad pageant—in which each of them had played a part, including Brother Elias, who had cobbled together a lance using all the lumber in his workshop and even lent Ed his old Crusade sword—had succeeded or not. None of it mattered. Only this mattered—the comforting weight of Christiana melting into his body, the lavender scent from her hair, the curve of her lips against his neck. He wrapped his uninjured arm around her, closed his eyes, and let the commotion of the field wash over him. He would be content to lie in the dust like this for the rest of his life.

But he barely had time to rest, for a voice was barking above him, "Get up, you two! Get up and show your respect to the King!"

The King! Ed immediately forgot his lethargy as the old terror resurfaced. He must not let the King capture Christiana! Ed struggled to his feet and, though he knew it was hopeless, tried to shield Christiana with his body. Not that he had cause to fear her slipping away now—their hands seemed to have been chained together. Cautiously, he cast a look around. The spectators, including the hoity-toity lords and ladies sitting in the box, were standing with their heads bowed. Christiana tugged at his hand, so Ed obediently bent his neck before he could get a good look at the King. All he saw was the sturdy flank of a gray destrier next to them and a fashionable riding boot with silver buckles in the stirrup. Behind that were more horses, and even more were coming in, a veritable procession.

"What is the meaning of this?" said the man on the gray destrier. His voice seemed to come from high up, full of fury and authority. "We just came from Worcester, where we witnessed such wretched destruction, such miserable conditions after the attack from Robert of Gloucester. Yet while your neighbors suffered most grievously and are even now struggling to rebuild their city, you are all here merrymaking! I expect better from you, de Dinan."

At the mention of his name, Lord de Dinan ran from the gallery into the field and knelt in front of the King. "Forgive me, Your Grace," he said, trembling. "I have done my best to aid Worcester, even sending my own men to patrol the roads between here and there. This feast was simply to lift people's spirits and to entertain an honored guest, Sir Jocelyn de Craven..."

"Ah, Sir Jocelyn. Indeed," said the King, as if just remembering. "Come forward, Sir Jocelyn!"

Jocelyn, who had been skulking behind his horse, reluctantly came forward and knelt next to Lord de Dinan.

"I heard you were to be married," said the King. Jocelyn gave an almost imperceptible incline of his head. "To Lady Christiana Conyngham, the daughter of the traitor Philip Conyngham. Is this how one of my most trusted lieutenants should behave? To ally yourself with turncoats and defectors? I suppose next you'll be following in the footsteps of Ranulf of Chester, who has married Robert of Gloucester's daughter and now threatens to revolt in the North?" Jocelyn flinched but said nothing.

There was something familiar about the King's voice, Ed realized, only he couldn't place it.

"No, that will not do!" shouted the King. "I cannot keep losing my men to traitors' daughters. Now, if God has joined you in marriage, then not even I can put you asunder, but as it appeared we were in time to stop the wedding... I declare that this betrothal is now null and void!"

Jocelyn reared his head. "Your Grace—" he stammered, then closed his mouth again, helpless as a hooked fish.

Ed and Christiana exchanged astonished looks. She was free! Could this be—?

"Now, Sir Jocelyn, see that you join my army on our march to Chester, and be sharp about it," said the King. Jocelyn inclined his head again, but not before shooting a glare full of venom at Ed and Christiana. The King must have seen that as well, for he continued, "As for the lady and her accomplices—take them to the camp, Sergeant Hagen. I shall deal with them later. The rest of you, be about your business. The entertainment is over."

Before Ed knew what was happening, a pair of burly arms came between him and Christiana, pulling them apart.

"No!" Ed shouted, trying to keep Christiana's hand in his. He had not gone through all that to have her freed from Jocelyn, only to lose her to the King. "Let her go!"

"Let him go!" Christiana was also shrieking, mirroring him. "He hasn't done anything!"

