The Stolen Bride

“You will put it beneath your pillow, doubtless,” he said, then wished he hadn’t. Young maids used the supposed magic of such blossoms to bring forth dreams of the man they would one day wed—a thought Kayne didn’t enjoy thinking of when Sofia was involved.

She smiled up at him through the darkness. “Indeed, I will, Master Kayne. The magic will fade away too quickly, otherwise. But come!” She took his hand and began to tug him toward the open fields, in the direction of the river. “We must hurry to make our boats!”

A crowd had already formed along the riverbanks, and the feverish construction of small vessels made out of leaves and twigs was underway. Tiny candles were fixed in the middle of each, then lit by its owner, wished upon, and set adrift in the river. If the boat floated across the river with the candle yet burning, that particular wish would come true. If the candle went out, the sender must wait until the following year to float another wish across the water.

Some of the village children came running up as Kayne and Sofia approached, pressing crudely crafted boats into their hands and then running away. Kayne gazed at his with some dismay, wondering if it wouldn’t sink the moment it touched water, but Sofia exclaimed with delight, “’Tis perfect! Now we needn’t build our own, and can set our wishes afloat at once.”

They knelt beside the river and waited to make use of one of the many candles being passed among the festival goers. Kayne watched as Sofia lit her candle, then, holding her little boat high, closed her eyes and made her wish. When she was done she smiled, opened her eyes, and carefully set the vessel adrift. Then she offered the candle to Kayne.

“What did you wish for, that it makes you smile so?” he asked, lighting his own candle.

“I cannot tell you, and you must not speak aloud your wish, either. ’Twill not come true, else.”

Kayne didn’t believe in floating wishes any more than he believed in magic flower blossoms, but he very much wanted his wish to come true. So he didn’t tell Sofia that his wish was for the strong attraction he felt for her to fade, and silently lit his candle and set his leafy boat into the water.

Sofia’s candle floated safely to the other side of the riverbank. Kayne’s sank before it reached midway. When he dared to look at her, it was to find that she was still smiling.

They sat for a few silent moments, gazing out over the water at the small lighted boats as they floated away, turning the river into a beautiful spectacle of shimmering light.

“Hey, come to the bonfires!” someone shouted. “Tom the miller’s son has already jumped over three of them!”

The crowd moved almost as one back toward the bonfires, where the young men of the village were challenging one another’s mettle by seeing who could leap over the most bonfires unscorched, and where the young maidens were performing the yearly ritual of dancing about seven bonfires in the hope of gaining a husband. It was the most jovial part of the entire festival, which would come to an end at midnight. The musicians played loudly and merrily, and other feasters drank more ale and cheered the leapers and dancers onward. Kayne thought Sofia might leave him to join the maidens in their dancing, but she was content to remain by his side, laughing and shouting encouragement as the young people followed their different pursuits.

“You do not want to jump the bonfires?” she shouted up at him through the loud din.

He shook his head. “Nay, I’ve had enough of fire for many years to come.”

“Oh, indeed,” she replied with feeling. “You need no more scars to prove that it is so, Master Kayne.”

The noise of the festivities began to grow quiet by slow degrees, just as it had done earlier in the day, beginning at the edges of the crowd and working its way forward. Kayne, hearing it, sensed that Sir Griel had returned, as he had promised. He had hoped that it would not be so, but knew that a man like Sir Griel did not make such vows lightly—most especially not when he’d been so openly humiliated. Since he and his men had left, Kayne had been waiting for the promised return, and could only wonder that Sir Griel had chosen this late moment to make it.

It took a long time for the musicians to halt their playing, and for the young men and maidens to cease their amusements. By the time all had grown quiet, Sir Griel was standing in the midst of them, surrounded by his men. He searched the crowd slowly for Kayne, who was standing with Sofia in the shadow of a tall tree, away from the light of the bonfires.

“Kayne,” Sofia murmured, gripping his arm with both hands, “slip away now, before he finds you.”

Kayne set one of his own hands over hers and pressed reassuringly. He didn’t cherish the idea of the coming conflict, but if he did not make Sir Griel know that Sofia had a champion who would stand for her against every combatant, then the man would not leave either of them in peace.

“Wait for me here, Sofia,” he told her. “I will escort you home when this is done.”

He stepped forward, the light of the bonfires behind him, so that his face was yet in shadows.

“I am here, Sir Griel.”

The short, dark man’s gaze fell upon Kayne, and his heavily bearded lips drew into an unpleasant smile.

“You did not turn craven and run, despite my warnings,” he said. “I told you that I would return, and my promises are as honorable as your own.”

“You choose the dark of night to fight your battles—or to have others fight them for you.” Kayne’s gaze flickered past Sir Griel to the men standing behind him. “These are the marks of a coward, and I say it plainly to your face and before all those assembled, Sir Griel.”

It was difficult to tell in the dim firelight what Sir Griel’s reaction to this was. The crowds surrounding them murmured in some amazement at Kayne’s boldness.

“You mistake the matter, blacksmith,” Sir Griel replied. “I returned at the end of the festivities so as not to disturb the people of Wirth in their pleasure. But now, ’tis time for the merriment to be at an end. This is my man, who has come to play his part in our Midsummer Night battle.” At the lifting of one of Sir Griel’s fingers, a tall man dressed in full armor stepped forward. He was swathed in the black-and-red tunic that all of Sir Griel’s men wore, and appeared the more ominous for it. Kayne could see at once by the way the man held his sword that he was a skilled fighter, and that there was strength in both his hand and arm—all of which would make him a difficult opponent to best. “Do you still say that you will not fight?” Sir Griel asked.

Slowly, Kayne shook his head. “I will only defend myself, if I am made to do so.”

“Then you will be made to do so,” Sir Griel told him. “I would offer you my sword, if you will take it.”

“I will not.”

“So be it.”

Sir Griel stepped back, and the surrounding crowds did the same. Kayne stayed where he was, wanting to keep the flames behind him to both aid his sight and force his opponent to fight with the brightness burning in his eyes, distracting and blinding him. Each moment in such a fight was precious. Kayne’s life now depended upon making every one count in his favor.

His armored opponent began to approach Kayne at once, though slowly, his sword at the ready, clearly taking Kayne’s measure. He moved with care, not rushing into his attack as Sir Griel’s soldiers had done earlier, and Kayne could but admire and approve the tactic. Whoever had trained the man had done well.

His opponent circled to one side, trying to force Kayne to circle as well so that their positions would be reversed and Kayne would be the one to suffer the fire’s blinding glare, but Kayne merely continued to step before him, foiling the plan. Next the well-armored knight attempted to push Kayne back into the fire by making his approach more direct, but to this Kayne merely held his ground, inviting a charge that could be easily sidestepped.

After a few minutes of this, Sir Griel’s man clearly began to realize the difficulty of trying to engage an opponent who would not fight. The only option left to him, just as Kayne meant it to be, was to charge, and this he finally did. Sword held aloft, he ran toward Kayne at an angle—a wise decision, Kayne thought, as he had no choice but to leap forward, away from the fire, to avoid being cut in half. He whirled about at once in an attempt to regain the advantage, but his opponent had already divined his purpose and charged again, driving Kayne farther from the fire and into the shadows.