“Thank God,” he muttered.
Despite his fears, Alex silently echoed the sentiment. He was tired, wet, and weary of the saddle.
The cottage smelled delicious, the aroma of soup mingling with the soothing scents of herbs. The weather had obscured the time-telling trek of the sun across the sky. Still, Alex knew it was well past noon, for his stomach clenched as soon as he stepped through the door.
Althena, stirring a pot over the fire, looked up as the men entered.
“God love us. Two drowned rats, and starving, no doubt.” She met Alex's gaze and her eyes narrowed. “What happened? You've been gone a long time.”
Alex threw his wet cloak across the chair and nodded toward the curtain. “How is she?”
Althena smiled. “Rested. She has eaten and her strength is returning.” She glanced at Stephen. “She asked for you.”
Stephen frowned and looked at Alex, who nodded. “Go to her,” he said. “You don't need my permission.”
“So?” Althena asked, before Stephen had barely stepped behind the curtain. “I know you well enough, Alexander. What's wrong?”
“He escaped.”
Althena closed her eyes for a moment. “Good Christ. How?”
“Set fire to the cell door. Made a hole barely big enough for a fox to get through, yet somehow, he got through it. We tracked him to the tip of the estuary, then lost him.” Alex shook his head. “Twice now, Althena. Twice have I failed.”
“Oh, nay.”
She stepped into his arms, her warmth and sweet smell a balm for his tender nerves.
“Do not think such things,” she murmured against his chest. “'Twas through no fault of yours.”
Alex rested his cheek on her hair. “I'm afraid the blame lies squarely on my shoulders, bonny lass. I failed to protect Emma and now Argante may still live due to my stupidity.”
A movement caught his eye. He lifted his head to see Emma leaning against the doorjamb, her hand hooked through Stephen's arm. She stared, unblinking, studying Alex with eyes that held no glimmer of warmth. Her long hair swung loose around her shoulders, her pale face and slender neck still bearing the marks of Argante's assault.
“Emma.” He released Althena and took a step toward her.
“Is it true?”
The chilled tone of her voice stopped him dead.
“Is what true?”
“That you were married to my mother?”
Emma's words twisted in his heart like a knife. He heard Althena's surprised gasp behind him and saw confusion flash across Stephen's face.
“Answer me, Alexander. Were you married to my mother?”
Alexander? Never had he thought to be so wounded by the simple utterance of his name.
“Do not disrespect me, Emma.” Yet why should she not? Do I deserve aught else?
“Will you answer me?”
“Aye, Alicia was my wife.”
Anguished tears flashed at him. “Then what Argante said is true? I'm naught but a bastard?”
“Don't say that, lass.”
Her voice faded to a whisper. “Tell me, please. Is it true?”
Alex bit down hard.
“Aye, you were born out of wedlock.”
Emma hiccupped on a sob. “Then is it also true you killed my mother?”
There. There it was. The question he'd expected. Yet he wasn't prepared for the crushing impact it made. Memories from the past tore open wounds not fully healed by the touch of time and the images bled afresh into his mind.
His wife lying on the floor at his feet. The body of Edward, his most trusted friend, lying in a patch of sunlight by the window. And blood. So much blood.
Alicia had made her choice.
What now, wife? What of your child? What of her pain? The truth is the same, whichever way it is told. How shall I tell it, Alicia?
Alex pulled in a ragged breath and looked straight into Emma's beautiful eyes.
“I cannot lie. Your mother died at my hands.”
Something between them crumbled and a precious bond snapped. A cry burst from Emma's lips, a hopeless sound that plunged straight into Alex's heart.
For a brief moment, part of him wished she'd never found Stephen in the forest, that none of this had happened. Yet, in that same moment, he understood unavoidable destinies had already been forged by actions in the past. The walls of fate could never be breached. The future would always play out as intended.
He took a cautious step toward her, reached out, and touched her hair.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, pulling his hand away when she flinched.
