“Please,” Sir Nelstor argued, “spend the night here. I would not like to send you off in the dark. The roads are safer than they used to be, I’ll admit, but they are not comfortable, and we have an empty room.”
“I really cannot stay, but I thank you for the offer.”
“I insist,” Sir Nelstor replied. “Think of it as my thanks for rescuing my daughter today.”
Brant shook his head. “You owe me nothing, sir, and I must be going. I have a duty to be on the roads at night.”
Sir Nelstor inclined his head. Duty was something he understood. Imojean insisted that he take some food in his saddlebags, and then he was on his way.
It was not until after Brant had ridden away that Imojean realized that she had never once told him how to get to her house, and yet he had escorted her straight to her front door. Hidden away in the little valley called Peak’s Shadow, the home of Sir Nelstor was not an easy one to find if one did not know the way. Puzzled, Imojean wondered how Brant had known how to get her home. In an instant her thoughts raced back to the night she had met Brant in the palace at Ayollan. She recalled the concern that had flashed through his eyes when her father announced his decision to leave and travel by night. Her thoughts turned to how she had felt as though they were being watched as they made their way home. Oddly enough, that sensation of being followed had not frightened her as it should have, but rather it had made her feel safe, as though she instinctively knew that their shadow was a friend. With a burst of insight, she realized that their silent, invisible companion on that trip home had been Brant, following them silently at a distance to make certain she made it safely home. This knowledge flowed over her like a wave and Imojean’s heart soared.
Brant rode away from Sir Nelstor’s house, berating himself inwardly. He could not shake the vision of her blue eyes that had pierced so searchingly into his own, nor could he banish the thought of her sweet face and piercing gaze that seemed to understand everything about him. He urged Valiant into a gallop as though to race away from the image that haunted him, the face of a young woman named Imojean.
Morning found Brant once again at Sir Nelstor’s door. He paced in front of the doorway for a moment, arguing with himself. He had ridden in circles all night, trying to talk himself out of the decision that he had already made, knowing that the effort was futile. He stood before the thick, brown door. He knocked loudly and immediately regretted it. He turned to leave, but the sound of the door opening made him stop. Sir Nelstor stepped outside and his face brightened when he saw who the visitor was.
“Sir Brant!” Sir Nelstor said, looking slightly confused but nonetheless delighted. “What brings you back here so soon?”
Brant had never before found himself at such a loss for words. He had faced so much without flinching, passed through dangers and trials and hardships without a whimper. He had faced the reality of death and stared bravely into its dark face, but here, in the face of a single question, Brant found himself frozen with fear. He tried to swallow but his mouth and throat were too dry. His face grew warm and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
Sir Nelstor’s look changed from delight to concern. “Brant? Are you feeling well?” The man took a step closer to Brant as though afraid he would topple over.
Brant nodded and closed his eyes, gathering up his courage. “Yes, I… Sir Nelstor, I have come to make a request.”
“Ask it, anything,” Sir Nelstor said encouragingly.
“I…” Brant stopped, and then taking a deep breath he continued on, knowing that he had come too far to back down now. “I have come to ask for your permission to court your daughter, Imojean.”
Sir Nelstor’s face broke into an expression of joy. “Well, I have been highly impressed with you lad, and anyone the king favors so well has already passed tests beyond any I could conjure up. However, I am afraid you have asked the wrong person.”
“What?”
“I approve,” Sir Nelstor said quickly, “and if it is my blessing you seek, know that you have it. But it is Imojean you must speak with about this, not I.”
“Yes, Sir. I see.”
“Wait here, I will tell her she has a visitor,” Sir Nelstor disappeared back into the house.
Long moments passed. Endless, agonizing moments they seemed to Brant as he stood on the doorstep waiting. He moved away from the door and stood beneath a large tree which shaded the front area of the house. His thoughts were in a turmoil as he wondered frantically if he had done the right thing in returning here. He suddenly realized that he had no idea how Imojean felt about him. He thought about swinging up onto his horse and riding away, out of her life forever, but he knew he could not do that. He wanted to pace, but he forced himself to stand still.
Finally the door opened and Imojean stepped outside. The rays of the Dragon’s Eye wrapped around her as she left the doorway. Her dark hair fell softly about her face, falling in gentle waves about her shoulders. Her dress was made out of light blue satin, making her eyes seem darker than he remembered. She stepped gracefully out of the doorway and hesitated for a moment, the image of loveliness itself. All this, Brant took in the instant he saw her, but it was the flush that crept to her cheeks and the almost imperceptible sparkle that came into her eyes when she saw who waited for her that made his heart skip five beats. In that moment, he knew this was the only woman he could ever love.
She walked slowly to where he stood and looked up at him expectantly. Brant stared at her and his fear vanished.
“Thank you for following us home,” she said.
This took Brant by surprise. “What?”
“The first time we met, in Ayollan,” she said. “You followed us home, the roads weren’t as safe then, and you were concerned for our safety.”
“How did you...?”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
Silence fell between them. Brant stared down at his boots, wondering how he had managed to make it so far through life without ever feeling so awkward before.
