Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (12 page)

Their
arrival at the palace, all things considered, was rather anti-climactic.

The normal
activity of a courtyard was in full swing when they drew to a halt in front of
the stables. A small boy in exquisite livery ran forth, mouth opened to greet
them, but he stopped dead, astonished at the sight of their bedraggled
countenance.

“And what
might your name be?” Bianca was amused, but determined not to show it. Small
boys had such a care for their dignity.

“I’m Billy
Notter, m’lady.”

“Well,
Master Notter, as it turns out, I have heard of you.”

“You have?”
The astonishment on his face was priceless.

“Indeed. The
Princess Vivienne told me all about you, during her stay in Toldas.”

His little
face took on a look of extreme concentration. He looked from Bianca to
Isabelle, and his eyes grew wide. Then he turned and bolted away, shouting as
he went. “Fain! Fain! I mean, Lord MacTíre! Faaaaaaaaaaain!”

In no time
at all the courtyard was swarming with people. Billy had attracted the
attention of most of the palace staff, and by the time Vivienne and Fain pushed
their way through the crush, Bianca was feeling rather sheepish over the fuss
they had caused. She was so embarrassed she didn’t even realize her
foster-brother had found her, until he caught her up in an enormous bear hug.

“You’re
here!” He swung her around and around, until she protested with breathless
laughter.

“Put me
down, you wild man!”

He set her,
ever so delicately, on her feet. “I wanted to come sneak into Brannon’s palace
and carry you off, but Vivienne told me not to be a fool.”

“Don’t be
silly, love.” Vivi scolded. “I just wanted a better plan. I must say, though,
having Bianca bring herself to us was better than I ever could have dreamed.”

Bianca
turned and looked at her cousin. Vivienne was holding Isabelle’s hand and
smiling at her mother, even as she teased her fiancé. Isabelle, for her part,
looked on her daughter with shining eyes, joy written on her every feature. A
sudden thought occurred to Bianca, and she extricated herself from Fain’s hug.

“Your
highness,” she said with careful formality, “where is King Regal?”

“He should
be in his study. He’s unlikely to have heard the commotion from the courtyard.”
Vivienne wasn’t really answering Bianca. She’d spoken to her mother, who, at
the mention of the husband from whom she had been separated for so long, had
stopped breathing for a moment.

“Then
perhaps we could escort your royal mother there. With all haste.”

It was quite
a parade that wound through the palace. Fain led the way, cheerfully asking the
mob of palace staff to clear out and let the queen through. Vivienne held her mother’s
hand and walked beside her, for Isabelle’s knees had apparently grown a bit
wobbly with emotion. Behind them came Bianca and Robin, studiously ignoring one
another. Or at least, Bianca was ignoring Robin. She had no idea if he was
ignoring her or not, because she refused to look at him. She was half surprised
that he was still there, given that his stated goal of bringing them to the
palace had been safely accomplished. She almost opened her mouth to ask him why
he hadn’t left, but then she remembered she was ignoring him, and resolutely
shoved the thought from her mind.

She was so
busy ignoring him that she ran into Vivienne when the princess stopped abruptly
before her. Peering over one of Vivi’s shoulders, she saw a woman she had met
only once, standing before the door to the king’s study.

Dame
Merriweather.

She was
poised and elegant, with a great mass of white hair that curled gracefully atop
her head. Her elaborate gown was from a bygone era, with its deep waistline and
layer upon layer of crinolines, but it suited her, nonetheless. Her grey eyes
roamed over the little group in the hallway, and a small, pleased smile turned
up the corners of her mouth.

“Isabelle,
dear, how lovely to see you again.”

“And you,
Dame Merriweather.” The two women nodded at each other, a gesture of respect
between equals.

“I suppose
you’re on your way to see the King?”

“It has been
quite a while, Merriweather.” Isabelle was impatient.

“Well, then,
why don’t you let me take the children along to my sitting room? No reason to
spoil your reunion with prying eyes, is there?”

