Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

by Paula Brackston

  “Yes, there has been fighting. I have heard of it. But I do not believe these battles were of Lord Idris’s making. I think it is Lord Geraint who wishes to increase his holding in the region. It is he who causes men to be cut down and slain to further his own purposes. And there is another reason he despises his neighbor so.”

  “Oh?”

  “At one time they were allies. They banded together against their common enemies.”

  “I do remember such times, but that was many years ago.”

  “Seven years, to be exact. Tell me, Megan, how old is Master Huw?”

  “This is his seventh summer.”

  “And has it never puzzled you that he has neither the black hair of his mother nor the brown of Lord Geraint?”

  “I have always thought his blond curls an endearing quirk.”

  “But you must certainly have witnessed the way in which Lord Geraint favors Brychan.”

  “It is natural. He is his first born, his eldest son.”

  “His eldest, or his only?” Merlin looked at her levelly now.

  Megan gasped as she took in the implications of what she was being told.

  “Huw is the child of Lord Idris? Why, yes, it could be true. It would explain Lord Geraint’s hatred of the man, as well as his coldness toward Lady Rhiannon. In truth, he barely tolerates Huw. Poor Huw.” She played with the ring on her finger, pondering life’s twists and turns. She met Merlin’s gaze. “What will you do?”

  “For the present, nothing. Lord Geraint is an impatient man, but even he will wait awhile for my response. I bide here only until I am called to service elsewhere, Megan. My gifts are not for the use of people such as your master, and my destiny does not lie in these hills.”

  Megan studied his face, trying to be clear about what he was saying. Was he telling her he would be gone soon? That she could not be a part of his life? That there was something more important that would take him from her? She opened her mouth to tell him of Lord Geraint’s threats, of the danger both she and her father faced if he did not agree to her master’s demands. But she could not make herself say the words. She knew that to do so would place Merlin in an impossible position. And she would not be the one to force such a man to bend to Lord Geraint’s will. She would have to find her own way to ensure her father’s safety.

  Instead she placed her hand over his. The warmth of his flesh made her heart ache for him.

  “I wanted to thank you,” she said quietly, searching for the right way to explain herself. “To thank you for your help. Last night. With Midnight. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Merlin smiled at her.

  “Such a brave animal, and with such a fine doctor in attendance. Do you really think you needed my help?”

  “I know he would have died without it, and that this morning he is instead enjoying honeyed hay. I know also that I was not the only healer by his side last night,” she said with a smile.

  Merlin nodded but said no more. Leaning forward he lifted his hand and, with the tenderest of touches, stroked Megan’s cheek.

  * * *

  LAURA STOOD AT the newly fitted window of her studio and watched the rain beating down outside. A warm September had quickly given way to a wet October, and for weeks the view had been obscured by low clouds. Her visible world had shrunk to a few hundred yards. Feeling hemmed in and mildly claustrophobic was not something Laura had expected when she moved to Penlan. The weather made walking on the hills both treacherous and unpleasant, and painting outdoors was impossible. She turned to contemplate the canvas on her easel. At last she had found her stride once more and was painting again. But it was not solely the landscape of her new home that had inspired her. There was something else. Or someone else. What or who exactly was still a muddle in her mind. At first she thought it was Rhys. Or, more accurately, the lustful sex she had shared with him, the wild side of her own nature he had unleashed. But she had come to realize that wasn’t it either. That lust, that passion, had been all but obliterated by guilt. Acrid, sour, corrosive guilt.

  She walked over to inspect her morning’s work. The impasto paint was still sticky and wet. It would be several hours before she could continue with the picture. To be impatient and touch it now would produce a muddied mess. Laura had produced, at first glance, a strongly atmospheric painting of the oak woods. Gone were the summer colors of clear greens and bright blues. Now her palette was made up of ochers and umbers and siennas. In the picture a tempest disturbed the branches of the trees and whipped up the fallen leaves, creating a maelstrom of color and texture as the woodland twisted and tangled in the fierce wind. The old Laura would have been content with such a scene, happy to depict nature in its wildness, in its struggle. But the new, obsessive Laura had included aspects of her own passion and turmoil in the painting. A girl could be glimpsed among the trees. It was not a self-portrait as such, more a notion of that wild and young part of herself that was attracted to Rhys. The girl’s hair was long and loose, her dress floor-length and flowing, her attitude ambiguous. Was she lost or free? Laura was undecided.

  Later, when she had packed up for the day and returned to the house, she was about to pour herself a glass of wine when Rhys appeared in the doorway. She started at the sight of him, her emotions flipping. Desire leaping up to be quelled quickly by guilt, shame, and a fresh resolve to pull herself together.

  “Rhys, I wasn’t expecting you.” She put the bottle down on the kitchen table, not wanting to offer him a glass.

  He stepped forward and scooped her into his arms.

  “My lovely Laura,” he murmured into her hair. “I had to come. I’ve been hoping you would come to me, at the croft.”

  “Oh, it’s been difficult. You know…”

  He nodded. “I understand. Don’t worry. I can be patient. I’ve waited for you for so long, a few more weeks … I always knew you existed out there, somewhere, and that I would find you. Or that you would find your way to me. Laura, who was meant for me. Returned to me.”