“Never!” Eyes bright with tears, Emma spat her pain at him. “You say you cannot lie? My entire life has been a lie. I shall never forgive you for this.”
She turned and fled into the bedroom, each heart-wrenching sob like a whip against Alex's skin.
Stephen's face was tight with shock. “For God's sake, why, Alex?” he whispered. “Why would you keep this from her?”
Alex frowned and looked at the ground, seeking answers that might make sense, but finding none. When he raised his eyes again, Stephen had already gone to Emma's side.
He turned to Althena, taking in her shocked expression and pale face, hands clasped prayer-like at her chin.
Desolation threatened to drown him. “Have I lost you too, lass?”
She shook her head. “Nay, you haven't. Nor will I judge you, for I'm not without secrets of my own. But what damage has this madman done?”
A sigh tore from his chest. “Immeasurable. I'm not sure it can ever be repaired.”
He glanced back at the bedchamber. Stephen's soothing voice could be heard above Emma's quiet sobs. “'Tis better, I think, if I leave. She needs time. They need time.”
“You're going home?”
“Aye. They'll follow when they're ready.” I hope. “I'm in your debt, Althena.”
“You owe me naught, Alex. They can stay here as long as they wish.”
Alex clambered into the saddle and spurred his horse into an easy trot. The oppressive mist had disappeared, dragged back out to sea by the retreating tide. It left a salty taste in the air, which also bore the heady scent of saturated turf and wet bracken. Sunlight managed to find gaps in the thinning clouds, descending to earth in wide, silver beams, fanning out in glorious splendour across the horizon.
He looked up at the wondrous sight and drew a wistful breath. In his mind, he saw Emma, no more than eight years old, sitting before him on Bart's back and pointing at the sky.
“Look, Cùra! Heaven has opened a window.”
Aye, and Hell had recently opened a door, releasing a demon that might yet live to do more harm.
He pulled his horse to a halt at the edge of the forest, listening, his eyes scouring the dark recesses of the woods. Nothing untoward caught his attention. The sights and sounds were merely that of a summer's day; flecks of sun through the trees, a rabbit peeking out from beneath a bramble patch, a woodpecker drumming on dead wood, water dancing over ancient stones.
“Where are you, Argante?” he muttered. “Does your cursed heart still beat?”
A shadow passed overhead; a solitary crow, silent in flight. It told him nothing.
By the time he arrived home the sun's silver rays had changed to gold. Bart - still wearing his saddle from the previous day - whinnied through a mouthful of hay from the barn's open doorway and rolled his eyes at the gelding.
“Och,” Alex slid from the saddle, trying to ignore a lonely ache in his soul. “Dinnae fash yourself, old friend. This one's not about to take your place. Come, let's get you both settled.”
Until he entered the house that evening, Alex had never considered the torment of silence. Previously, it had always been something he'd associated with calm and meditation. Now he discovered its sharp edges, cutting him without mercy.
Emma's bed was as she'd left it, the imprint of her body still visible on the pallet. Her bow and quiver stood propped up by the door, her sword wedged onto a shelf above
her bed. Alex took it down and examined it. He'd had it made for her and taught her how to use it. She'd learned quickly, proving herself a good student, ever eager to please him.
Maybe if you'd thought to take it with you, lass.
He set it back on the shelf, turned his back on the quiet room, and closed the door.
Alex spent the next few days in weary contemplation, finding little peace in prayer, nor in the brief snatches of dream-filled sleep. The house felt strangely claustrophobic in its emptiness, and fatigue weakened his ability to counter the effects of the stone, which only served to torment him further.
The daylight hours were spent on Bart's back, searching the surrounding forest for any indication of Argante's presence. But the man, it seemed, had vanished. Dead? Alex acknowledged the likelihood, indeed prayed for it. Yet even dead men left their bones behind and filled the air with a rotten stench. Perhaps the tide had taken him, or perhaps the bastard was hidden somewhere, licking his wounds.
Unease, with a stench of its own, clung to Alex like a shadow.
