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LENGTH: Novella
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Jenny Dixon 2006
ISBN 1-58608-998-6
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Nolan Tremaine's love of telling tall tales lands him in trouble when he enters into a wager with a stranger. Unwilling to admit he'd never heard the land of Connachta, his pride prompts him to accept the stranger's
challenge and he sails from his homeland to find a land he's never heard of-in search of a sacred bell.

Disconcerted when he discovers the bell is a belle--The Princess of Bellarmine--Nolan quickly discovers the wager is less important than the lady's happiness, for as far above his station as she is, he can not help but fall in love with her.

Rating: Contains violence, adult content, and sexual content.

THE PRINCESS AND THE CURSE

By

S.A. Martin

© copyright December 2006, S.A. Martin
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright December 2006
ISBN Number
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Nolan Tremaine smiled as he strolled the cobblestone streets of his village of Baile Beag, headed for the White Ship Tavern, for he enjoyed whiskey, women, and a good time--not always in that order. Part of having a good time was relating his travels as a fisherman, and if he embellished his tales a little, so what? No one could call him a liar. He merely exaggerated a bit.

Passing a fabric store and a shoe repair shop, he reached the tavern where a few men stood outside, talking about the weather and their crops. He exchanged greetings, since everyone knew him here in the village. He pulled at the heavy oaken door and stepped into the crowded room, filled mostly with men but also several women, all talking and laughing, drinking ale or whiskey. A few patrons were eating a late meal of mutton, boiled cabbage, and oat bread, apparently oblivious to the smoke of countless pipes that hung over the room like a fog. Nolan found an empty table and drew out a chair, smiling and nodding to the others he knew, which included just about everyone in the room. Aware that the evening was young and hopeful that others would soon join him, he didn't mind sitting by himself for a short while, as long as he had company later. He loved people, whether friends or strangers.

He ordered a shot of whiskey from Betha, the pretty, buxom barmaid whose favors he'd enjoyed more than once. She brushed his hand as she took his order, and when she returned a few minutes later, she bent low, giving him a good glimpse of what she had to offer, as if he could forget! He hoped this evening would bring more than a glass of whiskey.

The door opened and a stranger stepped into the room, a tall man whose sun-bleached blond hair glinted gold under the lamplight. He had a commanding mien about him, like one accustomed to giving orders. He peered around the room, his gaze settling on Nolan.

"Mind if I join you?" the stranger asked as he reached Nolan's table and pulled out a chair.

Nolan inclined his head. "Happy to have you. Don't like sitting by myself."

"Neither do I." The stranger sat down and caught the barmaid's attention, gesturing toward Nolan's whiskey glass. Soon he joined him in a drink. "So tell me," the stranger said, "how do you spend your days?"

Nolan grinned. "I see you're a stranger in this village. Everyone knows I'm a fisherman. Got the biggest catch today you'd ever want to see. Why, I caught so many fish in my net, I feared my boat would sink."

"Is that so? Where do you fish to get such a catch?"

Nolan gestured widely. "Miles and miles away, far out in the ocean, where sea monsters prowl the deep, and mermaids greet me from the rocky islands." He grinned. "The mermaids and I have become very good friends, if you know what I mean."

"Is that so?" the stranger repeated. "Hmm, mermaids. How do you, uh, how can you--"

"We manage," Nolan replied with a smile. "Ah, yes, those mermaids know how to please a man. They can hardly wait to see me." He winked. "I give 'em what they want." So intent Nolan was in telling his tall tales, the noise and laughter faded away, replaced by enjoyment in hoodwinking the man. From the corner of his eye, he saw occasional glances thrown their way, for visitors were rare in the village. He guessed that those nearest him were listening to the conversation.

The stranger raised his eyebrow. "Does your wife know about these mermaids?"

"Oh, I'm not married. Having too much fun as a bachelor." When he did marry, he could support a wife very well, aye, could even afford a maid, for he'd saved much silver over the years, money he kept in a locked box under his bed. But marriage lay far in the future.

"Sounds as if you live an exciting life," the stranger said. He drank his whiskey. "But what if I told you I've been to Connachta and back? What would you say to that?"

Nolan wanted to sink into the floor. He'd never heard of Connachta, but he'd walk the streets of Baile Baeg stark naked before he'd admit his ignorance. "So you've been to Connachta and back. Nothing special about that. I could sail there any day."

