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Emma shook her head clear and set her mind to the task at hand. Arguing with Bealdaeg she had seemed determined and confident, yet now she wondered herself how she would be able to convince Quinn to come to the aid of her people. That was of course assuming she would even be allowed through the gates at Pike’s Ford to speak with him. When last they spoke she had ended their month long romance abruptly and returned to her husband. As a result, whether of anger or pain Quinn had sworn no love for her, wounding Emma’s heart as deeply as she had wounded his. The mountains now loomed before her and the distant gate of Pike’s Ford seemed an imposing giant as Emma, for the first time, began to truly consider her chances for success.
As they rode ever closer the great gate at Pike’s Ford, the brisk air carried the sweet smells of fresh baked rolls, cakes and stews cooking for the midday meal. Despite the chill wind about them, the thought of a hot meal and a good fire warmed their hearts with in them. The gate was the only entrance through the stone wall which guarded the base of the mountain on which the town of Pike’s Ford was built. Its’ huge Oaken doors were twenty feet at their highest points and a golden lion's head adorned each door. Emma knew that the gate itself was kept open, save for times of war and would be heavily guarded. With any luck, the guardsmen would be settling down to eat during the noon hour; she hoped that at least one of the guardsmen on duty would know her and thus she and her companions might pass through the gate unhindered. That hope was short lived however, as Emma, nearing the gate, caught sight of those charged this day with its’ guarding. Emma sighed silently to herself as she glanced at the familiar faces of the guardsmen. If she had been unsure of her chances before, her hopes of even gaining entrance to the city vanished as she saw Quinn’s captains, including his half brother Regenald standing guard resolutely. "God himself must be against me" she thought to herself. For surely by curse of god alone would these be standing guard on the day that she was to arrive. For a brief moment she considered giving up and going home. She had come this far though and could not fail her family by simply giving up. Besides, things could not get much worse and who knows, there may yet be an avalanche that will come a long and end her misery.
The guardsmen, five of whom sat semi circle around a small fire, laughed and drank warm mead, a good and joyful way to keep one warm on such a cold day. They paid little mind to the small band approaching the gate on horse back and then, as if rehearsed the laughter stopped as they recognized all at once, the woman who was before them. Emma glanced to each of them slowly from right to left meeting each ones eyes in turn. All wore blue tunics and studded leather armor, Wulfric sat farthest right, a massive man of short straw colored hair and mustache, with deep blue eyes. Next to him Hengest, the tallest and youngest of Quinn’s riders, Hengest had joined when he was but 16 years old. Brown hair cut close to his head, hazel eyed and fair skinned, Hengest bore still the scars of many battles. Gareth sat in the midst and to his left Freawine, both were brown haired, Gareth had brown eyes and a slight build though powerful he was. Freawine’s eyes were green and he was some what larger in build than Gareth. They were cousins and their families had served Quinn’s family for generations; indeed there were no greater soldiers in Oure than they. Some perhaps their equals, but none their better. Standing at the center of the gate, his strong hands resting on his long handled war-hammer, his head shaven clean; was grey eyed Swindhelm “The Steadfast.” Beside him, leaning stoically against the wall was the dark haired, brown eyed, half brother of Quinlan, through their mother’s line, Regenald. Regenald was older than Quinlan by a year, but Quinlan, was by birth, the only son of Great king Osbearn.
Regenald held her gaze, his will seemed of steel. Emma’s strength and resolve seemed sapped from her, caught in his unrelenting stare. Not, though, as Quinlan’s eyes had caught her. For Regenald’s gaze was not wrought from inner passion as Quinn’s, but was cold, emotionless and unforgiving. Even if Quinn could forgive her, Regenald she knew, never would. Half brother they may have been by blood, but full brothers they were in heart. With Regenald as with Quinn there was great power in his presence. Where Quinn’s power came from his passionate heart and unbridled spirit, Regenald’s came from his iron will and it sent a cold chill over Emma.
