Riding Amongst Wildflowers - Chapter 12

The midday sun blazed fiercely above, casting a golden halo over Alaina's fiery red locks as they whipped chaotically in the bracing wind. The gusts were brisk, bearing the whispers of a burgeoning winter, but the sun's radiant embrace provided a gentle counterbalance. A renewed sense of determination ignited a fiery purpose, propelling her forward. She rode Joy, their heartbeats harmonising in a rhythm as old as time, and they surged forward, the mare's hooves thundering against the earth.

Riding was second nature to Alaina, an instinctive dance between horse and rider that seemed as intrinsic as breathing. The rhythm was unbroken, the connection unyielding, as if she had been born to command the winds on horseback. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the distant silhouette of a farming village, smoke spiralling lazily from its cluster of chimneys, punctuating the vast expanse of the sky.

With a gentle squeeze of her calves and a soft tug on the reins, she urged Joy onwards, swiftly closing the distance between them and the village. As they neared a wooden fence surrounding the village, Alaina confidently guided Joy, and with a powerful leap, the mare sailed over the barrier, landing gracefully on the other side.

The open fields were dotted with around two dozen men, their backs bent in labour as they tended to the fertile earth, pulling weeds and wildflowers. Alaina slowed Joy to a gentle amble as they neared the workers, the measured clatter of hooves against the dirt road growing softer with each step. As she drew close, she offered them a cordial greeting, her voice carrying the unmistakable authority of their duchess. The men paused in their toil; surprise etched onto their weathered faces as they took in the sight of their noble lady and bowed in deferential respect.

 "Sir Horace, her ladyship is here," one of the men shouted towards the thatched-roof houses. Halting Joy's strides, Alaina swung her leg over the saddle and gracefully dismounted, the soft crunch of dirt beneath her boots echoing in the silent expanse. She handed the reins to a nearby knight, who carefully led the horse towards a water trough, offering it a much-needed reprieve. As she straightened, a surge of apprehension swept like a tempestuous sea. Now standing idle, the men watched her with silent curiosity, their imposing figures casting long shadows in the sunlight.

Each man was a living testament to the tales her father used to spin - the stories of gallant knights, their imposing statures, and unyielding resilience. Despite being clad in humble, earth-stained attire, a sense of unspoken strength radiated from them. Their bodies were honed from relentless labour, their skin weather-beaten and bronzed under the unforgiving sun, giving them a rugged, dependable aura.

A man emerged from the cluster of humble dwellings, his stride confident and balanced. He was a towering figure, lean but robust. His short, dark hair caught the sunlight in a soft sheen. His eyes, a captivating hazel, were hardened and stern, carrying the weight of countless battles - the kind of eyes that had witnessed the dance of death at the edge of a sword.

A smile tugged at the corners of Alaina's lips as she endeavoured to dispel the unease coiling in the pit of her stomach. She held their collective gaze, her eyes reflecting the tenacity that had brought her to this moment, ready to address the men before her.

 "My lady," he said as he bowed. His voice was a deep, low baritone, deeper than anything Alaina had heard.

 "Good day," she said, giving a nod. "My apologies for coming unannounced and interrupting your afternoon."

 "It is quite a surprise, but you are always welcome here," he replied, walking towards her. She noticed he was maybe ten years older than her and was at least three heads taller. He was not as muscular as the northerners, but he definitely looked like he could hold his own in a battle.

"Please, step inside," he invited, a hint of apology in his voice as he held the door open for her. Alaina had to stoop low to pass through the small doorway, entering a humble abode that seemed almost too petite for comfort. However, as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, she discovered a certain charm to the simplicity of the dwelling.

Inside the house, she found a modest but cosy living space. The main room was surprisingly spacious, with ample room for the few essential furnishings that adorned the space. A worn table with five mismatched chairs stood at the centre, offering a gathering place for meals and conversations. Against one wall, a crackling fireplace provided both heat and a flickering glow, casting dancing shadows upon the wall.