"Is that so?" the stranger said for the third time. "Well, next time you go, be sure to fetch the Blessed Bell of Bellarmine and bring the bell here. That will prove you've been to Connachta and back."

Nolan snapped his fingers. "Easy to do." But where in hell was Connachta? And what in hell was the Blessed Bell of Bellarmine?

"So can I assume you're going to Connachta?" the stranger asked, not waiting for an answer. "When do you intend to return?" He gave him a cool smile, as if aware of Nolan's dilemma.

Excuses raced through Nolan's head. "Depends on the weather." He waved his hand airily. "I'll not sail in a strong wind. Any fisherman worth his job knows better than that."

"Of course. Well, then. I shall be here at the next full moon. By that time, I'll expect you to have returned." He wagged his finger at Nolan. "But don't forget to bring back the Blessed Bell of Bellarmine. In that way, I'll know you've been to Connachta."

"You doubt I can bring the bell back?" A trace of belligerence crept into Nolan's voice.

"We'll see." The stranger smiled enigmatically. "If you bring the bell back, that will be proof enough. Shall we make a wager? If you don't return with the Bell of Bellarmine, or if you don't give up the bell to me, I shall tell everyone what a liar you are. I'll take your boat, your net, everything you own."

Now you've done it, Nolan lamented. You've gone too far this time. But he'd never admit his mistake. By this time, he knew everyone around him heard their talk and would judge him by it. "Agreed! I'm a man of my word, as you'll find out, soon enough." He drained his whiskey glass with a flourish.

"Well, then." The stranger finished his own glass. He shoved his chair back and stood. "I'll see you next full moon."

Shortly after, Nolan left and approached the men gathered outside the tavern, but none of them knew where Connachta was. He trudged home toward his empty cottage, his heart heavy.

The sun was sinking in a blaze of gold and coral, a breeze ruffling his hair and cooling his face. His booted feet scuffed along the dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust. Trees and bushes lined both sides of the road, here and there a cottage. The wind picked up, and a few faint stars twinkled in a sky that was rapidly turning from light blue to gray. So deep was Nolan in thought and misery, he jumped when an owl hooted from a tree limb, then he laughed at his foolishness. He bit his lip, and for a moment he considered forgetting about the challenge. He'd stay away from the tavern and let the man fret while he waited in vain. But no, he couldn't reveal himself as a braggart and one who went back on his word, even if he didn't know where Connachta was. When would he ever learn not to tell tall tales? And when would he learn to admit his ignorance? His skin chilled as he dwelt on his plight. He could hardly put out to sea when he didn't know which direction in which to sail. He gazed up at the full moon, as if he could find an answer there, but was cheered by the fact that he had another month to complete his quest. A long time!

Suddenly, he remembered a wise old man who lived on a hill in Tailitu, not far from his own house. This might be his last chance to discover where Connachta was, and if the old man didn't know, then Nolan was out of luck, out of his house and all that he owned. In the distance, the hill rose above him, and soon he reached his destination. Stepping over boulders and thick tree roots, he climbed the steep incline, his long legs stretching, dislodging stones.

The wise old man sat on a boulder at the summit, looking for all the world as if he'd been waiting for him. He wore a flowing black robe, his white hair ruffling in the wind, a mysterious air about him.

He greeted Nolan with a nod and a smile. "Well, son, how can I help you? For it's obvious you've come to me with a question."

"A question, yes." He bent to brush the dust from his trousers and smooth back his hair, giving him time to think how he should phrase his query, for he suspected he couldn't fool the man with subterfuge. "A stranger has challenged me to sail to Connachta and back, but I have no idea where the place is."

The old man stared at Nolan. "Connachta! A country on the other side of the world! So it doesn't matter if you sail north or south. Whichever way you go, you'll find it."

The other side of the world! Nolan swallowed. He wished he'd never met this stranger at the tavern, never bragged about the places he'd never visited, nor the mermaids he'd never seen.

"How many days will it take to get there?"

"Hard to say," the wise man replied. "I've never been there myself. Depends on the weather, your skill in handling a boat, oh, many things."

How could he get out of this task? He might not come back, might be attacked by sea monsters, his body left to rot.

Another question consumed him. "What about the Blessed Bell of Bellarmine?" He held his breath and then let it out slowly. Cursed Bell of Bellarmine is more like it.

The wise old man shook his head. "Don't know anything about that."

