by Tamara Leigh
Even were he inclined to impart knowledge and skills he did not believe would gain Edgar a crown though they might enable him to stay ahead of his enemies without sacrificing others, he could not without forswearing his oath, which could prove of detriment to his family.
Prepared for the young man who came seeking forgiveness to forget his good intentions, Theriot shifted his grip on the dagger at his side. “To remain a Norman of integrity, I must keep the oath given my liege. Though I care for your sisters, I cannot aid you.”
Edgar breathed in, Edgar breathed out. “I had to ask,” he said and strode forward.
Theriot opened the door.
The prince paused on the threshold. “If now you question my sincerity in seeking absolution for my offenses, know it stands. Good day.”
Then despite his refusal to give aid, there might be civility between them whilst Theriot remained at Dunfermline. A good thing, perhaps even answered prayer.
Though it was not required Theriot answer the princess’s summons, he had come. What was required was he yield his dagger upon entering the garden. He did not begrudge Malcolm the precaution. As with all things precious, one must guard what others might take whether by way of harm or theft.
Halting before the queen-to-be who wore a gown of pink where she perched on a bench, he dipped his head. “Princess.”
“Take your ease beside me, Sir Theriot.”
Keeping a reach between them that should satisfy the guards around a garden of greater size than the one inside the palace’s walls, he lowered.
“Though once more I wish to beseech the Lord on your behalf, first I would speak of Marguerite,” she said.
As suspected, just as he thought possible his meeting with her brother would be discussed. “What of the lady?”
“With Malcolm’s leave and accompanied by guards who shall remain with her, she has departed for her home in the village of Widden.”
A good thing, he told himself.
“She has become dear to me, Sir Theriot.”
“She is worthy of your friendship, as you are worthy of hers, Princess.”
“Allow me to return the compliment by saying you are worthy of the same,” she said, then groaned. “It is dishonest to name what she feels for you mere friendship.”
Then Marguerite had confessed love for him? Or was this woman merely perceptive?
“Indeed, I would say what she feels is at least as great as what I feel for the king. And I do not believe her feelings are misplaced. Though they may not be returned in equal measure, I think there is mutual longing, meaning if—”
“If,” he said sharply, causing her guards to tense. Drawing a deep breath, he heard again the answer come across the sea—Only three needed to make it possible. God, your mother, and me. Theriot wanted to believe the Almighty was a bridge between great division, but once again doubt.
“Chevalier?”
“If is a long reach.” He hesitated, then decided to let her in. “And impossibly long should prayers for my healing remain unanswered.”
“Unanswered?” she said with disbelief warranted only had he fully recovered his sight.
“Aye, as may be the fate of most prayers cast heavenward.”
She gasped. “I am thinking even ere clouds came unto your eyes, you did not see well, Sir Theriot!”
Though her words offended, he regretted discomposing her. “Be assured, I know of my good fortune, Princess.”
“Fortune? It is not—” She sighed. “Forgive me for speaking ere ensuring my words are pleasing to the Lord.”
“I am the one who should seek forgiveness.”
“Then we are both forgiven. Now walk with me amid this garden whose beauty can be known well beyond sight.”
They rose. Though the guards surely disapproved of her taking his arm, Theriot knew she sought to ensure his ease of movement in this unfamiliar place. He did not as greatly fear the humiliation of stumbling since in sunlight he could make sense of paths running between beds of flowers, trees, and hedges, but still he believed it best not to reveal the world before him was no longer only dark amid light.
They walked in silence, during which he learned the garden’s arrangement, location of guards, and boundaries that on one side was wall, two sides grass sloping away from the palace, and one side mostly dirt and rocks descending to the glen.
The princess halted. “God has been here…is here.” She released him and swept a hand over a bush of lustrous green and blooms of purple. “Just as I believe every prayer is heard, from the unspoken to the shouted and ranted, I believe all are answered, even when one does not feel God’s presence nor attend to His response. Hence, I submit what you think unanswered prayer for it failing to yield what you wish is God saying, That is not My plan for you, rather than, Go your own way though it is distant from Mine. It is Him saying, That is not right for you now, rather than, Do what is right for you in this moment though it is wrong in the next.”
She replenished her breath. “Like others of my family, I struggle to accept not being given that for which beseechings have pained knees and cried eyes dry, but ever I cling to it being a better thing to endure the ache of what is denied than the disease of rejecting my heavenly Father’s guidance.”
Though her words squeezed into places made resistant these past months, not only did Theriot consider his own disappointment over prayers for the remedy of his loss but her people’s disappointment over prayers for their losses.
“Alas, I thought the faith of the man for whom I pray daily was of good strength despite being shaken,” the princess misinterpreted his silence. “I believed you, a Norman born into an honorable family of privilege, a warrior who survived Hastings without great injury or deformity, and a conqueror free of the oppression of the conquered, would embrace much evidence of answered prayer. Are you truly of the faith?”