Alaina noticed the neatness and orderliness of the space. The six beds, each with a neatly arranged stack of pillows and blankets, lined the walls with precision, promising restful nights after long days of toil. A few shelves held basic kitchen utensils and a collection of well-worn books showcasing the simple pleasures that the knights held. And in the corner, a small wooden chair awaited her, a thoughtful gesture from her host, who busied himself preparing a comforting pot of tea.

As she settled onto the chair, she couldn't help but appreciate the humble atmosphere that enveloped her. The dwelling may have lacked opulence, but it exuded a sense of belonging and tranquillity that captivated her. The simplicity of the space whispered of a life attuned to the rhythms of nature, where warmth, companionship, and daily routines brought forth a wealth of contentment.

 "I hope you have been keeping well, Sir …?" she asked, trying to fill the silence between them.

 "Horace, my lady, Sir Horace Zeal. Commander of the first squad of Dunkeld Knights," he replied, with a hint of resentment in his voice as he relayed his title. He poured himself and Alaina a steaming cup of tea and sat them on the table. He sat opposite her and took a guarded sip. Alaina held her cup, feeling its heat against her cold fingers.

 "Sir Horace, I have come to ask for your help," she said firmly, placing the cup back on the table. She looked into his eyes, which were studying her curiously.

 "If you have come here to request my assistance to fight on the barbarians' side, I'm afraid I would have to decline." His bluntness surprised Alaina; she was used to knights listening to orders without question.

 "I understand it would be difficult to fight on the side of the men who cast you out of your home. But we are in a state where we require all the knights of Dunkeld to uphold their honour and their vow to the duchy".

 "My vow is to Dunkeld, not to the invaders of our land".

 Alaina was taken aback by his brazenness; his words never faltered when delivering his stance.

 Alaina stood her ground, facing the valiant knight. The dimly lit chamber resonated with tension as she mustered the firmness in her tone, her words slicing through the air like a sharpened blade.

"If I recall correctly, Sir Horace, it was your own volition to abandon the fray,' she proclaimed, her voice laced with an underlying caution. Deep within her chest, her heart pounded, each beat echoing the turmoil within her. Though her accusation felt rude, it was a risk she had chosen to take.

Sir Horace, a man of unwavering courage, was momentarily silenced, his steely gaze fixated upon Alaina as he searched for the right words. The weight of his stare bore down upon her, causing her resolve to falter, and she averted her gaze, seeking solace in the cup of tea before her. Her delicate fingers closed around the porcelain, bringing it to her lips for a sip.

Anxiety crept into Alaina's core as silence hung heavy in the air. Had she offended him? Doubts plagued her mind, intertwining with the tendrils of steam rising from the tea. She took a few more cautious sips to ease her troubled thoughts, the scorching liquid searing her tongue, yet she paid no heed.

Still fixated on her cup, Alaina strained her ears, longing for the sound of Sir Horace's response. The seconds stretched into eternity, amplifying her unease. And then, like a gust of wind through the ancient oak, she heard Sir Horace heave a great sigh, his breath a subtle admission of defeat in the face of her undeniable truth.

 "It is most embarrassing that you have heard that side of the story," he said, finally breaking the silence. "But it is even more embarrassing that it is, in fact, true. I did leave the battle with my men."

 "So, then, what is this honour you now speak of, Sir Horace?" she continued, feigning arrogance, trying to suppress the shrinking feeling of her timidness.

 "Your words wound me, my lady". 

The chamber reverberated with the weight of Sir Horace's sudden movement as he rose abruptly from his seat. He strode purposefully towards a massive wooden chest nestled in the corner of the room. With a resounding creak, he swung open the lid, revealing a trove of his personal items hidden within. His weathered hands reached in and retrieved a mighty steel sword, its polished blade reflecting what little light was in the house. Alongside it, he delicately plucked a small golden Dunkeld Crest.

Returning to the table, Sir Horace placed the sword and crest before Alaina, their weight resonating with profound significance. His voice, tinged with sorrow, quivered as he spoke, the depth of his emotions laid bare before her.

