Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (13 page)

“Never fear,
I am fully aware of all I owe Master Goodfellow, as well. But my queen tells me
you saved her life, and I cannot find words great enough to express my
gratitude.”

Bianca
squirmed uncomfortably beneath his praise, and Vivi, in an unusual show of
gentleness, went and wrapped her arm around her cousin’s shoulder.

“He speaks
for us both, Bianca. Thank you for helping bring Mother back to us.” Bianca
gave a nervous smile, and the teasing notes crept back into Vivienne’s voice. “I
know something you could do to thank her, father. Bianca is going to need an
entirely new wardrobe. I have the designs all planned out in my head—”

“I am not
wearing pantaloons!” Bianca’s face was still pink, but she laughed at her
cousin’s teasing. “I shall be a wallflower, if I wish to be.”

Regal looked
her over solemnly, and exchanged a glance with his wife. Isabelle stepped
forward and took Bianca’s hand.

“I fear that
being a wallflower is not going to be much of an option, Bianca, but, at the
very least, replacing your wardrobe can wait a few days. We have far more
significant things to discuss for now.” All eyes focused on the queen, but she
kept her gaze locked on Bianca. “Tonight we should rest, while Regal summons
his advisors. In the morning we must all sit down to council.”

“A council
for what?” Bianca asked Isabelle, but the queen’s eyes were suddenly teary, and
she didn’t answer. Robin sighed, and stepped forward.

“War,
Bianca. It is time to deal with Brannon.”

The council
room was full of people. King Regal sat at one end of the long oval table and
Bianca, feeling small and overwhelmed, sat at the other. Along the sides of the
table sat the important folk of Albion, listening to Fain recount the story of
how Brannon became heir to the throne.

“…killed
his older brother, making it look like a hunting accident. He had his men kill
my father, and sent them after me as well.”

“But this
happened years ago.” Marcus Havilard was there to represent his father’s
interests, and was making as much difficulty as he could. “Why are you telling
us about it now?

“So that you
may understand the parts of the story that come next.” Isabelle spoke from her
place at King Regal’s side, and her voice was full of royal disapproval. “Lord
MacTíre has been invited to speak here at my request, kindly attend him.”

Marcus gave
a curt nod of his head, and Fain continued.

“There isn’t
much more to tell. He never caught me, and I spent over a decade doing
everything I could to be a thorn in his side. When the taxes started going up,
life became harder for the people of Toldas. Some were indentured for unpaid
taxes. More were thrown in jail when they spoke out about the injustice of it
all. I started gathering men around me, men who wanted to help, and to work
against the usurper.”

“Forgive me,”
Lord Durns was respectful, but firm. “We have only your word that any of this
is true. Do you have any proof?”

“These men
can bear witness to the atrocities in Toldas.” Fain waved his arm at the three
men he’d brought with him. Baines stepped forward. The grizzled old mountain
man nodded his head, but seemed unfazed by the august company to which he was
speaking.

“Just before
we came here, a whole village was taken by Brannon’s men. Dorshire was a small
mountain community, just farmers and goat herders, not a threat to him at all.
But he wanted to punish Fain, so he took every last one of them, down to the
children, and sent them off to who knows where.”

There was
silence around the table. Then Lord Durns sighed heavily and spoke again.

“And the
murder of Prince Jestin?”

“It’s true.”
Isabelle sounded tired. “It’s all true. When Brannon summoned me home for King
Lodney’s state funeral, I could tell something was wrong. Even when we were
children, I didn’t care for Brannon, but upon seeing him as an adult? I could
tell he was power-mad. When he wouldn’t let me leave, to come back to Regal and
Vivienne, I knew it was part of some larger plan. It took a while, but
eventually I managed to piece together what had happened. Brannon is insane. He
has done everything Fain accuses him of, and more.”

“How do you
know?” The question came from Marcus.

“Once I got
in the habit of collecting information—” She shrugged gracefully. “I kept doing
it, and tried to pass it along where it would do the most good.” She smiled at
Fain. “I know most of what Brannon has been up to.”

Lord Rhince
rolled his eyes. “So, we have a murdered prince, and a kidnapped queen, and now
you.” He turned and fixed his eyes on Bianca. “The evil king’s bastard
daughter. What part do you play in all of this?”