  Laura frowned. “I’m sorry, Rhys. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “It’s a lot to take in. I know that. All will become clear.”

  She pulled away from him, smiling, but not meeting his eyes. She had to play for time. To put some distance between herself and Rhys. To let him slowly realize that what had happened could not happen again. She wouldn’t let it. She busied herself putting away plates that had been draining by the sink.

  “I’m a bit distracted at the moment. We’ve got guests coming this weekend.”

  “Friends or family?”

  “Friends. My oldest and dearest, her husband, and their two delicious little boys. Though actually they feel more like family. Her parents are elderly and live in Spain. Angus has a dipsomaniac father roaming the Scottish highlands somewhere. We’re all they’ve got, I suppose. We’ve spent Christmases together for as long as I can remember.”

  “How old are the children?”

  “Let me think, William is just seven. Hamish is five. He’s adorable, all soft and puppyish. William is fascinating, such a grown-up little chap. I so enjoy spending time with them. They call me Auntie, which makes me feel about ninety, but I don’t mind. I’m lucky to have them in my life.”

  “Sounds to me like you love those little boys.”

  “Of course I do. I’ll always be there for them, no doubt doling out unwanted advice when they’re older. In fact, Dan and I are down as their guardians, should something ghastly happen to Steph and Angus, heaven forbid.”

  “Really? Their parents must think a great deal of you.”

  “Like I said, they’re very dear friends.”

  Rhys reached out and took Laura’s hand, squeezing it gently as he caressed her palm with his thumb.

  “You’d give anything to have a family like that, wouldn’t you, Laura?”

  “Yes. I suppose I would,” she said. There was a pause, a moment’s silence. Laura began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I really must ge
t on. I have beds to make. Food to organize. You know the kind of thing.” She looked at him. “Or maybe you don’t. Anyway, this is the way things are, Rhys. I have my life. You have yours. D’you see?” she asked, hoping against hope he might just pick up on what she was implying, work out for himself that she regretted what she had done, and behave like a true friend and leave her alone. It was a faint hope, and a futile one.

  Still he held her hand. “Things could be different. You know that, don’t you?” he said. “We could be together.”

  She shook her head. “Rhys, I…”

  “We’re good together, Laura. We are meant to be together, all the time, not just like this. I know you feel the same way.”

  “You don’t know what I feel. Good grief, I don’t know what I feel. But I do know that I can’t see you at the moment. Not here. Not like this. I’m sorry, Rhys.” Why couldn’t he see that what they had shared was sex, nothing more.

  She was still trying to find the words to make her feelings clear to him when he suddenly asked “Are you still in love with Dan?”

  “What? Yes! Yes, of course I am.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Only it didn’t feel that way when you were with me. When you were in my bed. When you were…”

  “I can’t give up on my marriage just like that,” she said, moving away from him again and clattering plates into cupboards. “Things aren’t that simple, Dan and I…” Suddenly she gasped, clutching at her belly.

  “Laura? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh!” she cried out as she bent forward, unexpected pain almost bringing her to her knees.

  Rhys put his arm around her shoulders.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Please, help me get to the bathroom.” Even as she spoke, Laura could feel blood beginning to run down her thigh. Her fickle menstrual cycle had chosen this precise moment to throw up a heavy and brutal period. She let out a sob as Rhys helped her to the small downstairs toilet. The physical pain and the embarrassment she was experiencing were increased by another all too familiar feeling. The perpetual disappointment of another failed conception descended on her like a grey mountain cloud. She realized now, as she sat weeping, waiting for the flow to steady, that some small part of her had been harboring a new hope. Somewhere, deep in her desperate psyche, she had been nurturing the notion that Rhys might, just might be able to make her pregnant. She knew it was ridiculous. It had already been established that there was nothing wrong with Dan. That their childlessness was her own fault. Her own failing. And yet …

  By the time she returned to the kitchen, Rhys had already poured two glasses of wine.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She felt like weeping all over him, but knew she had to stay in control of her emotions. Sharing her grief with him now would somehow be far more intimate than anything that had happened between them before.

  He pulled out a chair and sat her down, handing her a drink.

  “Here,” he said. “Drink some of this. You’ll feel better.”

  She did as she was told, one or two unstoppable salty tears splashing into the wine. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed.

  “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. My poor little Laura. I hate to see you so sad.” He stroked her hair. “Don’t give up hope,” he said. “I have brought you something. It was one of the reasons I came.” He pulled a small packet and a piece of paper from his pocket. “Two things, in fact. Some henna for your hair—I think you’d look even more beautiful with it red. Why not give it a try? And I wanted to give you this.”

  Laura looked down at the envelope he was handing her. “What is it?”

  “It’s the spell you wanted, from my grimoire. I copied it out for you.”

  Despite herself, Laura was touched. The idea seemed ridiculous now, amid the reality of their deceit and her obvious lack of fertility. Even so, it mattered to her that he cared. And she knew, later, when she was alone again, she would look at the spell. What did she have to lose?