"I shall renounce my knighthood, for I have dishonoured my sacred vows," he declared; his words were as settling as the shroud over the room. Alaina's heart sank as she realised the unintended consequences of her brash accusation; her regret began to flood.

"This was never my intention in coming here," she replied, her voice laced with contrition, her hand releasing the cup onto the table with a resounding thud. "You misunderstand, Sir Horace."

Unyielding in his self-reproach, Sir Horace met her gaze, his eyes brimming with self-doubt. "I am not worthy to bear the title of a knight any longer. I beseech you, administer your justice and relieve me of my responsibilities."

A flicker of frustration crossed Alaina's face. "If you were truly unworthy, why would I be here, seeking your aid?" Her words struck like a thunderbolt, momentarily freezing Sir Horace in his place. As the realisation settled upon him, his complexion paled, the weight of his self-imposed exile etching lines of irritation upon his face.

 "I will not lend my sword to the enemy's cause," Sir Horace declared. The weight of his principles bore down upon him, refusing to let him stray.

Fueled by a flicker of hope, Alaina rose from her seat, her movements imbued with grit. With unwavering confidence, she closed the distance between them. Her fierce and unwavering gaze met Sir Horace's hazel eyes, desperately seeking to pierce the veil of his thoughts.

"What if I implored you to fight not for the enemy but for your duchess?" Her voice carried a trace of vulnerability, yet her persistence burned brightly within her. She longed to unravel the depths of his inner turmoil, to uncover the truth hidden within his gaze, if only for a fleeting moment.

 "Commander!" The urgent cry pierced the air, shattering the tense air that had enveloped the house. Startled, Sir Horace's attention was abruptly torn away from Alaina as he turned towards the source of the commotion. A fellow knight, his voice strained with urgency, delivered the news.

"Sir Phillip, surely you can handle a horse's birth while we engage in this discussion," Sir Horace retorted, irritated by the interruption. He begrudgingly dismissed the matter as trivial, unworthy of his immediate attention.

Sir Phillip, however, insisted with a sense of urgency, his voice carrying a weight of distress. "It is not as simple as that, Commander. The mare is in distress, and we risk losing both mother and foal."

The pregnant mare belonged to his beloved wife, a lavish gift he purchased for her some years prior to his exile. With a curt nod, he addressed Alaina, his voice tinged with regret. "My apologies, my lady. Duty calls."

Alaina, unwilling to be left behind, called out to him. "Wait! I may be of assistance. Allow me to accompany you," she implored, hastening towards the door in fervent strides. Sir Horace, uncertain of how a noblewoman could be of aid in such matters of the common folk, nevertheless nodded in reluctant acceptance. Time was of the essence, and there was no room for debate.

 Alaina's heart softened when she looked at the pregnant mare sprawled on the stable floor, wracked with distress. Mindful not to startle the already agitated creature, she approached with cautious steps, her body crouched low to exude an air of non-threatening reassurance.

"No, my lady! Step back!" one of the men called out in concern. Fearful for Alaina's safety, he warned her of the potential harm the frantic thrashing of the mare could unknowingly inflict. Undeterred by his cautionary plea, she disregarded his words, focusing solely on the distressed equine before her.

Bending down, Alaina reached out and gently touched the mare's face, her touch imbued with tenderness. "Shh, pretty girl," she cooed, her voice a soothing balm. As her fingers stroked the panicked horse, a remarkable transformation unfolded. The mare's frenzied movements began to subside, and the agony in her eyes gave way to a flicker of calm.

Alaina's hand glided along the mare's neck with a skilled touch, her gentle caresses seeking to comfort and alleviate the pain. Gradually, she descended towards the bulging belly, her palm resting upon the trembling surface. There, she felt the rumbling contractions, a telltale sign of the impending arrival of new life.

Suddenly, fear gripped the mare, and with a swift kick of her powerful legs, she almost sent Alaina sprawling. The men in the stable gasped in shock. Yet, Alaina remained undeterred by the danger that loomed, her steadfastness matched only by her soothing words.

