A Ing's Bride

This is my entry for the 2025 Pink Orchid contest. Although it's here in First Time,

permit me to hope that you, gentle reader, will see the love story it contains,

as well as the personal growth of a young woman entering a new and challenging life.

Please enjoy.

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It had come to this.

I had been sold.

Well, so it seemed to me in my youthful pride.

I should have been ready for it, had always known it would happen, sooner or later. Such was the clear destiny of the only daughter of the Baron of the High Marches. Sons in those days stayed to inherit, but daughters were pawns in that great political game nobility spent their lives playing.

My father and my youngest brother had just made a week's journey to the south to pledge fealty to the King. That had been unsurprising; for time beyond memory, our barony had been aligned with the kingdom of Bann. Sometimes it had been a formal alliance, sometimes just a shared confidence, but the hands of friendship had always been extended.

That Hame had remained behind when my father returned was no surprise, either; it was common custom for boys of noble blood to be raised in other households. It was said to broaden their experience and build friendships.

But my betrothal had come suddenly, without warning.

And without consultation.

My mother was all smiles when she and my father came to my chamber the day after his return. Her first words staggered me like a physical slap.

"You're to be a queen!" she gushed.

My pale-faced protestations that I had no desire to move away from my beloved mountains and heather made no difference and, to be honest, I have no idea now what other alternatives I might have proposed.

Eventually, tiring of my flood of tears, my father's face grew firm.

"Jeanie, 'tis your fate, girl. The matter's decided and that's that."

With those words hanging in the air between us, he glared at my mother, whirled and trod out of the room.

"Dear Jeanie," she said, patting me on the shoulder. "Be practical! This will be good for you, far better than being married off to some local hedge-noble. A

queen,

Jeanie – you cannot hope for better than that!"

I had, frankly, been wondering, for although not yet 20 years old, I was beyond the normal affiancing age. I had heard rumours of this nobleman or that great family making discreet inquiries, but nothing had come of them.

My jaw dropped as another thought hit me.

"Mother, tell me truth now. How long have you and Father been planning this?"

Her lips went thin at my impudence.

"Your father and I have worked hard on your behalf, my girl! You'll thank us in time."

Faced with her basilisk stare, my eyes dropped to the floor.

"The King's representative will be here in three weeks. We'll need to look to your trousseau."

The door closed behind her, leaving me alone with my tears. From outside came the sound of her berating the servant girls.

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I was dismayed to find that unbetrothed Jeanie had had much more freedom than betrothed Jeanette had now. Before, I might have walked down to the Saturday market accompanied only by my maid; now, there were always armed men with us. Worse than their presence was the suspicion that they were there as much to keep an eye on me as to protect me.

As it happened, my Bannish escort arrived a day later than expected – and with wounded. Reivers and bandits had always made travel in the Marches risky, although I hardly think I was the only one surprised by raiders having attacked a well-mounted and well-armed party.

But arrived they had, led by no less than the Constable of Bann, the King's own uncle. While the wounded were taken in hand by my father's chirurgeon and the horses handed to the stable-boys, my father launched the formal greeting ceremonies that had been prepared for some days.

The Constable was a big man in his late fifties, his blond hair and beard well-streaked with grey. Age had however not robbed him of strength and agility; he reminded me of a pacing uplands cat – restless, alert and wary. The hilt of the broadsword on his hip was well-worn and there was a dirk tucked into one of his boots. He spoke our tongue well enough, albeit with a noticeable accent.

The Constable was gracious to me, which was a relief. I had heard of some women whose real status in their new homes was little better than livestock, except that dogs and swine are not expected to share their owners' beds.

Still, there was no doubt whatever in my mind that this was a man, and, very much to the point, one openly appraising me as a woman. While not lecherous or ignoble, his first looks very definitely included a quick survey of my bosom and hips. I was not entirely surprised about that, for I knew the foremost rôle of any queen is to produce future kings; a spindly, narrow-hipped girl would made a dubious choice for the heirless King Robin.

