Damsel in Distress (Closed)

Mariann slapped a hand to her mouth as she realized the possible repercussion of her words. //You fool!// She thought. //Stupid peasant!// She knew that saying such things was blasphemy and was told multiple times they were not to leave the small circles of her village. Yet here she was speaking ill of the king in front of his nephew! He could have her exiled! Or worse!

Yet Roland didn't seem to be angry. Even his words didn't come out chastising. When she announced she would go back to bed, he didn't stop her and demand she leave at once. In fact, he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, leaving the surcoat in place.

"I apologize that I have spoken out of place." She said, looking up at him. "Thank you for not sending me away. I'll be sure to hold my tongue in the future."

Roland somehow managed to stifle a grin when Mariann slapped a hand to her mouth. Her reaction removed all by trace of suspicion the prince might have had that she was a spy. It seemed clear that she was simply a commoner, not used to having to mind her tongue, speaking freely in the presence of royalty.

That was a dangerous thing to do, but it also made her seem more attractive to him.

As the two of them stood there, so close together atop the castle tower and with his hands on her shoulders, Roland was tempted to kiss Mariann. She was a beauty beyond anyone he'd ever seen, and she carried an innocence, a sensibility, and a backbone that almost made her irresistible.

But he remembered how he'd found her that morning, and he hesitated. Instead, he simply nodded when she spoke.

"As you wish, milady," he replied quietly, letting go of her shoulders. "I'll not make mention of it. I pray you sleep well, and I look forward to seeing you in the morning."

Roland's tone was, as ever, gentle. He was loathe to rebuke Mariann, even when he'd caught her making treasonous comments.

He didn't reclaim his surcoat. It would go to Mariann's sleeping quarters and he could collect it the following day. He only wanted her to be happy and comfortable, whatever form that might take.

For a long moment, they stood together. Mariann looked up at Roland and the way he looked back, for a brief second her heart skipped. She was sure he was going to kiss her. A prince! But then he backed away and she felt ridiculous. Of course he wasn't going to kiss a common girl like her! What childish fantasies! And yet those fantasies would follow her long into the night.

She swallowed and nodded. "Thank you. Good night." She bowed before him before straightening and turning to go. As she reached the stairs she turned back to see his eyes following her. She gave him a small smile and made her way back to her room.

That night, she slept in Roland's surcoat. Snuggled under the blankets and the warmth of his scent, she finally fell sound asleep.

Roland watched Mariann as she left, draped in his surcoat from shoulder to knee, with her nightwear visible further down. She truly was a stunning creature, and again he was tempted to ask for a kiss, but he refrained from doing so.

He blushed when she turned just as he was thinking of kissing her, but the darkness that shrouded them both kept his reddened cheeks from being visible.

Roland spent much of the rest of the night deep in thought, and Mariann was frequently on his mind. He considered her suggestion that he'd make a better king than his uncle Philip, and deep down he knew she was right. Likewise, his father Cedric would have made a fine king, but that couldn't happen unless Philip and his son Edmund were somehow removed from the throne...

Roland awoke in his bed early the next morning, when the convoy of troops and supplies that were to be delivered to Woolstead was almost ready to leave. Once dressed in fine clothing with his heraldry embroidered into the material, he left his room and started to make his way towards the castle's inner courtyard.

Mariann awoke the next morning in a haze of confusion. It took several moments to remember where she was and how she got there. Then, the events of the previous day came rushing back to her. The attack in the forest, her rescue, the whirlwind of generosity from the handsome prince. The time spent alone with him.

She realized she was still wearing his surcoat and wrapped it tightly around her. A knock on the door startled her as one of the servants announced herself. She called for her to enter. The servant eyed the surcoat but did not mention it. Mariann blushed and shrugged it off, folding it neatly.

The servant provided another dress for her and helped her get into it. This one was an emerald green, corseted at the torso, long and embroidered at the collar. Though she was heading back home today, it was insisted that she have her hair brushed and pulled back into an exquisitely neat bun, with curly tendrils hanging down the side of her face. Again, she felt beautiful and wondered what her family would think.

Her other dress was folded and put away in a pack for her and she was escorted down to the courtyard to meet Roland and her convoy home.

Roland entered the courtyard just a few minutes before Mariann. It gave him an opportunity to inspect the convoy before it left.

There were two ox-drawn carts laden with food: barrels of mead, fish, and preserved meat; baskets of freshly harvested vegetables; rolls of cheese; a case of expensive spice. There was enough for all of Woolstead to feast upon if Mariann's family chose to share it.

