The Cast Of A Stone

by Avril Borthiry

  Finn narrowed his eyes. “I find it strange you should use her exact words, and here's my problem with that theory. Although I didn't actually see anyone, I sensed an arrival at Thurston that night. A presence. Granted, the identity was vague, indefinable in fact, but definitely a Guardian. Of that I have no doubt. At first, I thought it was Keir, but of course, it wasn't.” He paused, as if to place more emphasis on his words. “I happen to believe something remarkable happened three nights ago. Something beyond any sort of dream or vision. I believe that you, or a tangible likeness of you, appeared at Thurston and physically interacted with Emma.”

  “Nay,” Alex murmured, his mind numb with denial. “'Tis not possible.”

  “Not possible?” Finn smiled and glanced at the sword. “They aren't words I expect to hear from a Guardian. Why are you so quick to dismiss the likelihood of such an event? Will you not even consider it?”

  One day, you'll be forced to see the truth, my son.

  “Nay,” he repeated, his gaze drifting to Emma's door. “It can't be possible.”

  Sleep eluded Alex that night. Restlessness consumed him to the point of exasperation. Taking care not to wake Althena, he left the warmth of their bed, pulled on his clothes, and padded out to the kitchen. Finn had kept the fire stoked, and the flames cast a soft glow across the darkness.

  “You needn't worry about Emma, Alex.” Finn did not lift his gaze from the hearth. “She hasn't stirred all night. The poor wee lass was beyond fatigue yesterday.”

  Alex poured himself a cup of spiced wine and settled himself at the table, aware of a slight throb in his temples. “I worry about her anyway. She's facing such a trial.”

  “She's not facing it alone.”

  “But for me, she would not be facing it at all.”

  Finn sighed. “Lose the guilt, my friend. What could you have done differently? Boarded up the window? Chained the lass to her bed? She doesn't blame you, so stop blaming yourself.”

  “She's my child and this is my house. I'm responsible for her safety.”

  Finn turned to face him, his eyes reflecting the firelight. “But Emma's not really yours, is she? Indeed, I find your commitment remarkable. Few men would even consider caring for another man's child with such devotion. Especially one resulting from an affair between your wife and your friend while you sweated in the Palestinian desert.”

  Alex tensed with suppressed anger. “You well know I made a vow to her mother. Besides, 'tis not that unusual. According to you, Stephen is about to make a similar commitment.”

  Finn shrugged. “Hardly the same situation. Emma's child was forced upon her, whereas Alicia gave herself to Edward willingly, did she not?”

  “Christ, Finn.” Alex clenched his fists on the table. Behind him, the sword trembled against the wall. “If you're trying to anger me, you're succeeding. But I can't think what you hope to gain from it.”

  “An admission.”

  “An admission of what?”

  “That your connection to –” Finn looked past Alex and flinched. “Emma. Ach, I'm sorry. Did we wake you?”

  Alex turned to see Emma yawning in the doorway to her room. “Nay. 'Twas a dream that woke me.” She wandered over to stand behind Alex, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “It took me a moment to realize where I was, but I'm so glad to be home. Cùra, why are you not sleeping?”

  Alex heard a hint of tears buried in her voice. “I'm restless tonight,” he answered. “Was it a bad dream, little one?”

  “Nay, not exactly bad. Sad, though.” She flopped into the chair next to him. “I dreamed of Stephen.”

  “Don't despair. I think you're underestimating him.” Alex ignored Finn's subtle shake of the head. “You'll see. He'll likely show up here any day.” He reached over and stroked her hair, shocked anew at her thin form. “How are you feeling? Could you eat something?”

  “I feel a little better, but I'm not hungry.” Emma parted with another sigh, looked down, and drew an imaginary line on the table top with a fingertip. “Has it stopped raining, Cùra?”

  Overcome with sudden emotion, Alex closed his eyes for a moment. He knew exactly why she'd asked the question. “Aye, little one, I believe it has.”

