"The Lady in the Locket" by Larry N. Morris

Blood, viscera and the stench of death, permeated what remained of the battlefield. The moans and pleas of the dying created an eerie counter-point to the cacophony of battle that ended less than an hour before. The enemy had fled the field and Reginald Lord Hatfield, the Earl of Long Glen, sagged with exhaustion as he walked, trance-like, through the remains of the slaughter. The early-summer day was hot, the sky cloudless and it was more than a mile back to his camp. He felt too weak to walk, but he had little choice. His horse had been killed under him. The earl wanted to be out of his armor but it would be easier to wear it back than to attempt to carry all of it. From the weight of the armor, and from his flagging strength, he set off on wobbly legs.

Lord Hatfield was vaguely aware of the looting of bodies that took place around him. Survivors—many of his own men among them—were picking through armor and weapons, coins and personal items, of the fallen; the right of the victor over the vanquished. Holding his helmet under one arm, Reggie wiped blood and sweat from his face, but abruptly, something caught his eye. It was beneath the dignity of a noble to loot the dead, of course, but he stepped closer to the body. Judging from the armor and the sword, the dead man was a knight, though a young one, but otherwise unidentifiable. He had been hit in the face with an axe, or mayhap a spiked maul. Sparkling brightly in the sunlight was a silver locket, an oval no larger than a gold coin, on a delicate silver chain. It was etched intricately and he knew at a glance it was an item of great expense.

He bent and picked up the locket, there wasn’t enough left of the man’s head to keep it around his neck. Driven by curiosity, he found a tiny latch at the bottom of the locket and opened it. In spite of his weariness and the carnage around him, he gasped in amazement. He was gazing upon a miniature painting of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her pose and her clothing suggested she was a noble . . . and she held him mesmerized. He felt his heart pound against his ribs much as it had during the rush of battle. If I were looking to wed, I just might have found a wife, he considered, as a smile played lightly at his lips. Reggie turned the locket slowly in his fingers, inspecting every minute detail, but he found nothing that would identify the dead man. The only clue to whom the woman was, the woman who held him breathless, was the name Laura, etched in tiny letters. After a time, he came back to himself and snapped the locket shut then slipped it behind his sword belt. There was work to be done. He was in agreement with those who claimed the hardest part of a battle was the cleaning up and recovery. This battle had been the final battle of the war, well, of this war. The rebels were broken and demoralized; they would not be able to offer further organized resistance. Reggie would be leading his men back to Long Glen soon, though most of them simply called it The Glen.

That evening, Reggie sat near a small fire accompanied by a few of his knights. Weary to the bone, he sat staring into the fire with the woman’s face a ghost within his mind. He withdrew the locket and opened it, only to gasp once again. With brown hair a tumble of long, loose curls, and with hazel eyes, she truly was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Who can she be? Where is she? What was her relationship to the dead man?

Exhausted from the day’s battle, he sighed and shrugged slightly while he slipped the chain around his neck and let the locket fall against his chest, inside his jerkin. The Earl of Long Glen wrapped his cloak around himself and lay down to sleep. As slumber took him, he realized in his last thoughts that the woman already haunted him; held him spell-bound. He knew his choices were limited to two. Somehow, somewhere, he must find her . . . that, or go mad.

Four days from the battlefield, it was yet a ten-day home. The slight breeze—little more than a zephyr—stirred Reggie’s jaw-length black hair . . . and stirred the banners leading the column as well. Just behind those banners the earl led his knights. The knights were followed by pipes and drums to set the cadence of march for all the foot that followed. Swords and axes, bows and pikes, they paced eagerly toward home. Supply wagons trailed the foot followed by the light cavalry; mounted commoners wielding spear-lance or mace and chain. In all, just over two hundred men were homeward bound. They were less than half of the five hundred from Long Glen who began this campaign.

Riding at the pace of marching infantry, Reggie had a good deal of time to think. He had aided the king in keeping his throne . . . again. His square-jawed face—ruggedly handsome to most women—was impassive, but his dark-blue eyes hinted at a gentle nature. If events continue to progress in this manner, I could end up becoming a duke. Reggie wasn’t driven to advance his rank . . . but he wasn’t opposed to it either. The Earl of Long Glen did not spend much time considering his potential advancement. Most of the time he was focused on another matter. The lady in the locket. With the chain wrapped around his hand the open locket lay in his palm. Reggie held it before him and studied her again. He took in every detail as though he hadn’t done so a hundred times already. My Lady Laura, who are you? Are you in the northern provinces whence the rebels came? I hold your picture, my Lady, but you hold my heart. He knew it was foolish, but he did love her. He was convinced of it. How would he ever find her?