Behind him, Ed heard their friends struggling with the King's men, and Dustin's voice, rising above the din, "Just go quietly with them! Please! Do not make things worse for yourselves!" Ed tried to catch a glimpse of them, but they were lost in the mass of people leaving the tiltyard, the King's convoy withdrawing, the people of Ludlow Castle making their way inside, and the burghers and farmers hurrying home before the King found fault with them as well. He could no longer see Christiana.

Ed didn't remember the march to the King's camp. It wasn't far, only just outside the castle walls, but terror and despair had clouded his mind, leaving him blind and deaf to everything. The soldiers did not bind his wrists, and though they flanked him on both sides, their hold on his arms was firm but not harsh. Ed could have made a run for it if he had a mind to. But he didn't. The only thing on his mind was what was going to happen to Christiana. If Stephen harmed her in any way... Ed would make him pay, king or no king.

He was dimly aware of entering a forest of half-built tents. Occasionally, he bumped into harsh-faced men who grumbled at him in a foreign tongue, harried-looking soldiers running to and fro, or horses being led to their posts. Finally, he was led through a curtain and into a large pavilion.

Someone jumped at him, flinging their arms around him, making him stagger. The fragrance of lavender hit his nose, and his arms moved of their own volition to return the embrace. Christiana. She was here and in his arms once more.

"Oh, my love!" she was saying. "I was so afraid that you had done something silly. But everything is all right now," she added quickly. "We're safe. We're all safe."

It took a moment for her words to fully register with him and for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside the tent. He saw their friends standing by the tent's entrance, looking a little dazed from shock and relief, with the exception of Dustin, who was grinning widely. At the center of the tent, framed by two large candelabras, was a wooden chair with a tall, elaborately carved back that made it look like a throne, and sitting on it, watching them with a benevolent smile, was—

"Captain Harrington?" said Ed, confused.

"You must address him as Your Grace, my love," said Christiana.

"I don't understand."

Christiana smiled at him. "Captain Harrington is the King, Ed."

Ed looked back at the man on the throne. Yes, he remembered that friendly smile and those youthful eyes, but now, with a crown on his head and a fur-trimmed cape round his shoulders, Captain Harrington—King Stephen—looked every bit the monarch that he was. At last, Ed realized why the King's voice had sounded familiar. Still, he couldn't quite reconcile the man they'd found in the woods with the sovereign sitting in front of them now. "The King?" he repeated, feeling rather foolish.

Stephen nodded. "Yes, Harrington is the name I use when I wish to travel incognito," he said. "It is a name known to but a few people. So when your friend here"—he pointed at Dustin—"happened upon my camp in Worcester and asked for Captain Harrington, I recognized him instantly."

The King's explanation reminded Ed of all the agonies he'd suffered in the last two days. He stomped over to Dustin and grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck, like catching a particularly frisky kitten.

"You little imp!" Ed hissed, shaking Dustin. "I ought to give you a fair thrashing for what you've put us through!"

"If you have grievances to settle with him, you'd best get in line," Gareth said drily behind him. "We all wish a turn."

"What, did I just not save you all?" said Dustin indignantly. "His Grace had to finish his business in Worcester before he could move on, and if I let slip that he was coming to Ludlow, Sir Jocelyn might hurry the wedding along! How many times do I have to be right for you to just trust me?"

"Young man," said the King sternly, "you would do well to keep your pride in check, or it would get you into trouble one of these days."

"It is his tone that I object to the most, Your Grace," Ed said, and he and the King nodded at each other in mutual understanding. Dustin only gave them another gap-toothed smile, too pleased with being the hero to mind their mockery.

"My apologies for the theatricals just then," Stephen said, "but Jocelyn de Craven had to be convinced that all of you were out of his reach and not worth pursuing." He sighed, and for a moment, all those present saw the weariness of the civil war pressing down on him. "He is a bit of a tinderbox, true, but I cannot afford to lose the men and the service he has pledged to my cause. But I can assure you, Lady Christiana, that you are free from him."