His haughty
expression turned to a look of pain, as Max Wellesley quite obviously kicked
him under the table. Bianca had never met Max, the heir to the Duchy of Yarrow,
but she’d heard so much about him from Vivienne that she’d been anxious to do
so. It had delighted her to find that he was coming as his father’s
representative to the war council, and she’d asked him to keep her company at
her end of the table. Now she was doubly grateful for his presence. Otherwise
she would have felt terribly alone.

Still, even
with Max on her side, she couldn’t help but wish for Robin. He had gone with
his grandmother the night before, and Bianca hadn’t seen him since. She had
thought he would be here—had hoped he would be here—after all, it hardly seemed
likely that Dame Merriweather would allow a council of such magnitude to go on
without her. But King Regal had summoned them all some time ago, and neither
Robin nor the Dame had appeared.

Lord Durns
turned towards her, and Bianca felt a spasm of nerves.

“My lady,
the Queen seems to be implying that Brannon is not only power-hungry, he is
actually sick. Is this true? Has Brannon become mad?”

“He’s always
been mad.” Her voice shook, and she steadied it before she went on. “In recent
years he’s simply become less adept at concealing it.”

“Perhaps the
time has come for you to tell us your story, my dear.” Lord Durns meant well
enough, but Bianca quailed. To be asked to tell her history, before a large
crowd, almost all of whom were virtual strangers, made her want to run and
hide. She sat frozen as they all waited for her to begin.

“Do forgive
me for being late.” Dame Merriweather swept into the room, Robin on her heels. “I
don’t much care for the tedious rehash of things I already know, so I thought I’d
spend the time catching up with my grandson.”

Regal looked
at her with a bemused expression. “I fear your timing is not as good as it
normally is. There is more tedious rehashing to come. Bianca was about to tell
us her story.”

“Oh, I doubt
that’s necessary.” Merriweather came to a graceful halt next to the chair
occupied by Max, who immediately leapt up and offered her his seat. “Thank you,
dear.” Max fetched a seat from the wall, and shooed Rhince and Marcus over
until he could wedge himself back in at the table. “If you wish to hear from
every person that Brannon has terrorized, you’ll be here forever. You have the
facts from her majesty and Lord MacTíre. Now, stop stalling and get on with it.”

The lords
around the table looked at one another sheepishly, and turned away from Bianca.
She felt a surge of relief, and smiled gratefully at the Dame. Merriweather
kept her face composed, but shot Bianca a quick wink. Then she focused on
Marcus Havilard, who was raising some complaint.

Robin had
not taken a seat at the table. Instead he was standing just behind Bianca’s
shoulder, like a page, or a bodyguard. Bianca could feel him there, even though
she couldn’t see him, and she had to work to focus on the discussion at the
table, instead of his tangible presence.

“…don’t
see why Albion must correct this! Toldas has a horrible king, true enough, but
why should we spend our blood and coin to stop him? Men who are mad seldom
enjoy a full span of days; why not wait until his disease takes him from the
throne? Why must it be war?”

Vivienne
leaned forward to answer. “It is Brannon’s desire that our two countries unite.
He told me as much, when I was in Inisle. He planned to marry me and get a
child on me, so my father would have no choice but to agree. He wants control
of Albion, and he will not be stopped. He could not take it through marriage,
so he will attempt force. Do not doubt it.”

“With all
due respect, your highness, it is one thing to threaten a woman, held helpless
in your power, with a fictional war. It is another thing entirely to carry it
out.” Lord Rhince was all oily charm. “Who is to say if he is in earnest with
his threat? And, even if he was, it could take years for him to be ready to
invade. Marcus is right. Why should we spend the resources to invade Toldas? It
would be far easier to defend our country than to take theirs by force.”

Queen
Isabelle opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Sean Kelly stood up.
Kelly was one of the men Fain had brought with him, and at this casual
disregard for his homeland his face had gone red. “And I suppose the lives of
all those people, suffering beneath his rule, mean nothing to you?”

“Indeed not,
dear chap,” drawled Rhince. “After all, they aren’t my peasants.”

Baines and
Max Wellesley both leapt to their feet and began shouting at Rhince, but
neither could be understood in the general clamor. After a moment a hard voice
cut through the bedlam.

“Enough.”
Regal spoke the word with absolutely authority, and the men fell silent. “Isabelle,
I believe you have something to say?”

