A winter story

“All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion and desire.” Dochia agreed with Aristotle, watching the stocky man as he stumbled into the Red Rose Tavern.

It was compulsion she thought, that pushed her to approach the unsavory, and, she noticed, smelly character and to guide him to her table.

Of average height, he looked familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to his face. The overgrown red beard and rumpled clothes added to his mystery and thwarted recognition.

A serving wench put a candle on the table and looked with worry at the small window. Behind it, someone started to push closed the shutters, in time for Dochia to spot the dark sky and the first few snowflakes.

It was chance he arrived when he did, she mused. The luxurious pattern on the expensive doublet wouldn’t have warded off the cold coming with the snowstorm.

It was time for her to go, lest she would be confined here for God knows how many hours, forced to breathe the sweat and smoke in the tavern’s hall. She pulled at his sleeve and murmured: “Let’s go." His eyes flicked open and recognition flared.

“Stan...” he whispered. “Oh my God, Stan.”

He stood and swayed but broke no opposition.

Dochia narrowed her eyes and studied him cautiously, out of habit: an angry scar on his right cheek, covered only in part by the scraggly beard, tousled red hair and liquid green eyes.

She shivered as she recognized him.  “Men...” she thought and stood to leave.

“Stan... I...” she heard.

“I know, you don't handle... nevermind.” she turned and hissed. “Let’s go, if you don’t want to end in the snow that is.”

Sailors, beggars and peasants started to gather in the tavern hall to weather the storm. He followed and swayed as he made his way through the crowd.

Dochia mounted her horse and he turned his head at the metallic sound of her chainmail. He mounted with difficulty and her eyes followed his progress with anxiety. She spurred her horse just as his eyes met hers and led it down the street toward the central plaza. Dochia rounded the corner on an adjoining street, and rode in silence to the city wall. She signaled him to follow and then turned another corner once the battlements looked clear. With a motion to keep quiet she dismounted and knocked at the gates.

As the gates opened, she gave the reins to a servant and signaled Duncan to do the same. With a last look at the battlements, Dochia waved him in. He followed her up the stairs into a dark hallway and then in a small room.

The room looked too masculine for a woman, and yet, small details spoke of her nature. It was clean and ordered, with an napkin embroidered with delicate patterns on the low round table near the bed. Above the bed stood a silver crucifix whose intricate carvings complemented the bedcovers matching the colors of the fire in front of it.

She showed him a rocking chair and a pallet in front of the fireplace. The chair had delicate carvings, and a comfortable bear fur beckoned him to sink in.

“You don’t need to worry, nobody knows of my real... nature... yet. It is usual for knights to share quarters, as places free of fleas are few in this city.” she told him.

A second chair sat near the fireplace. He turned it and arranged it in front of the large window. Big snowflakes started to fall and he sat, lost in their swirl.

Dochia let her chainmail drop as she watched Duncan in the turned chair. She pulled her coif and shook her head freeing her hair from its confine. Deep brown, it fell down her shoulders in loose curls and brought forth the smile of a woman aware but unsure of her beauty.

It appeared his weariness caught up with him since he let his head lull on his chest. He was mumbling and she could only hear "reason" over the metallic sound of the armor. She worried as she saw him grasp the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white.

The snowflakes danced with a joy in stark contrast with the pained look on his face and she laid her hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear: "Duncan."

“Watch how December is snowing.” He stared at the window while he covered her hand with his.

She tightened her hand on his shoulder and said in a quiet voice: “It will be a cold night; we should pull the curtains closed. Look how the ice covers the latch on the gate.”

“Only if you join me near the fire.” he looked again at her with his liquid green eyes

She nodded, motioned him to take the fur covered rocking chair and pulled the curtains closed. She startled at the unsettled look on his face and warmth coursed through her seeing his eyes measuring her from head to toes. The corner of his mouth raised slightly and her cheeks burned remembering the one slip from her knightly demeanor. He didn't forget and neither did she.

The chair gently scraped the floor as she pulled it to join him. She tentatively raised her eyes, a myriad of questions reflected in them.

“Listen to the fire.” he said instead as he leaned his head on the back of the chair.

The fire snapped, hissed and unsettled her more. She didn’t fear the man in the chair next to her. He would never force her into something she didn’t want. He wouldn't join her into something she wanted either she found out two odd years ago.