“What’s this, my Lord, a trophy from the battle?” Sir Leland Wright had come agee to speak with him, a black adder on his red shield, the badge of Long Glen on his breast.

Reggie’s hand snapped shut and he jerked his arm down. “Nay, not a trophy. Something lost that I must return to the owner.” The knight was the oldest in the earl’s service and also his close friend.

“Five days, my Lord.”

“What?”

Sir Leland grinned mischievously. “It’s five days now that you have spent gapping at that bauble. It must be more than ‘something lost’ my Lord.”

“I have been so obvious?”

This time the knight barked a short laugh. “Only to those within a league or two.”

Reggie nodded as he exhaled a deep sigh. He should have known his obsession was obvious to others, but he just couldn’t help himself; he could not begin to conceal it. “There is indeed more to it. I’ll tell you of it when we camp tonight.”

A day from Glenhold, the castle of the earl, he halted the column and dispersed the men. They were already on the lands of Long Glen and each man could make his way to his own steading. The men all hurried away anxious to see wife or child or parents. On the cloudy afternoon of the following day, Lord Hatfield and his knights reached the castle and ended their journey just ahead of the rain. They were met just inside the bailey by Clifford Nystrom, the Chief Steward. He had served as chatelaine in the earl’s absence. “Well met, my Lord. Word has reached us that all went well.”

Reggie gave a gentle tug on the old man’s white beard. “All went very well, Master Nystrom, but we lost many men this time out. I trust all is in hand here as well.”

The old man bowed gracefully despite his age. “Everything is just as you would have it, my Lord. I deemed you might like bath and board before I give my report.”

“A bath will be a pleasure then you can give your report as we eat. Join me for a meal in the great hall in one hour.”

The meal done, Reggie sat fondling the silver locket and gazing at Laura’s picture as

Master Mystrom gave his reports. The Earl of Long Glen hardly heard the talk of crops and

animals, of castle repairs, of financial matters. He had always been a conscientious manager,

but his mind was lost in a swirl of the Lady in the Locket. He couldn’t concentrate on

anything save for the mysterious Laura. The lovely Laura. The haunting Laura.

“My Lord, is aught amiss?”

Reggie realized the steward had interrupted his reports and was staring at him, concern in his features. “I fear I must be in more need of sleep than I realized, Master Nystrom. I am unable to give you my full attention at the moment. Please forgive me, we shall continue this on the morrow.” Am I likely to concentrate any better tomorrow that I have since finding the locket? Reggie mused.

Six weeks after returning from the war, Reggie was a dervish of frustrated emotions. He wasn’t eating well. He couldn’t sleep properly. Without the ability to think clearly he was unable to function in the slightest administrative capacity. He had come to realize he truly would go mad if he did not do something to find the Lady Laura.

“You sent for me, my Lord?” Master Nystrom asked formally. Master Nystrom was never anything if not formal.

Reggie tugged the old man’s beard gently, a gesture of affection from childhood. The steward had practically been both his nurse and his mentor as he grew up. “I did, Old Friend. I have need of you to serve as chatelaine once again. I have decided to pursue a quest.”

The rise of Clifford Nystrom’s eyebrows was barley perceptible. For him it was an expression of amazement. “If I might ask, how long will his Lordship be away?”

“Unknown, Master Nystrom. I have no way to know how long this quest could take.”

“If I may be so forward, my Lord, what is the nature of this quest of such . . . undeterminable . . . length?”

Reggie grinned. “To find a woman, my old teacher. If fortune smiles, mayhap to find a wife.”

The steward’s eyebrows quivered slightly in surprise. “As you will, my Lord. When would you away?”

“I will prepare for the journey today and away at first light on the morrow.”

“And will you take an escort, my Lord?”

“I think not. This is something I must do alone.”

