“I know not of what you speak.” Stephen sank back into his pillows, his voice barely a whisper.
“Oh, I think you do. I speak of a magical object which fell from the sky many centuries ago, a stone about the size of a pigeon's egg, as green as an emerald, and laced with blood-red veins.” Alex leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “How am I doing so far?”
Stephen grew pale and wide-eyed, while his breathing turned rapid and shallow.
Emma, bristling with an inexplicable desire to protect the wounded knight, cast a pleading glance at Alex. “Please stop this. He's not yet well enough.”
Stephen's voice finally escaped. “Who the hell are you, Alexander?”
Alex shrugged. “No one you need fear, lad. Argante, however, is a dangerous man. I don't like to think of him living within a day's ride of here. Indeed, I don't like to think of him living at all.”
He turned to Emma and for a brief moment she saw a dark shadow in the depths of his eyes. She shuddered inwardly. Who was Richard Argante? Why had she never heard Alex mention him before?
“A ghràidh.” A smile softened his face as he placed a gentle hand on her cheek. “Heat some broth and warm some bread. I'm sure our guest is hungry. I'll be outside for the next while. There's something I must do. Call for me if you need me.”
“But, Cùra –”
“I know you have questions, child. I'll speak with you later.” He looked at Stephen. “And I'll speak with you too, young knight. You must decide to trust me and tell me what you've learned from Argante. Your presence here puts us at great risk. Since it will be a few days yet before you're fit to leave, the least you can do is to honour us by speaking the truth.”
Chapter Five
A pretty song wandered through the bed-chamber doorway, each note rich and pure. At first, Stephen thought he dreamt it, so angelic was the voice. Only when he opened his eyes did he understand it to be mortal. The hair on his arms and chest lifted in a shameless and exquisite arousal.
Ignoring a twinge of pain, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. An image of Emma sponging down his body lit up his thoughts and brought about another exquisite response. He glanced down at himself, his lips curving into a smile.
Apparently, his blood loss had been replenished.
Emma's sweet singing beckoned, but Stephen hesitated. His clothes were gone, and to step into the kitchen stark-naked would hardly be wise. He had no wish to startle the little maid, nor did he relish the thought of meeting a sword again should Alex appear and misinterpret his intentions. So, he grabbed the only thing available to protect his modesty - the bed sheet.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he rose to his feet. His idle legs trembled at the unaccustomed weight, yet it felt good to stand, to feel his strength returning. With slow steady steps, he moved forward, grasping the sheet around him with one hand while reaching for the door frame with the other. At his touch the door drifted open, a noisy hinge betraying his presence. The singing stopped.
Emma turned to face him, her lips still parted by the unsung word, her eyes widening in surprise. Steam from the broth she stirred had bestowed a soft pink glow upon her cheeks and dampened the honey curls framing her face. She wiped a hand down the front of her apron, an innocent gesture ripe with guileless sensuality.
“Oh, nay!” she cried. “You should be abed, sir. You're not yet strong enough to leave it.”
An easy smile slid across his face as he leaned against the door frame.
“I was brought to my feet by your sweet voice and now the sight of you threatens to bring me to my knees. 'Tis not my wound, but a very pleasant ache which makes my legs tremble, little faerie.”
Emma cocked her head and smiled back at him. “Your tongue ails not at all, it seems. Likely because of all the honey which coats it.” She gestured to the table. “Sit then, if you wish. The soup is warmed through.”
Stephen glanced down at himself. “I would prefer to share your food dressed in something other than a bed sheet.”
“Your clothes were bloodied beyond any hope. I'm sure my cùra will let you have some of his when he returns.” She shrugged. “For now, the sheet will have to suffice. If you feel sickly, please tell me. I would not have you collapsing at the table.”
“What does it mean, this 'cùra'?” Stephen settled himself on a chair, tucking the sheet around him, his stomach growling with a sudden hunger.
“'Tis Gàidhlig, the language of the Scots. It means guardian or protector.”
“And what is 'a gry'?”