  “Then maybe the stars are out.” She raised her head and blinked at him, chewing on her bottom lip. “In that case, I wonder if we could...I really need to talk to you. Please. I wonder if you would consider....”

  Her pleading eyes followed him as he stood, took his sword and buckled it around his hips. “Dress warmly, a ghràidh.” He gestured toward her door. “And bring a blanket.”

  Emma gave a squeal of delight, leapt to her feet, and ran into her bedroom.

  “Alex, if you need privacy to talk, I can leave,” said Finn. “You don't need to go.”

  “My thanks, but this wee excursion is meaningful to the lass.” And me. “I would appreciate you staying here in case Althena wakes up. Ever since Argante's visit, she's fearful of being left alone.”

  “Aye, and there's him to consider. What if he's still lurking out there?”

  “If there's any justice, his corpse is feeding the crows. But if he still lives, he'll not be out and about at night. He hates the dark.” Alex patted the sword. “He'd never get anywhere near her, Finn.”

  “Emma's going to ask about her mother. You know that, don't you?”

  Alex pulled his cloak around his shoulders and fastened it. “I do.”

  “Are you ready for that? Ready to tell her the truth?”

  Emma emerged from her room, wrapped in her cloak, a blanket tucked under her arm. Her eyes shone in the firelight and a faint brush of colour played on her cheeks. She was breathless, obviously excited.

  “I'm ready, Cùra,” she said. “Can we go now?”

  “Aye.” Alex cast a telling glance at Finn. “I'm ready too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cumberland rested in peace beneath moonlit skies. Off in the distance, Alex heard the frantic rush of tumbling water as the river made its way to the shore. The only other sound was that of the horse's hooves making a soft rhythmic thud against the damp forest floor.

  Alex knew, with sad certainty, this was the last time he would take such a trip with his child. He gave himself a mental shake, admonishing the parental sentiment, for Emma was no longer a child, but a young woman carrying a child herself. Tomorrow - nay, today - Stephen would return and claim her, make her his again.

  As it should be.

  Yet of all the things Alex had shared with her, all the experiences and lessons she had learned from him, this was by far the most important and the hardest. He had to right a wrong, but in doing so he would hurt her. He prayed the wounds would heal, that she could forgive him.

  “Emma.”

  She shook her head. “Not here, Cùra. Not yet. When we reach the shore, please. I want to look up and see Heaven when you tell me about Mama.”

  He suppressed a sigh. Alicia, help me. Dear God, help me.

  They followed the river in silence until at last the sea stretched out before them, paved with a silver path of moonlight. The tide had retreated, baring the estuary sands to the night sky. Alex pull the horse to a halt and Emma tensed against him. He leaned down and whispered in her ear.

  “What I'm about to tell you is still very painful for me, and it will hurt you too. For that, I'm eternally sorry.”

  He felt her chest rise and fall.

  “It's alright.” Emma wrapped her left hand around the hilt of the sword, covering the stone in a protective gesture that stunned Alex, for he felt the immediate calming influence of her touch. “Please don't be afraid, Cùra. I believe in you and I love you. I didn't realize how much until I went to Thurston. Nothing will ever change that.” She snuggled closer to him and lifted her eyes to the stars. “I'm ready now.”

  * * *

  The Holy Land, Anno Domini 1247.

  Alex listened to the story in growing disbelief, watching a sneer of satisfaction cre
ep across Argante's face as he finished his sordid tale. It was all nonsense, servants gossip, vicious rumour without foundation. Alicia would never betray him. Never. She was his, and only his.

  Indeed, Alex's desire for his wife would not be quelled until he held her again, tasted her sweet lips, made love to her. He missed her beyond reason. Many nights he awoke beneath the rippling canvas of his tent, grasping at fading remnants of dreams, reaching into the shadows for a woman who slept almost three thousand miles away.

  In battle Alex was quietly invincible, aided by the protection of the stone, supported by the will of the Circle. A Saracen's sword held no threat for him. His true fight always began after dark, when solitude and yearning clashed head on. Then the stone switched sides and became his adversary, enhancing his emotions, heightening his need, stretching his frustrations as taut as a bowstring.