Isabelle
stepped forward, and kissed the Dame on her cheek. “Thank you.” Then she
slipped around the other woman, and into the study door.

Vivienne
raised one eyebrow. “We’re hardly children, Dame.”

“My dear,
compared to me, you are like babes in arms.” Dame Merriweather gestured easily.
“I believe you and Lord MacTíre know the way to my rooms.” Vivi rolled her
eyes, but linked arms with Fain and strolled off down the corridor. “Now,
Bianca, if you do not mind, Robin may escort us both.”

Bianca moved
uneasily to stand on Robin’s left, while Damn Merriweather took Robin’s right
arm, which he proffered with all the grace of a gentleman born to court. They
started down the hall, but the stately pace that the Dame kept allowed Vivienne
and Fain to soon outdistance them.

“Isabelle
and Regal are rather touching, aren’t they? So many years apart, and here they
are, reunited at last.”

“They must
both be very happy.” Bianca felt a pang. She was overjoyed for Isabelle, but
the queen’s elation only served to highlight her current unhappiness.

“I should
say so. Can you imagine, to love someone so fiercely that you hold them in your
heart, even when you must spend so much of your life apart?”

Bianca felt
Robin tense at her side, but he made no sound. She wondered at it, but was
distracted, trying to think of a polite response. “It must have caused them a
great deal of pain.”

“Indubitably.
But no doubt they would both say it had been worth it.”

Bianca tried
to observe her companions out of the corner of her eye. The Dame was smiling
serenely, to all appearances just a woman making pleasant conversation. Robin,
however, was stone-faced, staring straight down the hall.

“Perhaps
they would.” Bianca said slowly, thinking as she spoke. “But I have some
experience of losing someone I loved. I do not think it is a choice that I
would wish on anyone.”

At last,
some expression came to Robin’s face. He turned just slightly, enough to look
down at Bianca, his eyes clouded by some emotion she couldn’t recognize. It
made her heart ache to see, and she had to blink fiercely to hold back the
sudden sting of tears.

“I am being
selfish.” She blurted. “You must want a chance to speak with your grandson in
private. I shall leave you alone, and catch up with Vivienne and Fain.” Bianca
sketched a hasty curtsey, and then dashed off down the hall, before the Dame
had a chance to call her back.

She didn’t
look at Robin again. She was afraid of what she might see.

***

“She’s
right, you know. I do wish to speak with you in private.”

Robin tore
his eyes from Bianca’s retreating form. “Is it, perchance, to commend me on a
task well done?”

“Of course
not.” She sniffed. “But if you must hear it, I’ll tell you I am proud of you
for bringing them both safely. When you told me of Bianca’s mad plan I feared
none of you would make it. Certainly not Isabelle. She should have died from
that infection.”

He shook his
head. “I cannot take credit that is not due me. Bianca kept Isabelle alive; I
merely led them here.”

“So, she’s
more talented than you thought?” Merriweather was arch.

“I admit it.
More talented, more capable, more worthy…” He looked at his grandmother. “You
were right. I was mistaken. Are you satisfied?”

“Not
entirely. But I will let it be for now. Tell me of the rest of your journey.”

Robin
sketched an account of the final days’ travel, and what had occurred since he’d
last contacted his grandmother. He didn’t mention his growing rapport with
Bianca, nor the kiss they’d shared in the rainstorm. By the time he’d finished
his brief tale, they could see the trio ahead, entering the sitting room at the
end of the corridor.

“You’re
keeping something from me, boy.”

He didn’t
bother wondering how she knew. The Dame was a master of reading the hidden
currents that flowed around all living things. He could barely see them at all,
the glittering motes of light that danced along in fate’s wake, but
Merriweather was incredibly gifted at not only seeing, but also interpreting
their patterns. She would not know what precisely had occurred between Bianca
and him, but it would be a simple matter for her to realize that something was
there.

Still, that
didn’t mean he had to tell her.

“I am afraid
there is nothing more to the tale.”