“A ghràidh simply means 'my child'.” Emma set a bowl of soup before him. Stephen curled his hands around it and raised it to his lips, taking a slow gulp of the rich broth.
He smiled at her. “Thank you. It's delicious.”
She nodded and sat across from him, cradling a steaming bowl of her own. “There's plenty more. Eat your fill.”
Curiosity produced another question. “Who is he, Emma? Who is this 'cùra' of yours?”
“Alexander is my guardian. He has cared for me since I was but a few weeks old.” She took a sip of her soup. “Few men, I think, would be willing to do such a thing.”
“So why did he do it? What happened to your parents?”
“My father was my cùra's good friend. He died in battle before my birth and my mother died right after it. Alexander made a vow to my mother that he would take care of me.”
“Who were they? Your parents?”
She shifted in her chair. “You ask many questions, my lord. My father was a knight, my mother the daughter of a baron.”
Stephen glanced around the humble cottage, her answer raising more questions in his mind. “So, you're of noble blood?”
Emma sighed. “Who birthed me is not important. The blood of a beggar is as red as mine and just as warm.”
Her words stirred his heart. The mystery of this beautiful girl fascinated him. Why would such a creature be hidden away in a Cumberland forest?
“Have you always lived here?” he asked.
She chewed on her bottom lip. “You overflow with questions, sir. Let's see. I've seen sixteen summers in this forest. I'm skilled in archery and can handle a horse and a sword. I speak English, French, some Latin and some Gàidhlig. I read and write and I hate needlework. Any other questions must wait until my cùra returns. I expect he'll have questions for you, too. Please tell him the truth. Alex is an honourable and wise man. You have nothing to fear by confiding in him.”
A soft gust of wind filled the room, allowed entry by the opening of the outer door. Alex stood on the threshold, a dark silhouette against the daylight.
“Thank you, Emma.” He gave her a smile and cast a sweeping glance over Stephen. “And you're obviously feeling better, young knight. It pleases me to see it.”
Stephen nodded. “My thanks to you. I've given your words some consideration and I have a proposition for you, Alexander.”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? And what might that be?”
“Give me some clothes.” Stephen looked down at the sheet. “In exchange, I shall tell you what you wish to know.”
Alex gestured to the bedroom door. “There are clothes in the wooden chest that sits at the foot of the bed. Please take what you need. But before you do, let Emma change your bandages. The wound is not yet fully closed against infection. 'Twould be a pity to use the grave I just dug for you.”
Emma leapt to her feet with a cry. “What do you mean? What grave?”
Stephen said nothing, for he had noticed a smile nudging the corners of Alex's mouth.
“Calm yourself, child,” said Alex. “'Tis only in case Argante's men return. If we're still here, the fresh mound of earth might help support our earlier ruse.” His smile became a grin. “You gave our guest the plague, remember? Few survive it.”
“Wait.” Stephen frowned. “What do you mean 'if we're still here'? Are you going somewhere?”
Emma echoed Stephen's question. “Cùra?”
The smile disappeared from Alex's face. He closed the door behind him and unbuckled his sword belt. “Your arrival here, my young friend, has likely shifted the direction of the winds. If so, we may have to shift with them.” A sigh escaped him as he leaned his sword against the wall. “Finish your food, bathe and dress. Then we'll talk.”
* * *
Stephen sat on the bed, his attention focused on Emma's face while she tended to his wound. A slight frown marred the otherwise flawless skin on her brow. Her silence, he thought, marred the air between them.
“Forgive me.” His whispered breath stirred a soft amber curl that graced her temple. “I never intended to bring trouble to you or Alex.”
Her frown deepened as she tightened a fresh bandage around his chest. “You aren't to blame. It was I who brought you here.”
“And now you regret it.” He hoped he was wrong.
“Nay, I don't regret it.” Her task finished, she sat back on her heels and lifted her gaze to his. “'Tis just...”
