By Dawn’s Light

By Dawn’s Light

Climbing from her window, Felicity watched the stars fade out. Her quiver swung heavily on her shoulder, her bow slung over the other. Down to the ground, and across the moors, her feet carried her. For two long years they’d been meeting like this, down by the river just outside Galen’s lair.

When she got there Logan was already hunched over the river, watching the water. Approaching slowly, Felicity reveled in her newfound discovery. The way his blonde hair fell in his eyes, and he shoved it away impatiently. The way he sighed whenever he stood after a long day bent over the workbench. The way he kissed Rebecca’s cheek each evening. Everything was so enchanting that Felicity found it hard to stay away.

Sensing her presence, he turned his head, catching her gaze within his. Felicity’s breath caught in her throat. "Father wishes you to come to his birthday gala," Felicity whispered. "Lord Highstreet is coming, and Father believes that you should be there." Logan nodded, his eyes dancing over her face.

"Tonight?" he asked, his lips red against the moonlit skin. She nodded, waiting for the touch. Stepping forward, Logan reached his hand out and brushed it along her cheek. "I’ll see you then, Felicity…" he whispered. Her breath caught in her throat as his skin brushed hers, and she could only nod in agreement.

Never had they kissed, never had they done much more then this. Felicity was born to noble standing, Logan a simple leathermaster’s son. They would never be able to be together, unless the King decreed it. Logan knew the odds of the King decreeing that he, Logan Peterson, was free to wed the Lady Felicity Vincental were slim, if any. Vanessa Preston was the King’s own blood, his niece by her mother, the King’s sister. That made Felicity royalty. No peasant had ever married into the royal family.

Having the sun already in the sky, Logan bid her farewell, and turned toward town. Felicity turned and climbed the slope toward the Hall. Sitting before the door was a carriage, baring the crest of Ronugo. Sighing inwardly Felicity began toward the great house, knowing full well what would be waiting. A pompous lord, thinking that the world was at his bidding. How she loathed nobility.

Inside the great house, however, the door to her father’s study was closed, and she moved toward the kitchens to assist in the last minute preparations.

y

The gala had already begun when Logan arrived. Lord Vincental welcomed him with a clap on the shoulder and a hearty laugh. Quickly, the young man was introduced to several of the lords that Lord Vincental spoke with. Jamison Highstreet being one of them. Logan remembered the first day he’d met Highstreet. It was supper at Dragonhill, and he’d been invited with his family. The whole time, he had been unable to tear his eyes from Felicity, and she from him. That was when he knew that Felicity felt the same for him that he did for her.

Now, Highstreet seemed to have a smirk on his face as he stared Logan down. Even in this party, something wasn’t lying right, and Logan could feel it. Finally, nearly an hour after Logan had arrived, Felicity appeared at the top of the stairs. Simply by looking at her, Logan knew that something was not right. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red from tears. And he was sure no one else could tell, but her smile was forced.

He was the first to greet her, bowing low. She curtsied, then met his eyes. Something within them had died, he could tell instantly. But he outstretched a hand, and led her onto the dance floor. Waltzing about, he held her as close he dared, with all those around watching them. Even the King and Queen had come to the gala, their crowns atop their heads.

Same as always, ladies whispered behind their hands of Felicity and Logan. Even the Queen joined in, "He does look like the young Duke of Cornwall, does he not?"

But Felicity didn’t laugh, she barely smiled. Leaning near to her ear, Logan whispered, "Whatever is the matter, my sweet?" It was the first term of endearment he had even used, and Felicity responded by squeezing his hand ever tighter. "Darling, tell me what has hurt you, and if I can do anything…"

She shook her head. "My father will be making an announcement in only a moment, dear heart," she whispered, tilting her head slightly. "When he does so, you must not look at me, people will notice…"

Seconds later, the music stopped and Felicity vanished from his side. Lord Vincental climbed the steps so that he rose above the crowd, then lifted his hands for silence. "Lords and Ladies of the British court! It is my profound pleasure to make the most thrilling announcement of my life! My daughter, Felicity Charisma Vincental, as of this day is betrothed to Lord Jamison Highstreet of Ronugo!"