The remote whistle of the wind entwined with the fire crackling in the hearth in a disconcerting harmony. Dochia startled at Duncan’s deep voice:

“Read to me.”

The weariness in his voice stopped the questions formed on her lips.

“Blow northerne wynd!
Send thou me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd! Blow blow blow”

Her voice blended with the fire and the storm as she watched him listen in silence, his head sunk into the bear fur and eyes closed in surrender.

She pulled his boots off and rested his feet on a soft pillow. His eyes stayed closed, unperturbed by the muted clatter of pans. The warmth of a mug set gently in his hands, and the strong aroma of wine and spices woke him up from his contemplation.

“Drink, you need to gain your strength back; the snow will be deep tomorrow.” Dochia whispered and covered his hand with hers.

“Let it snow...and the snow shall bury us.” he answered with a whisper, as he lifted the mug to his lips.

The strong spices must have sipped warmth and life into his body, since he looked with doubt at the pallet near the hearth.

"I'd rather spend the night sunk in the warm fur on the rocking chair and the soft pillow under my feet."  he said stretching his arms.

“You’re welcome to the bed... if you take a bath” Dochia wrinkled her nose while offering him a wet towel.

Duncan’s eyebrows raised a notch.

“You’re not handling virgins, so I have nothing to fear.”

He growled in response and snatched the towel from her hand. He unbuttoned his doublet, tried to take it off and winced in pain.

“Duncan, please let me help.” She pried the doublet and the shirt gently and stilled at the sight of the angry marks, poorly healed, showing on his back.

“The scars are only months old, who did hurt you thus?” she asked while she wiped his back with water and soap.

Duncan closed his eyes and held his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.

"I am born to a Scots laird, master of a small holding. Not much different from a Valachian mazil as your father. We’re poor and there’s little we can do about it save from marrying into wealth or hiring ourselves as mercenaries."

“So you ended a sellsword in the Dragon’s army?” Dochia asked peeling the long woolen socks off his feet. Her first instinct was to throw them in the fire. They were reeking.

She looked at the yellowing bruises on his calves and gently wiped his feet. Duncan closed his eyes and murmured as he breathed deeply showing enjoyment in the lavender scent coming from her: “It's so comfortable… and warm…around.”

Dochia touched his forehead, and it felt hot. Perhaps he was just too close to the fire. She handed him a night shirt.

“I hope it fits. Finish bathing.” and she pointed at the bucket sitting in front of the hearth.

Duncan narrowed his eyes: “The shirt doesn’t belong to you." It was a large shirt, twice her size.

“I am flattered you noticed. Put it on, so you don’t catch the chill. You seem already flushed."

“Pray tell me, whose shirt is this?” he growled as more red crept up under his beard, looking like he was devising ways to slowly torment whoever was the owner of the shirt.

Dochia startled, and she found she rather enjoyed his signs of jealousy.

“The shirt belongs to the Dragon.”

Duncan fell back on the chair and whispered in defeat: “You and the Dragon...”

Dochia put her hand on his shoulder. “Come, you need sleep, you're exhausted.”

He raised and stumbled to the bed. She covered him with a bed cover embroidered with red thread and stuffed with wool.

“We are friends. I swore an oath to him, as did you. He has the habit to scour the city in disguise and uses the room at night. He sleeps on the pallet near the fire.”

She banked the fire and slipped in the bed.  He looked at the ceiling and fisted his hands over the bedcover.

“The laird of the neighboring clan is powerful and coveted our lands. He… persuaded my father to agree with my betrothal to his daughter. The marriage was to bring protection and money to repair our crumbling keep. After... after you left I went back to fulfill the contract.”

Duncan went silent, closed his eyes and searched for her hand. After a long silence, he continued:

“I didn’t want to. Not after... what you and I shared. I did the mistake to send word about my return. After fending the first attack, I knew something was wrong so I kept to the woods and I entered my own castle at night. This is how I found out my brother married my intended and spread the word I was dead. He captured, imprisoned and tortured me.”

Dochia squeezed his hand and turned to him.

“At least the keep will be fixed and your people fed.”

The stricken look on his face told her it wasn’t the case.

“With the money his bride brought, my brother paid one of our cousins, a sellsword for the king of Poland, to finish what he started. My cousin didn’t dare to engage me in battle so he paid a few brigands to ambush me. I suggested they could gain more if I stayed alive, however the thieves still beat me to a pulp, to ensure my cooperation.