“What?” Something twisted inside him when he saw tears in her eyes. “Please tell me.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper as a tear escaped down her cheek. “Alex is all I have in this world, Stephen, and today I sensed a change in him. He's no longer...at peace. He speaks of leaving this place, a place he loves as much as I. I've never heard such talk from him before. 'Tis as if a stone has been cast on calm waters.”
Stephen ran his thumb along her jaw and caught the errant tear, his words soft when he spoke. “You're mistaken, Emma.”
She gave her head a gentle shake. “Nay, I'm not. You don't know Alex as I do. He hides it well, but he's troubled. I know it.”
“Nay, I meant Alex is not all you have in this world.” Stephen cradled her face in his hands, captivated by the colour of her eyes. Surely this was no mortal creature kneeling in sad reflection at his feet. “It seems that a forest faerie did capture a wounded knight's heart in the woods yesterday.”
A soft blush arose in her cheeks. “'Tis the honey on your tongue which speaks, sir.”
He smiled and bent his head to hers. “Nay. 'Tis an honourable knight who speaks, little one. I do not jest with you.”
His mouth covered hers in a fateful kiss for he realized, in a single heartbeat, his future had changed. Or had it? Perhaps, he thought, finding her had always been his fate, his destiny. He had never felt so consumed, and he did not even know by what. Pleasure? Aye, but far more than that.
Her lips yielded beneath his and in her moment of surrender she captured him completely. Her sweet taste also sent a surge of blood to his groin. He groaned and pulled away.
“God help me.” He straightened, closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.
In contrast, he heard Emma's breath catch in her throat. He looked down at her.
“What is it?” he asked, troubled by her stricken expression. “What's wrong?”
“Forgive me.” She exhaled. “I've never been kissed before. I fear I disappointed you.”
Speechless, he stared at her for a moment, then took her hand in his and placed it over his heart. “Feel it, Emma. Feel my heart, how it beats for the want of you.” He touched his lips to hers again. “Disappointed? I think not. Bewitched, perhaps.” His fingers brushed across her cheek and traced a path down her nose. “You're beautiful. Magical, even.”
She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. “Yet I have much to learn, it seems, about the art of love.”
An amused smile crossed Stephen's face. “And I'm very pleased to hear it.”
Something akin to hope flickered in her eyes. “If you decide to stay, perhaps you could teach me.”
The decision, he knew, was already made. “If Alexander has no objection, I would be happy to stay a while. As for teaching you about love, my little faerie, I suspect I might be the one taught.”
A contented sigh escaped her followed by a grin. “I think Alex awaits us.”
Stephen pressed her hand to his lips as she rose to her feet. She studied him with thoughtful eyes for a moment, and left him to dress.
A smile accompanied him into the kitchen, but it slid away as he met Alex's gaze, noting the rise of the older man's eyebrows and the tension in the air. Apprehension tightened Stephen's chest. Had he overstepped some unknown boundary?
The knife in Alex's hand sliced through the apple he held, his thumb anchoring the morsel on the blade as he raised it to his mouth. His teeth scooped it off the sharp edge and he chewed with deliberation, his eyes fixed on Stephen. Emma sat in silence beside him, a nervous expression on her face.
“You look well in my cùra's clothes,” she said, in an obvious attempt to lighten the weight of the atmosphere.
Stephen acknowledged her comment with a nod. “Thank you, my lady.”
Alex ignored both comments. “Remember whose roof shelters you, Stephen de Montfort.” His voice was quiet but stern. “Do not dishonour us.”
Stephen didn't flinch. “I would never disrespect you, Alexander. Nor Emma. You have my word on it.”
Alex nodded. “As I thought, but it's pleasing to hear it from your mouth. Sit.”
Stephen settled into a chair, at the same time raising his hand to catch the apple Alex tossed his way.
“Now, young knight. Tell me how you're involved in this futile quest.”
Stephen shrugged. “King Henry heard of Argante's long time obsession with the stone and sent me to learn more. Argante found out I worked for the crown and tried to kill me.”
“I see,” said Alex. “Go on. I'm curious to hear what you've learned about the stone so far.”
