August 31st, 1614
Life on the border between Francia and Coimbra was never a peaceful affair. Even when there was a truce between the opposing sides, there was never an end to the skirmishes and raids that plagued the villages and keeps that dotted the few miles of no-mans-land between one country and the other. Now, in the wake of the fearsome battle fought on Frankish ground - a battle that had claimed most of the Coimbran army and sent the rest running for the safety of their own borders - life had become decidedly unpredictable. Pursued by Frankish and Pomeran knights, the fleeing Coimbrans made a point of attacking those border towns as they passed by, and only the most remote of keeps and villages was left unmolested. And yet, even there, the skirmishes continued. In the heart of the Lady Forest, not far from the village of Dunfayre, a Coimbran ambush caught a patrol of Frankish knights unawares, leaving them to die amid the trees as they disappeared once again toward their own land.
It had been a small group of six knights assigned to patrol the borderlands between Francia and Coimbra for Coimbran raiders. Though the people who called that small stretch of land home were neither wholly Frankish or Coimbran, it was Francia who had taken to patrolling these lands and defending the people against raids from either side. And so, this small party of Frankish knights had been patrolling the borderlands when they had been ambushed by a party of Coimbrans, all of them killed and left for dead, but for one lone survivor, who would likely join them in death before long if he was not found in time.
Remote though that area was, there were still men and women working in the forest and the fields that bordered it, and the sound of battle had not gone unnoticed. When they were sure it was safe, a group of bordermen ventured into the clearing where the Franks lay dead and dying, to pick over the bodies and do what they could for the dead. To find one such body still alive was a shock, certainly, but it galvanized them into action. A boy was dispatched to tell the lady of the land what had happened, and the men were quick to put together a litter to carry the wounded survivor swiftly and quietly through the trees, to where Darroch Keep stood watch over the land.
The lady of the house was ready and waiting, the only member of her family still in residence at the keep at this time. Under her direction, the knight was taken to one of the guest chambers, and with some help from the servants, she relieved him of his armor and his clothing, turning her attention to examining his wounds.
"D'you think he'll survive?" one of the men who had brought him in asked as she concentrated.
Juliana Darroch, only daughter of Aidan Darroch, nodded thoughtfully. "With care and luck, he should be fine," she assured the man confidently. "Spread the word to keep his presence here a secret, though. The last thing we need is for the Coimbrans to come back and finish the job, and us along with it."
"Aye, mistress, we shall." He touched his forelock, knowing when he was no longer needed, and slipped from the chamber to do as he was bidden, leaving the medicinally minded young lady to her business.
As it happened, the wounded knight in her care had been the youngest of his party, though not lacking in skill or courage. It was only that skill and courage that had kept him alive as long as it did, though in the end, there had simply been too many of them. As he laid there, pale and bruised and bloodied, his life hung in the balance, dependent upon the the lady of the house to save him or let him join his companions in death. There was little to mark him or name him, but for an emblem on his tunic that marked him as a Knight of Lonnare.
Another person might not have recognized the emblem, but Juliana's mother had been Frankish, born a little way from the borderlands but very firmly in Francia. Juliana and her brothers had grown up educated in both Frankish and Coimbran customs, that very unique way of life that was the borderlands. As she worked on the unconscious young man, stitching some wounds, bandaging others, she talked and sang, filling the quiet with reassuring sound in case he found his way to waking while she was still busy with him. Even when she was done, and the servants had been dismissed about their usual duties, she stayed with him, keeping vigil in the hope that her intervention had saved a life.
The only other item that might identify him, other than his sword and shield, was a lady's handkerchief edged in lace and decorated with an array of delicately embroidered flowers. He was young, with a mop of blond curls that stubbornly fell across his brow making him look even younger than his twenty-something years.
As dusk turned to darkness and the lamps were lit, Juliana spent a long time examining that delicate handkerchief. It was fine work, clearly made with love, and given with love, too. She was envious that even a knight of Lonnare could make such a loving connection that he would have a wife waiting for him at home, and that knowledge only made her more determined to see him well and safely back across the border into his own lands. She folded the piece and left it on the table where he would see it when he woke, and settled in for a long wait, her own sewing in her hands. Only time would tell if the knight would wake up at all.