After yet another restless night, Alex headed for the barn, intent on seeing to the horses. Stars still peppered the sky, although most had already vanished behind dawn's grey pallor. A mild chill pinched the air, hinting that summer was at the point of surrender.
The cockerel greeted him with several loud crows and Bart whinnied a welcome. Alex rested Darius against the wall and set about his chores, changing the bedding straw and drawing water from the well. Weighed down with unease, he worked in morose silence. Bart nuzzled him, blowing into his hair as he set the water bucket down.
“Ach, don't worry, my friend.” Alex ran his hand down the stallion's sleek neck. “My sadness is for the wee lass, not for myself.”
Bart's ears pricked up, and he nickered softly, his head turned toward the doorway. Alex heard it too; the unmistakable sound of a horse approaching.
“And it seems,” he murmured, knowing full well who it was, “the wee lass has come home.”
Something stopped him from stepping outside. A passive thought. Let them come to me. He heard the cottage door open, followed moments later by the sound of footsteps crossing to the barn.
A shadow fell across the doorway.
“Alex.” Stephen's voice was cautious, his face pale and tight. It appeared the young knight had not slept much either.
“Good to see you, lad. How does Emma fare?” Alex looked past him toward the house. “Did she return home willingly?”
“She's improving, but still...conflicted,” said Stephen, obviously choosing his words with care. “Did you find any sign of Argante?”
Alex shook his head. “Not a trace.”
“Then surely he's dead.”
“I hope so. Answer my question. Has she returned willingly?”
Stephen grimaced and gave a slight shake of his head, unspoken words clearly hanging in the air.
Alex sighed. “Say what you have to say, young knight.”
“I'm leaving today, Alexander. I'm going to Thurston, my brother's demesne in Yorkshire. My work here is done, and my family are no doubt wondering where I am. Henry, too, is likely awaiting my report. Thing is...” he glanced over his shoulder toward the house, “...Emma wants to come with me, but I told her she can't unless you give your permission.”
Emma leave? God above, Alex had not expected this. His response was immediate and not a little harsh. “Nay, I shall not give it.”
Stephen nodded, disappointment evident in his expression. “I understand. Then she must stay with you, of course. With your leave, however, I should like to return here within the month. We wish to marry as soon as possible. I think she fears I might abandon her since...” He looked down and kicked at a pebble on the ground.
Alex cursed inwardly, his mind faltering over his initial gut reaction. That the lad loved Emma was beyond any doubt. Still, to let her go with him now, unmarried as they were, went against propriety. But could he keep her here against her will, bitter and resentful? Worse yet, fearful that Stephen might not return? Would that not serve only to push her farther away?
Stephen cleared his throat. “Alexander, you should know that Emma –”
“Has no desire to stay with me.” How bitter the words tasted. “Faced with the truth, then, it seems I have little choice in the matter. Where is she?”
“Inside.”
“Packing, no doubt.” Alex took his sword and stepped out of the stall. “You'll need two horses. Take the other gelding.”
“Oh, nay, Alex. One horse will carry us both. We'll take our time.”
“It was not an offer, lad. Get him ready.” He strode past Stephen and went into the house.
Emma's chamber door stood open. She wandered out, a cloth bag and her bow strung across her shoulder. Her head was bent, focused on buckling her belt.
“Did you tell him? How did he take it?” She looked up into Alex's eyes and gasped. “Cùra! I thought you were –”
“How did I take it? Ach, my wee lass. I think I took it well enough.” Alex ran his fingers through his hair, his gut twisting as he observed the child he loved so well. Althena had obviously given Emma some clothes. They hung loosely on her small frame.
“You can't force me to stay.”
The tremor in her voice belied her resolve. Alex saw past her defiant chin, the flush of anger on her cheeks, the way she held herself upright, stubborn and resolute. It was all a facade, an attempt to hide the pain and confusion that haunted her beautiful eyes.