A strange prickle lifted the hair on Stephen's neck. “I'm curious, in turn, about how you acquired your knowledge of it, and how you know so much about Argante's reputation.”
Thunder rattled the skies somewhere off in the distance. Shadows started to swallow the late afternoon light, and the corners of the room grew darker.
“How I know Argante is a tale for another time.” Alex bent down and tucked his knife into his boot. “As for the stone, the Latin name is Lapis Exilis. I learned of it through a... friend, many years ago. 'Tis not, apparently, a pebble for the faint of heart. In the wrong hands, I'm told it can be deadly.” He cast a stern look at Stephen. “Please tell me Argante has not found it.”
Stephen pulled in a deep breath and winced as pain lanced through his ribs. “Nay, not yet,” he said. “At least, he hadn't when I left Lowland Chase yesterday morning.”
“So, what wild rumour, then, led him to these Cumberland hills?”
Stephen felt Emma's eyes on him and glanced at her. She offered him the wisp of a smile and a slight nod of her head. A thought landed in his brain with the lightness of a butterfly, yet the clarity of it could not be mistaken.
Trust him.
He turned his eyes back to Alex. “Some time ago, rumours started circulating at court about an old priest who resides at Creake Abbey. During a feverish spell, he'd spoken of a mystical stone that fell from the sky many centuries ago, a stone blessed with great power.”
Alex sat back. “What is this priest's name?”
“His name is Francis, I believe. Father Francis.” Stephen frowned, wondering if he'd imagined the glint of sadness in Alex's eyes. “According to the Abbot, the priest suffered some terrible tragedy years ago that compelled him to take his vows. Over the years, his mind has become detached, his thoughts confused and unclear. Argante got some information from him, but it makes little sense.”
“What information?” Alex shifted in his seat. “Tell me what the priest said.”
“He said the stone rests at the side of an ancient king and is protected by a shield of silver. He mentioned a Cumberland estuary and some ancient circle. Do his words mean anything to you?”
Alex rose to his feet and went to stand by the window, his eyes searching the stormy skies. “Aye, they do,” he said. “They mean a dangerous man has leased Lowland Chase and will likely not leave until he finds
what he's looking for.”
A grumble of thunder bounced around the skies like an ominous agreement. It sounded closer this time.
Stephen studied Alex for a moment. The atmosphere in the small space had thickened. Emma's eyes were also on the older man, a puzzled expression on her face. Tension hung in the air like an invisible mist.
“Just how are you involved in this, Alexander?” Stephen shifted in his chair. “For I know with certainty you are.”
Alex turned to face them, his expression grim. “Let me just say Argante and I have shared history between us, none of it good. May God help us all if he finds that stone. 'Tis an object too powerful for most mortals, even if they be kings.”
Stephen looked around the humble cottage, curiosity churning the questions in his mind. “But there has to be more to your story. Why do you live like this? 'Tis very obvious you're not of common stock.”
“I live this way by choice.” Alex's gaze drifted to Emma. “I have my reasons. That's all you need to know.”
Stephen persisted. “Do you hide from someone?”
Alex took his sword and drew it from the scabbard. “Do not test me, young knight,” he murmured. “It would not be wise.” He twirled the hilt in his hand, casting an eye along the shining length of steel.
“I've been truthful with you, Alexander. I merely ask the same in return.”
Without warning, Alex tossed the sword to Stephen who, in a reaction gleaned from years of military training, snatched the hilt from the air. Pain lanced through his chest at the sudden movement.
Emma clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a cry.
“Christ!” Stephen, his heart racing, felt sweat beading on his brow. “Have you lost your mind?”
A wicked grin settled on Alex's face. “Nay. I merely wanted to test the speed of your responses. Not bad, but your injury is slowing you down.”
“You could have just asked me if I still hurt.” Stephen lifted the blade and examined it. “This is nice work. A weapon of great quality, obviously made for a wealthy knight.” He handed it back. “So, what now, Sir Alex?”
The Cast Of A Stone Page 3
