A FRANK CONVERSATION
“I sometimes think I'm going barmy.”
Sean, hearing the comment, frowned.
“Why, Camden?”
Camden sighed. They were sitting in the armory, alone in the late afternoon. The place was warm, the light dark orange, barred with shadow where it shone through the high windows. It smelled dusty, drowsy, and peaceful.
“I can't bear it anymore. I want her so much it hurts. And she changes every day. First she likes me, and then she doesn't. I will go mad if I don't understand soon!”
Camden felt restless, like his entire body had been rubbed with sand and vinegar, as one did to armor. His friend frowned at him.
“Camden, have you asked her what she feels?”
Camden stared at him. “Of course not,” he said. “How could I? The lass is so far above me – it would feel wrong to ask.”
Sean snorted. “Fine, then.”
“What?” Camden asked, feeling hurt.
“If you don't ask, how are you supposed to find out? And if you think it's not worth the risk of asking, why are you worried?”
Camden sighed. All the energy seemed to drain from him and he sat down heavily on some boxes in the corner, closing his eyes. His ribs still hurt, though the pain was masked by the restless torment of his heart.
“I agree,” he said.
Sean said nothing. When Camden opened his eyes again, it was to see his friend smiling at him.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about a lady,” Sean murmured.
“Not you as well,” Camden said. Sean chuckled.
“Indeed yes. It seems we're both suffering the same torment right now.”
“Oh?” Camden frowned.
“Mm. I wish I knew any better than you did.”
Camden chuckled. “Well, I can only say your advice makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Yes. Tell her what you feel. If you don't, how must she know?”
Sir Sean nodded slowly. “It's not that we don't know how each other feels,” he said quietly. “It's that...well...what if this war isn't just a figment of your father's mind?”
Camden nodded slowly. “Mm. I am starting to wonder also.”
“Yes. I don't want to...How can I plight my troth, if all I'm going to do is disappear?”
Camden was surprised to see the stricken expression on his cheery friend's face.
“Good point.”
“Mm.”
The thought was sobering. Camden sat and looked into the shadows, watching the dust motes dance there. He couldn't bear the thought of walking away from Rubina. Not without saying goodbye. He nodded.
“You know, Sean, you're right.”
“I am?”
“Mm. It's not worth risking. What if we die? What then? My pride will go to the grave with me. What good will it do? No, the truth is worth far more. I need to tell her.”
“Well spoken,” Sean nodded slowly.
“In fact,” Camden said, raising himself to his feet, wincing as his ribs started to throb acutely, “I'm going to do it now.”
Sean stared. “You're sure?”
“I only hope I can find her again,” Camden said.
“Good luck, friend,” Sean called, but Camden was already through the door.
Out in the courtyard, the dusk had descended, making the place a shifting scene of delicate blues and gray. He breathed in, smelling the scent of summer roses. He breathed in, pausing to focus on the task at hand. Rubina. She had been in the colonnade, sewing.
Some chance of her being here now...it's too dark to see out here.
He went to the colonnade, but, sure enough, it was empty. The only sound was the distant tinkle of the fountains in the courtyard beyond – sweet, sorrowful music.
“Whist.”
He looked about, searching the place. If she wasn't here, she was probably in her chambers by now, and he had no idea where they were. It was too early yet for her to be at dinner. How about the solar? Or the turret?
Camden directed his steps towards the door. A motion in the garden caught his eye. Someone was out there, walking across the lawn near the kitchen garden, heading to the long beds where roses grew.
Instinct drew him to investigate. The person was a shifting shadow in gray dark, and they walked slowly through the dew-soaked grounds. He saw them stop at a bench. Then, indistinct but recognizably, he heard the sound of tears.
He went over and stopped a few paces away.
With her face buried in her hands, her long auburn hair the color of rust in the shadow, the slender form was instantly recognizable. Camden tensed, feeling his whole body resonate with the silent, exquisite beauty he was seeing.
