The Pearl Savage (12 page)

She knew very well how much of a
weakness (or Charles thought, a strength), Clara’s love of the People
was. She wished for their happiness and the greater happiness of the
sphere above all else.

They looked deeply into each other’s
eyes until Charles became aware of Prince Frederic in his peripheral
vision. He turned slightly to face him.

Instead of breaking their
interchange, Frederic came from behind Clara wrapping possessive arms
about her waist and hauling her up against himself, her fingers
falling away from Charles’ shoulders.

Clara’s breath caught at the
unexpectedness of the gesture and she automatically struggled against
the prison of his arms. Frederic laughed. “Have we not got over
this futile resistance, my Princess? So soon you forget how much you
will want, no…
you will beg
for my embrace.” Holding Clara against himself, he ran his free
hand down her neck, dangerously near impropriety as he approached the
bare upper skin of her bosom.

“Frederic!” King Otto
reprimanded. Finally, Clara thought, a voice of reason. The Queen
laughed at her discomfiture. Clara began to struggle in earnest. She
knew what she must do, but he would not embarrass her further, the
loathsome man!

Something deep and abiding in
Charles broke then, his hand, already balled into a hard fist, swung
backward of its own accord and he felt himself gain momentum as he
swung it directly into the smug face of the Prince. Instantly,
Frederic loosened his grasp on Clara, who ducked and like the smart
young woman she was,
got out of the
way.

Charles surged forward as a bull
before a crimson flag, launching himself at the Prince, the violence
of his temper in utter control and the screaming voice of his
subconscious trying without success to halt him.
But
stop he would not.
The Prince attempted to shield himself from
the pummeling he was receiving but Charles’ fists had come alive in
their own power. They rained down upon him, unabated.

“Charles! Stop this!” Clara
screamed, afraid for him.

Vaguely Charles heard the Queen yell
for the guards and Charles felt himself unceremoniously lifted off
the prince, his royal blood decorating the floor, (giving Charles
momentary satisfaction), before he was strung up like a turkey, ropes
at his hands and ankles alike.

The Prince stood on feet which were
unsteady, strode directly to Clara and backhanded her in the face, a
move so completely unexpected that she fell against the wall from the
force of it.

The Queen’s guards moved forward,
leaving Charles in stupid surprise, completely unable to defend her.

As the guards approached Prince
Frederic, Ada said with quiet menace, “As you were.” She pointed
back at Charles and the guards hesitated. When she repeated what she
said the guards came back to where Charles lay with uneasy
expressions of surprise.

Ada turned to Clara. “Remember,
dear Clara, the other night when I mentioned that Prince Frederic
understood discipline?”

Clara, whose mouth lay open and
bleeding, could only nod. She used her hand, sliding it along the
wall to steady herself, standing.

“This altercation has the surest
signs of a lack of understanding, does it not?”

Clara was not sure of what was
coming but nodded in agreement. The Queen did not really wish an
answer, she wished an audience for her wisdom. Her
supposed
wisdom.

“Do you love Charles?”

Clara nodded. Of course she did.

“Does he love you? Now think on
this, my daughter.”

Clara felt as one in a fox snare.
She knew whichever answer she gave would cause her trouble but she
settled for what she thought was the truth, but not before looking at
Charles. He looked profoundly sorry, she knew not why. She had hated
the Prince’s horrible caresses more than the back of his hand.

Everyone waited for her response. “I
believe he does…
love me
.”

Charles stared daggers at the Prince
and Queen in equal turns while King Otto looked to be sick at any
time. (He did nothing, Clara noted.) The guards struggled with their
duty to obey the queen and their desire to protect Clara.

The Prince circled Clara and she
kept her back to the wall, the small movement the only protection she
had, her eyes searching those of the guards and finding indecision in
theirs. Here was their future monarch, unprotected against another,
her betrothed
no less. While
the queen gave orders which left her own daughter vulnerable against
violence.

The guards were confused and uneasy.
They had heard rumors that the princess was abused at the Queen’s
hand but had not anticipated this level of debasement. They looked at
each other, neither sure what to do.

