Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

by Paula Brackston

  * * *

  MONDAY MORNING WAS more grey and windier and generally not as pleasant as the weather of the previous week. Nevertheless, Laura was determined to seize the opportunity to go up onto the hill. Dan had left for work. Steph took the children to see their father and was expected to be gone some time. She had decided to try to get Angus moved to a London hospital so that they could go home and the boys could return to school. A meeting with Angus’s consultant had been arranged.

  Laura dressed warmly, took a map, a compass, and a sketchbook, and set off. She was fairly confident about finding the right spot. It was the mountain mist that had caused problems for the walkers that day. In truth, they had not gone a great distance, nor chosen a difficult route, out of consideration for the children. On a clear day, with the map reference, her own familiarity with parts of the hill, and what Dan had told her about where the accident happened, she reckoned she stood a reasonable chance of success.

  It felt good to be out of the house, away from the gloomy atmosphere which could only normally be escaped for a moment or two before someone said something, or did something, or looked a certain way that brought Angus’s condition back into vivid focus. Here thoughts could spread away, snatched up by the wind. Here was space and peace and timeless nature, constant in its beauty. The cold air rasped the back of Laura’s throat as her breathing labored on the steep incline. She pressed on, stomping out every second heartbeat as her boots thudded onto the frozen ground. After the better part of an hour she stopped and checked her map. The site of the accident must be close now. She looked around, realizing that her best hope at this stage was to use her eyes. Dan had described a narrow sheep track winding up the side of the hill. They had passed several rowan trees with branches so low on the path that the men had been forced to step off it, while the boys had enjoyed scurrying underneath. Then there was a stream, and after that the path became slightly stonier. They could have gone no more than fifty yards beyond the stream when Angus fell. Laura spotted some small trees and went to examine them more closely. The path did indeed run beneath them, and there was too little head clearance for her. She followed the track around a small bend and bingo! A stream. Laura felt foolishly pleased with herself for finding the right place. Jumping the stream, she started to count her paces. When she got to forty she slowed down, scrutinizing every rock, looking for the four “steps” Dan had mentioned. They were helpfully obvious. They consisted of four flat pieces of stone which weather and sheep had beaten into perfectly flat rectangles which did indeed look like man-made steps. Laura stood on the top one and scanned the area. This had to be the spot. The ground fell away steeply from the path and, about fifteen feet down, there was a small group of rocks sticking out of the wiry grass. Below that was a sea of winter bracken, brown and bent and almost impossible to walk through. She sat down and tried to understand what must have happened. It was a narrow path, but not dangerously so. Why would Angus have fallen? She could only think that the thick cloud that had reduced visibility to a few yards must have caused him to misjudge a crucial step. Even so, he would have had to hurl himself onto the rocks below or he couldn’t have sustained such a terrible injury. Unless he had been pushed. As the idea formed in her head Laura felt a shiver twitch down her back. But why? She always came back to the same question: Why would Rhys hurt Angus? She stared down at the stones, finding it hard to believe Angus could have smashed his head so badly and crushed his mobile as well. There were only a few rocks, and if the phone was in the pocket of his shorts it could not have connected with a stone at the same moment his head was doing so. And then there was the question of the survival blanket. What had happened to that? Laura had been half hoping she might have found it on the ground somewhere, having fallen out of William’s bag or been overlooked in all the drama. But, no. She sighed heavily, taking off her ski hat and running her hands through her hair. Whatever answers she had expected, none were forthcoming.

  Suddenly, she knew beyond any doubt that Merlin was close. Her whole body tensed. Slowly, she turned and found him standing on the path only a few yards from where she was sitting. Laura could hear her heartbeat echoing in her eardrums. Merlin smiled at her and came to sit beside her. Laura gave a little laugh at the casualness of his actions, as if they were for all the world old friends out for a walk together, taking a break to admire the view.

  “Did you follow me here?” she asked.

  “No, but I knew where to find you. I always know where you are, Laura.”

  She was surprised to find this a comforting thought. If Rhys had said it she would have been unnerved, but from Merlin it was reassuring. As if he knew when she needed him and would be there for her. She waved her hand at the path and the rocks.

  “Something bad happened here,” she said. “Actually, I think something bad happened here because someone made it happen.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “I think I do.”

  “Do you know why?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t figure it out. I can’t see any possible reason why Rhys would want to harm Angus.”

  “Rhys is a man of strong passions, and he will act on those passions.”

  “Have you been talking to Anwen? Are you going to speak in riddles, too?” Laura was exasperated. “Look, it’s been a dreadful few weeks. I’m trying to make sense of all this”—she glanced at him—“and to make sense of … us.” She paused, then went on, “If you know what is going on in Rhys’s head will you please, please, just tell me?”

  “Rhys yearns for something more than he has ever wanted anything in his life before.” Merlin sat, looking into the far distance as he spoke. “He wants something so special and so precious to him he will stop at nothing to get it. In truth, he desires what I desire.”