The long dark fall of her hair covered her shoulders, her pale arms bare in the warm evening. Her hands hid her face and her sweet, soft body was encased in deep brown velvet. His whole body responded, every fiber of him tingling as he stared and stared.
She had stopped crying, but now she began anew. He couldn't bear the sound of so much pain.
“My lady?”
She gasped in surprise, and then stood.
“Who...oh! Sir!” Her sweet face crumpled in acute distress. She tried to flee the garden, pushing past him onto the pathway.
He gently took her hand. She looked up into his eyes.
“Please, sir,” she said softly. “I must go...” she trailed off as he lifted her hand to his mouth. He gently kissed the back, his whole body tingling as his lips contacted the soft, fragrant warmth of skin.
“My lady,” he murmured again. “I had to see you.”
“See me?” She blinked. Tears matted her lashes, sparkling in the fitful dusk-light. He reached into his pocket and drew out a linen square.
“Why such tears, milady?” he asked softly.
“Oh, sir. I...forgive me, but I wept for you.”
“For me?” He was astonished, touched and moved.
“I...yes. I heard there might be war and, oh, Sir Camden. If you fell I do not think I could bear it.”
He smiled into her eyes. His heart melted inside him. He said nothing for a minute, his throat working as he took her hand, looking into her face.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
They looked at each other.
Neither of them spoke or gestured but it seemed as if they shared one mind, for he leaned forward even as she did. He smelled the sweet scent of her skin and then his lips met hers.
He closed his eyes, marveling as he gently probed his tongue into the sweet, clinging warmth. He felt his body dissolve as her softness enveloped him. It felt so good. He wrapped his arms around her, gathering all her sweet warmth to him as their lips clung, met, and parted. He explored her with his tongue, shivering as her long, smooth arms enfolded him. He felt as if he might die of so much happiness.
“My lady,” he gasped as their lips parted. He looked into her eyes, which were soft with sweetness.
“Sir Camden.”
He leaned forward and buried his face in her soft locks. She leaned against his chest and he thought his heart might actually melt with the tenderness he felt.
“Oh, Sir Camden,” she whispered. “Oh.”
“Rubina,” he said. “My sweet Rubina.”
Around them the garden was so silent that it could, it seemed, have just been them in the entire world, the whole of the castle, the town, the nation all silent, all melted at the edges of the flame of their love.
Afterward, as he stepped away from her, Camden felt like part of him stayed against her, those warm arms holding him close, her head resting at his shoulder.
“My dear,” he murmured. “I will never forget this moment.”
“Nor I, Sir Camden. Nor I.”
As he walked away, looking softly back, he knew that, no matter what happened in the past or in the future, he would cherish this forever.
Beyond the garden, the castle had a life of its own. He could hear the sound of soft voices spilling out of the great hall along with flame-light, painting the flagstones warm ocher-gold. Camden crossed the courtyard and headed to the stables. He needed time alone. Time to think.
Memories of her flooded his mind as he sat down on a low wall. He leaned back against the side of the stable and closed his eyes.
“Whew.”
His body was still throbbing and the thought of her was a torment of sweetness. He would have given so much to be able to slip back into that garden and cover her with kisses, to hold her and feel his body melting into her softness. To unwrap her precious body and enter her so that there was no way to part them.
He sighed, shivering. He pushed the sweet, fevered images from his mind and focused on the present – on what he should do.
She is so far above me, I might as well forget about all of that. But no one can take away what I just experienced.
Camden got heavily to his feet, running a hand through his hair. He was grateful he had taken that chance when he had it. Now, all he could do was stay on at the palace until the good Brother Mathis, sour-faced and grim, had decided he was ready to go. Then he would leave.
Whatever happened now – whether he lived out a life in quiet obscurity in the fortress, or whether he passed on in a maelstrom of battle, he didn't particularly mind. Somewhere in his heart, that moment in the garden, scented with roses, framed in dusk, would endure his whole life long.