"There, there, pretty girl," she murmured, her voice an anchor amid chaos. With gentle strokes, she continued to calm the mare, her hands caressing the distended belly with care. As the equine eased under her touch, Alaina's fingers traced the contours of the protruding abdomen, seeking signs of the foal's position within.

A glimmer of relief washed over her as she ascertained that the foal was in the correct position for birth. With careful movements, Alaina manoeuvred to the horse's hind, her hands deftly navigating the powerful limbs. Sensing her intent, the mare shifted her legs to grant Alaina a better view of the opening, revealing the beginnings of the sac.

She tugged gently at the sac, coaxing its release. A rush of fluid erupted, cascading over Alaina's dress and arms.

"You can do it, pretty girl", Alaina coaxed the horse, pulling the sac until she saw a hoof appear. The horse grunted and pushed more and more of the sac-covered foal out as it swished its tail back and forth. After the head appeared, Alaina assisted the horse by pulling at the foal's hoof. The horse then panicked, grunting and whining as if in pain.

 "One of the legs is stuck," Alaina said, looking at the men who stared in awe behind her. Not caring that her hands were soiled, Alaina brushed the loose strands of her hair back from her face. She inserted her hand into the opening and felt inside for the stuck limb.

 "My lady! Please, you need not dirty yourself with this!" Sir Horace exclaimed as he ran to sit beside her.

 "Both the mother and foal might die if I do not help them," she said as her arm was inside the horse. Sir Horace leaned back; his face was stunned. Alaina gingerly tugged at the limb from within the horse, dislodging it from being stuck. Suddenly, in one great push, the foal slipped out of the mare and landed in Alaina's lap, who laughed joyfully. She stood up and gave space to the horse, who stood triumphantly and gracefully went to her foal to assist it in removing the sac.

 "You surprise me, my lady," said Sir Horace as he stood beside Alaina. The men started to clap for their duchess.

 "Quiet! Don't startle the foal," Alaina gestured with a finger to her mouth. But a wide smile grew on her face when she saw that the foal had already begun to suckle on the mother.

 "Where did you learn to do this?" Sir Horace asked her, his face dumbfounded. Alaina thought about his question and realised she did not know the answer. Was this a skill she had learned in her forgotten past? When Sir Horace saw the uncertainty on her face, he smiled. He had a warm smile for a man whose face seemed perpetually grim.

 "Anyway, it does not matter now. You have saved them both, and for that, I am grateful,". 

He glanced at her soiled dress and dirty arms, hay stuck messily on her damp body. "I hope you have brought a change of clothing, my lady."

 Alaina looked down at her dress and tried to dust away the dirt and hay.

 "Yes, I have a change in my satchel on my horse. Could you fetch my satchel and a basin to wash?" a blush crept up on her cheeks from the embarrassment of her state. Two men left to fetch her belongings and a basin of water.

 "You can wash up and change in the hut on the far end," Sir Horace said, pointing towards the smaller hut. "It is the hut my wife and children use when they visit". He smiled as if remembering a fond memory.

 "Thank you, Sir Horace." Alaina smiled in return and left for the hut.

As the sun descended, casting a golden hue upon the land, evening unfurled its chilling embrace. Drenched and shivering in her soiled, damp clothing, Alaina hastened towards the humble hut, seeking refuge from the biting cold. She sighed with relief as her eyes caught sight of the grey smoke spiralling from the chimney, a welcome sign that one of the men had kindled a fire to warm her bones.

Though modest, the hut's interior offered solace from the elements. A small wooden bed adorned with a simple layer of hay and folded sheets beckoned wearily to her. Nearby, a weathered chest of drawers held the remnants of personal belongings. Alaina's gaze shifted towards a rocking cradle nestled beside the bed, its presence stirring a twinge of melancholy within her. A tiny stuffed animal lay atop the bedding, a reminder of Sir Horace's separation from his loved ones while he toiled in the fields. The weight of his sacrifice tugged at her heart, engendering a deeper understanding of his anger and animosity towards the northerners.

A gentle knock upon the door interrupted her musings; two knights arrived with her belongings. Their weary forms showed the tolls of war etched upon their faces. Their smiles, however, radiated warmth as they delivered the requested items, leaving Alaina to attend to her own needs.