  So, it was perhaps fortunate for Argante that the afternoon sun hovered above the sweeping fronds of date palms and cast sparkles on the water as he spewed his malicious words. Alex's anger rippled like the hot desert sand, but it had yet to erupt. Even so, the accusations against Alicia tore at him, and his sword hummed as he pulled it from its scabbard.

  “Wash the filth from your mouth, you lying bastard.” Sunlight glanced off honed steel, matching the flashes of anger that heated his blood and set the stone pulsing. He pressed the point of his blade into the hollow at the base of Argante's throat. “Or continue with this false tirade and allow me to finish your miserable life. I doubt anyone will mourn your passing.”

  Argante's lips curled into a scornful grin. He wrapped his fingers around Alex's blade, squeezing until blood leached through them and dripped to the ground.

  “Wash the sand from your ears, Mathanach. I speak no falsehoods. While you toil to defend these pathetic pilgrims, Fitzhugh is strutting around your English estate with his cock erect and ready for your wife. Believe me, you stupid fool. Alicia isn't lamenting your absence. She's too busy rutting with Edward Fitzhugh, and in your own chambers, no less.”

  “Lies.” The tip of the sword dug deeper and Alex watched as a line of blood snaked down Argante's chest. “All lies.”

  “Why would your steward lie? The man was drowning his sorrows that night in the inn and his tongue was well loosened with wine. He wanted Fitzhugh's head on a pike and spat each time he mentioned Alicia's name.” Argante leaned forward, challenging the blade at his throat, his eyes narrowing as he flinched in pain. “Such hatred does not stem from trivial hearsay. Nor did he tell me everything, I fear. I sensed there was yet more to this miserable deception.”

  Alex tilted his head and studied Argante. “Why are you here really? Surely you did not travel this far merely to spout your fountain of filth. What brings you, a Godless man, to the Holy Land?”

  “Godless? Nay, not I. Now I've taken up the cause, all my sins will be forgiven.” Argante smirked. “I'm on the trail of the stone, old friend, and have been led to believe it now resides in this barren wilderness. 'Tis strange, I must say, how the clues I discover always seem to lead back to you.”

  Alex smiled. “Ah. So not only are you spreading myths, you're still seeking them.”

  “The stone's existence is no myth.” Argante stepped back from the blade and eyed his bloodied hand. “And neither is your wife's infidelity. Believe what you will. 'Tis of no consequence to me. I gain nothing from her philandering, nor the telling of it. Are you going to put that blade through my heart or not? I tire of this hellish heat and would seek a cool spot to rest awhile.”

  Despite his desire to thread his blade through Argante's ribs, Alex let him live, cursing the man's scornful laughter as he walked away. It was a decision he came to regret later that night when he heard screams. He left his tent to find Argante nearby, panting and adjusting his clothing, standing over the body of a young Arab girl, while the sand between her legs darkened as the blood flowed from her.

  “You're too late,” Argante said, fastening his sword about his hips. “If you'd been here five minutes ago, I'd have let you have a turn. Nice and tight, she was.”

  A sharp throb of pain lanced through Alex's head. Sickened to his core, he surrendered to the stone's demands and freed his rage, but put the sword aside. A blade was too swift, too merciful. Instead, he set about Argante with his fists, intent on breaking every bone and beating every spark of life from the man's body. Hatred consumed him. For the first time since taking guardianship of the stone, Alex lost control. And he didn't care.

  It was a short-lived lapse. Several of his comrades dragged him off Argante's bruised body. Argante, barely conscious, pushed himself onto an elbow and twisted his bloody mouth into a grin.

  “Alicia's a whore, Mathanach,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “Go home and beat the life out of her. That's what I'd do in your place.”

  Argante disappeared that night and Alex never learned where he'd gone. But he left behind a seed of doubt that took root. To Alex's dismay it thrived, fed by a growing sense of suspicion and dread. After weeks of torture, haunted by unbearable imaginings, he reneged on his pledge to God and left the Holy Land a full year sooner than planned.

