The Cast Of A Stone

by Avril Borthiry

  He ran his fingers across his face, wiping ribbons of saliva from his chin. His beard would not grow on his burned skin. As a consequence, small patches of facial hair thrust out here and there along his jawline. He pulled on one and twirled it. “I must surmise I don't look as handsome as I used to. 'Tis your fault, Emma. All yours. Have no fear, I'm all yours. You set me on fire. My cock. My heart. My face.”

  Argante choked on his laughter, twisting his lips into a slobbering snarl. He took an unconscious step backwards, cringing at the smell of peat smoke drifting on the slight breeze. “You'll burn in hell with me, you son of a Scottish slut.”

  He gathered a wad of spittle behind his front teeth, aimed his mouth at the sky and launched a thick black-flecked mass into the air. “Rot you, Mathanach.” His face twisted into a deformed grin. “Although I've become rather fond of your wife's bastard.”

  His one good eye blinked several times, and the grin fell away, pulled downward by a harsh sullen droop.

  “Oh, Christ. My sweet little Emma. Where are you? I've waited so long.”

  Everything else blurred as his mind took Emma's image and made it real. She lay on the ground in front of him, her head tilted back, thighs parted. “Ah, there you are, my love.” With a gurgling moan, he stroked his bulging erection. “I knew you'd come back to me. You want me, don't you? She lied to me, you know, Iain. She's really a virgin.”

  He fell to his knees and sank into her depths, groaning and thrusting until he shuddered in a frenzied climax.

  “God's balls, you're cold. Nay, don't fret. I like cold.” He raised his head and studied the girl's nipples, licking the spittle from his lips. A drop escaped, stretched into a glassy thread and pooled onto a curl of soft brown hair. Brown hair? Puzzled, Argante lifted it from a blood-smeared breast and let it slip between his fingers. He grunted and looked into a pair of dark, unseeing eyes. A stranger's eyes.

  “Who the devil are you?” He sniffed. “Have we met before? Were we properly introduced, my lady?”

  A sliver of sun sliced across the horizon. It lit the girl's face with a golden glow, obscuring the grey pallor of her skin and the blueness of her lips. Argante trailed a smooth nail-free fingertip across the bite marks on her breast. He hummed a lullaby from childhood and fastened his hands around her neck, his fingers matching the existing bruises exactly.

  “Christ, you're good. You had me going there for a minute. Or should I say coming?” He coughed through his laughter, spraying dark sputum across the girl's chest. “I thought you were Emma. You deceived me. I should kill you for deceiving me.” The sun disappeared into the clouds, and the girl's skin faded back to its deathly hue. “But it looks like someone already did. Probably Iain.”

  Argante pushed himself to his knees and looked down at the old stone keep sitting at the foot of the mountain, the place he returned to every morning. A memory stirred and a strange twinge of regret wriggled its way into his gut.

  “Iain. Iain. He always took care of me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Thurston's grey walls appeared as a black silhouette against the crisp evening twilight. The de Montfort banner hung limp in the chilled air while several torches flickered and danced in iron sconces beneath the gatehouse arch.

  Stephen heaved a sigh of relief at the welcome sight. “Thank God. 'Tis good to be home. I'm of a mind to dismount and kiss the earth.”

  Keir nodded. “Aye. I confess I shall not be sorry to abandon the saddle.”

  More than a week had passed since leaving Creake Abbey. The journey had been uneventful and, Stephen thought, exceedingly long. The fascination he'd felt upon hearing Francis's tale had waned as the days and miles dragged behind them. It stirred anew within him now, as did his excitement at the thought of seeing Emma again.

  “No offence, my lord Keir.” He grinned at his companion. “But I'm eager to look upon a different face. A beautiful female face, with emerald eyes.”

  Keir frowned. “I'm sure you are, lad.”

  Stephen's grin faded at the sombre tone. Keir had been preoccupied all day, as if burdened with worrisome thoughts. Stephen had made several attempts to lift the mood, using light conversation, trying to pry the lid off his friend's closed mind. But he'd met with only guarded, quiet responses.

  It no longer mattered. They were home at last.

