“Aye, indeed, Thomas,” she said, nodding her pretty head soberly as she stood looking up at him, now pressing his hand with both of hers. “The ambassador’s report had not yet been written. Thou art the senior naval officer, and as the military attaché Colonel Hayl is the senior member of the embassy. ‘Tis thy report, and his report that shall be sent to Westerness. However, Sir Percival did write orders dispatching you to duty on the far side of the Westerness star kingdom. The fool. The only Westerness Navy Ship on this side of the Grey Rift, and he would send thee to the far side of the galaxy for ignominious duty. But, Thomas, ’twas written, ’twas seen and known by all, and it cannot be changed. Colonel Hayl believes that to change the order would be to exceed his current mandate and he cannot help us there. He says that if thou art to remain under Westerness authority, thou must go.”
If I remain under authority. Is that where this is headed? Maybe Hayl can’t change it, but maybe the king wants it to stay that way so that I’m faced with this dilemma and will rebel. Will I?
“Aye, my lady. Thus were deeds done, and they cannot be undone. You spoke also of offers made?”
“Sit next to me upon yon mossy bower, and I shall tell thee, Thomas.”
He unbuttoned his jacket and spread it across the moss for her to sit upon. She watched with her head canted quizzically, and then laughed a clear, ringing laugh as she sat upon it. “Dear Thomas, we wear green to be one with our forest, to recline and repose without care. Now thou wouldst interpose thy jacket betwixt the Sylvan princess and her forest. Thou art truly dear and charming.”
Then she took his hand and continued. “Now, Thomas, the first part of the offer is from me, not my grandfather. I offer thee my kiss. For if thou wouldst kiss me, I know that thou shalt be mine. I will not require it of ye, thou shalt not be bound, but I know that thou shalt desire to be mine.”
Melville looked at her with wordless confusion.
She smiled and stroked his hair. “Thou knowest not our ways, my Thomas, so I shall spell it out. First ye must know that we are sorry for what my Aunt Madelia did last night. She is an eccentric woman.”
Eccentric! he thought, So that’s what they call it.
“She is twisted and alien even to us, and she must seem powerful strange to thee. We were beginning to fear her. Her minions were fell and skillful, but thou hast well and truly pulled her teeth.”
Aye, we killed her teeth, but I fear that we didn’t get them all.
“Enough of her. Just know that she is an aberration. Know also that in our lands, Thomas, when a lady gives a man her kiss, she is offering a challenge. She is wagering that she shall beguile the man. ‘Tis a weird to us. Perhaps ’tis magic, perhaps ’tis pheromones, perhaps ’tis true love. A high-tech world would dissect it, and they would kill it in their effort to find out what it is. Whate’er it is, I offer thee this challenge. Kiss me, Thomas. After thou hast tasted, thou shalt be mine.”
“Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said;
“Harp and carp along wi’ me;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your bodie I will be.”
Alien. Unexpected, unheralded, yet consistently and inevitably, the reminders come. They are alien.
No, this is no creature of heaven. What she desires is to be kissed, worshipped, and adored . . . on earth. But what man of mettle could turn down such a challenge and still respect himself?
“What if I am undaunted? What if I accept this challenge from a charming lady, as any gallant gentleman would? What, O Princess, if I choose to taste the fruit of your lips and am not bewitched? If I’m not beguiled, what then?”
She reached out and stroked his face again, tenderly, with the tips of her fingers, with a tear in her eye as she replied, “Then ye wouldst gain even more honor amongst us, for few can summon the willpower, the resolve to do so. And I should still be, and ever shall be, a true friend to ye. My love is mine to give to whom I will. But if love is offered and rejected, ’tis still love. Otherwise ‘twould be some selfish, twisted thing that surely is not love.”
“Then for good or ill, for well or woe, I accept your challenge, and ‘your weird’ shall not daunt me.”
* * *
“Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunten me,”
Syne he has kiss’d her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.
Melville took his monkey from off his shoulder, and gently placed it upon Daisy’s head where it scampered about, delightedly probing and exploring the huge, patient beaste. Then he wrapped his arms around his princess, and leaned her back onto his jacket, spread across the deep, soft moss.
The monkey had a very good time. . . .
“Now I am thine,” she said, “and thou art mine. Ever and always mine. . . .”
“Now ye must go wi’ me,” she said,
“True Thomas, ye must go wi’ me;
And ye must serve me seven years,
Thro’ weal or woe as may chance to be.”
“Now rest thy head, and I will tell thee what it is that I offer to thee, my True Thomas. . . .”
“Light down, light down now, true Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide ye there a little space,
And I will show you ferlies three.”
“On the one hand, thou canst follow the path of duty to thy Queen and Kingdom . . .”
“O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi’ thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.”
“Ah! ‘The road less traveled,’ ” he said with a smile. “That’s the one for me.”
“Nay, Thomas,” she said, placing a finger on his lips, “hear me out, I pray thee. For on the other hand thou canst go the way of the world, and chose selfishness, and greed.”
“And see ye not yon broad, broad road,
That lies across the lily leven?
That is the Path of Wickedness,
Though some call it the Road to Heaven.”
“Or, on the gripping hand, ye can chose fealty to my grandfather. That is my grandfather’s offer. And dost thou see, Thomas, that is thy duty! Wouldst thou take that magnificent Ship and crew so far away when righteous battle calls? Nay! This is thy duty, thy destiny! I have studied thy history. ‘Tis an honorable choice. Thou wouldst be like Chenault and his Flying Tigers in China. Like the American fliers who served the RAF early in Earth’s World War Two! And thou wouldst receive wealth, appreciation, and honor.”
“And see ye not yon bonny road
That winds about the fernie brae?
That is the Road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night must gae.”
Aye, though Melville, looking at her wonderingly, she’s not from Heaven or from Hell. She’s not the least concerned with wickedness or righteousness. She’s interested only in the road that leads to the country where she is queen. Conquest in the country of men’s hearts. Of my heart. That’s what is most important to her. And yet it was all so beautiful, so pure. There was no pretense. No deception. She had made her bid, offered her challenge, thrown down her gauntlet. She had given it her best shot, her best kiss. And what a kiss it was . . . Now the choice was his, to be enchanted and beguiled . . . or not.
Still, he didn’t fully understand. “Why do you want me? What makes me worthy to be wooed by a princess?”
“O Thomas. ‘Tis thee that I love. Were thee but a lowly foot soldier I think that I shouldst love thee still. But as a princess royal I may not give myself and my love to just anyone. But thou! Thou, my Thomas, hast earned it. ‘Tis thy martial glories that make thee respected and revered. Our men would follow thee.” She smiled wickedly and added, “And thou hast neatly depleted Auntie’s carefully chosen household retainers. The survivors are scared to death of thee.” Then she added with a slight shudder, “And it takes a lot to frighten them. So Aunt Madelia cannot stand in thy way. Great Aunt Ondelesa has been quite distressed by how the whole matter turned out. She will not stand in thy way. At every turn thou hast earned thy way into our family and our navy by right of battle and blood!”