“I believe in God.” Though he intended to say no more, her extraordinary faith made him yield. “My parents’ beliefs were passed to me and embraced—likely too easily for the many blessings I attributed to favor shown me by the Lord. Now…”
He lifted his face to the sky and thought how blue it was distant from where the sun hung. “Of late, much I ponder my uncle’s beliefs. Though he acknowledged God’s existence, he said only the deceived and desperate believe the Creator does more than look down upon His creation—that even if one committed every beat of his heart to prayer, God would not intervene. He told what people name blessings are the result of great effort, the kindness of others, chance, and good fortune, and he pointed out that if God is present and just, people of ill intent would not prevail over good.”
“I have heard that argument,” she said. “Still you pray, do you not?”
“In the hope God will intervene, showing Himself capable and willing to restore my vision, I continue to go to Him.”
“Then He who ought not serve is made to serve as mere reinforcement, the same as soldiers held in reserve lest those doing battle begin to fall.”
That struck Theriot as very wrong—at first because she believed his regard for the Lord was so conditional, then because he gave her much cause.
“I fear you suffer from what afflicts Edgar,” she said, reminding him of his meeting with her brother of which she might or might not be aware. “Whilst we dwelt at the court of King Edward, our every need and desire met and good futures assured, little was expected of us. And that was especially true of Edgar due to his age and that the king, being a poor administrator and no warrior, asked even less of his great nephew. For that, warring came to my brother only slightly better than faith which more often seems a shrug upon his shoulders than a mantle clasped close.”
It was as the prince had told and of which there was much evidence, though his shortcomings were not the same as this D’Argent’s. “Little may have been expected of your brother,” Theriot said, “but that is not true of me.”
“I know none should question the warrior of you, and I believe your f
aith stronger than my brother’s though you entertain doubt, but as you told, much in your life came easy. For that, methinks you are afflicted the same as Edgar. Just as he was not seriously tested in his younger years, neither were you in such a way you had to look beyond yourself and others to rise above life’s struggles—that previous to your terrible loss, the fires from which you emerged merely singed.”
Theriot could not argue that.
“I do not believe it necessary for all to face life-changing adversity to grow faith of a strength that neither fails them nor the Lord, but others…” Her shoulders rose and fell. “It is arrogance to believe the bright of one’s life a result of things beyond God’s abilities and desires. And ungrateful to believe when bad things happen to the good it is proof God either does not heed prayer or does not exist. I think—nay, I know—the many blessings preceding the pain and the blessings yet to come are further proof of His existence and work in our lives.”
Theriot curled fingers into the cloth cut from his tunic. Was she right? Though God had not prevented him from being blinded and might not restore his sight, previously had He kept all manner of weapons from slaying this warrior at Hastings and in the battles and encounters since—if not in answer to Theriot’s prayers then those of his family?
As if the princess waded amid his thoughts, she said, “We may never learn why He shields us from one thing and not another, but He does answer prayer—in His way, in His time.”
He wanted to believe it, to clasp his faith closer, but his thoughts returned to the multitude whose prayers had not been answered as hoped. “Would you speak the same to the people you left behind in England, Princess? Saxon prayers for a good outcome at Hastings had to be more impassioned than those of Normans who had all to gain from opponents with all to lose. In the years since, even greater the suffering of your people, especially innocents. How much more suffering before God answers them well? Or will He not, their conquering punishment for sins as my king claims?”
“It could be punishment. Much ungodliness in Saxon-ruled England, much ungodliness in Norman-ruled Normandy, much ungodliness in all the world. Regardless, though we may not agree with how God sets things right, we must trust in Him. Thus, were I given the opportunity to stand before my people, that I would tell them even were it received no better than my brother receives it.”
That last inclining him to believe she was unaware he had met with Edgar, he started to reveal it, but she set a hand on his arm. “You question if your loss of sight is punishment?” she asked.
“I have, if not the blinding, then the absence of healing.”
He saw her nod. “Only God knows, though perhaps in time you will as well if you look back with all honesty at the trail of months—even years—that lead from now to then.”
“Perhaps.”
“I am glad to know more of you, Sir Theriot. Now better I may go to the Lord on your behalf and that of Marguerite.”
It having come back around to that lady, he said, “I will leave you to your prayers.”
“Ere you go, allow me to give you one more thing to think on. When I arrived in Scotland with my family, I had little hope of making a life far from all I knew and loved, and yet God made a way for me by opening my eyes to the beauty of this country and the love others have to offer me. Though your eyes may never see what mine see, I believe your heart will—if you allow it.”
Theriot stared at the golden-haired exile who wished him to remain in Scotland, trusting that God, Marguerite, and he could make it possible as God, Robine, and Godfroi had made their love possible, then started to turn away. However, recalling he had yet to tell what might encourage her as she sought to encourage him, he said, “Your brother came to me this day.”
She gasped.
“He asked for forgiveness and told though you urged him to seek it, prayer at your side was what moved him.”