"Does this mean we can go, Your Grace?" Christiana asked cautiously, her voice quivering. Ed knew she was still thinking of her fugitive father, and her mother and brother, even if they spared her no thought.

"Not quite," said Stephen, and Christiana paled a little. "I've robbed you, my lady, of the chance of becoming a bride, and now I intend to make it up."

Ed and Christiana turned to each other, speechless. To think, the day had started with such misery and uncertainty, and now... Such a reversal of fortunes was so impossible, so fantastical, that they might as well be dreaming. Seeing their dumbfounded look, Stephen smiled. "Unless there is some objection?" he asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"No, Your Grace!" they said immediately, and in unison.

Stephen laughed in delight. "Sergeant!" he called to the man-at-arms standing at the tent's entrance. "Fetch the priest. He still has a wedding to conduct."

Father Ianto duly arrived, looking torn between annoyance and triumph. Annoyed, because the church he had taken such pains to adorn had now gone to waste, and because he was having to marry the promised bride to a different man. Triumphant, because he had been called upon by the King himself. Such honor, even if the wedding itself was a little unorthodox.

Ed and Christiana paid no mind to the priest, or anyone else, for that matter. Hands clasped tightly—it would take more than the King's men to pull them apart again—they just looked and smiled at each other, still unable to believe this was real.

"Stop!" shouted a voice outside the tent. "Stop the wedding!"

No, no, not again... Heart sinking, Ed turned toward the entrance. A young woman, dressed like a maidservant, was running toward them, carrying two bundles. She dropped a quick curtsey to Stephen before turning to Christiana and thrusting the larger bundle into her arms.

"My mistress sent you your things, my lady," said the maid. "And this as well." She opened the smaller bundle. Christiana gasped. Inside was the most magnificent gown Ed had ever seen, all gold and pearls and ivory. "My mistress heard that Father Ianto had been fetched to marry you and your man, so she bid me bring you this, as a wedding gift."

Christiana ran her hand lightly over an embroidered sleeve. "Lady Sybil is too kind," she said to the maid. "But I no longer have any use for such finery. It's not really mine anyway."

She made to wrap the gown back up, but Ed put out a hand to stop her. "Don't you want to look beautiful on your wedding day?" he said.

Her eyes were steely when she turned them upon him. "Do you think me less beautiful when I'm in my homespun country dresses?"

Realizing his blunder, Ed squeezed her hands. "You're always beautiful to me," he said. "Do what you see fit, sweetheart. You know I would gladly take you barefoot in your shift."

Christiana's eyes softened. Leaning over, she whispered into his ear, "You already have."

Smiling teasingly at Ed's crimson cheeks, she turned away and asked both the maid and Father Ianto to wait. She then ducked out of the tent with Maxime. A moment later, she came back wearing her old blue woolen gown again, with her linen veil held by a simple wreath of late Michaelmas daisies that had survived the frost and the snow. Maxime wrapped up the brocade gown Christiana had changed out of, while Christiana put the wedding gown and the jewelry she'd been wearing into the other bundle.

"Please return these to Lady Sybil," said Christiana, giving the first bundle to the maid, "with my deepest gratitude. I shall never forget her kindness to me." The other bundle she handed to Sergeant Hagen, who was standing in attention at the entrance to the tent. "Would you please see that Sir Jocelyn gets this? Thank you."

This done, she returned to stand in front of Father Ianto. "Now," she said to Ed, taking his hand again, "I can marry you as myself."

Ed remembered nothing of Father Ianto's blessings. He heard Christiana's clear, sweet voice answering, but remembered nothing of his own replies. He only came out of the daze when their friends all converged on them, shaking his hand and kissing Christiana. Stephen stood up from his throne and joined them in congratulations, and even Father Ianto beamed beatifically at them. Only then had Ed realized they were wedded.

"Now, I have one more offer for you, Master Edmund," said the King. "I still have some business to finish in the north, but I fully expect to return to Westminster by Christmas. How would you and your friends like to accompany me there and become my court musicians?"

