“A Bear! A Bear! I saw it from my window!” cried Jaufre. “Lady Camille was out for an early walk, and she was carried off into Faery by a great and savage brown Bear! We’ve got to break out the bows and arrows, the spears and lances, and don our Bear-hunting gear. We must saddle the horses, loose the hawks, and call out the dogs, and go after her… even though it means crossing into that dreaded realm.”
It took Henri until nearly breakfast to convince Jaufre and the three young men that the Bear was nought but Camille’s riding steed.
And then, as Giles grinned and Colette and Felise tittered, and Aigrette and Lisette looked on in disapproval, Henri eyed the two young men upon whose arms Joie and Gai adoringly clung. “Well, now, mes jeunes hommes et jeunes filles, what have you four to say for yourselves?”
16
“Welcomehome, my lady,” said Lanval, a great smile onhis face.
Handed by footmen, Camille slid from the Bear’s back and onto the footstool and then stepped onto the inlaid stone oak, and all the staff, now assembled in the great entry hall, bowed and curtseyed, every face beaming in joyous welcome.
Camille smiled and curtseyed in turn, then said, “Oh, it is so good to be back.”
Footmen unladed the Bear, and Camille said, “Oh, Bear, it is nearly dusk, and I must make ready to see my Alain.” And she hugged the Bear, and then turned and ran up the stairs, calling out, “Blanche, Blanche, to me.”
Dressed in a full white gown with white petticoats under as well, white stockings on her legs and white shoes on her feet, and a strand of white pearls at her throat, and a white-pearl ring on her finger, she stood on the bridge in the lanternlight, while black swans slept below.
Onto the bridge stepped Alain, dressed all in deep indigo blue. And he took her in his arms and kissed her-deeply, longingly, hungrily-and she returned his kiss in kind.
“Oh, my love, but I missed you so,” he said, and then he kissed her again.
When they finally broke apart, “I love you, Alain,” murmured Camille, pressing his hand to her cheek.
They stood a moment in silence, then Alain said, “Come, let us stroll awhile.”
Hand in hand they roamed the gardens, passing among azaleas, their white blossoms stark in the moonlight, and roses, blooming pink and red and yellow. Tiny, violet moss flowers glittered like onyx in the night.
“I think I’ll never go away again, or at least not to visit my mere.”
“Why so, love?”
“Oh, Alain, she made the visit quite terrible.”
“But it should have been enjoyable instead.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Again I ask, why so?”
“Mainly because you were not there, my love. And every night she presented me with an already-filled dance card, and I was to charm those partners for Maman’s advantage. And, ugh, every night I had to dance with Lord Jaufre.”
“Who is Lord Jaufre?”
“An old roue, that’s who. I had to fend him off at every turn, as well as a number of others, rakes all.”
Alain smiled, his grey eyes dancing behind his indigo blue mask. “Though I can hold them accountable for being boors, Camille, I cannot fault them for their splendid taste in women, for you, my love, are quite fetching.”
“Oh, you,” said Camille, tapping him lightly on the arm with her white fan.
They came to the hedge maze, and this night it was illuminated by lanterns within. “I thought we might step therein,” said Alain.
Camille took one of Alain’s wrists in her two hands and, turning backwards and tugging, said, “Oh, let’s do, Alain,” and, laughing, she pulled him into the maze.
Along the labyrinthine rows she went, haling Alain after, laughing at dead ends and twice-trod paths and at finding the entrance again, Alain enjoying her play.
When they came to the entrance for the third time, Alain said, “Love, would you have me show you the way?”
“Ah, tchaa, sieur, think you I know it not?”
Alain shrugged, and Camille said, “I have been toying with you, my lord. Come. Follow me.”
And straightaway she led him to the statues in the center, missing not a turn.
“You, my dear, are a devious wench,” said Alain. “I shall remember the next we play at any game.”
“Games, my lord? Would you play at any game with me?”
He took her in his arms and said, “There is but one game I would play here and now.”
“Then, my lord, play away.”
“They are my sire and dam,” said Alain, now reclining on the grass, his arms wrapped about Camille, she in nought but petticoats, he in but his shirt and mask. Her white gown lay on a stone bench at hand, while his breeks lay on the sward amid the scatter of shoes. No moon stood in the night sky, though a spangle of stars wheeled above.
Camille looked at the pale marble likenesses. “Though handsome, I think I rather like the portraits in the game room more. Even so, these are quite admirable. If they had color, they would be quite lifelike, though color would ruin the beauty of the carving itself. Who shaped them and when?”
“My sire engaged a sculptor from the mortal lands, a man from Latium, I believe. It was long past, ere I was born. I know nought else of the carving, though perhaps Lanval could find some records if you so desire.”
Camille shook her head, saying, “I was just curious.”
They fell silent for long moments, and then Camille said, “Oh, my,” and then giggled.
Alain looked up at her, behind his mask a question in his grey eyes.
“I was just thinking, love,” said Camille, “of your parents standing there and watching as we, well…”
Alain laughed and said, “If it would make you more comfortable, we can move to the other side to continue this tryst.” Even as he said it, Camille could feel him quickening to the idea.
She sat up. “My love, as much as I desire, the bed will be much softer than grass and ground, and the bed as well will not further stain my petticoats should you, as an alternative, suggest that.”
Alain’s mouth pursed downward in mock disappointment, then turned upward in a grin. “Then it’s off to bed we go,” he replied, releasing her and sitting up.“But first, let us dine, for although love alone is quite satisfying, other needs of the body intrude.”
“Though your eves were not as you wished, did you not find relief in the day? Did you not catch up on all the news with your sisters, your sire, your brother?”
In the dark, Camille sighed deeply. “Some. I did enjoy talking with Giles and Papa. Felise was quite taken with her husband Allard-a rather handsome fellow, and pleasant enough. Colette is engaged to Luc, but I didn’t meet him, for he was away in Rulon on business. The twins-Joie and Gai-ah, they are such fun, as is Giles. But in spite of the small amount of agreeable times I had, Maman and my sister Lisette made much of my day unpleasant as well.”
“How so?”
“Because every day my mere and I argued over-” Abruptly, Camille fell silent.
For a long while Alain held her hand in quietness, yet she spoke not. Finally he said, “Argued over what?”
Camille took a deep breath then said, “Over the fact that you and I are not yet wed.”
Alain cuddled her in his arms and murmured, “Oh, Camille, you are my life, my love, my heart, and though we are not formally married, we are as wedded as any two could ever be. You are truly my wife, beloved, and I will love you forever.”
Camille sought his face in the darkness and kissed him deeply. And then she lay with her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
At last he said, “When the geas, the curse, is lifted, then will we formally wed.”
Camille felt her heart clench, but she managed to resist a shudder. Geas? Curse? So that is the problem. Ah, me, there is magic involved here, and I know nought of such. In fact the only true magic I’ve even heard of concerning the Summerwood was when Alain told me of that trace of a spell left behind when his parents disappeared.-No, wait! On wind-borne words did I hear that terrible Troll Olot say something about a geas. But what would that have to do with Alain? Of a sudden, Camille’s eyes widened in startlement at an unexpected thought: Oh, my, perhaps Alain was the man I saw standing there on that ridge with the Troll. But why would he have been in the Winterwood? — Oh, Camille, that matters not. What is of importance is that my beloved is cursed. And what could it be, this curse? Oh, Mithras, what could it be?