You saved my life, Dochia. You fought well... You saved my life twice in the last sennight...” Duncan looked at the covered window.

Dochia inhaled deeply and was grateful his eyes were fixed on the curtains rather than on her for she didn’t want him to see the fear in her eyes.

“I didn't know you were their prisoner, and I could have never forgiven myself if anything happened to you." she said to herself.

“The Dragon loathes thieves. Part of my mission here is to take care of what he calls the scourge: thieves, beggars and brigands. You disappeared by the time the fight ended.” she chastised him.

“I could barely lift my sword and leaving before you spotted me was the only way I could help. I couldn’t risk them using me against you if they caught wind of our hmm... association." 

“How many lives do I owe you, Duncan?"

First, when he told her about Miklos' weakness before the tournament. Miklos wanted Ioannis' lands however the “praefectio in filio” papers the Dragon's father signed gave her a son’s rights. His only recourse was through marriage or murder. As she refused to marry him, the tournament was the perfect venue for the latter.

She chewed on her bottom lip and continued.

"How many times did you parry a sword for me? The first fight without you at my side frightened me. Now I imagine you're there, somewhere and the fear subsides but then I find myself searching for you."

Duncan drew himself closer and took her in his arms.

"Never think I didn't want to stay. You'll never know how tempted I was, however what you were about to offer wasn't mine to take. My obligations were elsewhere."

He released her and rolled on his back.

“I never understood Niklaus' obsession to find the owner of the green dress. Why didn’t you tell him?" he changed the subject.

“Because I wanted him to see me and not the dress. The truth is he always wanted Erzsbet. Beautiful, popular and rich Erzsbet was everything I wasn't. My heart broke when he proposed her.”

“As I wanted you to see me and not Niklaus when...  Do you still have the dress?” he asked, his eyes closed as he switched the subject again.

She had told Niklaus the truth, the dress wasn’t hers. What she didn’t tell him was that she wore the dress the day he happened to climb the wall into her mother’s garden. Miklos stole it on a raid on her keep, and it somehow ended in Erzsbet’s possession. Erzsbet then used Niklaus' obsession with it to ensnare him and deprive the Dragon of one of his best captains.”

“After we parted that morning, I run home and left it there. It was foolish of me to steal the dress, but I was angry and full of grief after Niklaus died. I was lucky you happened to be near the camp."

Duncan kept his eyes closed as thoughts warred on his face and Dochia looked at him in wonder.

"It wasn't luck then as it wasn't just chance that kept you at my side in battles, isn't it, Duncan? How blind I was."

He turned and looked at her: “Hold me, Dochia. I thought I was used to loss and pain but I cannot bear the thought of losing you...” His liquid green eyes were pleading with her. Dochia opened her arms and he turned and held her tight, burying his head in her shoulder.

She traced his back in a soothing motion, and he was quiet. Too quiet. Until she felt him shaking, and her shirt grew warm under his tears. She would have let her own fall, but he needed her strength, and it was the least she could do, the only thing she could do.

She held him until she felt his rhythmic breathing and his weight telling her he was fast asleep. She placed a kiss on his lips, covered him with the wool cover and let the sleep take her.

Nuzzling kisses and a powerful embrace woke her up from a deep slumber. The fire crackled, and the storm was still raging outside the window.

A pair of fathomless green eyes was watching her, and she looked at him bewildered.

“Marry me, Dochia. Marry me and be mine."

Desire coursed through her, sending her heart on a wild race and turning her cheeks bright red. She struggled to keep control and replied.

“There is no priest who will leave his quarters in this weather.”

He held in his hand a piece of fabric woven in lines of different colors, forming squares on the length of the fabric. Duncan took her hand and wrapped their joined hands with the multicolored cloth. 

He trailed his eyes from the hearth and the rocking chair to the covered window and the crucifix above her bed.

“Sacred, as the Church of our Lord." he murmured and made the sign of the cross.

“Dochia, I take you for my wife, for all eternity.” he said with purpose, his eyes never leaving hers.

She looked at his tousled red hair, the angry scar peering from under his scraggly beard, and she stopped on his beseeching eyes, more liquid than ever. Her free hand traced his scar, as she tried to calm her racing heart. What we he doing to her?

“You can say you’ll marry me for one year and a day, for the rest of your life, for eternity or... for as long as love will last” he sighed.

She struggled for reason as she fought to push back the desire clouding her judgment.