Ed and his troupe looked at each other, stunned. Before Ed could respond, Geoff, always the most clear-headed of them, spoke up, "This is a great and unexpected honor, Your Grace, and we would like to give it due deliberation. May we have a moment to talk it out amongst ourselves, before we give you our answer?"

Stephen waved a hand in acquiescence, and the five of them—including Christiana, for she was as much a part of the troupe now as any of them—went to a corner of the tent.

"Why are we even talking about this?" said Gareth. "This would set us up for life!"

"Perhaps," said Geoff. "Or perhaps not."

"What are you saying?" Gareth asked, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Geoff lowered his voice. "Don't forget, we're still at war," he said, casting a furtive look in Stephen's direction. "Factions and loyalty can change in an instant. And if we took the King's side today and the Empress should be in the ascendant tomorrow, what would happen to us?"

Tadhg put in, "Geoff's right. And besides, after Lord Ashby of Chichester, I think it's best that we have no more masters telling us what to do."

"You had to mention that again, didn't you?" said Gareth, though there was no vitriol in his voice, only reluctant agreement. "But I concur. We rely on no one but ourselves."

Ed turned to Christiana. "What say you, sweetheart?" he asked. "With a court musician for a husband"—good God, he's her husband now!—"you shall have some comfort. Perhaps not the same luxuries as you did at your father's manor, but—"

Christiana put a hand on his arm, interrupting him. "Just as you don't need fine clothes and jewels to find me beautiful, I don't need wealth and titles to find you noble," she said. Cradling his cheek in her palm, she brushed her thumb lightly over his dimple. "You do what you think is best, my love, but do not change for me."

Ed looked around at his troupe. For once, they were of one mind. He gave them a decisive nod and turned to the King.

"We thank you for your most generous offer, Your Grace," he said. "However, we must turn it down. We're but simple minstrels, with no training or knowledge of a troubadour's high art. We cannot bring dignity and elegance to your court." Stephen looked disappointed, but he didn't press the matter. Emboldened, Ed added, "Besides, Your Grace must allow that it would be difficult to be court musicians when there are two courts, one in Westminster and one in Gloucester."

Sergeant Hagen, from his post at the tent's entrance, gasped out loud. Even Ed's friends, used as they were to his sardonic tongue, looked horrified. Only Christiana tried to suppress a grin. Stephen appeared stunned for a moment—Ed believed no one had ever spoken to him thus—then he threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh.

"Bravo, Master Edmund, bravo! Truer words have never been spoken!" the King said. "And you were right. As long as my cousin and I are locked in this war for the throne of England, there is not much merrymaking to be had at court. Let us pray that it will change soon, and I shall have a proper court to receive all of you before long. For now, my friends, God bless you and keep you."

Those blessings—along with an escort of the King's soldiers—saw them on their way back to Tenbury. Ed sat on the wagon driving Warlock, with Christiana sitting next to him, while the others rode pillion behind the soldiers.

"You're very quiet," said Christiana, leaning on his arm. "What are you thinking?"

Ed was, in fact, thinking of the winter ahead. He was now responsible not only for himself and his troupe, but his wife—his wife! It still didn't feel real—as well. At least Dustin, Maxime, and Lucas had families in Exeter, and if they hurried, they would reach it before winter set in. As for his troupe, they would have a brief respite at Wain's croft, but the tiny hut could not accommodate them all. And to own the truth, he didn't relish the thought of spending his wedding night and the first few months of his marriage stuck in a hut with his friends and uncle.

"I'm thinking perhaps we should have stayed with the King, at least for the winter," he said. "Winters are always difficult for us traveling minstrels." He turned affectionate eyes upon her. "I fear you may be in for some hard times, sweetheart."

"We're not completely penniless, my love," Christiana reminded him. "There's still my inheritance."

Her inheritance! In the midst of all the heartache and hassle, Ed had completely forgotten about it. Doubtless, it was still at Wain's, left there in their rush to rescue Christiana from Vecna's lair.

