Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

by Paula Brackston

  Lord Geraint snapped his fingers and the guards who had brought Megan to him stepped forward once more.

  “Take her away,” he instructed with a weary gesture.

  Megan felt rough hands grasp her arms and she was marched from the great hall. Bronwen reached out a hand to her as she passed, her eyes filled with tears. Megan struggled to remain composed. She was determined not to allow Lord Geraint the pleasure of witnessing her fear. Whatever lay ahead, she would endure it, knowing she had made the only right choice. She could never give herself to the man who had so brutally slain her father. On the matter of Merlin she was now completely torn in two. She prayed that she would not be the cause of his entrapment. And yet, the thought of never seeing him again was more painful than any torture Lord Geraint could devise. The thought of Merlin, and of what they shared together, made her desperately want to live. Would he come? Could he outwit Lord Geraint and save her, even here in the castle? As she was taken down into the darkest recesses of the great house she wondered if she would ever see the sun kiss the mountains again. At last they reached a place she had never known existed until this moment. Beyond the jails, at the far end of the dungeons, was a small, windowless corner. A stone mason was working, building a wall that would form the closing part of a triangle, creating a tiny room. Megan felt the blood drain from her face as she realized what fate awaited her. The guards placed her on the far side of the low wall, then retreated to stand behind the mason. All Megan could do was stand and watch and wait as her tomb was completed. It was impossible to tell if it were day or night in the dungeon, as no natural light descended the spiraling stairs, and no windows allowed air or sun to intrude. By the time the wall was nearing completion her eyes had become accustomed to the dimness, but it was clear to her, even in her terrified state, that once she was without candle or torch, and her merciless prison was built around her, she would have no further use for her poor eyes.

  * * *

  LAURA STOOD IN the oak woods watching the children play. The weather had changed again, so that each day was now a little colder. She found she preferred the bright, frosty days, prepared to put up with the cold if it meant being rid of the damp fogginess of autumn. She leaned against the sloping oak and stuffed her hands deeper into the pockets of her duffle coat, reminding herself to buy warm gloves next time she went to town. Watching the boys now it was hard to believe they were all in the grip of a tragedy. Together they had decided to dam the icy stream. William fetched heavy stones while Hamish stuffed mud and twigs into the gaps. She marveled at the capacity children had for continuing, for functioning normally, when all around them their world was crumbling. Their very choice of activity seemed an affirmation of hope, of rebuilding, of survival.

  Angus still lay unconscious in the hospital. The doctors were unwilling or unable to give an idea of how long he might remain in a coma. The only thing they were certain about was that he must not be moved. Steph had been keen to get him to a London hospital and get herself and the boys home, but she had been told such a journey would seriously compromise his chances of recovery. His head injuries had been severe, and his problems had been worsened by complications brought on by having to wait on the mountain for rescue. He had so far shown no signs of being able to hear anything that was said and no one would be able to tell if he had suffered any brain damage until he woke up. If he woke up. The idea that he might not had been something none of them had been prepared to accept at first. But, as time went on and days became weeks, it had become harder to ignore the possibility. Steph had worn herself to the breaking point, torn between keeping vigil at Angus’s bedside and being with the boys. Dan had eventually returned to work, lending at least an illusion of normal life to the house. Laura had spent most of her time with the boys. It was no sacrifice. There was no way she could shut herself away in the studio when they needed her, even though she would have found painting therapeutic. She wanted to help. At least looking after the children made her feel as if she were doing something for Angus. And Steph. Poor Steph. All the joy and light had gone out of her. She was neither eating nor sleeping properly and she looked to have aged years in a matter of weeks. Laura had tried to talk to her. She had been receptive to words of comfort and to positive thoughts about the future. She would not, however, listen to anything on the subject of a possible bad outcome. As far as Steph was concerned Angus was going to get better and that was that. Laura wished with all her heart that she could share her friend’s conviction. She wandered over to join the boys.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “If you like,” shrugged William, not pausing in his task. He had become wary of the adults, knowing that at any moment they might insist on knowing how he felt about what had happened and about his father doing so poorly. For William, talking about his father’s condition was unthinkable. He could talk about things they had done together in the past, or things they might do in the future. He could even visit his father and sit with him in the hospital in a quiet manner that showed a maturity beyond his years. What he absolutely could not do was listen to the possible extent of his father’s injuries, or discuss the fact that he might be dying. Despite his giving the impression of being totally absorbed in what he was doing, Laura could see pain etched on his beautiful, young face.

  “No, not like that, Auntie Laura!” Hamish had very definite ideas about dam building. “Here, you’ve got to stuff the mud right in, like this.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re making a good job of that.” She smiled at him. When he smiled back she felt a sharp stab of pain at the thought of what grief might lie ahead for this little one. Hamish must have read her expression, for his own face showed concern. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Daddy will be alright. We had William’s special mountaineering kit, didn’t we? That must have helped. And he got to ride in a helicopter. Daddy likes flying.”

  Laura pulled herself together. “You’re absolutely right, Hamish. He’s been very well looked after. He just needs a bit more rest to get better, that’s all.”

  “Are you two going to help or just talk?” William demanded crossly. “I’m not going to build this thing all on my own.”