  “What?” asked Laura, momentarily distracted by this small glimpse into Merlin’s heart and mind. “What do you want?”

  He turned to face her now, his unforgettable eyes seeing right through to Laura’s very soul.

  “You,” he said.

  Laura could not move. She was transfixed by his gaze and both thrilled and alarmed by what he had just said. In that instant she could not think of Rhys, or even of what had happened to Angus. She could not think at all. All she could do was feel the power of the connection between herself and this specter, this being from another place, another reality. She took off her gloves, lifted her hand and very slowly reached out and touched his face. She let her fingertips trail over his fine features, then trace the outline of his mouth, then run down his throat and onto his chest. Even through his heavy cloak and warm garments she could feel the steady beating of his heart. She had never felt so close to anyone, ever. The knowledge of this made her feel elated and at the same time desperate. How could she ever really be with this man? She was falling in love with an impossibility, and it could only end in heartache.

  This is no ghost, she told herself, this is the most incredible person I have ever met. A magical man, someone who has done great things and existed in the hearts and memories of millions of people over hundreds of years. And he chooses to be with me. He has sought me out.

  “The answers you seek are not here on this mountain,” he told her. “You must look into Rhys’s mind. But have a care. He will not risk losing you.”

  “He has already lost me. I was never his in the first place.”

  “That is something we both understand, but he does not. Protect yourself, Laura. He would not directly harm you, but you must protect the ones you love most in this world, for he sees them as standing between you and himself.”

  “Dan? Do you mean Dan? I would never forgive myself if Rhys did something terrible to him because of me. Oh, God, I’ve been such a selfish idiot.” She buried her face in her hands to hide her tears. “How did I make such a mess of everything? This was supposed to be a new life, a new start for us, maybe even a baby.” She took her hands away and rolled her eyes. “Ha! How ridiculous that sounds. I’ve lied to my
husband, betrayed him and neglected him, all for a stupid, stupid fling with Rhys. Just because he made me feel good about my useless bloody body again. Lust, plain and simple. Nothing more to it than that. And now it looks as though I’ve brought some sort of dangerous lunatic into our lives.” She let out a weary breath, shaking her head. “Is what happened to poor Angus really down to me? Did I cause that to happen? Because I got involved with a man I hardly know? And then there’s you.” She turned to look at him again, wiping tears from her eyes, trying to pull herself together. “I go years being perfectly content with Dan, then I run around like a hormonally challenged teenager with Rhys, and now I feel this unbelievably powerful connection with someone no one else can see. Am I going mad?”

  “When are you most yourself? When are you happiest and most free?” he asked.

  “When I am here, in this incredible place. When I’m inspired by it and painting it. This landscape, these mountains, this whole high valley … it feels like home,” she said.

  “That does not sound like madness to me.”

  Laura sighed. In front of her the mountains rolled away twenty miles in every direction, with barely a house to be seen. It was such a magical place, was it any wonder magical things were happening? She longed for all the worry of the past few weeks to melt away. For Angus to be well again. For Rhys to be gone. And then? Could she really just go back to some sort of normality with Dan? At last the heavy grey of the sky had begun to lift and the sun started to force its way through the veil of cloud and light up the valley thousands of feet below.

  “I read some more about you,” she said. “About your summer here. About the woman you loved.” She saw Merlin’s expression alter minutely. “Her name was Megan, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Her name is Megan,” he repeated softly.

  “I saw a picture. An illustration. I look at lot like her, don’t I?”

  He nodded.

  “Is that why you’ve sought me out? Is that what it is? Do I remind you of her? Do you think I am her … maybe, I don’t know, reincarnated, or something?” She waited anxiously for his answer. She had made the question sound as casual as she could, but it was hugely important.

  “Megan is like me, Laura, she exists in legend now and always. She cannot, as you suggest, be reborn as another.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her earnestly. “Know this: It is you I have crossed worlds to find, you I have stepped out of my rightful place for. For yourself. For all that you are, and for what you will be long after I have left you.”

  “Left me?” Laura’s voice was small and frightened.

  “We do not have forever, but I will not leave you alone. Don’t be saddened by what I have said. All will be for the best,” he said with a small smile.

  Laura wanted to believe him, but she could not see how things would ever be all right again. She had to somehow get rid of Rhys and the threat he presented. And she had to make a decision about her marriage. She didn’t know how she was going to manage any of it. All she did know was that if Merlin disappeared out of her life her heart would break. An idea came to her.

  “Will you let me draw you?” she asked. Seeing him hesitate she pressed the point. “Please, it would help me, when you’re not here, to have something … tangible. Just a few sketches. Please?”

  At last he nodded, then turned to gaze out at the view, sitting still as a stone for nearly an hour while Laura filled page after page with images of the most beguiling man she had met in her life.