I also knew that Robin had had two previous wives, one becoming Princess of the Realm at their marriage and the second becoming Queen following the death of Robin's father. One was supposed to have been beloved by Robin and the other a political marriage, like mine. In the end, it had mattered little, for both had died in childbirth.

Hips, it would seem, mattered.

That last had me concerned, much like any maiden entering an arranged marriage. That I would be expected to couple with him was a given and there were enough dogs and herd-beasts about my father's keep that I could have no doubt as to the essential nature of the act and its consequences.

The uncertainty concerning that 'essential nature' in humans was of course both fearful and exciting. What girl has not wondered?

And there had been enough ballads sung in court that the concept of love was hardly unknown to me, either, although I'd often wondered if my parents had ever actually felt love for each other. Theirs too had been a political match and it was rare for either of them to demonstrate any affection, especially in public. Yet here I was and there were my brothers, so presumably they had at least met the basic expectations.

Would I be as lucky in love as the songs or would I find myself a regal brood mare, valued only for my womb and my father's alliance?

I could scarcely raise that matter with my mother, of course.

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There was a blessing service in the Noble Chapel the day before our departure. The always-prolix Prelate's sermon was a droning oxymoronity, on one hand praising the holy grail of chastity while on the other imploring the heavens' blessing on fecundity – my fecundity, of course, even if I was never specifically named.

I noted that the Constable sat through the whole thing with no sign of emotion.

My father gave a banquet that night, with knights and minor nobility from surrounding regions in attendance. I tried to enjoy myself as much as possible, for I thought it unlikely that I would find familiar fare – musical or gustatory – in my new country.

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It was cold the next morning when the night maid slipped into my chamber with a candle and a pitcher of steaming water. My teeth were chattering by the time I began to pull on my clothes.

The Constable had advised me that my maids and I should dress warmly and be prepared for rough travel. In our case, I found, that meant bouncing around in a springless carriage, which not even the Bannish royal arms painted on the doors could make comfortable. The state of what passed for roads in our area would have made mock at springs in any case.

I'd received my first pony at five years old and within an hour into the journey had been seriously considering asking for one of the spare horses, bareback if needs must. I put that aside, for I could picture the Constable's expression. No, queens-to-be are bound to travel in a state fitting their stations, regardless of convenience or comfort. I could not in any case abandon my maids.

Don't think it was an easy decision however.

The honour guard, less several still-healing casualties, but augmented by a troop of my father's mounted archers, plodded heads-down through a day-long drizzle and I reflected that at least it was dry inside the carriage.

There was a jarring note just as we set out. In a roadside pasture below the castle was my father's horsemaster, supervising the mating of a young filly to Tàirneanach, my father's grey stallion. It was nothing I hadn't seen before, but the sight of the skittish young creature being led forward on a lead seemed a portent. Seeing my jaw fall, Lady Margaret, my senior maid, scowled and hastily jerked the carriage's curtains closed, but not before I saw the big horse's great organ waving about as he reared up to mount. Her attempts to divert my mind with conversation failed entirely and a grim silence fell upon us all.

We continued that morning though the mud and ruts until we reached a spot to which a pair of advance riders had been sent ahead to light a fire. I will admit to being impressed with the Constable's logistic acumen; we women gratefully took an opportunity for a brief hot drink with which to soften the hard road-bread which would be our main sustenance on the journey.

Nightfall found us chilled, hungry and out of sight of the meanest crofter's hut, let alone a proper town or city. Rather, we set up camp in an isolated and dismally windswept stone sheep-pen. The guard erected a rough tent for the four women and, after a spartan meal, those not on watch rolled themselves in their cloaks and fell asleep on the damp ground.

The tent at least spared us the drizzle, but the ground was cold and, even with our own cloaks and one blanket each from the stores cart, we wound up huddling against one another like sheep. I won't say that I slept not at all, but it was hardly a pleasant night.