  Chastened, they turned their attention back to the wall. There was something strangely comforting about the steady manual labor on which they were all now focused. Their hands were red with cold from being in the bubbling water, but it didn’t matter. The river stone had been washed smooth by the water, yet strangely still felt rough because of its slightly porous nature. The low November sunshine skimmed across the little rock pools like a well-thrown stone. They were all so deeply engrossed in what they were doing that none of them noticed Rhys approaching. When he spoke they all swung around to face him.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said, holding up a hand. “I can see important work is underway.”

  “We’re making a dam,” Hamish told him.

  “And a very fine one it is, too.”

  Laura found her overriding feeling was one of irritation and impatience. She resented his intrusion. She had been putting off telling him that their affair had to end. She had meant to do so immediately after Angus’s accident, but there had been so much to do, so many people who needed her. She knew she had been finding excuses to avoid telling him. Not because she had any doubts about it being the right thing to do, but because she feared what his reaction might be. She had enough difficulties to cope with right now. And besides, however mad it seemed, if she thought of anyone in her few private moments, it was Merlin, not Rhys. In truth, Rhys had become an embarrassing reminder of her own weakness. She cursed herself now for giving in to lust, for letting herself, as Steph had pointed out, be flattered into betraying Dan. She just wanted to put the whole episode behind her. Somehow. Her tactic had been simply not to see him. If ever he came to the house the boys were there, and sometimes Steph, too. It had been easy to brush him off with excuses about being needed elsewhere. But still he insisted on visiting, on occasion, like now, searching for h
er. She did not enjoy being pursued in such a manner. At another time, in different circumstances, she might have been flattered. Now she found his persistence off-putting. It made her feel hunted. And it frightened her. It did not bode well for what his reaction to her finishing their relationship might be. She knew, in her heart of hearts, there was a strong chance he would be furious and end up telling Dan everything. There might be no way she could avoid it, and she would have to face the consequences. But not now. Now there were other people to think about and far more important things to worry about. She would simply have to play for time.

  She straightened up and brushed the mud from her hands.

  “We just came out for a bit of a walk,” she said. “Steph’s trying to catch up on some sleep. We’re all going to the hospital later this afternoon.” This seemingly pointless piece of information was designed to make Rhys realize she did not have time to be with him right now. She smiled at him brightly, trusting his ego to assume she was as disappointed as he was.

  “It must be difficult for her,” Rhys said. “She is lucky to have friends like you and Dan.”

  “You think? If it weren’t for us, Angus would never have been up that wretched mountain.” Out of the corner of her eye Laura caught sight of William’s expression at the mention of the fateful walk. She moved a little way away from the boys, confident Rhys would follow. She could not talk to him safely within their earshot. She couldn’t trust herself to not say something insensitive, it seemed, and Rhys was definitely too unpredictable and unguarded.

  “Those are two fine boys,” he said. “Enough to make anyone want to start a family of their own.”

  Laura could not think of a suitable response to such a remark, given the circumstances. She rubbed her hands together to try and restore some warmth to them. Rhys took them and cupped them in his own, blowing on them. A part of her responded to his touch. A part of her still wanted him. Still recalled the thrilling, dangerous sex they had enjoyed together so much. But that was then. And, if she was honest, he did not arouse the same response in her now. She had suffered too much from remorse, had regretted what damage she might already have done to her marriage and, in truth, she had became wary of Rhys. No, more than wary, she was, she at last acknowledged, more than a little afraid of him. She pulled away her hands.

  “Look, Rhys. It’s good of you to be so concerned for us all, but I’d find it a lot easier if you didn’t keep coming to see me.” She did not look at him as she spoke, but picked up a twig and began to work at a patch of moss on the tree beside her.

  “I know, my love. It’s hard for me, too, seeing you, and yet not being able to … But to not see you at all.… I couldn’t stand it. Besides, I want to be here for you. You’re having a rough time.”

  “This is not about me, though, is it? Or you, Rhys. Angus is the one lying in a hospital bed with his head all broken. Steph is the one facing the possibility of losing him. The boys are in torment. Dan blames himself, ridiculously, of course, but I sort of understand. You and me, well, this just isn’t the time. Surely you can see that?”

  “I suppose so,” said Rhys slowly. “As long as that’s all it is.”

  “What do you mean?” Laura remained apparently focused on the mossy bark.

  “I mean that’s fine, if you can’t cope with seeing me right now because of what’s happening I understand. Yeah, it’s a tricky situation. As long as you’re sure it’s not more than that.”

  “More? What more do you want? A very dear friend is in trouble and needs me, isn’t that enough?” Laura failed to keep the edge out of her voice.

  Rhys did not answer immediately. He stepped forward, taking Laura’s hands again and turning her to face him. He leaned toward her so that his face was only inches from hers. She could feel his warm breath on her chilly cheek as he spoke.

  “Laura, my beautiful, perfect Laura. So precious. So special. Now that I’ve found you at last I won’t lose you. You must know that. I could never be without you again. And I know that, deep down, in that passionate heart of yours, you could never give me up. Could you?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but still his words carried a frightening force.