“My father said someone was here to see me?” Imojean asked, her voice teasing.
“Did he say anything else?”
“He actually said someone was here to ask me a question,” Imojean amended.
“Marry me,” the words sprang unbidden to his lips, and were out almost before Brant realized that he had said them. He swallowed hard, not sure what to say, not wanting to take the words back, but terrified of leaving them said. He had not meant to jump straight to the point. Well, that’s gone and spoiled everything, he thought ruefully. Excellently done, Brant.
Imojean was not sure what she had expected, but she had not expected this. She had spent very little time with the man before her, and yet, she felt as though she had known him forever. They had talked and laughed together and twice now he had gone out of his way to protect her.
Imojean realized she had been waiting for him since the day they met so long ago. Even though she had not seen him in years, she had been waiting for him to reappear. She knew he was the King’s Warrior. She was also aware that he was the man behind the myths surrounding the famed “Wanderer.” How many times had she stopped in town to listen to the stories that were told of him? Deep in her heart she knew she loved him, had always loved him. Marry him? Surely he hadn’t meant to blurt it out so suddenly! The look on his face was abashed and awkward, and she loved him for it, this man who had probably never felt either of those things before. She did not know what to say, but the question hung there before her, and the silence around her was expectant, waiting for her reply.
Brant felt as though he was holding his breath. He did not know what to expect, but the angry reply had not yet come, and neither had the laugh. Imojean looked as though she was seriously considering his question and that both scared and thrilled him. The silence bore down on him and in a burst of awareness he realized the audacity of his words. Dimly he realized that he had not ev
en phrased the words as a question and his heart cringed from that knowledge.
“Imojean,” Brant suddenly broke the silence, “we barely know each other, and I have nothing to offer you. I have a horse and my sword and no place to sleep. I have a dark history and my future is darker. I should not have asked you such a question just now, it was not fair of me. It was not even what I meant to say. My life is one that no woman in her right mind would be willing to share. Except…” Brant hesitated; weighing his next words carefully, “for the first time in my life, I can see a peaceful future for myself. I can envision a future of remaining in one place and making a home. What is more, I can see myself enjoying that future. I know much about farming and am willing to work hard, but you have no way of knowing if what I say is true, and I cannot ask you to merely accept my word,” he finished awkwardly, feeling as though there was more that needed to be said, but not knowing how to say it. “I came here simply to ask your father for permission to court you, but my heart spoke before my mind could silence it. Forgive my rashness, please. Would you consider... could you ever...” and now he faltered and looked down, he who had feared so little in all his life, he could not bear it if her answer was anything but favorable.
Imojean took his hand. “Yes,” she said simply, staring up into his face. “I will marry you.”
Brant blinked, taken aback by her simple answer. “But…”
She cut him off, “If you want to stop wandering, there is a place for you here in Peak’s Shadow, or in any other town you have passed through that you think you could make your home, and I will stand at your side anywhere you choose to stand. But if the road still calls to you, I will travel it with you.” She looked at him earnestly. “It does not matter to me where you are, as long as I can be there at your side.”
“I love you,” Brant said simply, the words seemed fragile and weak once they were spoken, but they held so much more meaning than he could express.
Imojean looked at him lovingly, understanding all he did not say. Together they entered her father’s house to share the news with him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
As the borders of Llycaelon came more often under attack, Llewana saw her husband growing colder and more distant. She tried to reach out to him, but more often than not her attempts ran into a wall of ice she could not melt. Seamas remained in his study late into the nights, working on the many different strategic maneuvers his counselors suggested throughout the day. Sometimes Llewana would find him there come morning, slumped over a battle plan, sound asleep. Tobias, a High Commander now, had become an almost permanent resident of the palace. He was one of the few people that Seamas trusted completely, and Llewana turned to him with her concerns.
“He won’t be reasoned with,” Tobias said gently in reply when Llewana finally approached him. “The troubles along the borders are a real concern. The problem is mainly the secrecy of the whole war; it is a heavy burden for Seamas to bear. If he would simply allow the people to become aware of our danger, we would rise up in arms and defeat the creatures easily. We are a warrior-people, after all. But he simply refuses to do it, even though it’s the wisest course of action.”
“Why won’t he tell them?” Llewana asked, rocking her sleeping baby son in her arms. Jemson stirred slightly at her voice, but did not wake.
Tobias shook his head helplessly. “Pride. Old-fashioned family pride. I call it being too stubborn where he ought to be sensible. The old king held back the seheowks without telling the people and Seamas means to follow in his father’s strides. I think it’s also got something to do with the disbelief factor.”
“The disbelief factor?”
“We don’t believe in the seheowks.”
“What do you mean? They’re attacking us, Tobias!”
“I know, and the king knows, and the men fighting at the border know. The people of Llycaelon, however, do not believe creatures like the seheowks exist, they don’t believe in any of the myth-folk or in magic or in any of the things that we read about in the old legends.”
“But... the myth-folk and magic... they don’t exist, Tobias,” Llewana’s voice was hesitant.