Behind the carts sat a carriage, small but if impeccable quality. It could seat two people side by side, although it was empty now.

Drivers for the three vehicles stood nearby in quiet conversation.

The captain of the guard was there, giving orders to the soldiers under his command. He had selected six such men, all of whom were mounted on horseback and armed with a spear and shield. Roland had impressed upon the captain the importance of his delivery, and he had dutifully selected half a dozen of his best for the task.

Roland was satisfied. The prince had planned for everything, it seemed.

But when Mariann arrived, wearing a fine green dress that hugged her form and it her hair exquisitely arranged, his pulse quickened. He tried to maintain his composure, but inwardly he wanted nothing more than to sweep the brunette beauty into his arms and kiss her.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Not there in the courtyard, where they would be viewed by so many eyes.* He did smile, though, offering a slight now in greeting.

"Good morning, milady. I trust you slept well?"

Mariann didn't know what to expect when she arrived in the courtyard, but what she found was far more than she could have ever imagined. But that didn't keep her attention long before her eyes settled on Prince Roland.

She did a small curtsy of her own but could not keep the grin from her face. "Your Highness." She said simply. She wasn't sure how to approach him with everyone around so she straightened and cleared her throat. "Thank you for all of this. Please give my thanks to Sylvia as well for the dresses."

After they'd said their goodbyes, she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret, of longing. Of course she wanted to return to her family, to bring them such wondrous gifts, and she knew she couldn't possibly stay here, but she wasn't quite ready to let the Prince go. But then she was being ushered onto the carriage by another gentleman. She turned back to give the Prince one last look before the carriage was on it's way.

Her arrival home was greeted both with disbelief, excitement, gratitude and distrust. Her family didn't want to accept the gifts or the food at first, but after some time she was able to convince them there was no catch. This was for their own betterment. They did end up sharing with the rest of the village, and Mariann sold all but one of the dresses. She couldn't bring herself to get rid of the dress that made her feel like a princess in her own right. The little ones loved her stories of her visit to the palace, that she sometimes embellished for their entertainment. Quality of life in the village and especially for her family was greatly improved.

Still, as the days passed, Mariann couldn't help fantasizing of that could have been. Some nights, those thoughts led to the utterly impossible. What if the prince had kissed her up at the parapets? She found herself fantasizing about that night. The prince's lips on hers, his strong hands holding her close, caressing her soft skin. Then he was pushing her up against the castle wall in passion, unable to resist, carefully pulling at the delicate fastenings of her dress.

Sometimes she stopped herself there, scolding herself for being so ridiculous. But sometimes, she let it go, until she was writhing with need, her hand slipping beneath her bedclothes to relieve the ache. Afterward, she always felt silly. Such things could never happen between someone like her and a prince!

So, she went on with life as usual. Now, as she ventured to town or went for a ride on her horse, she always looked toward the palace, wondering what Prince Roland was doing at that very moment.

King Philip was furious. He was stomping across the throne room, ranting and raving about the expensive convoy of food being "wasted" on peasants.

Roland managed to cool his temper somewhat by insisting it showed the king's generosity, but he deliberately omitted the fact that the food had been delivered under his own blue and yellow heraldic banners, and not those of the monarch.

His father Cedric, brother to the king, was persuasive enough to suggest Roland was young and foolhardy, and that such an act wouldn't be repeated without the blessing of the crown.

Roland was dismissed with a scowl in due course and went straight to the stables, thinking over the previous few days.

The prince had stood atop the parapet and watched the small convoy until it had disappeared from sight, as if doing so would enable him to catch a final glance of Mariann. After its departure, he had wallowed in melancholic thoughts for two days until his father and uncle had returned to the castle.

The king had been as unbearable as he always was, with rumours of unrest in parts of the kingdom being routinely ignored by the man on the throne. Cedric had always implored King Philip to put the people first, but the brothers often quarreled over such matters, which only seemed to fuel the fires of rebellion.

Roland was relieved to be away from court as he rode his mare out beneath the gate and down the long, sloped road that the convoy had used. The last time the prince had used this road, he had been with Mariann.

Again his thoughts turned to her, and he wondered not only how she was, but what had become of the supplies and expensive gifts. Had she shared the food with the people of Woolstead, or had she kept it for her own family? Had she followed his advice to sell the dresses, or had she hidden them away?

His curiosity piqued, Roland didn't pay attention to where he was headed until he recognised Harrowleaf Forest, where he had first met the beautiful and noble peasant who had yet to leave his thoughts.