Hours passed while the life of the young knight hung in the balance, waiting for the Goddess to decide his fate. It was deep into the night when, at last, it seemed the Goddess made her decision, and the young knight stirred a little, proving all the lady's efforts had not been in vain.
The keep was still by the time he began to stir, even the lady keeping vigil over him dozing where she sat. But her mother had raised her to be a healer, and with those skills came the unenviable instinct that woke her just as her patient stirred in the bed. She rose from where she sat, moving to perch on the edge of the bed as her hand sought to test the temperature of his head. "Shhh, be still," she told him, her soft voice lilting with the peculiar accent of the borderlands. "You're safe, for now. No one will harm you."
His eyelids felt like heavy weights, but somehow he managed to open them, blinking in the dim light to bring his sight into focus. He vaguely recognized the sound of a woman's voice, the decidedly feminine curve of lips and fall of hair, but that told him nothing. It was a struggle in those moments, just to keep his eyes open, and when he tried to move, pain lanced through his wounds forcing him to stillness, just as she'd warned. "W-where ..." he stammered in a voice thick with pain and confusion.
"Easy, sir knight," the soft voice warned him, gentle hands keeping him still before he could do himself any harm. "You're in Darroch Keep, just west of Dunfayre, in the borderlands. My people brought you to me when they found you."
In the borderlands, his mind echoed her words. Thank the Goddess. He was not a Coimbran prisoner then. At least, not yet. Whether she would turn him over to them if they came looking for him was another matter, but he knew that for now, he was at her mercy - not to mention, thankful for her help. But what of the others, he thought, his next thoughts going to his companions - his friends. He tried to remember what had happened to them, but he'd been knocked from his horse and didn't remember what had become of them all. "My-my friends ..." he stammered further, in an accent that was clearly Frankish.
"Shh ..." Juliana knew she would have to tell him the truth, but she knew the truth would cause him pain. He had called the patrol his friends. "You were the only one alive, and barely, at that. Your friends have been taken to the chapel. They'll be given every courtesy we can give them, but we must be careful. The Coimbrans have not yet left this area." She reached over to set a cloth from the bowl of clean water beside the bed, offering it to him to drink just a little and wet his throat. "You're badly injured, sir knight. Let me help you."
Life on the border between Francia and Coimbra was never a peaceful affair. Even when there was a truce between the opposing sides, there was never an end to the skirmishes and raids that plagued the villages and keeps that dotted the few miles of no-mans-land between one country and the other. Now, in the wake of the fearsome battle fought on Frankish ground - a battle that had claimed most of the Coimbran army and sent the rest running for the safety of their own borders - life had become decidedly unpredictable. Pursued by Frankish and Pomeran knights, the fleeing Coimbrans made a point of attacking those border towns as they passed by, and only the most remote of keeps and villages was left unmolested. And yet, even there, the skirmishes continued. In the heart of the Lady Forest, not far from the village of Dunfayre, a Coimbran ambush caught a patrol of Frankish knights unawares, leaving them to die amid the trees as they disappeared once again toward their own land.
It had been a small group of six knights assigned to patrol the borderlands between Francia and Coimbra for Coimbran raiders. Though the people who called that small stretch of land home were neither wholly Frankish or Coimbran, it was Francia who had taken to patrolling these lands and defending the people against raids from either side. And so, this small party of Frankish knights had been patrolling the borderlands when they had been ambushed by a party of Coimbrans, all of them killed and left for dead, but for one lone survivor, who would likely join them in death before long if he was not found in time.
Remote though that area was, there were still men and women working in the forest and the fields that bordered it, and the sound of battle had not gone unnoticed. When they were sure it was safe, a group of bordermen ventured into the clearing where the Franks lay dead and dying, to pick over the bodies and do what they could for the dead. To find one such body still alive was a shock, certainly, but it galvanized them into action. A boy was dispatched to tell the lady of the land what had happened, and the men were quick to put together a litter to carry the wounded survivor swiftly and quietly through the trees, to where Darroch Keep stood watch over the land.
The lady of the house was ready and waiting, the only member of her family still in residence at the keep at this time. Under her direction, the knight was taken to one of the guest chambers, and with some help from the servants, she relieved him of his armor and his clothing, turning her attention to examining his wounds.
"D'you think he'll survive?" one of the men who had brought him in asked as she concentrated.