Heart in his throat, Logan’s eyes flew to Felicity, who stood at the foot of the steps with Highstreet. Their eyes met, and Felicity quickly averted hers. Damn him, she’d said not to look. And now he knew why. Highstreet was staring at him, along with the Queen and several of her ladies.

He couldn’t breathe, could barely see. Trying his hardest to remain calm, he stepped onto the terrace, inhaling heavily as the music struck up behind him. A soft touch on his shoulder turned him. Felicity stood there, the moonlight bright upon her skin, her two lips pink as amber. "I’m sorry, Logan," she whispered, her voice barely above a breeze.

Shaking his head, he reached out and brushed her ivory skin. "No need for that, my love," he muttered, kissing her forehead. "I always knew this would happen…" Just never this soon, he thought to himself. "It’s unfortunate that I was born at my station, for we could have had something beyond the moon in store for us," he finished, leaning back to look at her.

Just that morning she had been so close to him, so close that he could feel her heartbeat all about him. Now she was distant and unattainable as the stars yawning above, and just as beautiful to him. Brushing her cheek once more, he watched as she moved away, back into the chatter of the room.

A voice from the shadows startled him, "Keep away from her, boy," it said. Highstreet stepped from the shadows, his hand on the dagger on his belt.

"I will not take your wife, my lord," Logan muttered, turning away and leaning on the railing. "Be kind to her, she deserves far better then you."

Highstreet stepped forward, drawing his dagger. His eyes flashed angrily, and he growled, "Dare you turn your back to me, boy?"

Staring up at the stars, Logan smirked. "If you stab me in the back, my lord, then all will know you for what you are." He turned to glare at him, the smirk still on his face. "A coward," Logan finished.

Highstreet’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step forward. "Why do you smirk when I have the one thing you wished for?" he demanded, slipping the dagger back into its scabbard.

Again, the smirk came over Logan’s face and he stepped right up to the young lord. "You have only her body," he muttered, the smile upon his lips, "While I have the only thing I’ll ever desire. Her heart." Highstreet’s eyes widened as Logan brushed past him, pushing him to the side. "Farewell, Lord Highstreet of Ronugo, though I fear this will not be the last time we shall meet. And next time, only one will walk away."

"Fear that not, boy," Highstreet called, "I shall rip your heart out and feed it to my dogs if I see you near her again!"

Logan turned on his heel and stared hard at the man. "I shall not lay a hand on you unless you injure her. I guarantee you, if that girl is hurt by your hand, the hounds of hell will not keep me at bay." Without another word to the enraged lord, he moved back into the room.

y

Late that evening, Logan found himself alone at the buffet table. "You love her, boy?" a feminine voice asked from beside him. Turning, he found a rather attractive young woman standing beside him, a dish of crackers resting on her palm. Logan stared at her a moment, then shook his head. "I know you do, boy, you can tell me…"

Looking at her, Logan believed he could trust her. Her long golden hair was twisted up in intricate curls, and her blue eyes were sparkling. "Yes," he whispered, placing a bit of cheese on his plate. "More then anyone could imagine…"

"Who is your father? Anyone I know?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"No," Logan said, shaking his head sadly. "I am the son of the leathermaster in Diamond Lake Village."

The woman nodded. "Your mother is Rebecca Bradson?" Logan nodded. "Give me two days, I will send one of my ladies for you then. I wish to speak to you further."

Confused, Logan reached out and touched her arm, "Lady, who are you?" he whispered.

Again, she smiled sweetly, and replied, "For now, an angel of mercy, sent to grant you a single wish." With that, she faded into the crowd. For the rest of the gala, he searched for her to no avail. He fell into bed that night with his hopes high despite. Perhaps the woman really was an angel of mercy. If only she would grant his wish.

y

But two days came and went, without word from anyone, and Logan began to believe it had been a hallucination of a desperate man. He continued on with his work as if nothing had happened. His father was rejoicing with the news, and they had become overrun with orders for the wedding gifts. But Rebecca was quiet, and would often shoot Logan sorrowful looks when she thought he wasn’t aware. So Logan sat alone in his corner, sculpting gifts for the marriage, pining away for the life he couldn’t have,

Then, one morning, Rebecca roused him from his sleep. At first he didn’t understand the feeling of dread that overcame him. Then it hit him, the wedding was today. Almost two full months had passed since Lord Vincental’s birthday, and now it was time for him to face the first day of his hell. He hadn’t seen Felicity since that night on the terrace, and he felt as if someone had twisted a knife into his heart.

