Thread: A Kingdom for a Song (Wade Amore/Mim)

This was for her people and her country. Innis had to keep repeating that to herself while she rode south from Glasgow to England. She didn't know why she of all people had been chosen she wasn't a princess or even some noble, just a farmer's daughter from a little village in the north. But her father had told her to go and so she went. It was probably so the nobility wouldn't have to sacrifice their own daughters, she reflected bitterly. Well fine. If they wanted to show some pompous prince that they cared so little for him that they would send a peasant to be his bride, so be it. She'd be eaten alive at court, even she knew that, but maybe when her husband was king she would be able to soften his heart toward her homeland. Perhaps she could even convince him to give Scotland back her freedom. There. That wasn't all bad, she supposed. And at least she had a horse for the trip down. Innis didn't know her husband, or even who he was. All she knew was that he was some Northumbrian prince and that she had been sold to him as the price of peace with the conquerors from the south. She didn't know how old he was, what he looked like, or even his name. All she knew was that one day she would be queen, a task she was wholly unprepared for, and that the best she could hope for was that he was kind and maybe handsome. Innis had tried asking the three English guards escorting her what he was like, but they refused to say. In fact they had ignored her for most of the three day journey to Northumberland. She would have all of half a day to look around her new home before marrying him, and whether or not she would actually get to meet him first was still up in the air. It was hard to believe as they walked across the drawbridge into the courtyard that three days ago she had bid a tearful farewell to her childhood sweetheart and in less than twelve hours she was to be married. Her younger brother, who was fifteen and felt he had everything to prove, had only been half-joking when he'd given her his knife and told her it was for stabbing the bastard. Once in the courtyard she slid off of her horse. She wanted to walk it to the stables, but the guards had handed the reigns to a stable boy and hurried her toward the great hall. Even if she didn't get to meet her husband, she would have to meet her father-in-law. The king looked critically down on her from his throne while she held a deep curtsy, keeping her eyes down. Innis had never met a king, but avoiding eye contact seemed to keep the English officials who illegally governed her village from booting her in the mouth. Do you speak English, girl? he asked after a long pause. Aye, yer highness. The less she spoke, the better. Stand up. Let me look at you. She did as she was told and he stepped down from the dais to circle her. She felt like a horse being inspected before being sold off. Well, they sent a pretty one I'll give them that much. Too skinny! She jumped when he tapped her hip with the back of his hand. She had always thought of herself as well-formed and fairly solid, with hips plenty wide enough for bearing children, but apparently this wasn't enough for him. With all due respect, m'lord, she said carefully, still staring straight ahead to avoid eye contact, feedin' a family is very difficult when there's naught to go 'round, bein' all taken up by taxes and the like. If I'm too skinny, it's coz I'm under-fed. She stiffened when the king circled back around to her front to stare hard at her. You are very fortunate you must look presentable for my son's wedding, he snarled, or else you would pay the price for that insolence. Your backwater country is lucky to have been brought to heel nothing but heathens dancing in the mud, every last one of you. I know you may not be used to it, but from now on you will keep a civil tongue in your head or you will feel the lash. Do I make that clear. She swallowed. Aye, m'lord. Good. A pause. What's your name, girl? Innis, yer highness. He snorted. And you've been baptized? Aye. With a heathen name like Innis? Aye. Another pause. The king jutted out his chin, then sighed. I suppose the only way to make your people accept the facts is to give them a Scottish princess with a Scottish name. It'll have to do. Thank ye, m'lord. He stopped and stared hard at her again, as though suspicious of her tone. Finally he waved his hand. Take her away. Clean her up and make her presentable for tomorrow. She'll have supper in her room. Innis resisted the urge to yank her arm away from the guard escorting her. Instead she went obediently with them and allowed servants to scrub her skin and brush her hair. They seemed unused to someone trying to help them and kept insisting that they do it themselves. Supper was cold by the time they had finished, but it wasn't anything she was unused to. Despite the softness of the bed, a fitful night's sleep gripped her and left her in the morning feeling as though she hadn't slept at all. Servants woke her just before the dawn to get her ready, and the sun had only been up an hour by the time she was being escorted to the chapel on the other side of the castle. Innis's heart lept into her mouth when the doors opened and she stepped into the center aisle between the pews. A harp played and her knees nearly buckled with each step. There, standing at the altar, was her husband. Last edited Mar 7, 2019