Juliana Darroch, only daughter of Aidan Darroch, nodded thoughtfully. "With care and luck, he should be fine," she assured the man confidently. "Spread the word to keep his presence here a secret, though. The last thing we need is for the Coimbrans to come back and finish the job, and us along with it."
"Aye, mistress, we shall." He touched his forelock, knowing when he was no longer needed, and slipped from the chamber to do as he was bidden, leaving the medicinally minded young lady to her business.
As it happened, the wounded knight in her care had been the youngest of his party, though not lacking in skill or courage. It was only that skill and courage that had kept him alive as long as it did, though in the end, there had simply been too many of them. As he laid there, pale and bruised and bloodied, his life hung in the balance, dependent upon the the lady of the house to save him or let him join his companions in death. There was little to mark him or name him, but for an emblem on his tunic that marked him as a Knight of Lonnare.
Another person might not have recognized the emblem, but Juliana's mother had been Frankish, born a little way from the borderlands but very firmly in Francia. Juliana and her brothers had grown up educated in both Frankish and Coimbran customs, that very unique way of life that was the borderlands. As she worked on the unconscious young man, stitching some wounds, bandaging others, she talked and sang, filling the quiet with reassuring sound in case he found his way to waking while she was still busy with him. Even when she was done, and the servants had been dismissed about their usual duties, she stayed with him, keeping vigil in the hope that her intervention had saved a life.
The only other item that might identify him, other than his sword and shield, was a lady's handkerchief edged in lace and decorated with an array of delicately embroidered flowers. He was young, with a mop of blond curls that stubbornly fell across his brow making him look even younger than his twenty-something years.
As dusk turned to darkness and the lamps were lit, Juliana spent a long time examining that delicate handkerchief. It was fine work, clearly made with love, and given with love, too. She was envious that even a knight of Lonnare could make such a loving connection that he would have a wife waiting for him at home, and that knowledge only made her more determined to see him well and safely back across the border into his own lands. She folded the piece and left it on the table where he would see it when he woke, and settled in for a long wait, her own sewing in her hands. Only time would tell if the knight would wake up at all.
Hours passed while the life of the young knight hung in the balance, waiting for the Goddess to decide his fate. It was deep into the night when, at last, it seemed the Goddess made her decision, and the young knight stirred a little, proving all the lady's efforts had not been in vain.
The keep was still by the time he began to stir, even the lady keeping vigil over him dozing where she sat. But her mother had raised her to be a healer, and with those skills came the unenviable instinct that woke her just as her patient stirred in the bed. She rose from where she sat, moving to perch on the edge of the bed as her hand sought to test the temperature of his head. "Shhh, be still," she told him, her soft voice lilting with the peculiar accent of the borderlands. "You're safe, for now. No one will harm you."
His eyelids felt like heavy weights, but somehow he managed to open them, blinking in the dim light to bring his sight into focus. He vaguely recognized the sound of a woman's voice, the decidedly feminine curve of lips and fall of hair, but that told him nothing. It was a struggle in those moments, just to keep his eyes open, and when he tried to move, pain lanced through his wounds forcing him to stillness, just as she'd warned. "W-where ..." he stammered in a voice thick with pain and confusion.
"Easy, sir knight," the soft voice warned him, gentle hands keeping him still before he could do himself any harm. "You're in Darroch Keep, just west of Dunfayre, in the borderlands. My people brought you to me when they found you."
In the borderlands, his mind echoed her words. Thank the Goddess. He was not a Coimbran prisoner then. At least, not yet. Whether she would turn him over to them if they came looking for him was another matter, but he knew that for now, he was at her mercy - not to mention, thankful for her help. But what of the others, he thought, his next thoughts going to his companions - his friends. He tried to remember what had happened to them, but he'd been knocked from his horse and didn't remember what had become of them all. "My-my friends ..." he stammered further, in an accent that was clearly Frankish.
"Shh ..." Juliana knew she would have to tell him the truth, but she knew the truth would cause him pain. He had called the patrol his friends. "You were the only one alive, and barely, at that. Your friends have been taken to the chapel. They'll be given every courtesy we can give them, but we must be careful. The Coimbrans have not yet left this area." She reached over to set a cloth from the bowl of clean water beside the bed, offering it to him to drink just a little and wet his throat. "You're badly injured, sir knight. Let me help you."