R.S.Sharkey

(part five of eight – lyrics (c) Loreena McKinnett)

That wine she had not tasted well
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall
When dead, in her true love’s arms, she fell,
For Love was still the lord of all!

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Their meal with the Lord finished, Sir Arren took once again Sarabrandae’s hand; their wrists still tied. Her winning smile had not left her face, it lit up both her heart and his. Sir Arren walked around in front of her, turning her away from the priest, her father and her brother.

Before they stepped back down the aisle, Sara gripped Sir Arren’s hand tight. Her other hand touched her belly and pressed against it. She started to fall, but her new husband’s arms caught her gently. The ribbon became undone in their movements and fell to the floor. Sir Arren knelt with Sara in his arms as lord Mithon, his son and the priest pressed around.

Sara’s breaths came hard and ragged. Her face lost its color, turning while like her dress. The green about her neck now added to her sickly look. She grasped Sir Arren’s tunic, making her knuckles white with how tight she held him. She tried to look in his face, but her eyes would not stay still. They danced and gallivanted about the room, changing focus and location against her will.

Lord Mithon took his daughter’s other hand, squeezing it while shouting for a surgeon. The priest called out for healing from the Father and crossed his chest a hundred times. Justin stood and watched in silence, his brooding face hard to read.

It took only moments for the poison to finish its deed. Soon Sara lay still, her eyes shut tight and her muscles relaxed. The hand that held her husband tunic fell away and her heart beat to a halt. Lord Mithon gave a great cry, kissing her hand over and over. Sir Arren held her still, his eyes watering and opened wide.

The surgeon entered in a rush, but lord Mithon yelled for him to leave; his voice rough and cutting, yet full of anguish. His shoulders shook and sobs broke forth from his lips. Sir Arren reached out his hand to comfort the lord and Sara’s father did not rebuke him.

As Sir Arren fought through his inner emotions, he took notice of Justin’s stony composure. He glared at the younger man and passed Sara’s body into her father’s hands to free his own. His mouth grew into a firm line as he handled his sword hilt and rose from the floor.

~ by R.S.Sharkey on May 8, 2011.

Posted in Short Stories
Tags: Justin, Lord Mithos, love story, Sarabrandae, short stories, Sir Arren, writing