We were awakened the next morning when a candle, a pot of hot water and a pitcher of warmed wine were pushed into the tent. Our unknown benefactor informed us that we would be leaving in twenty minutes.

I won't go further into the voyage as each day was a boneshaking repetition of the one before it. While the road remained tortuous, the weather gradually improved and we began to take more interest in the scenery. By the third day, my familiar hills, rocks and heather had gradually changed to more even ground, some green fields, trees and, to my personal satisfaction, signs of habitation.

We reached the border stone late in the third morning. A troop of Bann's King's Guard was waiting for us and, with little ceremony, most of my father's troops turned for home. I took the chance to send a note to my parents with the returning soldiers.

On the fourth night came a real treat -- a wayside inn. I was assigned a room by myself, but my three maids looked rather worried as no special arrangements had been made for them. The bed was large, but hardly large enough for four and I decided to see how much authority the position of 'almost-Queen' carried. After rolling his eyes, the Constable harried the innkeeper until he produced several thin pallets and – delight beyond delight – soap and a large tin laundry tub into which a procession of serving wenches poured pail after pail of steaming water. Bathing in a small tub in a drafty room is rarely ideal, but that night it was a great treat.

To our profound happiness, the road itself improved dramatically early on the fifth day, potholed mud giving way to almost-even cobblestones over which the carriage now merely jolted and rocked as opposed to flinging itself about like a new-trapped wild thing.

The Constable had been stiff throughout, but not unkindly. Perhaps it would be better to say that he was unfailingly proper and (given the ambush on his trip north) highly focused on his primary responsibility -- my safety. King's uncle or no, he slept little, for the King had a reputation of not suffering fools or failure. Still, within the bounds of the circumstances, he had been sympathetic and made many allowances for his female charges.

The final day of the journey, to my surprise, we stopped early, in late afternoon. The last milestone had put the capital only three leagues away and I had been sure the Constable would push on. Instead, bless the man, we paused at a large and comfortable inn.

"I daresay you'd appreciate a chance to clean up before your arrival," he said. "Which of your traps would you like?" He was referring to my trousseau and the bags of my companions being carried in the stores cart. I waved at one of my maids, who curtsied briefly and followed him from the room.

In short order, a series of perspiring soldiers with trunks and boxes contested the hallway with inn staff bringing a tub and hot water.

The Constable appeared at the door and allowed himself to smile at the sight of four excited young women selecting their first clean clothes in many days. Catching my eye, he nodded briefly and closed the door behind him. I heard him speaking to the guard stationed outside.

The inn provided multiple changes of water and a pile of decent towels. We took the chance to wash our hair, laboriously brushing it dry before putting it up again for the night.

Gruff though he was, my heart had warmed considerably to the man. He might easily have slept in his own bed that night, but he had instead given me the chance to arrive looking like something other than a road-weary vagabond.

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"The King will receive you in state in the Great Hall soon after our arrival," the Constable had advised. "I might suggest that you take the opportunity to dress well." Seeing my look, he smiled again – twice in one week!

"The roads are better from here on, My Lady, and it's but two hours. I have had the carriage cleaned."

I had wondered about clothing. I of course was wearing the fashion of my own people, but how would it be received in the worldly Bannish court? In the end, I decided to wear my native finery with pride and let any differences be a statement.

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I had thought my father's castle a wonder of architecture, but had been awed as the capital came into sight. The city gatehouse by itself seemed as big as my father's entire hold.

We paused briefly outside the city walls and the Constable glanced at the Guard commander. Taking his cue, the latter barked out a series of orders and the casual column reformed into parade order. Riders were sent galloping ahead to warn the court of our arrival. The rest formed up in a column of threes, the front trio being equipped with horns. One bright fanfare and the coach was moving through a maelstrom of strange scents, loud noises, bright colours and endless people staring and pointing at the drawn curtains, through gaps in which we four peered curiously.

The coach passed through another gate before rumbling to a stop. The door was thrown open a moment later and the Constable, motioning to a lackey to hurry with a portable step, bowed to me. His duty done, I could see the tension ooze out of him; his smile certainly seemed sincere.

