While the sea breeze lifted my hair and brushed past my face, I felt my heart adrift, heading into to a new life where Isolde would be the only familiar person.
I turned to the left.
The young valet had given the love potion to my queen-to-be and the handsome knight.
“Oh no, ye fool,” I thought. I flung the rest away, knowing the essence of the herbal flowers was already racing through Tristan and Isolde’s blood.
But something pulled at the back of my thoughts, not yet articulated. I had noted that the King of Ireland had placed his daughter’s hand in Tristan’s to pledge a future marriage, with nephew to represent uncle. Perhaps God was using His love to build a deeper union than that of an Irish princess married to a certain English king. In truth, which pair had He been blessing?