Weekend Words - Sunday Edition Part 5...

I've gone back to my medieval roots - the prompt:

Behind her, the noise escalated (to be used either as a first line or somewhere within the work).

Behind her, the noise escalated. Revellers celebrating her betrothal while she stood facing the stone wall of the keep, partially hidden by the rich tapestry curtain that divided the crowded hall from her father’s private solar. Her heart beat in rhythm to the musician’s lively drum, fast and nearly out of control. But where usually her toes tapped and she could barely contain her desire to dance, the staccato beat made her nauseous. She pressed her hand against her stomach.

"I did not know."

She turned, his broad shoulders blocking the merriment of her father’s people and invited guests. The clasp of his tunic held her focus. "For all we’ve done, do not lie to me."

Earlier words whispered in the heat of passion slammed into her consciousness. She glared up at him, into his ice-blue eyes. "You’ve lied to me all along."

He held out his hand. "No."

Anger slowly replaced heartache and her hands curled into fists by her side. "All these promises of a life time together, of speaking to your father about a union between our two houses, of love," she choked on the word. "All lies, because you did know. How could you not?"

His brief glance away told her so much more than any words he might have spoke. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hand, her chest expanded with the pain of his silent confession.

He opened his mouth, but she held out her hand. "No. I wish to hear nothing from your lips for all they are sweet upon mine, the words tumbling from them are poisonous. I never want to see you again. If someone brings up your name in conversation, I will silence him or walk away. Difficult considering the recent turn of events, but I promise you I will do everything in my power to expel you from my life."

Tears stung the backs of her eyes and her breathing quickened with the impending sobs. She would not give him the satisfaction. "You are dead to me."

Pushing past him, throwing off the hand that tried to stop her, she re-entered the hall. Her father stood on the dais with his honored guest, her betrothed. She swallowed her raging emotions, forced her shoulders down and her head up, and moved through the crowd toward her future. With every step, her heart hardened. With every breath, her joy for life and all its possibilities diminished. With every tear she refused to shed, her youth slipped away.

"My Lord." She faced him with a small curtsey. "You’ll forgive me for my absence."

"Feeling better now?"

"Aye."

He reached for her hand, his so familiar, yet unknown to her. He brought it to his lips, similar in shape, the upper perhaps fuller. His gaze held her captive. Ice-blue eyes set in a face lined with age and wisdom. Would her son carry the trait?

As he kissed her palm, the crowd behind her cheered.