A Beautiful Curse

Chapter 1 - Past, Present and Future

Spring, 1670: England.

  I awoke in shock, my sheer nightgown stuck to my body in the most uncomfortable way. I breathed raggedly, pushing my slick hair away from my face.

I dreamed of that memory so often, the precious memory that it was, but in recent years it had changed. I could imagine the story she told, in vivid detail, in the eyes of creatures that just so happened to be watching the scenes unfold. I stood tall over the knight once and my voice was not my own. And I woke every morning with a pair of burning green eyes, surrounded in darkness, scorching into my mind's eye, so real I still believed that the creature was there in front of me.

"Marm?"

I looked at the door, focusing on the familiar knocking and the voice of my maid. Embarrassment washed over me as I realised where, in fact, I was. I flung the bedclothes off my sweating legs and quickly retrieved the dressing gown from the chair beside the long mirror. Quickly donning the gown over my soaked nightdress and fixing my damp hair, I called out shakily, "Come in, Matilda."

The pudgy young woman entered the guest bedchamber with a warm smile and greeted me like she did every morning.

I nodded politely to her but didn't say anything as I folded my arms under breast and moved to stand by the window as Matilda opened the heavy curtains.

She turned to assess me and in her concern for me, she touched my face gingerly and said, "Have you been having those dreams again, marm?"

I nodded slowly, sighing tiredly. "As it is every night."

"Oh, marm," Matilda sighed wearily. "Are you sure you took the laudanum?"

"I'm completely sure, Matilda. The bottle is half empty," I stated quickly in frustration, pointing at the small, thick-glass bottle on the dressing table.

Matilda sighed again, placing one hand on her hip and the other on her forehead, rubbing below the cap. "Well, I'm not sure anymore, marm. Mayhap, that dragon of a mother is causing these problems in your head."

"Stepmother," I corrected, mumbling under my breath. I then spoke louder, "Yes, she may have something to do with it. The prospect of marriage is not helping either."

Matilda gasped all of a sudden and rushed to the great wooden wardrobe.

I groaned, my frustration growing some more. I had forgotten – or rather, wish I had – about the ball at the King's court that night.

My father, Sir Robert Bard, had received a personal invitation from the king to attend the latest gathering of pompous arrogant peers of the realm. My stepmother was ecstatic of course. This gave her an opportunity to introduce her daughter to eligible knights and lords of the king's court.

Matilda walked to the grand bed and laid the extravagant dress across the disarranged bedclothes.

"Oh, marm, you are going to look so beautiful. The color will compliment your hair so well."

I moved to stand beside her. It was a beautiful gown. I appreciated what my father could give me. This dress before me was designed specifically for balls, the colors being a shimmering grape and golden lace trimmings for the edges of the dress. Pearls studded along the lace, sewn into corners, edges and pleats. To top it off, a wide golden lace ruff started from the top of the bodice and curved up the collar, around the back of the neck. It was a truly impressive gown.

Matilda rambled, "I shall wind pearls on strands through your hair to match it. Pearl earrings and perhaps the gold chain with the amethyst pendant."