  A command from the battlements cut through the shadows and the portcullis began its slow ascent. At first, everything appeared normal. Stephen felt nothing but relief and anticipation as he entered Thurston's bailey. But he wondered why none of the guards shouted their usual salute, and why the groom mumbled an awkward greeting and avoided eye contact. A cloak of apprehension settled on him like a gentle rain.

  “What's going on?” he murmured, glancing at Keir as they strode across the cobbled yard. “Is it just me? Or does everyone seem ill at ease?”

  Keir had no time to respond. The main door to the keep opened and Christophe stepped onto the threshold, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, two men-at-arms at his back. Stephen hesitated, confused by the serious expression on his brother's face.

  “I'm arrived home safely, my lord.” He approached, lifted his brother's right hand and kissed the gold ring on the third finger, the metal cold against his lips. “But I sense trouble. Is something wrong?”

  “Come with me, Stephen.” Christophe's voice held no hint of welcome. “We're gathered in my chambers.”

  “We?” Stephen's heart clenched. “What's happened?”

  “You, sir –” Christophe turned to Keir, “– will accompany the guard and wait in the hall until I send for you. I shall not offend by asking for your sword, but do not attempt to leave Thurston. My men have orders to stop you, using whatever force necessary.”

  Stephen gasped. “For God's sake, Christophe, what the hell is going on? Why would–?”

  Keir placed his hand on Stephen's arm. “No doubt Lord de Montfort has a good reason for his actions, my friend. There'll be no resistance from me.”

  Stephen cast him a curious glance, for he heard the connotation in Keir's words. He knew something. Why had he not shared it?

  The fire in Christophe's chamber burned bright in the hearth. At any other time, it would have been a most agreeable sight, begging warm seats, cups of good wine, and shared laughter.

  But tonight, it did little to take the ominous chill from the air. Miriam sat staring into the flames, Bee kneeling at her feet. Both women turned as Stephen entered. Bee gave a small cry, jumped up, and burst into tears.

  Christophe closed the door. “Sit down, Stephen.”

  “Nay, I believe I'll stand.” His gut twisted at the sight of Bee's tears and he resisted the urge to enter Christophe's mind. “God's teeth, will someone tell me what's going on? Where's Emma?”

  Christophe stepped over to a small table, poured a goblet of wine and handed it to Stephen.

  “Take it.”

  “Nay,” he said, pushing it away. “Answer my question. Where is Emma?”

  “That's what we'd like to know. Emma has left Thurston. She disappeared overnight.”

  “Disappeared?” Ignoring the rapid thud of his heart, he shook his head, trying to understand. “What do you mean, disappeared? How could she disappear?”

  “It seems she left with the Irish knight, for he has vanished as well.” Christophe glanced at Bee. “I'm also of the opinion she went willingly. All her things are gone - at least, everything she brought with her to Thurston. Her horse is gone too. We don't know how they left without being seen.”

  Bee wiped the tears from her cheek with a trembling hand. “I can hardly believe it, Stephen. I trusted her, yet it looks like she was betraying us the entire time. And as for him, the lying son of a –”

  “Wait, please. Just wait a moment. You're telling me she left with Finn?” Stephen's heart steadied a little. Whatever Emma's reasons for leaving, Finn would not let any harm come to her. “But where's Al... where’s Caleb?”

  “Caleb
left over a week ago,” Christophe replied. “I was told he had urgent business up north, but I now find myself doubting the truth of that, which is why I wish to question your travelling companion. Something tells me these knights are not who they say they are.”

  “But why would Emma leave before my return?” Perplexed, he ran his hand through his hair, fighting the agony of disappointment. What would prompt Emma to leave Thurston with Finn? And why had Alex left? “I don't understand. There has to be a reason –”

  “You haven't heard it all yet, brother.” Christophe paused and took a deep breath. “Emma is...that is, we just found out she's with child.”

  Stephen heard the rush of blood in his ears and felt his legs weaken. He reached out and grasped Christophe's arm.

  “With...child? Sweet Jesus Christ. Are you sure?”

  “Certain.” Miriam's voice carried over Bee's quiet sobs. “She didn't realize it herself until yesterday morning, but she has all the signs. I must say she didn't seem too happy at the news.”