Nolan thanked the man and headed down the hill as worries and problems chased themselves in his mind. By this time, complete darkness had fallen over the countryside, prompting him to step carefully. He grimaced. If he fell down the hill and broke his leg, he'd have an excuse for not sailing to Connachta.

* * * *

Early the next morning, Nolan loaded his boat with ample supplies of food and water, for no telling how long it would take him to reach Connachta and return home. He climbed into his boat and hoisted his sail, and soon the boat was skimming across the waves. In the east, the sun shone bright, a great ball of fire, its rays glistening on the water, and he shaded his eyes against the glare. He tried to look on the optimistic side of this endeavor. He was going to a place he'd never visited, journeying far beyond his home and village. Just hope I meet a few women in Connachta, he mused, his thoughts already on bedding them. Yet he wondered how he'd know the waters of Connachta when he saw them.

Time lost all meaning as he sailed on, the ocean a never-ending expanse of salt water and waves, the wind filling his sail. He frowned as a sea mist settled around him, his worry increasing as he sailed on, for the mist showed no end, no sign of lifting. Strange, though, that the wind continued to fill his sail as he cleaved on through the blue waters. He owned no timepiece, but it seemed to him as if minutes and hours were measured differently the farther out he sailed.

Abruptly, the mist lifted, and a sandy yellow shoreline stretched in front of him. He looked far ahead, where the land stretched on and on with no end. Dark green trees and colorful flowers lined the shore, a welcome relief after the many hours he'd spent on the ocean. Wooded hills rose ahead of him. But where was he?

Reaching the shore, he stepped into the water that lapped up to his knees, then brought his boat far up on the sand, for now leaving his supplies aboard. He looked around to see if the place looked familiar. An old woman sat on a rock by the beach, a sight so odd he blinked his eyes and nearly jumped. What was she doing here? Clad in black, her shoulders were bent, a yellow shawl draped around them.

His booted feet sank into the sand as he approached the woman, hindering his steps. A warm breeze tossed tree branches and rustled the grass and flowers.

He stopped beside the woman, praying she'd understand his language, for if not, he was in trouble. How could he ask her where he was, or how to find Connachta? He inclined his head as he stopped by the crone perched on a rock. "Good day to you, madam. I hope you speak Gaelic." Countless wrinkles tracked her weatherbeaten face, her hair white and falling to her shoulders.

"Bannaghtyn!" she said in greeting.

He breathed a long sigh of relief, happy beyond words that she spoke his language. Yet that fact presented a new worry, for if she spoke his language, he might have merely returned to his own country again.

"What land is this?" he cried, convinced he'd embarked on a lost cause. Would he never find Connachta?

She gave him a wary smile. "What land do you seek?"

Afraid to hope, he replied, "Connachta."

Her smile widened. "This is it."

Nolan released a long sigh, wanting to shout, dance, sing with joy. But another question pressed against his mind, like a headache. "Where do I find the Blessed Bell of Bellarmine?"

The woman snickered. "You're asking a lot of questions, young man."

"Questions for which I need answers." After all this, would he still fail in his search? If she didn't know, then he feared he was lost. "I have promised someone I would bring the Bell of Bellarmine back to my own country."

She nodded in understanding. "You can't go back on your word. Just follow this path," she said, turning to point behind her, "and it will take you to the king's palace. There you will find what you are looking for." Then she stood and was gone, just like that! He couldn't swear she had disappeared, for he'd followed her gesture toward the path. Still, it seemed strange that she had vanished so quickly.

Mentally bracing himself for the short trek--for he'd never seen a king's palace--he followed the rocky path, breathing in the scent of the ocean and the fresh aroma of grass. The luscious fragrance of lavender drifted his way, their tall stalks covering the ground and bending in the breeze. He saw a grand palace a short distance ahead, its walls shining golden in the brilliant sunlight. From one of the turrets, a flag whipped in the wind, a flash of purple and gold against the blue sky. A few white clouds floated overhead--a lovely day, if only he found the bell. The deep green wooded hills came into closer focus. Here and there wooden houses dotted the hills. He came upon a red brick path that led up to the palace, quite the most magnificent home he'd ever seen. Could he just walk inside, or did he need the king's invitation? He shrugged and decided to brazen through the task.

