A Final Appeal

Dearest Beloved,

Full three weeks have stretched their dreary course since last thy tender murmur graced mine ears. While the hours bereft of thy affection weigh heavy on my weary heart, yet still I feel the gentle linger of thy lips and taste the honeyed fragrance of thy breath. Though the call of battle did wrest thee from my arms, naught within this mortal realm could wrest thee from my heart. And so, I await thy return with trembling lips. Thy silence renders me speechless and pale, drawing questions from my lord. Thus forsaken, I count the days until I may bask within thy welcoming embrace once more.

I think upon the sight of thee astride thy steed, courage illumining every lineament of thy countenance, and my fancies are shadowed with dread. For if thou wert to fall in battle to thine enemy – and indeed, the enemy to us all! – how then could I go on? How then could I accept so bold a parting, knowing full well that thee would not return? My heart doth rend in sunder at the mere consideration! Its shattered shards lie broken on the floor, without a thread to mend it.

But now, alas! My lord demands my presence as he lies abed in deep repose, and I must obey his will. Even though he retreats now into slumber, still he reaches out for me and calls me through his torment. Verily, his desire for me cannot be denied, though it pains me to admit it. I fear God’s wrath that I care not for his affections and would like nothing more than to escape from this entangled trap. In mine anguish, the threat of this divine wrath looms ever over me, haunting me even in my dreams. It avails me naught that the warmth within my bosom burns only to match the fire in thee, that self-same flame that reverberates within thy every feature and stirs my deepest dread at every furtive flicker of the burgeoning life within my womb.

Oh, sweet heavens that cursed us both beneath the stars and made thy mark so plain! Those blazing locks betray thy presence as surely as the sun upon the barren field. Just so, I fear the child wilt know his father, but not only he alone. Any who gaze upon thy beauty could not mistake the reflection thus revealed. Sleep, then, has forsaken me as well, and only fear remains.

As I lie nestled within these silken sheets, pursuing that elusive last relief of the uncertain, that cryptic cave of nightmares where true substance dwells, I hark to the raspy whistle of my lord – asleep, yet never still. With each unsteady breath beside me, I pray that it should be his last. For if he yet lives upon that fateful day when first our bairn is born, how then could he not see? Thy eyes, thy hair, the pale hue of thy soft form, which is naught of him – nay, nor of me as well! Frail though his form may be, yet his mind remains as keen as a dagger’s edge, and I fear discovery at every turn. Even dimmed by years, his gaze doth pierce the veil of my deception, and he doth verily suspect!

And so, my darling, I must needs ponder all that we have wrought. Oh, that thou wert here with me now and we might ruminate together, instead of on those plains of death! I know that we could devise a plan to live within this net, unseen. I feel it in my very bones! But alas! That cannot be. Fortune’s wheel turns, helpless against the weight of the world, and we must turn with it. We must perform the duties assigned to us by He who is the most powerful of us at all. Our tasks are clear. The King has need of thee upon the field of battle, even as my lord yet has need of me by his side. Our fates are sewn, and we two are powerless to prevent what must be. Nonetheless, hark this, if thee wilt.

Last Michaelmas, when my eyes lingered upon thy comely form perilously long, my lord took notice, though I quickly banished his suspicions through kind words and gentle caresses. Nevertheless, I danced too long with thee under the torch light, drawing whispers from a crowd full fain, expecting intrigue even where there is none. Rumors flew within the hall that night, and many reached my servants’ ears. Only time stands between their mouths and the ears of my lord. We must, therefore, take the greatest of care, lest suspicion fall upon thee, upon me, upon this unholy tryst betwixt we twain – what once was two, but now is three!

And when my lady-in-waiting delivered last to me thy letter, sealed with wax and secrecy, she confided that her breath did flutter in fear for me, for she had not traveled unobserved and whispers followed whither she went. The stable boy’s smile came with unspoken wit, and the chef averted his eyes in dissembled heed. Coins clicked in those keen minds, and if in theirs, in others. Tell me true then: If all the world knows our secret, how can my lord not suspect as well? Therefore, I urge thee to take great care, and speak to no one of my next words, for they could be my last.

Even as my quill scratches upon this parchment in my candle-lit room, trepidation seizes mine own heart, and so I make thee this final plea: If my lord’s breath doth stop ere the babe is born, I pray that thee return with great haste and as his trusted friend, deep in mourning. But if the fates are cruel and the moment comes too soon, yet I pray still that thee return, but with no friendship in thine heart. For if we are discovered, our lives wilt be as naught, and so, my dearest love, we must make haste to other lands ere the noose wraps tight about our necks. We must flee this place! Consider well my words, and let no other task take precedence to this.

Thine love eternal,

Genevieve