“You’ll have
to spend a few more centuries practicing your evasions, if you want to fool me,
my boy. You’re as skittish as a colt around her, and she’ll barely even look at
you.” His grandmother fixed him with a penetrating stare, but he ignored it
with all the nonchalance he could muster. “Very well then, keep your secret for
now. But I will have it out of you, eventually.”

She dropped
his arm, and swept grandly into the room. Robin followed in time to hear
Vivienne’s appeal to his grandmother.

“Don’t you think
so, Dame Merriweather?”

“Since I
have only just arrived, child, I would be foolish to pick a side. Perhaps you
could enlighten me as to what you are discussing?”

“I was
trying to convince Bianca to allow me to send for a dressmaker. Father is bound
to throw a rather lavish party to welcome Mother back, and from what she’s been
telling me, Bianca has nothing to wear.” Vivienne cast an accusatory glance at
Robin, and he knew what story Bianca must have been telling.

“Be fair,
your highness,” he defended himself. “There was hardly room for me to pack a
party frock.”

Vivienne
shrugged and conceded the point. “I suppose. At any rate, it doesn’t matter.
Imagine what fun we’ll have, picking out a new wardrobe! There’s a new sleeve
that leaves your whole shoulders bare, I imagine you’ll look quite fetching in
it.”

Bianca
blushed, and shook her head. “No thank you, Vivi. A few gowns will be plenty,
and I’m sure I’d be more comfortable in something with a higher neck.”

“Oh really,
you’re not going to ruin my fun with excessive modesty. Who ever heard of a
high-necked party gown?”

Bianca bit
her lip in consternation, and Robin knew she was thinking of her scars. He
quickly spoke up, before Bianca had to decide what to say. “Come now, your
highness, there is nothing wrong with modesty. Not every woman cares to be as
outrageously brazen as you.”

Fain let out
a snort of laughter, and tried, unsuccessfully, to turn it into a cough. When
Vivienne glared at him, he smiled and shrugged.

“You must
admit, love, ‘outrageously brazen’ is the perfect way to describe you.”

The princess
held her glare for a moment longer, then smiled broadly. “I cannot deny it. But
you didn’t have to laugh.”

“My most
abject apologies, Vivi.”

The two
grinned at one another, but Vivienne quickly pressed her point. “Even so, there
is a difference between modesty and resigning oneself to being a wallflower.
Don’t you think Bianca would look lovely, in one of the new style of gowns?”

Fain
laughed. “You’re asking me? She’s my little sister, Bianca. I think she should
wear a sackcloth and a veil. A heavy, heavy veil.”

“Such
hypocrisy. I might swoon from it all.”

The
good-natured banter continued, almost as though everyone present had come to a
silent agreement to avoid significant topics until the king and queen rejoined
them. Vivienne pressed for more and more scandalous attire, while Fain began
describing a gown that sounded like several vestal’s habits draped atop one
another. Robin staunchly championed Bianca’s right to choose her own clothing,
and Dame Merriweather kept her comments down to the occasional scathing
condemnation of fashion in general. None of them noticed when the door to the
sitting room opened, because Vivienne was standing before the fire,
gesticulating wildly.

“Pantaloons!
An entire wardrobe of pantaloons, made of chiffon and silk lace!”

“What’s
this, now?” King Regal entered the room, arm in arm with his wife. Both had red
eyes, but their faces were beaming with inner happiness. Vivienne broke off her
diatribe with a cry of delight, and sprang forward to wrap her parents in an
enormous hug.

Regal’s face
was damp when he finally broke free from his wife and daughter, but he wiped
his eyes without the slightest trace of shame. Then he went and knelt before
Bianca.

“I
understand, Lady Bianca, that I have you to thank for bringing my wife home
safely to me.”

“Oh no, your
majesty!” Her cheeks were flushed at the sudden attention. “I only treated her
wounds, as best I could. Robin—that is, Master Goodfellow brought Isabelle
home. He brought us both.”