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the henna and the envelope from him. “That was kind of you. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to be on my own.”

  To her relief, he left without a fuss. She went upstairs and took a shower, on impulse applying the powder he had given her to her hair. Maybe a bit of color would give her a little lift. She needed to find some way to improve her mood before Steph and Angus came. Not more than an hour later there was a sharp rapping on the door. She opened it to find Anwen’s bulky shape filling the porch. The rain had eased, but a heavy mist still swirled about the yard, wrapping itself around the old woman like a billowing shroud.

  Laura blinked away the unsettling image. “Hello,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “This is a nice surprise. Not a very good day for a walk, though.” She was surprised at how little mud Anwen seemed to have met on her way. The path through the woods would have been sticky and even bogging in places in such weather.

  “Have you seen him again?” Anwen demanded.

  The boldness of the question took Laura completely by surprise. Did the old woman know Rhys had been at the house? Could she know what had happened between the two of them? Could village gossip know something about her even her own husband had failed to notice?

  “I’m sorry, Anwen, seen who?”

  “The man you call the dark stranger. The one you saw in the woods.”

  Now Laura understood. It was not Rhys Anwen was questioning her about. It was Merlin.

  “Oh, no. No, I haven’t.” She could not meet the old woman’s fierce gaze. The realization that she had been glimpsing a mythological figure had unsettled her so much she had pushed it from her mind. She had reasoned it out. The move. Hormones. Too much reading about the subject. Her emotions in turmoil over Rhys. Her lust. Her guilt. Anyone might start imagining things with all that going on. She had simply refused to let herself think about it further. She forced a bright smile. “Look, it’s very damp out here. Why don’t you come in? I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Anwen’s face remained inscrutable. “No use trying to hide from him, Laura. If he wants to find you, he will. You shouldn’t fight it. He means you no harm. He is the reason you came here.”

  Suddenly Laura felt very weary. She had neither the patience nor energy for Anwen’s riddles. She was tired, and her cramping stomach was crying out for aspirin.

  “Look, I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well. I’ve been working all day, and…”

  “Oh, I know what you’ve been doing.” Anwen looked openly cross now. She fumbled in her deep coat pocket and brought out what looked at first glance to be a handful of twigs. She thrust them into Laura’s hand. “This is for you,” she said. “Hang it over your bed. Don’t forget, mind.”

  Laura examined the gift. It appeared to be some sort of corn dolly, but rougher and spikier than any she had ever seen. Rather than corn it was made of plaited sticks and grasses and moss. Laura remembered what she had read about women wanting babies hanging such things up in their bedrooms. Could the old woman really know so much about her? She looked up to thank her—and to question her—but was amazed to see her neighbor already padding across the yard. How could someone so old, with such swollen legs and stiff joints, move so swiftly and silently?

  “Thank you!” she called after her, watching her go. “Good-bye!” She raised her hand to wave, but the old woman did not so much as glance back in her direction.

  As Laura settled into her chores, preparing for her visitors, she tried to make sense of Anwen’s visit. It could not have been easy for the lame old woman to walk all the way from her farm. She clearly had to have a strong reason for her visit, but what exactly that reason had been was not so obvious. She had questioned her about Merlin, yet her brusqueness seemed to be concerned with her seeing Rhys. Could she really know of their affair? And the curious corn dolly—Laura could not remember discu
ssing her childlessness with Anwen, though it was possible talk had gotten around the village by now. It was a pity she had not stayed for a cup of tea. There were beginning to be questions Laura wanted to ask her. Somehow she sensed her neighbor held answers to some of the things that had been confusing her since her arrival at Penlan. If only she could sit down and have a proper talk with the old woman things might start to piece together. She promised herself she would take a walk to the farm at the next opportunity. The sound of an approaching engine shook her from her thoughts. The low clouds had been blown away by a fresh wind and the rain had stopped, so that looking out of the bedroom window she could see Steph’s minivan winding its way up the lane. She ran downstairs, excited at the prospect of seeing her friend after what felt like a very long time.

  Angus stopped the car at the top of the yard and the children spilled excitedly out of the back.

  “Auntie Laura!” they cried, running to her.

  Laura bent down and hugged them, nuzzling into the downy neck of little Hamish. At five he was no longer a baby, yet still had that newness and softness about him that toddlers often did. His light brown hair and pale eyes gave him an endearing vulnerability. William looked every inch the big brother, already tall for his seven years and with his father’s rusty coloring.

  “Look at you two!” She kissed them as she squeezed them. “I swear you’ve grown an inch a day since I saw you. Such big boys now.”

  “You really do live on a mountain!” said Hamish.

  “Can we go up it? I want to go hiking. Look, I’ve got proper boots.” William showed her his impressive footwear.

  “He’s been practically sleeping in the things,” said Steph, her voice sleepy from the journey.

  Laura hurried over to greet her.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here at last.”

  After a hug Steph held her friend at arm’s length. “Wow,” she said. “Love the new look, darling. You never used to wear your hair loose. And you’ve colored it. A secret redhead all along. Who knew?”

  “It’s just henna. A friend gave it to me.”