Reginald Lord Hatfield, the Earl of Long Glen, departed Glenhold Castle with the rising of the sun. He had no idea which direction to ride in order to pursue his quest. Finding the Lady Laura was certainly not something he could rush, so he rode with ease. Days became weeks as Reggie rode this way and that, seemingly in a haphazard pattern. Whenever he encountered someone, high born or low, he showed then the picture and asked if they recognized her face or her name. Travelers on the road, crofters in their fields, the folks in villages large and small would all shake their heads and shrug. “Nay, my Lord, sorry.”

One evening, sitting near a small campfire, he was struck with a realization. Though he seemed to be traveling about willy-nilly, he was moving ever northward. He was abruptly aware that he was being guided. By the locket! It hung against his chest and he could feel a pull in a single direction; feel it through the locket. When he contemplated this, another realization rushed through him. He was drawing nearer the woman he had not yet met, but with whom he had fallen in love. His confusion had become less, his mind had cleared. His anxiety had diminished. His dreams of her—a nightly occurrence—were more clear each night, more real. It was as if he already knew her.

Reggie heart raced, his pulse hammered in his temples. He had no need to search for her, she was drawing him to her. All he need so was to let the locket lead him. The how of it gave Reggie pause, yet it paled in comparison to his delight in knowing he would soon be with her.

Reggie rode for several more days. With each one that passed his contentment grew, he was more relaxed, the frustration fading. And yet, he could feel excitement filling him. At length, he arrived in a village of moderate size. Overlooking the village, from a vantage atop a large hill, was an extensive manor house. The first building he found as he breeched the edge of the village was a smithy. Before the building, seated on a bench, was an old man. Reggie reined up and addressed him. “Whose land is this, Goodman?”

The old man got to his feet and bobbed his head for a bow. “House Riley holds sway here ‘bouts, Milord.”

Reggie pointed up the hill. “And, is that the seat of house Riley?”

“’Tis Milord.”

“That be the Lady Laura, Milord, as she be the last o’ the Rileys. Will be soon anyhow, lest she marries soon.

Lady Laura Riley . . . and unwed. Reggie did his best to remain formal, but a smile nearly broke his demeanor. “I was led to believe the Lady Laura was an attractive woman,” he probed.

“Oh, aye, Milord. A true beauty is Lady Laura.”

“Then how is it she is unmarried? Is she a widow?”

“No widow, Milord. Many suitors have approached—noblemen from far and near. None ever stay long though, nor do any ever return.”

Reggie thanked the old man for his assistance and tossed him a few coppers. The man snatched the coins from the air with amazing dexterity. None managed to reach the ground.

The only inn the village hosted was The Prancing Unicorn. The earl wanted to be fresh when he approached the manor house. He took a room for one night and indulged in a hot bath and an excellent meal of roasted suckling pig before getting a full night’s sleep. Shortly after sunrise, Reggie dressed in the best clothes he had with him. A short ride gained him purchase of the seat of house Riley, the home of the Lady Laura. Heart drumming in his chest, palms sweating, he shifted from foot to foot while he waited for a maid to announce his presence.

When Laura appeared, he could scarcely breathe. She was even more beautiful that he had imagined. The painting in the locket did not begin to do her justice. He proffered the locket. “I believe this is yours, my Lady. I have grievous news of he who wore it.

Her voice was as soft as a kid glove. “Please, come sit, tell me of it.” She gestured toward the parlor.

Reggie followed her to find the room was dominated by a large oak display case. In the case were dozens of figurines, cast in pewter, each about eight inches tall. “An interesting collection, my Lady.”

“Each one is a nobleman brought to me by the locket. The spell only attracts noblemen.”

“Spell? I don’t understand.” Abruptly, Reggie gave a start. He pointed to one of the figurines. “I know this man. He is . . . was, Lord Snyder, the Duke of High Springs. He was lost in battle, or so it’s believed, his body was never identified.” He started to turn away and stopped short. Another figurine had caught his eye. “This one is James, Earl of Westshire. I met him once. He disappeared one day, never to be seen again”

Larua stepped beside his and placed a hand of his arm. “None is lost. Each one is here with me.” She gestured with a sweep of her hand. “You can see them before you.”

“Yes, fine likenesses, but I meant the men themselves.”

“And so too do I, Lord Hatfield. When they come to me, the locket has already affected them. They each turned to pewter, just as you will. You’ll be a fine addition to my collection.”

Her hand on his arm somehow paralyzed him. He couldn’t move away.