  Laura felt vulnerable, just her and the boys there in the woods with him. This was not the moment to confront him. She mustered a smile. “Just give me some time, Rhys. Please be patient. Things won’t be like this forever.”

  “No, you’re right about that,” he said. He stepped back and grinned at her. In a second his face relaxed and his mood was lighthearted once more. “Come on, let’s help Will and Hamish finish that magnificent dam.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING DAY Steph took the boys with her into town to do some shopping. They had only come with luggage for a weekend and were badly in need of new clothes. Dan was continuing his working week in London and would not be home until evening, so that when Laura waved the others off she was pleased to at last have some time to herself. The old Laura would have hurried back to her studio, hungry to be painting again. But not now. There was something else she had to do. She stepped into her Wellingtons, shrugged on her duffle coat, and jammed one of Dan’s ski hats on her head. The temperature had plummeted further, and the subzero air stung her cheeks as she crossed the yard. By the time she reached the oak woods, however, the exertion of the brisk walk had sent hot blood rushing around to warm every extremity. This was not a walk for a walk’s sake. Laura moved with purpose, focusing on the frozen ground so as not to stumble as she negotiated the thicker parts of the woodland. Within thirty minutes she could see Glyn the Bryn’s farm through the trees. In the bleakness of early winter it looked even more shabby and unkempt. She squinted at the buildings but could see no sign of the quad bike. There was a rusty Land Rover parked beside the farmhouse, but no other vehicles were visible. She knew he could be out on the quad, or it could be parked up in one of the barns. She waited a few moments. Nothing moved. At last cold and determination drove her on. If he was in she would just have to deal with him. It was Anwen she had come to see. If he answered the door she would have to be persistent. She had a desperate need to question Anwen, and who knew when the opportunity to do so would present itself again?

  She quickly climbed the fence, crossed the field, and strode up the garden path. She hammered on the front door. Silence. She tried again. At last there were noises inside. She could hear sounds of a key being turned, and the door was pulled open. To Laura’s great relief, it was Anwen who stood on the threshold.

  “Hello,” said Laura, not quite knowing how to explain why she had come. “I’m so glad I found you in.” She smiled, but was unsure of the reception she was going to get, after the incident with the spell.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Anwen told her. She turned and began to walk back into the house. “Don’t stand there all day with the door open,” she called back over her shoulder. “Glyn doesn’t light the fire to warm the garden.”

  At the mention of his name Laura glanced nervously about her. The narrow passageway was dark, but she was sure the horrid dog would have made its presence felt by now had it been in the house. “Sit yourself down in there.” Anwen gestured toward the open door of the sitting room. “Kettle’s on. I’ll be there now in a minute.”

  The sitting room was similar in size and shape to the one at Penlan, but higher ceilings and smaller beams suggested it was in fact several centuries younger. The fireplace had obviously been installed quite recently, for it boasted hideous cream tiles and a hearth too small for logs. At least the coal burned brightly. It was the only cheerful spot in an exceedingly gloomy room. Ragged curtains, neither closed nor open, hung limply at the north-facing window. The carpet was of dark green with dizzying gold swirls. Faded wallpaper of more than one design clung to the damp-looking walls. Laura pulled off her hat and undid her coat. There was a filthy armchair close to the fire, a seventies coffee table, and a sagging sofa. The only other piece of furniture in the room was an enormous Welsh dresser proudly displ
aying cups won at sheepdog trials, a lumpen clock, a bottle of whisky, a harvest jug, and a calendar featuring photographs of wild birds. She moved three weeks’ copies of the local paper to one side and sat gingerly on the sofa, wondering if it was the preferred place of the revolting dog. She was surprised not to see any sign of a woman’s hand in the home. It was as if Glyn had been in charge of interior design, and Anwen had not so much as added a single pretty cushion. Laura could well imagine Glyn was a difficult man to stand up to, but it seemed out of character for the cheerful old woman to live in such dreary surroundings.

  Anwen came shuffling into the room carrying a tray which she set down on the coffee table.

  “There we are, then,” she said, landing heavily in the armchair, sending up a small cloud of dust. “You be, Mam, it bothers my legs to stoop for more than a moment.”

  Laura did as she was told, pleasantly surprised to see chintz china cups and saucers and even a teapot to match.

  “This is gorgeous china, Anwen.”

  “Glyn keeps it locked away. For best. Ha!” The old woman laughed her distinctive merry chuckle. “I’m blessed if I know what best the silly old fool is expecting! Two sugars in mine, please. And plenty of milk. That’s right, cariad.” Anwen took the tea from Laura, her shaking hand causing the cup to rattle alarmingly in its saucer. She stirred thoughtfully, then said, “Well, well, this is very nice, Laura, but you didn’t come to see me to talk about china and drink tea.” She slurped noisily, peering at her over the top of her cup.

  Not for the first time Laura had the feeling Anwen knew a frightening amount about what was going on in her life. And indeed in her head.

  “Well, first I want to thank you for stopping me. That dreadful spell. I had no idea what I was doing.”

  Anwen nodded. “If I thought different we wouldn’t be sitting here together now,” she said. “But, no matter. No harm was done. This time.”