“Wulfric..” Hegenst quipped “May haps ye made this batch o’ mead to strong. Tis just past midday and already I’m seein’ ghosts of the past.”
“Aged it to long me thinks, fer I’m seein’ the same ghost as ye, though a lovely ghost it tis.” Wulfric said smiling
“Best be on yer guard Wulfric, for pretty though it seems, tis sure to bite as a viper, and with no less venom…” Freawine said calmly
“But to die insight of such beauty, t’would be not a bad way to go.” Gareth interrupted
“Wulfric tis teachin’ ye bad habits if already the mead has gone to yer head Hengest….” Regenald said coldly “ …..and there are far better ways to go than havin’ this one rip out yer heart, Gareth.”
“Hey…” Wulfric roared “….there can come no bad habits from good mead.”
The small band of guardsmen laughed heartily, though the humor seemed lost on Emma. She sat staunchly as if unaffected by the cutting words of Freawine and Regenald. Her own words lost to her, Emma began to fidget nervously in spite of herself. She tried hard to find her courage again and shake Regenald’s stare from her mind. It was, however, Hunlaf that first spoke to the guardsmen of the gate.
“Lady Emma is royal emissary of King Cupwine himself, and ye shall address her as such.” Hunlaf said boldly
“King Cupwine?…” Swindhelm inquired “….and where does this Cupwine rule?”
“Southeast of here…” Eorpwald piped in “…even three days ride.”
“Then….” Swindhelm spoke sternly “….ye are three days from his graces and the safety of his name.”
“Aye…” Freawine said softly “….and none here give heed to the words of a faceless king.”
“But ye’ll be forgettin’ yer manners before a lady, to blindly follow yer king; who’ll not speak even with those he claims to love?” Emma snapped, her confidence returning to her in full.
“We do not follow a ‘King’ lady, we follow a friend, a brother whom has shed both blood and tears with us on the field of battle! One who has placed the lives of his people above his own!” Regenald shot back, the contempt held in his words causing Emma to be taken aback once more.
“Regenald…” Emma said softly, almost pleading “….please, I need to speak with Quinn, to see him again, to ask his help, to ask…” Emma’s words caught for a moment “….to ask him to forgive me.”
Not a one who was there spoke or moved as Regenald caught Emma once more in his unrelenting gaze. Many long moments passed before their silence was broken.
“Alright Emma, ye may pass….” Regenald said eyeing her suspiciously “….but ye only, the rest of yer company will be stayin’ here; and Emma, hurt him again and I’ll kill ye meself.”
“No!..” Hunlaf barked “….Emma, me lady, I’ll not be lettin’ ye go to him yerself…..”
“Ye’ll be stayin here…” Gareth said gravely “…either above the ground, or beneath it.”
“Ye dare to threaten us!” Hunlaf yelled as he drew forth his sword
Hunlaf stood firm, readying his sword for the letting of blood. As he glanced about Hunlaf noted that none of Quinlan’s men had moved. They had not even paused, but kept eating and drinking as if he and his men were not but annoying flies. They neither reached for their weapons nor was the slightest concern born on their faces. Hunlaf realized, perhaps slower than he should, that Gareth’s words had not been a threat come from pride. Rather a fact come from a battle hardened soldier aware of his skills. Gareth had not spoken boastfully, but truthfully. Hunlaf then slowly sheathed his sword, realizing that there was no hope for winning this argument.
“T’will be alright Hunlaf…” Emma said solemnly “….tis right that I go to him now meself.”
“But, me lady….” Hunlaf protested “….the king said…”
“This is not a matter of kings….” Emma said softly, her voice edged with pain and regret. “….tis a matter of heart.” The words stung Emma’s ears even as she spoke them. This truly would be a matter of heart. For Quinn was careful about whom he gave his heart too and to Emma he had given his love freely, without measure.
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