“There it is, even you. They do exist, my Queen, the seheowks are cut from the same fabric of legends, and if they exist, then I believe dragons, unicorns, and gryphons must as well; and I’m not the only one.”
“I don’t know anything about that, but I do know that Seamas has always felt a deep need to be just like King Stiorne was. I can almost understand that, but what scares me is that I can’t reach him anymore. Tobias, this war is stealing him from me,” Llewana spoke quietly now, tears filling her eyes.
Tobias shook his head, he sighed deeply and looked at Llewana steadily. “It’s not just the war, Milady, as much as I wish it were. There’s more to it than that. Some of the counselors are... well, let’s say they’re starting to hint at things... dangerous things. They think the answers to our problems might lie outside our borders, across the sea even.”
“Conquest? Seamas would never!”
“Not the old Seamas, no,” Tobias agreed. “But, Llewana, he’s not the man we used to know. He’s teetering on the brink of some great precipice and I worry that something will happen to push him over.”
“It’s guilt,” Llewana said slowly. “Seamas is shredding his soul apart over something, but I can’t figure out what it is. I sometimes think that if we didn’t have real problems, he’d make up a few just to keep himself busy, and to keep his mind occupied.”
“I know what you mean. He’s throwing himself into this war as though the seheowks are attacking him personally rather than just the borders of our country. He takes every foot of ground we lose as a personal insult. He acts as though he is personally responsible for every man who is wounded, and yet he won’t do the one thing that would assure us of a victory.”
Llewana nodded. “I know, he blamed himself for Faeyna’s death as well. It began before that, though. I think there’s a part of him that I don’t know about, Tobias, something that happened before I met him.”
“But what? Seamas is a good man, he’s been my best friend since the day I met him, we were both just apprentices then, and he was different, more carefree, like he was when we were all in the Helm together. Did you know I was the first person he asked to be a part of the King’s Helm? It was a crazy idea, having an army within the army, but I looked at him and I knew I had found a captain I could follow into the face of death and never fear. I’ve known him for a long time, longer than most, and he’s never once done anything to make me doubt him or his character. What dark secret could he possibly have to make him act like this?”
“Could it be... Rhoyan?” Llewana asked.
A shadow of guilt swept across Tobias’s face. “What?”
“Seamas was prepared to exile his own brother for the crown. He has nightmares, dreams from which he wakes up screaming. He’s told me about some of them. Sometimes he sees himself standing over his dead brother, knife in hand, and in others he is the one on the ground, while Rhoyan stands over him. He blames himself for Jhasen’s disappearance, too. I don’t know why, but he’s hinted as much. I guess I’ve just assumed that Jhasen was a supporter of Rhoyan’s claim to the throne. Because of Jhasen’s absence, Seamas feels responsible for his father’s death and for Faeyna’s as well, and he will feel responsible for the death of anyone else Jhasen might have been able to heal.”
“You don’t think he really is responsible for Jhasen’s...” Tobias couldn’t even ask the question, it was too terrible to contemplate.
“I cannot believe it of him,” Llewana’s voice was adamant. “But above all that guilt, beyond that burden… no, before that burden, Seamas wonders in his heart if he might have been capable of killing his own brother for a circlet of gold. I think that is what is really gnawing on his heart.”
“You may be right.”
“Tobias,” Llewana said quietly as the commande
r turned to leave, “do you think we did right?”
The warrior turned to face his queen, and in his eyes there was no question, no regret. “Milady, what would Seamas be like now if his orders to keep Rhoyan out of Llycaelon had actually resulted in the younger prince’s death?”
The question hung in the air and Llewana did not answer it, knowing Tobias did not really expect an answer. The tall warrior turned and left the great hall, leaving the queen staring after him as his question echoed through her heart. She felt as though she was suddenly very old and bearing a burden of heaviness beyond measure; she marveled at how she had never truly felt its weight before.
❖ ❖ ❖
Brant surveyed his small plot of land near the base of Mount Theran. Arnaud had granted him an indefinite leave from his position as King’s Warrior. The roads were safe, these days. The seheowks had been vanquished. There was little need for the King’s Warrior anymore. With his all-but unused wages from the castle treasury, he had been able to buy the finest land in Peak’s Shadow. Arnaud had been more than generous in his payment and Brant had plenty left over to build a house and make a comfortable life for himself and Imojean.
The property was beautiful, set on a slight hill and sloping down into wide, grassy pastures where Brant hoped to have some kind of livestock someday. He wasn’t sure what kind, maybe sheep. The setting was idyllic and perfect, and Brant could hardly wait to show Imojean the house he was going to build atop the hill. From their front door they would be able to look down across the pastures and the little creek that divided his property from the Jonston’s land. Past their neighbor’s land the town of Peak’s Shadow was just barely visible. Brant had refused to bring Imojean to see the property before the wedding, he said he wanted it to be a surprise, a wedding gift, and Imojean had finally stopped arguing with him about it. They had decided not to get married until they had a place to live, and while Imojean swore she would be happy to live with him in a tent, Brant wanted to give her more than that.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 44