“Merciful Father, I thought him barely present. Did you think him sincere?”
“More I believed him than not.”
She sniffed. “Prayer not yet answered as I hope the Lord will answer it, but nearer. I thank you.”
He inclined his head. “Good day, Princess.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Widden, Dunfermline
Early Summer, 1070
Malcolm had not wanted to let her go, but tears evidencing her love for Theriot had moved him and, as expected, it was not alone she returned to her village.
Her sire having built his home on a hill that permitted him to keep watch on his liege’s residence when Diarmad was absent, easily he had stayed apprised of those who came and went. In the rare instance he was needed, a spurring of his mount had quickly delivered him to Malcolm’s side.
Hence, being so near the palace and far from isolated with neighbors a short walk away, four men-at-arms were not warranted to protect her. Still, she had not argued with Malcolm, being too grateful to distance herself from Theriot. But this day, three weeks following her departure, she would see him again.
He was still there, she was fairly certain since the guards who lodged in the barn were relieved by others once a week and she never heard talk of Malcolm sending the silvered chevalier back to England.
Standing taller, Marguerite told herself she must avoid Theriot for five days only. Once her king and Meg were wed and the celebration came to a close, she would leave again.
“Five days,” she spoke aloud to the garden which had required much toiling to return it to life. It was too late in the season to yield much, but it would be plenty for one woman.
Two had Cannie not been slain, the thought slipped in nearly as often as thoughts of her parents.
“Lady!” a man-at-arms called.
She raised her skirts and, stepping stone to stone on the path laid by her father, hastened to the front of the cottage where a guard aided her in mounting.
After confirming all her packs were secured to the saddle, she looked out across summer-swept hills to the tower of Malcolm Canmore and wedding guests traveling the road before it, then nodded at those eager to end their monotonous guard over her.
Before they rode out of sight, she could not help looking around to ensure she returned to the cottage, just as done when last she departed to bring her mother home. Recalling it was Cannie who had encouraged her to always shine love back at that to which she wished to return, and that the older woman had also looked around, a sound of distress escaped Marguerite.
But I shall return, she told herself and determinedly imagined a time when another would be at her side and also look back.
When the cracks in this heart seal themselves, she thought, I shall find someone else to love.
“What is to be your answered prayer this day, Sir Theriot?”
Though often since Marguerite’s departure the princess asked it of him, and he revealed prayers mostly of little consequence beyond full restoration of his sight as well as his unnatural sense whose strength still was not what it had been, this day was different. This day Marguerite returned.
“It is for the burden of Lady Marguerite’s feelings for me to be lifted,” he said, “allowing her to give her heart to another.”
The princess’s disappointment felt, she halted center of the hall.
Theriot ceased his advance toward the doors that were his destination following the simple meal that would be the last of its kind until after the wedding celebration. When he and Dubh turned to her, once more he had to acknowledge how little his eyesight had changed since Marguerite’s departure. Though previously the return of form and color had been gradual, it had been steady enough to give him some hope of full recovery. Not so these past weeks.
“We shall see what Marguerite and God think of that prayer,” the princess said, “no matter you would have it answered one way and I would have it another.”
Theriot inclined his head. “I thank you for the conversation at table. Now as promised your sister, I shall accompany her to the glen.”
S
he sighed. “Further preparations for the wedding. It makes me wish a handfasting with a few witnesses were acceptable. But vows spoken with much ceremony it must be.”
And more elaborate for the marriage of a king, Theriot knew from all the commotion. “Soon it will be past, then the English princess who lost all will gain more as Scotland’s queen,” he said, “and even more her new people will gain.”
“So the king says. Just as I am grateful for his confidence, I am grateful for yours.”
He bowed, then Dubh and he departed the palace that was now absent three of its long-term guests, Malcolm having granted Michel Roche’s men safe passage home after deciding to do the same for his Norman prisoner.
Though Theriot had declined to impart techniques of stealth to the king’s warriors, Malcolm had informed him of his pending release and that no ransom would be required. After the wedding celebration, he would be escorted to Wulfenshire.
It was a quarter hour before Cristina descended to a bailey teeming with castle folk receiving those who came from near and far to witness their king’s marriage. Having gone abovestairs to exchange her veil for a lighter one whose pale blue fluttered about her dark hair, she and her escort halted before Theriot. “If you are ready, Chevalier, I am ready.”
He smiled. These weeks had peeled away enough of her resentment, pride, and sorrow for him to like her in some measure. Too, though her prayers for him lacked the depth of her sister’s, they seemed heartfelt—perhaps more so in a way they ought not for one destined for the Church.
Though he believed he made it clear he considered her a friendly acquaintance, still her touches lingered. They would have to speak of it, and soon since the same as he did not wish to hurt Marguerite, he did not wish to hurt her.
Not the same, he corrected. The same end—that each turn her heart toward another—but even less he wished to hurt Marguerite for how much more she felt for him and he for her.