“Duncan, I take you for my husband until death makes us part, as it is the will of our Lord." she answered, brushing her lips on his. The disappointed look on his face hurt, and she needed to do anything but look into his eyes.

He dropped his head and barely whispered: “You still hold feelings for him...”

“Niklaus is dead, Duncan.” she replied in a flat and final tone.

He kissed her then and she felt his sorrow and hope in his kiss, as he made no effort to hide his need. Dochia answered touch for touch with a longing she didn’t know was there. He broke the kiss and looked again at her as searching for confirmation.

“So this is the way you handle virgins…” she laughed trying to diffuse the tension.

It worked. She heard a low, throaty chuckle, and he swept her into his arms again.

“The vows are binding, as far as our Scottish Kirk and law are concerned. I will marry you in church as soon as this storm ends." he stated seriously.

He paused as he remembered something.
“Wait until the Dragon finds about it” Duncan grinned, pleased with himself.

“The Dragon is not the same man you knew, Duncan. He is... darker. He values loyalty, to the point he would kill at the mere suspicion of betrayal.”

“Like the English and Scottish kings.” Duncan answered a bit uncertain.

“Are you referring to the sacking of Berwick or the Duke of Albany?”  Dochia asked.

She ignored Duncan’s baffled look and continued when no answer came.

“The Dragon... impales his foes... alive, with little or no trial. I jumped at the chance to be his eyes and ears here in Kilia. I was tired to tiptoe and fear for my life each time I was in his presence. It breaks my heart when I think of what he turned into. I could have caught the brigands that attacked you, but instead I killed them. I killed them with a fast blow and spared them the agonizing pain and the shame of the pike.”

“Did you try to reason with him? I am sure that...” Duncan tried.

“No, Duncan, there is no reasoning with him. The Turkish ambassador had his turban nailed to his head as he dared to reason with him. Please promise me you will try to hold your tongue until you see for yourself.”

“I couldn't bear to lose you now.” she added silently.

“I thought it was only gossip. All right, I promise, as long as you are not the target of his delusions. When it comes to you, mo ghaol, my reason deserts me.” Duncan replied.

“My love?” Dochia whispered.

“Didn’t you know it? Ever since Niklaus sent me in the lists to challenge Ioannis’ son. How could you think the tight black breeches could hide your curves? The silk wrap did a poor job hiding your chest under the sweaty shirt. I wonder how you could keep the pretense for so long."

“People see only what they expect to see. I never appear in public without my armor and my family worked hard to set the expectations. Stan's identity is solid, even if few have seen his face. There are rumors he suffers of a disfigurement or another and we did nothing to quell them.”

“Disfigurement..."

Duncan's mouth twitched as he dropped his head on her chest and embraced her. She first felt the rumble, and then she heard the glorious sound of his laugh. She seized the moment and tickled him. This was a side of Duncan she was delighted to discover and she tickled him until his laugh boomed, changed into a roar.

The feather mattress was shaking on the creaking ropes, and Dochia reveled under his weight. She tentatively felt his arms and back and nuzzled his neck.

Duncan’s laughter subsided, and he looked at her with his liquid green eyes.

“How did you know what mo ghaol meant?” Duncan asked and smiled with genuine interest.

“I might have taken an interest in all things Scottish. That’s how I found out you are still barbarians." she grinned.

“Enjoying the same consideration at the court of Buda as the Valachians I see.” he teased.

“Perhaps we should take on the pikes to garner some respect.”

This time he wasn’t joking and stood for a while in thought as he pondered the merit of the idea. He shook his head as if dismissing it and looked back at her.

“You are a puzzle, Dochia. Most of our fellow knights can barely sign their name and have little concern beyond their retainer. You fight better than most men I know, yet you still take an interest in all things Scottish.”

Duncan paused and bit at his lip.

"No wonder Niklaus felt a bit err... daunted around you.” he said.

“And you, do you feel daunted around me?”

Fear was thick in her voice, and her brown eyes were full of tears.

“I am proud of you, Dochia. However, mo ghaol...”

He kissed her with urgency and there, under the chant of the raging storm, the harmony of the crackling fire and the frenzied rhythm of their own hearts Duncan showed her exactly how he felt.

As Dochia let herself drown in Duncan’s passionate embrace, she couldn’t help thinking there is one more cause for human actions: love... didn’t Aristotle know it?

“I love you, too Duncan." she whispered.