  12

  MEGAN HAD NO way of knowing how many hours had passed since Huw had brought her the bread and water. Reason told her that it had not been more than a day, but already it seemed an eternity. She could be patient. She had to be. But there was, under the loneliness of waiting, the ever present fear that he might never return. He was, after all, a small boy, barely seven years old. It might happen that he was too afraid to come again, that he found it too upsetting, or that he was fearful of his father’s anger. It could even be that the children had been taken away for a visit somewhere. What would happen then? How long would it be before she gave up all hope? She began to pace the small room again, briskly this time, as much to keep frightening thoughts from her mind as to dispel the cold that was already seeping into her bones.

  She knew she must do something to stop herself descending into despair. Closing her eyes she thought of Merlin. She had heard his voice at the start of her incarceration but, though she had opened her mind to him and listened for his whisper in her ear, he had been silent of late. Could it be that he no longer knew how to reach her in this terrible place? That the stone fortress in which she was imprisoned had somehow become impenetrable even to his far-seeing eye? Could it be that he was dead? She refused to believe such a thing. It was only a matter of time, surely, before she would hear from him again and feel the comfort of his presence.

  She took a deep breath and let her thoughts drift back to another time, another place. Her body might be captured, but surely her mind was still as free as the skylarks up on the mountain. She pictured herself back at Ty Bychan, on a glorious autumn day. She remembered just such an occasion when she had stolen away from the castle to spend a few short hours with Merlin. How quickly they had learned to be completely at ease with one another, to walk in step, to breathe in rhythm, to have harmonious thoughts and feelings. How wonderful it had been to find such companionship and love. They had taken some food and a flask of ale and sat beneath a chestnut tree that still held its autumn leaves of gold and copper which gleamed and shimmered under the high September sky.

  “You risk a great deal by coming here,” he had said, laying beside her, resting on an elbow to look at her.

  “No more than you risk by not leaving this place. Lord Geraint will not wait forever for your cooperation, Merlin,” she reminded him. She picked up a late daisy and twirled it between her fingers. “You know it would be better if you left Ty Bychan, left the valley altogether.”

  “Better for whom? For his Lordship? For me? For you, my love?” He leaned forward and planted the lightest of kisses on her brow. “How can I leave you?”

  Megan reached up and slipped her hand behind his neck, pulling him gently down. “Then give me the kiss of a man who is truly unafraid. Kiss me with all the truth of your love and your belief in us. How else can I know this is not another dream, another vision you are sending me?” Her voice was serious but the hint of a smile in her eyes gave away the fact that she was teasing him. He smiled back, then placed his lips on hers and kissed her full and slow and not at all in the manner of one who is hunted or on the point of fleeing. Megan’s body responded to him and, in the amber light of the waning year, they consummated their love for one another.

  Megan returned from her daydream cheered by the thought of her lover, but frightened by what might lie ahead. It was not only for herself that she feared. The small hole she and Huw had worked so hard to obtain allowed a dull light to fall in one corner of her prison. She knelt there and let her hands slide over the warm fabric of her gown, caressing her still-flat tummy, imagining the baby which was growing inside her. If she did not get more food and water her unborn child would die before it had ever seen the sunshine on the mountains or the snow on the branches of the sloping oak. She was glad she had shared her news with Merlin, so that he, too, could hold the thought of their child in his heart. She knew he would never give up on them. She must be strong and wait. Only wait.

  * * *

  THE SMALL STOVE in the studio was cheerful, but it was no match for the biting cold that forced its way in through every drafty gap. Laura shoveled on a little more coal and opened up the flue. Despite a lifetime of modern central heating she had quickly become adept at dealing with open fires, be they coal or wood. She took a certain pride in lighting the stove herself and tending it as she worked. Even so, she began to think she would have to take to painting with thermal underwear beneath her warm clothes. She wondered if she could hold her brushes properly in
fingerless mittens.

  She was making the most of a rare opportunity to paint. Dan had taken Steph and the boys for an outing to Llangors Lake, and Laura had excused herself on the grounds of needing to do some work. Dan had been right to be concerned. The exhibition was barely a couple of weeks away and she had nowhere near enough canvases. It was also fair to say that she longed to paint, to be absorbed totally by her work, to create something in her own special way by expressing herself in her most eloquent manner. In fact, she knew she was not in the right frame of mind. It occurred to her that, on top of everything else, this was becoming a real cause for concern. In the past, whatever her problems, she had always been able to lose herself in her art, to escape to that other place in her mind. The place she was most sure of and most proud of. Now, however, with every additional worry and complication in her life, she seemed to be moving further and further away from her creative self. Was her talent simply dwindling in the face of such momentous turmoil? Would it ever return?

  She glanced over her shoulder before moving some canvases to unearth the pictures she had done of Merlin. She hadn’t let anyone else see them, fearing the questions they might ask and not trusting her own responses. There were dozens of sketches, some done when he was with her, others drawn from memory. She had found it comforting to work on his portraits, particularly when she was missing him and feeling alone. She moved the sketches to one side and looked at the paintings. At least when she had been working on these she had been utterly absorbed and focused. And she knew the results were good. Such a strong face, such presence and charisma, and she believed she had captured it as near as was possible in two dimensions.