"Permit me to be the first to welcome you to your new home and life, My Lady."

He introduced me to the King's Chamberlain, who welcomed me in his turn and, summoning up a small crowd of attendants, led my girls and me to my quarters.

I was, once again, home.

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At the appointed time, one of my maids open the door to the Chamberlain's knock.

"The King awaits, My Lady."

His bow was almost as regal as his sash of office.

A guard in front of us, another behind us, I was led down stone passageways, through a series of high doors, until we arrived at the door to the Great Hall. Inside, there was a cry of horns and my name being announced. Hundreds of eyes turned to see what sort of creature would emerge.

I paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I could do this.

I was pretty enough; I had the rank and the pride I needed to take the first step. And the equinox tomorrow was the perfect day, according to the seers. With even the stars on my side, what had I to fear?

I took a moment to watch the motes of dust dancing in sunlight let in through high windows.

Holding my chin high and my shoulders back, I stepped slowly into the hall. My maids – now my ladies-in-waiting – followed me three abreast, two steps behind me.

At the end of the hall was a raised dais, on which were resting three heavy wooden thrones, with the one in the middle being rather larger. A man, clearly the king, stood in front of the centre chair, watching me move towards him. To his right and slightly behind stood the Constable, a gentle smile on his face.

I was prepared for open curiosity and, moving down the aisle, I was indeed scrutinized. Eyes ran over my dress, my hair, my figure, my face. Curiosity was clear -- who was this northern girl the King had chosen? How well will she serve as our Queen? Would this marriage bring peace and more trade? Would her luck be better than that of her predecessors?

What I had not expected was the degree of formal courtesy. Proceeding down the aisle, like a boat moving across a still pond, I trailed a wake of bows and curtsies. It was all so unexpected that I half-stumbled. I caught myself and had to struggle to put on what I hoped was a modest smile.

I examined the crowd from the corners of my eyes as I moved. They were an attractive people. Both sexes seemed to wear their hair loose; women's hair, somewhat longer than that of the men, was often secured by a small braid from above each temple, running beneath their ears to join at the nape.

Clothing here seemed to be more colourful than it had been back home, more lavish in its style – and more revealing, verging on what my mother would have thought inappropriate, even scandalous.

Men had their legs covered in tight hose, with short embroidered jackets above. It looked less than comfortable, but I shrugged it off as hardly my concern.

But the women! Bann was a warmer place than I was used to, but such fashion must have brought with it the risk of a serious chill if the sun dared to pass behind a cloud. Their high-waisted skirts were long enough, but were of thin fabric tight on the waist and hips; their upper garments were generally sleeveless, with a deep-scooped neckline concealing very little.

I kept my chin high and tried not to blush. This was to be my country now and there would no doubt be many surprises ahead, many accommodations required on my part. I would not permit myself to embarrass my father with maidenish provincialism.

At last, I stood three paces in front of the King. Remembering my mother's lessons, I waited until I heard the three figures behind me curtsy first, then began myself, bending knee and bowing, my hands holding my skirts to each side.

I realized that my mother had not told me how long to hold the pose. I waited, one second, then two.

His voice was a gentle baritone.

"Rise, madam. Be welcome!"

To my astonishment, he stepped forward, took me by one hand and lifted me to my feet.

I kept my eyes lowered, as befitted a modest young woman, until his hand touched me under my chin, lifted my face.

They had said he was older and there was indeed some grey at his temples, but he retained much of his youth. Midnight worries about being wed to a wizened greybeard fell away. Tall, with broad shoulders, there was a clear resemblance to his uncle in the set of his dark eyes and strong chin, in his case scarcely hidden by a short, well-trimmed beard. I found him very handsome.

The King led me to the throne to his left. I of course remained standing until he had seated himself. A queue began to form as the high and mighty came forward to be presented to me. Those waiting their turn filled the immense room with conversation.