“Aye, I can, but I won't. Indeed, you may go with my blessing, for what it's worth. Stephen is a good man, a fine knight, and I know he'll take care of you. But if you ever have need of me....” He swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Despite what you might think or believe, child, I've always loved you with a heart free from guilt or obligation. That will never change.”
A tear fell and traced a silver trail across Emma's cheek. “I'm not as I was, Cùra. My world is not as it was. I doubt all I once held true.” She looked toward the door. “Stephen is the only one I trust. If I lose him, I have nothing.”
Alex closed his eyes. “I'm so sorry, Emma.”
He felt the brush of air as she stepped past him, and heard the quiet click of the door. An exchange of voices disturbed the dreadful silence and the door opened again. He turned to see Stephen on the threshold, his expression drawn.
“Do not fear for her,” he said. “I'll protect her with my life and honour her as promised. I'll send word as soon as we arrive.”
Alex forced a sad smile and nodded. “I have complete faith in you, young knight.”
“I'm sure...” Stephen fidgeted on his feet. “...I'm sure she'll forgive you. 'Tis only time she needs.”
“May that be the truth of it.”
“Thank you for everything.” He glanced at Alex's sword. “For your confidence and faith in me. I swear I shall not speak of what I've learned to anyone. I... we must leave now. There's a three-day ride ahead of us.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “You're dwelling on your words, lad. Farewell is quickly said, so say it.”
Stephen sighed. “God be with you, Alexander.”
“And with you both.”
Once again, the door closed with a quiet click. Alex stood, unmoving, waiting until the sound of horses’ hooves faded into the distance.
Only then did he stir.
He set Darius against the wall, pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Emotions leaned heavily upon him, but he fought them off with the skill of a Guardian, a skill honed from years of practise. He would not weaken. He would not.
A mere heartbeat later, the soft laughter of a child echoed through his mind and his resolve crumbled.
Alexander Mathanach dropped his head into his hands and wept.
Chapter Thirteen
At a time when the Roman Legions were leaving Britain's shores forever, a young oak tree in a northern forest unfurled its first leaves. It took root in the dark crevice of a granite bou
lder, managing to thrive where little else would grow. As the years passed, the trunk thickened, only to find itself surrounded on all sides by walls of solid, immovable stone. Undaunted, determined to endure, the tree fought doggedly against that which restrained it.
Several years later, on a bright spring morning beneath a naked blue sky, a crack like that of thunder burst through the forest. So loud was it, that a nearby flock of crows took to the air in fright, cawing madly. The birds remained aloft for some time, wary of returning to their roost and whatever had disturbed their peaceful glade.
They need not have feared. The noise was simply that of a granite boulder being split apart by the trunk of a young oak.
Over seven hundred years had passed since that morning, yet the mighty oak still stretched its limbs across the forest glade. Gnarled, they were, twisted by time and ravaged by three thousand seasons. At the foot of the tree lay four pieces of granite, mere pebbles, trapped between the toes of a giant.
Alex waited until nightfall, leaving the house only when the evening star had risen up from the horizon to hover over the trees. Moonlight draped the forest in a silver cloak, turning the palest shadows to darkest black. He saddled Bart and led him from the barn, pausing for a moment to gaze up at infinity, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.
“Where are you, Argante?” he murmured, shifting his gaze to the surrounding forest.
An owl hooted, the eerie call echoing through the trees. Alex swung onto Bart's back, took one last glance around him, and rode into the shadows.
They were waiting for him at the sacred oak. When a Guardian issued a summons, the others were obliged to respond. Only one other time had he felt the need to call them together. That had been sixteen years ago, when he'd taken charge of a tiny girl, vowing to protect and care for her.
Emma.
Alex left Bart at the edge of the clearing and approached the ancient tree on foot. He paused beneath the branches, glancing up at the majestic tangle. The stone pulsed beneath his touch.
They were there, as he knew they would be.
He drew the sword, first raising the hilt to his lips before pushing the point of the blade into the earth. As before, his actions served to create the semblance of a cross resting in the ground before him. This time, though, he did not kneel and pray, but spoke openly to the air.
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