  “Dear God above, have You no mercy?” Stephen collapsed into a chair and pushed his fingers against the sudden throb in his temples. All at once he understood Emma's need to flee. He also knew exactly where to find her.

  Ah, my poor little faerie. You should have trusted me, sweetheart. You should have waited for me. I would have taken you home.

  “Is it your child, Stephen?” Bee hiccupped through her tears. “It can't be Finn's. He's only been at Thurston for a month. Unless they knew each other before. Did they? Have they betrayed both of us?”

  Stephen raised his head, ready to attack Bee's comment. But he caught the desolation in her voice, saw the raw pain on Christophe's face and the sorrow in Miriam's eyes. They were his family and they loved him. He understood their shock and disbelief.

  No more lies.

  He stood and took a deep breath. “Nay, the child isn't mine, nor is it Finn's.”

  Christophe uttered a curse, Miriam's hand flew to her mouth and Bee gave a small cry. “Then whose?” she wept. “Whose child is it?”

  “Do you even know the answer to that, Stephen?” Christophe growled.

  Stephen's eyes narrowed. “Aye, I do know the answer, and you'll cease with your judgemental slurs. All of you.” He gritted his teeth against the pain of his words. “Two weeks before we came to Thurston, Emma was abducted by a man who is nothing more than a servant to the Devil. We - that is, her guardian and I - found her in time to save her life. But she was not unharmed. She had been defiled, her innocence taken in a brutal attack. This child she carries is the sad result. She has betrayed no one, and neither has Finn. I've no doubt she took him into her confidence and he's escorting her safely home. May God bless him for that. Emma left Thurston because she was frightened - frightened of your judgements and my reaction. She's the victim, not us. Indeed, she's the one betrayed by misplaced prejudice.”

  Stephen heard a sound behind him, a soft whimper followed by a rustle of cloth. He spun round to see Anne stepping out of the shadows, her face ghost-like and drawn.

  At the sight of her, he let out a short bitter laugh. “Christ above, and here we have the most judgemental one of all. I'm certain we can expect no sympathy from you, my lady. I've no wish to hear your skewed opinions.” He turned back to his family. “Make of it what you will, but know this. My plan to marry Emma has not changed. I'll be leaving for Cumberland in the morning, for I'm sure that's where she's gone. I don't expect any of you to support my decision, but I'll not be swayed from it.”

  Bee's face reddened and she uttered a string of curses. Miriam crossed herself and looked past Stephen to Anne, her eyes still soft with tears. Christophe rubbed a hand across his forehead. “God's blood.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You're making a grave mistake, Stephen.”

  The words cut deep. Despite the bravado, Stephen had hoped for some compassion from his brother.

  “Think what you will, my lord,” he replied, the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue. “As I said, I don't expect your support, but your disapproval changes nothing.”

  Christophe sighed. “Nay, lad. You misunderstand me. You're making a mistake in not expecting my support. You have it, and wholeheartedly. I'm impressed by your intent to stand by the little lass. Your biggest mistake was not telling me of this before now.”

  Stephen's heart thudded against his ribs and tears burned behind his eyes. He hadn't realized, until that moment, the true importance of his brother's approval.

  “I couldn't tell you, Christophe. Emma begged me not to speak of it to anyone. She feared your judgement. She wanted so badly for you all to like her.”

  “Oh, Stephen.” Bee went to him, stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Please, please forgive me. I feel terrible for doubting her. I'm so sorry. Poor Emma. I had no idea. Did you catch whoever did this?”

  “Nay. The bastard escaped and as far as I know is still at large.” He lifted his chin and took a deep breath. “And there is something else you should all know. As far as I'm concerned, Emma is untouched. The reason I stayed in her chamber every night was because –”

  “She had nightmares.” Anne's voice drifted over Stephen's shoulder. He turned to look at her, surprised to see tears on her cheeks.

  “Aye. She had nightmares.”

  Anne nodded, her face still pale and tight. Stephen frowned at the tremble in her hands, and the quiver on her lip.