"Mother," he asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Whatever is the matter? Is it Father?"

Shaking her head, Rebecca pulled her son from his bed and handed him a shirt. "Make yourself presentable, you have a messenger!" she whispered, moving from the room.

Scurrying about, Logan brushed a hand through his hair, smoothed his trousers, and buttoned his shirt, then left his room.

The kitchen was warm with a fire, and Rebecca stood by the stove. A young woman sat in a chair, her hood dropped back from her face. The woman from the gala! "Madam," Logan whispered, startled. "I thought you but an illusion of a tormented man!"

The woman smiled up at him, and said, "I thought as much." She patted the seat beside her. "Sit, Logan, your mother and I have been speaking." Logan sat. "It seems that your mother has something to tell you, which I have painstakingly uncovered."

"Darling," Rebecca said, holding a steaming cup of tea. "Do you remember your grandmother?"

Logan nodded his head, dumbfounded. "Yes, Melissa Bradson. Though Grandfather Bradson died in the Saxon Invasion."

Tilting her head to the side, Rebecca continued, "True enough… But not really at all. Geoffrey Bradson did die in the Saxon Invasion. But Geoffrey Bradson was not your blood relative." Logan’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Geoffrey Bradson married my mother after I was conceived…" Slowly, realization dawned in Logan’s eyes. "My father’s name was Duke Michael Clark of Cornwall. He died shortly after he and my mother were secretly wed."

Now, the angel of mercy spoke up. "Myself and my husband were witnesses at that union, though we were but children. In fact, my husband still had the paperwork in his office." She handed Logan a piece of parchment, old and yellowed with age. "This is your blood-lineage, passed on by your mother, Duchess of Cornwall," she offered, smiling up at him. "And this," she continued, handing another sheet of paper, "is the decree that the marriage to take place this day between Lady Vincental and Lord Highstreet is not backed by the King." She handed him yet another paper, saying, "And this is a signed acknowledgment stating that if Lord Joshua Vincental sees you as fit, you are allowed to wed the young Lady, straight from London, and the King."

"Tell me, Madam," Logan whispered, his eyes wide as he stared down at the parchments in his trembling hand. "What is your name?"

A smile crossed over the dainty lips of the young woman. "Queen Catherine of England, wife of King Edward of North Wales." Logan’s jaw dropped. "Now, dear boy," she whispered, leaning over to close his mouth, "You have much to do in preparation, and I must return to my room at Dragonhill Hall before the help notices me gone."

Thinking a minute, Logan rose to his feet. "I know this may sound crude and selfish, your Majesty," he said. But Catherine beckoned him to continue. "Would you take a message to my lady? Bid her come to our spot so that I may share the dawn’s first light with her once more."

A smile on her face, Catherine curtsied, and replied, "I am but love’s humble messenger, Lord Peterson." Logan nodded and bowed to her as well. Thus, she left the building.

Spinning, Logan embraced his mother and whooped idiotically. Rebecca laughed heartily, triumphant in their quest. Finally, his angel of mercy had settled upon the house and brought with her the greatest joy he could imagine.

y

Stars winked in and out above him as he sat on the stone, only feet from the mouth of Galen’s cave. "Tell me," came a voice from above him, "Why did Queen Catherine bring word to me of this meeting?"

He turned to find Felicity standing above him, her amber hair flowing free in the wind. She had dressed hastily, her hair was not even pinned away from her face, and her shoes were still untied, their tongues lolling out. But she stood there, nonetheless, beautiful as ever before.

"Why have you not come to see me until this day, Logan?" she whispered, approaching him. "The day of my marriage, the day of my death…"

Rising to his feet, Logan brushed a strand of hair from her ivory cheek and murmured, "Say not such things, my only love." Felicity closed her eyes against the flood of emotion that swept over her. "I was forbidden to see you, by both your fiancée and my heart. For if I set my eyes upon you, I would have swept you from here forever, and I could not tear you from your father’s arms so."

