Ronnie’s mind was spinning, but somehow his question slipped out. “Will he find a turkey there and bring it home to you?”
She laughed. “Mayhaps. I asked him to bring me back a bird. I have a fondness for the creatures.”
And then he saw it. She had tilted her head back when she laughed such that the sunlight fell full on her face. Her bonnet slipped, falling back from her head, and when she opened her eyes the sun burst clear and full on her eyes.
Blue. Cerulean blue. The color of clarity and purity. It called to him in the way of a holy relic. And like a gong sounding from the heavens, his soul was rocked a third and most devastating time.
“Oh!” she cried as her bonnet began to slip from her head. She caught it, but he was faster. One hand caught a ribbon, but the other touched her face. He knew the pristine cream of her skin, and the elegant line of her jaw. And when he tilted her face again toward the sun, he saw the absolute beauty of a goddess.
And then a miracle happened. A miracle such as he had never known before. Words tumbled through his mind. Sonnets cast in iambic pentameter, but also line after line of epic poetry such as would rival that of Virgil or Homer. The words were simply there like the fountain of knowledge in his mind, and they did not stop!
Whereas before, he always had to struggle for his work. He agonized over every line, but suddenly it was all there. A well full of glorious words and all because of her.
“All yet seems well; and if it end so meet. The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet,” he intoned. Why he had uttered Shakespeare’s words, he had not a clue. But then she smiled at him, her lips curving into the most perfect bud of rosy beauty.
“The king’s a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won.”
He gaped at her while his knees turned weak. She had quoted back to him! Shakespeare’sAll’s Well that Ends Well. Even Mellie had never done such a thing, as she’d no interest in reading plays, much less memorizing them enough to echo couplets back to him.
“Sir!” the woman cried as he fell to his knees before her. “Sir, are you well?”
“I am…I am…” He was flummoxed, confounded, and perplexed. He was dizzy with all that had transpired. He saw it now, as clear as if it were laid before him on a map. The constant frustrations with Mellie. The surety that she was his glorious destiny, and yet his utter inability to win her.
It had all been for this moment now. With this woman. If he had not chased Mellie, she would not have fled to London. If he had not followed her there, she would not have given him a quest. And if it were not for the damned bird, he would not have stumbled during the duel, lost Mellie’s hand, and ended up here at this crossroads where his true love would find him.
“Sir, you are unwell. Pray come up on my cart. I am heading home now, but I know of a inn close by where you can rest out of the heat.”
Words continued to spill in wondrous currents. Epic poetry, sweet couplets, even a short play. They were all there in his mind, but nothing came from his lips. Nothing that would express the depth of his gratitude and awe.
“Come sir,” she pressed as she helped him stagger to the cart. “And would you bring your bird too?”
Bird? The noble beast that God had used as a vehicle for his divine will? Of course he—
“Oh! Oh look. He’s already in the cart.”
Sure enough, the turkey had at some point pecked or fluttered or leaped his way into the back of the cart.
Ronnie smiled. “A gift for you, my lady.”
“Oh sir, I am not—”
“You are to me. If I may… Could I inquire as to your name, fair goddess?”
She smiled, her blush pinking her cheeks such as the goddess Aurora might paint on the morning sky. “It’s Grace, sir. I’m—”
“My Grace.”
“Sir!”
“My muse. My inspiration.”
“Oh!”
He watched her then, bracing himself for the grimace of distaste or the slight roll of her eyes. That was, after all, what people did when the lyrical words fell unrestrained from his lips. But she did none of those things. Instead, her blush deepened, her eyes sparkled, and she whispered as if it were something she ought not say.
“Sit beside me, sir, if you will. And…and tell me more.”
More! She wanted more! And there was more. A whole ocean of words and poetry that she inspired waiting to spill forth.