Dennis McKiernan: Once upon a Summer Day

Chelle fell silent, but Borel said, “That’s when the terrible black wind carried the entire vale away unto the Endless Sands, leaving a bare stone valley behind.”

Chelle shook her head. “I still cannot believe that took place eleven years and eleven moons ago, as mortals would reckon time. It seems just yester to me.”

Arle said, “As Prince Borel told us last eve, you were in an enchanted sleep, Lady Michelle, in which I deem all time did stop.”

Chelle sighed and said, “You must be right, King Arle. But even so

…”

They rode a moment without speaking, and then Chelle said, “Rhensibe came to me in my dreams, and she laughed in glee and told me that I was trapped. Then did I seek you out, Borel, for I knew you would come.”

“And that was but a moon ago?” asked Arle.

“A few days more, my lord,” said Borel. “Yet it was not until there was but a bare moon left that I knew Chelle was real and not just a dream. Then did I set out to find her.”

“Hai! And find her you did, my prince, and found me and my men as well.”

“But not in time for d’Strait,” said Andre, who had been riding nearby and listening.

“He did not die in vain,” said Arle, “for it was his blade allowed Prince Borel to fight his way through the thorns.”

Andre nodded. “He would have been proud to know of that, and if his wife and children were yet alive they would have been proud as well.”

“Perhaps they do know,” said Arle, glancing at the skies above.

And they rode along in somber silence.

A delegation welcomed King Arle and his chevaliers to Nione, and when they discovered that Prince Borel of the Winterwood and Lady Michelle of Duke Roulan’s vale accompanied King Arle, nothing would do but that the prince and his amour take up residence in a temporarily vacant hillside chalet owned by the mayor himself. Not only that, but he would send a cook and a ladies’ maid and a valet to serve them as well.

And so it was that Borel and Chelle and Flic and Buzzer found themselves ensconced in very elegant and private quarters rather than in rooms at an inn.

A healer was sent to deal with Borel’s thorn-given wounds, but Flic had already prepared tisanes and balms and anodynes, and Borel was well on the mend.

Over the next several days, as Borel healed he acquired three horses-two for riding, one to be a pack animal-and sufficient supplies to get them to the Winterwood. He had his leathers repaired, where the thorns had scored and torn and punctured them. And he sent his tricorn to the milliner to be cleaned and blocked as well. The prince obtained a bronze long-knife to replace the one he had lost during the wild Pooka ride. But when he tried to use the remaining Gnome-gifted coinage to settle with the various merchants, the tradesmen waved him away, saying King Arle had paid for all.

Each evening, in deference to Flic’s intolerance of iron, King Arle shed his arms and armor and came down from the citadel to dine with them. Chevaliers took turns accompanying the king, and there were celebrations every night for a sevenday, with singing and dancing and merrymaking all ’round, as well as tale-telling, and here Flic did shine. He strutted about and waved his silver epee and-striking en gardes and lunging and parrying and making running fleches, sometimes afoot on tabletop, other times awing in air-he told of how he and Argent had routed the dreadful Shadows, also mentioning as an afterthought that King Arle and his men did help. And Arle roared with laughter at the antics of his wee friend.

And Chelle and Borel danced the bee dance, showing the townsfolk how ’twas done. And when they were asked where they had learned such a step, Borel spoke of Buzzer, and then there was nothing for it but that Buzzer had to be strutted out for display the very next day. And the townsfolk Ooh ed and Ahh ed as if they had never before seen a bumblebee. It is said that in the days after, many folk suffered stings while trying to make pets of bees.

After each gala and upon returning to the chalet, Borel and Chelle oft stood on the balcony and looked at the moon and spoke of inconsequential things as well as things substantial.

During the days, as well, they strolled about the town, and Chelle outfitted herself with boys’ riding breeches and boots, for she would not go sidesaddle all the way to the Winterwood.

Borel smiled and said, “ ’Tis not ladylike, my lady.”

“I suppose your sisters never ride astraddle?” asked Chelle.

“Oh, they are not ladylike either,” said Borel, and he broke out laughing.

Too, Chelle acquired a supply of feminine necessities she would need for the journey, and one special sheer garment for herself. Borel made himself scarce during that shopping trip, and instead chose tack and supplies for his horses, now that he knew how the Lady Michelle would ride.

And every day they strolled along the mossy banks of a burbling stream, or played echecs, or whiled away the time at other idling but oh so important tasks.

And always they remained quite circumspect, and yet…

On the fourth night in the chalet, as they stood before her bedroom door, Borel said, “Chelle, perhaps you do not remember, but I courted you throughout our dreams, and I tried to not take advantage, for you did not know we were dreaming, whereas I did. Yet you fired my blood, and you still do, and I often lost control in the dream, and it is all I can do to not lose control now. For I would sweep you up in my arms and-Chelle, what I am trying to say is that you have my heart and you occupy my every thought. I would court you truly if I may and if it is your will. You need not answer now, my love, and-”

Michelle silenced him with a kiss, then she quickly stepped into her room and closed the door behind.

Borel, bewildered, walked to his own chamber.

Slowly he undressed, and lay down, yet he could not sleep, Chelle filling his mind: her scent, her sweet breath, her hair, her eyes, her laugh, her slender form and grace and elegance.

In the middle of the night with the moon shining in, Borel yet lay awake when his door softly opened, and, barefoot, Chelle came padding in. Borel turned to see her standing in the moonlight, her negligee sheer and revealing.

She came and stood at the side of his bed, her blue eyes unseen, enshadowed, though not by a magic spell but by the night instead. “My love, I remember every one of our dreams,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “And in them I told you I have loved you since a time long past when I was but a child.” She let her delicate gown slip away unto the floor, and with her golden hair falling across her bare shoulders, she said, “But I am a child no more.”

And Borel reached up and drew her into his bed, and he kissed her soft lips and her eyes and her throat and her breasts and lower, and though she had no experience, she moaned with need and caressed Borel, running her hands along his firm muscles and across his flat abdomen and more. And they made gentle love and passionate love and wild love throughout the moonlit night.

“My, but you look chipper today,” said Flic.

“Do I seem to be walking on air?” asked Chelle, scooping slices of melon onto her trencher, along with eggs and rashers and crepes with syrup and toast with butter and a bit of cheese on the side.

“Where’s Borel?” asked Flic, eyeing the enormous mound of food on Chelle’s plate.

Chelle shrugged. “Perhaps yet abed,” she said, taking up a bit of melon and popping it into her mouth.

Flic grinned. “Uh-huh, as if you didn’t know.”

Chelle smiled and looked about to see if anyone were near, and then she whispered, “Oh, Flic, it was wonderful, and we are lovers. Isn’t it grand?”