"And I still owe you payment," Christiana continued.

"But we never brought you to Wales," Ed protested.

"No, you brought me home, and it is more than I could ever hope for," she said with a happy smile that went straight to Ed's heart. "You remember my dream of that little farm I told you about?" Ed nodded mutely, unable to tear his eyes from the beloved face. "My inheritance should be enough to buy Wain's croft, don't you think? Then Wain can have his freedom, and I can have my farm, and we can build a house large enough for all of us, so we need not worry about winter ever again."

"We?" Ed repeated.

"Of course. Don't think for one minute that I married a traveling minstrel only to stay at home while you are gallivanting on the road. 'The Knights of Hellfire and the Dancing Princess' has a very nice ring to it, don't you think?" Her smile brightened as she slipped her hand into his. "Whatever happens, we shall face it together."

Together. The road ahead of them was laid with so many uncertainties still. And there was the war, always the war, threatening to carve England into pieces. But all that was in the future. As Ed saw Christiana's eyes upon him, blazing with bright blue fire, and felt her hand in his, steady with the strength of renewed hope, he knew they could face anything, as long as they were together.

***

Jocelyn kicked at the bundle Sergeant Hagen had dropped rather unceremoniously in his tent early that evening. The return of the gown and jewelry did little to cool his fury. If anything, the gesture only enraged him more, for it seemed Christiana was deliberately mocking him, and by returning her bride's gifts, she had severed their tie once and for all. Such humiliation would not be borne! Christiana may think she was safe from him, but she was wrong. The King would soon forget it all. Once they had finished fortifying these northern strongholds, Stephen would turn his mind toward more pressing matters, and then Jocelyn would be free to exact his revenge on them—yes, all of them, Christiana and those villainous minstrels and those no-good servants who had colluded with each other to humiliate him. Yes, he would show them!

Still savoring all the ways he would make Christiana and her accomplices suffer, Jocelyn stomped out of the tent and strode to the edge of the camp to relieve himself. This side of the camp overlooked the River Teme, so it was dark and deserted, the Flemings on patrol having abandoned it to congregate in brighter, warmer parts, under the torches. Jocelyn moved into the shadow, unbothered. He didn't wish to see anyone anyway.

Too busy with his own thoughts, Jocelyn didn't hear the soft footsteps creeping close. He was doing up his chausses when he felt something sharp and cold pressed against his neck, and a voice said in his ear, "Fine evening, isn't it, my lord?"

Jocelyn didn't turn around—he couldn't, not without letting that wicked curved blade slice across his throat—but he didn't need to. He knew what he would see—one pale blue eye and one milky white, staring into his very soul, pouring ice water through his veins.

"Creel," he managed to say through chattering teeth. "What are you doing here?"

"You still owe me and my men our fee, my lord."

In his fury, Jocelyn regained his courage. "You've failed!" he spat. "You've got some nerve, crawling to me after such shambles!"

"But I did deliver the bird into your hand, did I not?" Creel sounded almost hurt. "It wasn't my fault that you let her fly off again. And now I've come to collect the debt."

Something flashed in the dark. Perhaps it was the blade, or perhaps it was teeth, as white and sharp as those of a wolf who knew he'd always get his prey, one way or another.

Later, as Vecna strolled back into the shadows with the bundle of jewelry in his hand, his waiting men came out to meet him.

"Do we go after the lady still, my lord?" one of them asked.

"Haven't you heard?" said Vecna. "She's a lady no longer. As a canary in a gilt cage, she may have had some value, but as a sparrow flying from hedge to hedge, she is of little worth to us." He stowed the bundle away and swung onto the saddle with the ease of a seasoned rider. "Let us move on. There is plenty of prey elsewhere." Those wolfish teeth flashed again, and the cavalcade rode away, silent as a procession of ghosts, until they were swallowed up by the dark.

Epilogue