The doors to the palace stood open, and he entered, trying to look inconspicious, a difficult task, his plain clothes a drab contrast to the rich silk and satin costumes. The noblemen and their ladies crowded a vast room, dancing on a marble floor while musicians on a dais played a merry tune. Tables loaded with food lined two sides of the spacious room, enough bounty to feed the entire population of his country. Nolan stood and stared in wonder. Round tables were set at the edge of the room, where nobles and their ladies sat and drank from gold goblets. The chatter of countless voices filled the room. Crystal chandeliers glittered above him, with no need of candles, for bright sunlight streamed through the open door, bringing everything into clear focus. As Nolan moved farther into the room, he caught the aroma of ham, cheese, and fresh fruits, and his stomach grumbled. Gods, was he ever hungry!

He saw an old woman standing near the entrance, not twenty feet from him. He glanced at her twice, for she suspiciously resembled the woman by the shore, but this one was wearing a green shawl.

With an air of nonchalance, Nolan strolled across the marble floor and stood before her. He gestured toward the men and women dancing, the band on the dais, the tables of food. "What's happening here?"

She gave him a look of surprise and pointed across the room. "Why, sir, the king's daughter is getting married."

Nolan followed her gesture and saw the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, adorned in a fine white bridal dress, the silk dotted with gleaming pearls and diamonds. But she didn't look happy, her red-rimmed eyes revealing only sorrow.

"Why is she so sad?" he asked the woman, "when everyone else here is happily celebrating?"

"Ah, little do you know. She is being married against her will, for she has no love for her future husband. Just look," she said, nodding her head in the other direction. "Now perhaps you'll understand why she doesn't want to marry the man."

He gulped as he looked in the direction she indicated. There, at one of the tables along the wall, sat an evil-looking man with a hooked nose and green skin, his face covered with leprous spots. Fat and squat, with sausage-like fingers he raised his goblet to his thick lips. Nolan all but burst with amazement and pity for the princess. He forgot about finding the Bell of Bellarmine, forgot everything but his sympathy for the princess.

"How can the king marry his daughter to that?"

The old woman shrugged. "Why don't you ask her?"

Before Nolan could reply, she disappeared from the crowd. He stood, rooted to the spot, for the second time that day stunned by a woman's quick disappearance.

Seeing the princess by herself, he gathered his courage and walked across the room, surprised no one accosted him or asked his business, for he was as out of place in a palace as a horse in an herbal shop.

He stopped beside the princess. Taken aback by her beauty, he found himself speechless, and he feared she'd think him a mute. Her honey-blonde hair brushed her shoulders, and her eyes were the bluest he'd ever seen. Yet his heart turned over at the grief etched on her face. The fresh scent of camomile wafted around her, the pearls and diamonds on her silk gown dazzling his eyes. The gown's decolletage gave a hint of her full breasts, and the silky fabric hugged her slim, shapely hips. Her fingers were long and delicate. She had white, dainty hands with smooth, unblemished skin. Despite his worry at her dilemma, a new feeling swept over him, an emotion so new, he could scarce define it.

She looked up at him in joyful surprise and then turned away for a moment, as if afraid to hope for any rescue from her terrible plight.

He bowed low. "Forgive me, lady, for approaching you like this, but it saddens me to see such a lovely lady so unhappy."

"Well, can you blame me?" She inclined her head toward her future husband, who sat at a table gobbling a slice of ham, then stuffing his mouth with grapes. His face held a look of evil intent, as though he'd destroy the palace and everyone in it. "You think I want to marry him?" Her mouth tightened. "I won't marry him."

"Then why are you doing it? If your father loves you--and how could he not?--surely he would consider your wishes."

"Ah, if only you knew!" She paused, brushing her hands across her reddened eyes. "You see, a curse has been placed on our land--"

"A curse?"

She turned away for a moment, then faced him again, blushing. "That ... that the women will all remain barren until the curse is lifted."

"But what does your marrying that man have to do with lifting the curse?"

"Prince Maccus--he's the one who placed the curse. And he won't lift it until I marry him." A sob escaped her. "I have no choice! What can I do?"

Steeped in her sorrow, he nevertheless realized he hadn't introduced himself. "If only I could help you, dear lady, but I'm only a poor fisherman from Ban Fearann. Nolan Tremaine, at your service, and I fear I don't know your name."

She inclined her head. "Leslie, Princess of Bellarmine."

"Bellarmine!" He jerked, remembering his quest. "Perhaps you can tell me where to find the Bell of Bellarmine?"

She frowned in thought and then her face brightened. "Sir, you are seeking not a bell that rings, but a 'belle,' which is how many of my father's subjects refer to me. Many call me the Belle of Bellarmine."

"Then, lady, you are the one I have come for!"