Quick as a snake, the Prince slapped
the other side of Clara’s face and she sank down to her knees, unable
to stand. His blows hurt so much more than the Queen’s, and about the
face.

“No! Do not touch her again,”
Charles bellowed, the guards holding him fast.

Finally, King Otto said quietly,
“Stop this. Do not strike her again.”

Clara could not believe a more
unlikely savior than he, but was grateful there may be a respite in
sight.

It was at that moment that Charles
vomited on the floor, distracting them all.

The Queen looked on in distaste.
“Elvira…come see to this mess,” she looked at Clara, prone on
her knees on the floor. “You see now how
absurd
your answer was, Clara?”

Clara could not see anything, her
ears rang from the second blow and her head was buzzing with the
beginnings of a punishing headache. Further, she did not care one fig
about what her answer had been.

“He
does
love you, Clara. Nay, not
simple
love, but real love. He is
in
love
with you. Your abuse was for him.” She and Prince
Frederic looked at each other and then he looked at Charles.

Kneeling down face-to-face, Frederic
a hand’s breadth away from Charles, Elvira cleaning the mess at his
feet he said, “It is so much more effective to seek my revenge upon
you by using her,” he inclined his head at Clara. “Certainly, it
would be satisfying to see you flogged, but to see you put away so
miserably in your ineffectiveness to do nothing to aid her? Well
that, I must say, is profoundly satisfying.”

Smirking, the Prince stood, gently
dabbing at the corner of his mouth where it bled due to Charles’
fists. “Profoundly,” he repeated.

King Otto stood. “It is settled
then, three months hence, they will be joined in the Kingdom of
Kentucky.”

From the floor Clara looked up at
the King, utter disgust covering her bleeding face. His gaze took in
her swollen lip and cheek. Then he looked from his son to his
soon-to-be-relative and his shoulders slumped. Clara realized he
would be no help to her. Her eyes sought Charles’ and there was
sadness and regret there. She gave a subtle shake of her head. It
meant so much to her that he had tried to help her

The Prince approached Clara and she
flinched; he laughed. She expected another blow and the guards looked
ready to assist, perhaps having lost all sense before a woman beaten.
Instead he reached out and tenderly ran his finger over the most
sensitive part of her lip and she stifled a whimper.

“We will see if you are a woman
who learns quickly. Mayhap you are. If not, I shall enjoy the
lessons.
Oh yes
, I shall.”

Clara could not help it, she moved
away from his touch, as if scalded. It was then, as she would think
back on it later that she decided she could not marry this fiend.
He
would kill her.
But first he would make her suffer. Then, he
would take her kingdom and rule it with a scepter of tyranny.

Prince Frederick, King Otto and
Queen Ada left her bleeding on the floor, the guards hauling Charles
away to a special cell. Elvira waited until they were all gone before
rushing to Clara and using a fresh washcloth, ministering to Clara’s
wounds. Clara thought not of the tears she wished to shed, but of the
plans to be made. Sarah, who would be calling momentarily at the
Royal Manse would know more of what to do. Together they could
formulate a solution.
Quickly
.

****

Sarah was ushered in by Peter who
looked at Clara resting on her bed and quickly away. “No…come,
Peter. Do not fret.”

Peter, the faithful butler, looked
about him in the hall and rushed to her bedside. She looked a mess,
she knew. Her hair in disarray, framing a face swollen and red from
blows and tears. Peter’s face reddened in a most alarming way.

“Princess, oh
my
Princess,
” Peter said, kissing the hand that had beckoned
him.

Sarah looked down at her solemnly,
her natural humor dead on her face. Clara had not gazed in a looking
glass but felt that her People’s faces told her what the mirror could
not.

“You cannot wed him, Clara. He
means your death,” Sarah said indelicately. True to form, Sarah was
bold with her words. Peter put her hand upon the blanket and nodded
in agreement.

“What of Charles?” Clara asked.

Sarah smiled. “And he asked only
of you.” That caused Clara to smile, then she winced as the pain in
her mouth lanced her.

“Ouch!” She instinctively placed
a finger on the sorest part of her mouth. All of it hurt fiercely,
throbbing, but one corner was very tender.