Felicity practically fell into his arms, pulling herself close to his warmth in the cold fall air. "Why have you brought me to you now?" she asked, her voice barely above a breeze. "One last sunrise?" she whispered.

"No," he responded, brushing her hair from her face so that he may kiss her forehead. "To ask you to lead me to your father, so that we may speak in private."

Cocking an eyebrow, Felicity stared up at him. When he offered no explanation, despite her begging, she nodded and took his hand. The sun rose over the land as they strolled up the steps of Dragonhill Hall. The heavy oak door opened, and Millie stood there, already fourteen, and nearing the age when Lord Vincental would find her someone to wed. She seemed a bit shocked to see Logan, but welcomed him heartily, taking his coat, and offering him a bit of tea to warm him.

But Felicity interjected, "No, Millie. He has come to speak to the lord, announce him, please." The girl curtsied and moved to announce him into Lord Vincental’s study. Seconds later, she returned, and beckoned Logan forward, leaving Felicity in the hall.

y

Lord Vincental sat at his overly large oaken desk, with an arrangement of parchments scattered atop it. As Logan stepped in, Millie closed the door behind him with a click. Lord Vincental glanced to the boy with a smile. "What can I help you with Logan?" he asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Never in the months since the engagement had been announced had Logan dared to wonder if Lord Vincental thought of him. Now, standing before the man that had willingly signed away his daughter’s life, Logan wondered if perhaps he had not done it so willingly. "I received a messenger this morning, just before dawn. An angel of mercy, perhaps salvation. She delivered these to my keeping, in turn, I deliver them to yours."

Handing over the documents, Logan felt a sudden lurch. There was no turning back now; Lord Vincental had the documents in his hands.

After a moment, Vincental looked up at him, and whispered, "Have a seat, Logan…" Logan sat so abruptly that he bruised himself. Lord Vincental continued reading the documents. "I see," he muttered, once or twice. Finally, he glanced up at the young man before him. "It seems I knew your grandsire, boy," he said, a smile on his face, true merriment in his eyes. "Your grandmother was a fair woman, as well. I remember the marriage vaguely, I was but a child when it happened, and it was a secret." His eyes dropped down to the parchment in his hand, and he continued, "I recall my mother saying once, Poor child, to grow up a peasant’s daughter, born of the blood of kings!" Logan nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Though, something must have been done right, if the Cornwall heir is to be returned to power."

Heart in his throat, Logan whispered, "Do you mean what I believe you to mean, my lord?" Joshua Vincental simply nodded.

After a moment of staring hard into Logan’s eyes, Lord Vincental said, "Send Millie for Lord Highstreet, tell her to send him to this office, then wait for me in the parlor." Logan nodded, bowed, and left the room.

y

Alone in the parlor, Logan watched the sunrise from the windows. Less than a half an hour after he’d left the office, Lord Highstreet stormed past the parlor. At first, Logan thought he hadn’t noticed him, sitting comfortably in one of the high-backed chairs. But the man came storming into the room, his eyes flashing. "You!" he roared, pointing his finger violently. "I should’ve known it would be you to take this matter to the King! How dare you!"

A soft voice from behind him spoke, "Lord Highstreet," it said, "It would do well not to raise your voice when you are now a guest, and not an obligation…"

Stepping aside, Highstreet revealed Catherine’s small form standing in the door. "Majesty," he said, bowing.

"It was I who took the matter to the King, for I knew I recognized the young Lord of Cornwall at Lord Vincental’s birthday gala," she continued. Highstreet’s eyes widened. "Oh, you didn’t know that Logan was Cornwall’s heir? Neither did anyone else… But now you do." She smiled at him, a bright, vibrant, triumphant smile.

Suddenly someone else appeared behind Catherine, and Logan knew from the sudden quickening of his heartbeat that it was Felicity. She stepped around the Queen, her eyes dancing. Without even noticing Highstreet, she locked her gaze on Logan. "Lord of Cornwall?" she asked, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"My mother," Logan whispered, stepping toward her, "Was Clark’s daughter in his second marriage."