Embracing the opportunity to cleanse herself, Alaina braved the lukewarm water at her disposal. It might not have been as warm as she desired, but it offered respite from the accumulated grime, hay, and fluid that clung to her frame. As the water cascaded over her body, she found herself drawn to the memory of the stables, perplexed by the unfamiliar ease with which she assisted in the horse's birth. Her mind churned, struggling to reclaim fragments of her past, desperately seeking answers within the recesses of her being.

In her quest for self-discovery, fleeting memory fragments surged like scattered rays of sunlight breaking through clouds. Mercy's hazy and indistinct birth flickered within her consciousness, a distant echo of the child she once was. The bittersweet reunion with these fragments, while offering a glimpse of her former self, left her yearning for a deeper understanding that still eluded her grasp.

Under the scorching sun of a blistering summer in Dunkeld, Alaina concluded her daily lessons and sought solace within the confines of the stables. As she stepped into the dimly lit enclosure, her eyes alighted upon a dashingly handsome boy with fair blonde hair cascading around his youthful face. His piercing blue eyes glistened with wisdom beyond his years, even as his frame betrayed the tender age of eleven. A flicker of recognition danced within Alaina's mind as if the whispers of a forgotten bond reached out from the depths of her memory.

In that hazy recollection, she could almost feel the warmth of his hand grasping hers, offering comfort in moments of fear. The gentle touch of his hand upon her back and the soothing whispers from his lips assured her that all would be well. Her heart fluttered within her chest, the beat of anticipation resonating alongside the echoes of an equine's laborious struggle.

Within that elusive fragment, she beheld the image of Rangor, younger and filled with untamed enthusiasm, crouched beside the horse. His hands, filled with tender affection, caressed the swelling belly as the mare ushered new life into the world. The sight stirred emotions within Alaina, evoking a sense of awe and wonder.

Her mind's eye captured the poignant moment when the newborn foal, coated in a mixture of blood and birth fluids, sought its mother's nourishment. Yet, astonishingly, the delicate creature turned its attention towards her, nuzzling against her face with an innocent curiosity. Its pristine, dazzling white coat illuminated the scene, a beacon of purity amidst the chaotic beauty of birth.

Desperately, Alaina grasped at the wisps of these cherished memories, yearning to hold them firmly within her grasp. But like grains of sand slipping through her fingers, they slipped away elusively. The fragments of her past danced tantalisingly before her, teasing her with glimpses of who she once was, only to fade away into the recesses of her forgotten self.

Alaina changed into a fresh set of clothing that Zora had packed for her. She decided to wear a long-sleeved shirt and trousers and wrapped herself with a woollen shawl. The night descended, so she went outside to ask for a meal. Twelve knights sat around a large campfire in the middle of the houses, roasting meat over the flame's orange wisps. The smell of delicious roasted meat wafted through the air, making her even more hungry. As she approached the knights, one of them stood up so she could take his seat.

"Please sit, my lady. The food is almost ready," he said as he gestured towards the wooden stump on the ground. Alaina thanked him and sat, warming her hands up near the fire. Sir Horace came behind her and gave her a bowl of vegetable soup, which smelled heavenly.

"It's not the fine feasts you are used to in the castle, my lady, but it is all we have to offer," he said as he sat on the grass beside her. She took a spoonful to her mouth and blew at the steaming soup. 

"Thank you, Sir Horace, for your hospitality," she smiled. "I would like to stay here in the village for a few days if that is alright with you.". 

Sir Horace was surprised at her request; his farming village was nowhere near as comfortable as the castle.

"You can stay for as long as you wish, my lady. I hope you will be comfortable." 

Alaina sat quietly and ate her soup. One of the knights passed her a piece of roasted meat, which she ate quickly, unable to resist its delicious aroma. Gradually, the knights stood up and bid their duchess goodnight before they retired to their huts. Sir Horace stayed with her as they both looked at the burning fire. The sound of crackling embers and the distant chirping of crickets filled the silence of the night.