“Thank you,
your majesty.” She nodded at her husband. “Gentlemen, though I understand your
concerns, trying to pretend that there will not be a war if we do not invade is
pointless. My most recent project of discovery was to find the villagers that
had been taken from their homes. When I found them, I knew they had to be
liberated, not only for their sake, but for ours. The villagers, and all the
other people Brannon has imprisoned on various charges, have been sent to labor
in work camps. They work in mines and in logging camps, and they are all
gathering raw materials for the same thing.” Isabelle paused a moment, to make
sure she had their attention. “They’re creating war machines.”

“What?” The
word came from all the men, in a collective voice.

Isabelle
spent some time explaining the nature of the steam-powered metal wagons that
Brannon was building. Bianca was neither a student of war nor technology, but
it sounded as though it would be difficult for men to defend against the
armored contraptions. The military advisors seemed to agree with her, and the
noblemen were sitting, white-faced, staring at the little sketch Isabelle had
drawn.

There were
no further arguments over the necessity of removing Brannon from power.

There were
plenty of concerns, though. Chancellor Nucis flipped through his ledger,
and—with some fact-checking from the military aides who bustled along the
walls—came to the conclusion that Albion was not prepared to launch a campaign
of this magnitude.

“We can feed
and supply an army, with little to no difficulty, your majesties.” The fussy
man was pawing through his papers as he spoke. “The problem is with assembling
a large enough fighting force. Albion has been at peace for generations, and
though we are rich in resources we have never been a large kingdom. Our
military is barely more than ceremonial. We have the muskets, but…”

“We have no
one to fire them.” Max had his head cradled in his hands, rubbing at his
temples. “And even if we send out a levy to raise troops, training them takes
time. How long do we have, before Brannon starts sending those monstrosities
through the mountains?”

“He’s
planning on bringing them through early in the fall, and securing the passes
behind him before the weather turns. Once the snows fall there will be no
chance to send a force to flank their supply lines; the passes will be the only
way through, and he’ll hold them with a large force of men. He’ll have a secure
foothold to begin the full push of invasion next spring,” Isabelle spoke
softly. “We have a few months, at most, to launch a counter-offensive with men
we don’t have, and no war machines of our own. Should we fail to stop him now,
we must be prepared for all-out war on Albion’s soil, only a year from now.”

“If I may
say a word, your majesty.” Baines cleared his throat, eyeing the map of Toldas
that was spread on the table. “Where did you say these work camps were located?”

Isabelle
pointed to a number of locations, scattered across the southeastern region of
the map.

“Seems to me
like a small strike force might be able to move among those camps, causing all
sorts of trouble for the productions. Maybe so much trouble that Brannon wouldn’t
be ready to move this year at all.”

“That would
be a suicide mission.” Marcus Havilard was dismissive of the idea.

“Maybe.
Maybe not. A couple of Fain’s boys are from that area, and they know it real
well. Might be I could take fifty of ‘em and see what trouble we can stir up.”

King Regal
held up his hand before Marcus could be rude. “It’s a brave offer Master
Baines, but it’s risky. Are you sure you want to risk yourself on our behalf?”

“Pshaw.”
Baines grinned at the king. “We’d do it just for the fun of it, your majesty.
But, as it happens, we’ve already been talking over something like this, and it’s
just coincidental that our aims run together with yours.”

“You have?”
Fain raised an eyebrow at the man he used to lead.

“Indeed,
MacTíre, we have.” Baines was firm, but not unkind. “You’ve found a place here
with her highness, and none begrudge you that, but the rest of us? We don’t
belong in a palace. We belong back in Toldas, doing our bit.” Fain nodded
thoughtfully, and Baines smiled. “Besides, Tom Woddsmith is awful fired up to
go find his sister and her family. Once he finds out we know where his little
niece is, he’s going to go haring off, one way or the other. We’ll have to go
along, just to keep him out of trouble.”

“Maybe I
should go with you.” Fain was sincere, but Connelly laughed at him. The medic
was the last of the men Fain had brought along to the council, and his gnarled
face was split by a gleaming smile.

“How, man?
Ye canna walk a mile in Toldas but ye’ll be spotted. Ye’d have the army down
our necks before ye kin blink. No, ‘tis better if ye stay here, an’ be our man
in Albion. We’ll be needin’ one, an’ ‘tis a sheer joy that it need not be me.”

Vivienne’s
face held a look of utter relief, but she wiped it clean when Fain turned to
look at her, instead giving him a sympathetic smile.