Again, Felicity’s eyes danced in her rosy cheeks. "Father sent word that if you wish it, the marriage is prepared for today, or we can wait until you deem fit to take the rightful title."

Catherine nodded to Logan, who looked to her rather abruptly. "The King believes that such a day of rejoicing should not be ruined, but it is as you see fit."

"Can he knight me before the marriage?" Logan asked, his voice shaking. Catherine nodded. "Then be it today!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide.

y

Standing before the town, Logan felt a sudden rushing in his heart, and he squeezed Felicity’s hand tighter. Wearing her simple, and flowing wedding gown, she stood beautifully erect in the town square. Dalila, Millie, and Rebecca stood on her side, holding bouquets of daisies and ivy. Robert, Adam, and Logan’s best friend, Lukas, stood to his side, dressed in their best.

"Give me unto thy heart, and take unto thee my soul," Felicity was saying, her dancing eyes locked into his. "I love thee as I love heaven, and earth that surrounds me," she finished, squeezing his hand in return, "for as long as I have breath in my body."

Now, Logan spoke, his voice strong despite his trembling body, "I grant thee thy wishes, and offer my own in love for all time. Never shall anything take me from thee as long as there is breathe in my body."

"You may kiss the bride," the preacher said, closing the book in his hands. Logan leaned in and met Felicity’s lips with his own. Suddenly, everything bled away, leaving only them, standing alone at the gates of heaven. As they pulled away, the preacher called out, "I present to you Lord and Lady Peterson of Dragonhill and Cornwall!" The crowd erupted, their yells mingling with such cries from the court, and Catherine in particular.

The celebration raged late into the night, long after the torches had been lit. Felicity danced and laughed with the townspeople, her smile bright. Often, Logan would just lean back and watch her with the children. So many of them knew her from the Academy, where so many of them had gone. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the town, Logan heard a rustling. Turning, he surveyed the trees beyond the wall. Suddenly, a head poked over it, and a spurt of barely noticeable fire flickered before his eyes. Galen… Logan nodded, saluting him with one hand, then turned back.

After a moment or two, Lord Vincental appeared beside him. "You see him too?" the older man asked, in a whisper. Logan’s eyes widened, surprised more then he imagined possible. "Galen was an old friend of Vanessa’s. When she died he vanished to me. Then, about the time Felicity met you I began to see his traces once more, almost as if he only shows himself when the women he loves are in love." The old lord thought a moment, then corrected, "Or that may be the only time he is powerful enough to show himself in the mortal world." Logan looked at him quizzically. "Vanessa once explained to me that Galen could only show himself to the women of power left in the world, unless he had her power within him. Vanessa loved him so, he could appear to everyone in London with her. Felicity loves him well, also, but with you beside them, he could appear to the world."

Glancing back to his newfound wife, Logan felt the familiar rushing of his heart. "She’s a treasure, boy," Lord Vincental whispered to his son-in-law. "You make sure you keep her safe…" Logan nodded, shaking Lord Vincental’s hand. The man turned and walked away.

y

Rolling over, Felicity felt Logan’s arm slide along her waist and she sighed. Lying in the bed she had slept alone in for so long, she found comfort in the arms that encompassed her. It wasn’t long before dawn; she’d only been asleep a few hours. Kissing his lips, Felicity pushed a strand of blonde hair from his face and moved from the bed.

Over to the window she crept, to sit in her window seat. Instead of dressing as she usually did, she simply curled into a ball and watched the horizon. "Um…" Logan moaned, rolling over. "Felicity?" he muttered, looking around. She kept silent, a bit of a smile on her face. "Felicity!" he cried out, sitting bolt upright and glancing around the room.

Instantly, Felicity was sitting on the bed. "I’m here, love, I’m here!"

"Oh, thank God!" Logan exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her. "I thought it was all a dream…"

Smiling, Felicity whispered, "Is it all that hazy, Logan?"

The young man looked down at her, cradled in his arms, and whispered in return, "No, my love. It was unimaginable, more like a dream then anything reality could ever give us."