"I know you're trying to convince me to fight for them," he said flatly as he sat still looking into the flames.

"That is my goal, yes," replied Alaina as she peered at him. "But I also would like to learn about you and the other knights. I have spent too many years being away from my home. I feel like a stranger to the people and its' lands". 

Sir Horace patted her foot, trying to console her. "The people have long been awaiting your return, my lady. Do not feel like a stranger."

"Tell me why you left instead of staying to fight them?" she asked quietly.

"There are a few reasons…" he replied, still looking into the flames. She saw the reflection of the fire dance in his hazel eyes as it glazed over. "We lost our trust in the Duke, forgive me for saying. Other than his lack of presence in the kingdom. It seemed as if he stopped caring about its people when times became harsh". Sir Horace swallowed and continued, "I cannot fault him for the drought, but I can fault him for allowing his duchy to reach its state. People were starving to death due to the lack of food; all he did was look the other way. I almost lost my oldest son due to starvation."

"But the northerners helped Dunkeld out of starvation."

Sir Horace rubbed his temples with his thumbs. 

"Yes, which was why we left. We did not want to fight the same men who fed us. However, allowing them free entry into our land is against a knight's morals, against our very reason for being knights! They easily defeated the knights who stayed and fought. It broke us to see our brothers being killed, but most of us here have families who needed food to survive," he sighed as he explained.

"Then why not support them now?"

"They invaded us! They are still the enemy!" Sir Horace exclaimed, jumping up to his feet. "We could not simply change our allegiance based on our personal feelings". Alaina looked at Sir Horace and felt sorry for him. 

"So you decided to leave?"

"They gave us a choice. It was either stay and fight and most likely lose. Or be cast out and become farmers. We chose not to fight. Yes, it was a cowardly decision, but at least my family is no longer starving."

"I do not think choosing survival is cowardly… you did what you could to keep your families well and fed. I should say it is rather heroic."

Sir Horace laughed at her words, a warm, throaty laugh. Alaina tried to stifle her yawn as tiredness washed over her. Sir Horace noticed her yawn and held out his hand to her.

"Apologies for rambling on, my lady. You should go rest". Alaina wanted to decline his request since she was just starting to have a good conversation with him. Still, her tiredness beckoned another yawn.

"We can talk more tomorrow, Sir Horace," she smiled and took his hand, standing up from the wooden stump. He walked her back to her hut, giving a respectful distance as knights should. 

"Please do not hesitate to let me know if you require anything", he said as he opened the door for her.

"Thank you, Sir Horace. Good night.". 

With a graceful bow, Sir Horace bid Alaina farewell and gently closed the door behind him. Left alone within her humble abode, Alaina gazed upon the modest surroundings that would serve as her sanctuary for the coming nights. A sigh escaped her lips, for she knew not how long she must stay nor how arduous the task of persuading the exiled knights to rally to her cause would prove to be.

The aged wooden floorboards groaned in protest beneath her weight as she traversed the room. Her eyes settled upon the bed, a meagre construction bereft of comfort. No plush mattress adorned its frame, but instead, hay had been haphazardly strewn upon the wooden plank to provide a modicum of softness. As she sat on the bed, she felt stray hay prick at her skin, reminding her of the humble conditions she must endure.

Her mind, determined to dispel discontent, echoed with an internal reassurance. 

You have slept in a hole beneath a carriage; surely, you can withstand this. She reasoned, urging herself to cast aside negative thoughts that threatened to overshadow her resolve. Lying down upon the makeshift pallet, she let her mind wander to thoughts of Gareth, yearning for the comforting embrace she desired. Yet, as her thoughts drifted toward the impending war, anxiety clung to her like a relentless shadow. If the King had succeeded in rallying the other kingdoms, their forces would pose a daunting challenge, even with the tribes Gareth sought to summon as allies.

Gradually, the weight of weariness and worry pulled Alaina into the embrace of sleep. Beneath a woolen blanket, she curled up. Her consciousness yielded to the temporary respite that slumber offered.