  “So, you found your conscience at last?” He shook his head. “'Tis a little late for that, my lady.”

  “Stephen, please.” Miriam stepped forward, reaching for her sister. At the same time, Anne let out a sob and fled the room, but not before Stephen saw what lay within her broken mind.

  He turned shocked, questioning eyes to Miriam.

  * * *

  Rank curiosity permeated the atmosphere of the Great Hall. It anchored people in their seats and edged their hushed voices. They all knew about the midnight flight of Lord Stephen's betrothed with the mysterious Irish knight. Strange that it coincided with Lady Beatrice's betrothal to Lord de Maucier, and rumour had it that Lady Miriam was not the only one with child.

  So now everyone waited, eager for tastier tattle since learning of the young lord's return, speculating at what his reaction might be. Keir's presence, in the company of two sullen-faced guards, also prompted suspicious scrutiny and whispers.

  Keir ignored the tireless buzz of scandal and bent to pet the wolfhound lying at his feet. The dog grunted, thumped his long grey tail against the floor and lifted his muzzle in pleasure. The men-at-arms tensed at the sudden movement, hands hovering over hilts. Keir smiled to himself, amused by their eagerness to draw swords.

  There had been a time in Keir's life when he intentionally provoked confrontation, a time when his blade spoke more sharply than his tongue. The desire to fight had little to do with the personal defeat of an unfortunate opponent. It came from a need to tempt and triumph over that most invincible of foes - death itself.

  Disguised as sickness, death had taken his parents and his brother without mercy. Why not him? Why had he been left alive? Guilt had ravaged his soul. Flirting with death became an obsession and he threw the gauntlet down at every opportunity. He lived by his sword, each challenge pushing him closer to a time when he would surely die by it.

  One day, he challenged a man who carried an unusual, silver-handled sword at his side. Keir hankered after the remarkable weapon, meaning to keep it for himself once he'd dispatched the owner. At first the man had refused to fight, brushing Keir's insults away like troublesome flies. But Keir had persisted, taunting and mocking until the man finally pulled the mighty blade. Moments later, defeated and humiliated, Keir had lain at the man's feet, awaiting the final, fatal thrust of honed steel. Instead, the man extended a hand, pulled Keir to his feet and changed his life.

  Some time later, he took possession of that incredible, magical sword and in a bizarre twist, triumphed over his oldest foe. Death became something to res
pect, but nothing to fear.

  His reflections faded as a hush descended on the hall. All eyes turned to see Stephen standing on the threshold, scanning the shadowed faces in the candlelit room. At the sight of Keir, he strode over and dismissed the two men-at-arms.

  “I would speak with you, my lord,” he murmured, his expression troubled. “But not here. We will use my father's...I mean, my brother's office.”

  Keir nodded and followed Stephen. The small room was cozy, even though the fire had all but burnt out in the hearth. Only a few glowing embers remained, sharing their feeble light with that of a solitary candle flame.

  “You knew about this, didn't you?” Accusation shone bright in Stephen's eyes. He folded his arms and perched on the edge of the desk. “That's why you were quiet all day. Why did you not tell me, for Christ's sake?”

  Keir offered a grim smile. “I'm curious, Stephen. What would you have done had I told you?”

  Stephen gasped. “What do you think? I would have ridden hard and –”

  “Killed your horse? Feigned surprise upon hearing the announcement from your brother? It served no purpose to tell you, lad. None at all. Finn and Emma had already left. Your reaction to the news had to be genuine, without any hint of precognition. The Circle has risked exposure like never before over the past few weeks. Indeed, Christophe's suspicions about us are already heightened to dangerous levels. We don't regret our involvement in this, but we must always remember where our true allegiance lies.” Keir sighed. “Rest assured, Emma is safe with Finn. And for what it's worth, I'm am proud of your decision to stand by her.”

  Stephen looked at him, aghast. “Did you truly believe I'd abandon her?”

  Keir smiled. He knew few men with a heart as honourable as the one beating in Stephen's chest, or with a mind as open to accept that which most would find unacceptable. The young knight's only real fault lay in his tendency to act first and think later - a trait familiar to Keir - and one that could easily be curbed.