Olive slid through the chamber door,
closing it softly behind her. “I have some ice, mistress.”

Clara eyed the bundle, swaddled in a
thin, cotton cloth used for drying dishes. (Billy must know, she
thought absently), and gave a sigh of relief when the crushed ice
made soft contact with her mouth.

She closed her eyes briefly, the
throbbing heat becoming more bearable.

Sarah looked at Peter and he stood
to go. “I must not be absent overlong, Princess.”

Clara’s eyes opened and she nodded.
He wished to escape the Queen’s notice;
they
all did.

Peter, Olive and Sarah looked at one
another, then Sarah nodded and Peter inclined his head to the two
women, taking his leave.

“He is a good man,” Sarah
remarked, and Olive nodded.

“Yes,” Clara whispered through
her swollen mouth.

“This must stop. The abuse you
endure from her Majesty, our Queen,” Sarah said with obvious
disdain, “is something I know you feel you do for our kingdom.
But,” and she waggled her finger, “that creature that pretends to
be a man. For Guardian’s sake, what right does he have to lay hands
upon you? None! I say none.” Sarah’s face was bright red, she had
spun herself up into high dander, pacing about the room and returning
to Clara’s side.

“Is this why you stopped by the
schoolhouse? So that we may confer together? I must say, it is a long
time coming if that be the case. You cannot wed him.”

“I will not,” Clara said in a
whisper.

“What?” Sarah said, spinning
around and leaning down to kissing distance from Clara’s face.

“I said,
I shall not wed him
.”

Olive gasped, then clasped her hands
together in delight.

“There will be a hell’s ransom to
pay, you know,” Sarah said.

Clara nodded, she knew.

“I will assist you. For you must
escape.” Clara’s eyes widened.

“Shh, do not speak. Listen to what
I say.” When Clara lay silent, Sarah continued, “trading day is
one day hence, correct?”

Olive and Clara both stared at her.
Yes it was and what of it?

“It is a perfect time for you to
move through the tunnels. I have friends in the other kingdoms, you
could make your way there, possibly hide for a time until things
quiet down.”

Clara smiled, Sarah, so naïve.
Brilliant, but not versed in the intricacies of royal life. As if
Clara’s absence would buy her time without notice.

Clara held both hands out to Sarah
who took them. “Dear Sarah, a most excellent plan, but it is time
that is my enemy, not placement.”

“Yes, my lady, it has been
announced that Clara is to wed Prince Frederic three months hence,
not twelve,” Olive clarified.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “What say
you?”

“Three months hence.”

“Is that true, Clara?”

“It is.”

“Speak on this,” Sarah asked.

Clara did.

She told her the entirety of the
interchange, leaving out nothing. Sarah stopped her, asking questions
that she had not received answers for from Charles during her brief
time with him.

Clara asked after him.

“He is fine. Eager to see you.”

“When will he be released?”

“A fore-night, no more,” Sarah
said.

Clara nodded. She tried to not rely
on Charles overly much, but she could admit, if only to herself, that
the Prince terrified her, very much. She cast a glance at the door
then looked to Olive, who nodded.

Olive walked quickly to the door,
stepping into the doorway. Looking each way, she closed it softly,
throwing the lock simultaneously with its closure. Clara felt the
breath slide out of her body in bold relief, she could possibly
sleep.

Sarah smiled. “Let me lie on your
couch beside your portal which overlooks the Great Forest Outside. I
will stay here this night, standing watch over you.”

Clara wanted to tell her no, Sarah
was terribly stubborn. Not unlike Clara herself. She smiled at Sarah
and Olive fetched a bundle of bed linen for the fainting couch.

Clara needed to relieve herself and
brush her hair. She swept the covers aside and Olive was suddenly
there. Clara quietly told the girl her needs and they walked over to
the necessary together. Afterward, Clara sat down in front of the
vanity and Olive stood behind her brushing her hair. Sarah flanked
her. Slowly, Clara lifted her eyes up from her lap and met the ones
in her face; if one could call the reflection which greeted her a
recognizable likeness.