  Three months later, he stood at the bow of a ship tasting the salty spray of the English Channel. Although he travelled light in the way of worldly goods, anguish weighed heavy on his heart. With the white cliffs of England resplendent on the horizon, he was but a two-day ride from home and the truth.

  It was the height of summer. The days were long, the sun rising after only a few hours of darkness. It had barely begun its journey across the empty skies when Alex rode through the gates of his manor. By the time he'd dismounted, led Bart into the stable and headed for the main door, he knew the shock of his unexpected return had started to ripple through his household.

  Mary, his housekeeper, met him in the doorway, her wimple askew, a rosy flush on her face and her aura dark with anxiety.

  “My lord. This is a... a surprise. We did not expect you.”

  Alex glanced up the stairs toward his chambers. “Don't fret, woman. 'Tis understandable, since I'm come home a full year early. My wife is still abed?”

  “Aye.” Mary twisted her fingers in her apron. “But please allow me to wake her, my lord. Let me tell her you've come home. The shock of seeing you unannounced might send her into a faint.”

  Alex chuckled, yet his guts twisted, for the servant's suggestion was an obvious ruse. Why did Alicia need to be warned of his arrival?

  “My lady is not prone to fainting,” he said. “I shall wake her myself. I'm right eager to see her after so long apart.”

  “But, my lord –”

  He cast her a look then, stern and dark. Her mouth closed, her face paled, and she turned away, crossing herself. Alex saw the gesture and his heart leapt. Christ. Had Argante spoken the truth? He grasped the hilt of his sword, feeling the tingle of heavenly power through his fingers.

  It did not allay his fears.

  The chamber door stood before him, thick golden oak studded with black metal. He frowned and glanced behind, realizing he couldn't remember climbing the stairs. His hand reached for the latch, lifted it, and pushed. He fully expected the door to be locked. It wasn't.

  It swung open with a slow grace, noiseless, revealing. The chamber faced southeast, so on this bright and beautiful morning, golden sunlight poured through the window, slanting across the floor and across the blue-canopied bed. The bed stood unmade and empty.

  For a moment, Alex grasped a shred of relief, of hope. Perhaps Alicia was alone after all. Then he saw them standing by the window, drenched in sunlight, as yet unaware of his presence. Alicia's head rested against Edward's shoulder, her eyes closed. Her kirtle was rumpled and her long hair hung loose, draped about her shoulders like a cloak. Edward was fully clothed, sword strapped to his side, his arms around Alicia. He murmured something to her, stroked his hand across her cheek, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

  And Alex's world shattered.

  A sp
ark of hatred lit within him as he watched them embrace. Within moments it grew, burning through his veins like venom, destroying his trust, leaching into his love for her.

  Guard your heart and mind, Alexander. Beware your weaknesses, for the stone will seek them out and use them against you.

  How could she?

  “How could you?” His whisper was ice cold, filled with pain.

  Alicia's eyes opened and her head lifted.

  “Alexander?” She gasped, and pushed herself away from Edward like a culprit caught in the act.

  “Aye, my lady.” He drew his sword and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a gentle push. “Alexander, your husband.”

  The stone pulsed against Alex's palm, shooting ribbons of energy down his arm, into his chest, around his racing heart, intensifying his emotions. His gaze swept over his wife's body, disturbed to see her bright aura dimming beneath his scrutiny. She had lost weight, and her eyes were circled by shadows in contrast to her pale skin, but her beauty had not waned. God's blood, how he loved her, wanted her.

  Ah, lass. If you'd thrust a blade into my heart it would have done me less harm, been more merciful than this vile deceit.

  “'Tis really you?” Alicia took a hesitant step toward him, her hands clenched together as if in prayer. She glanced at the sword in his hand and then at Edward, shock and fear evident in her expression. “What...what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” He moved closer, struggling with his growing rage. “Sweet Christ. I live here, do I not? This is my home, you are my wife, and this –” he took a deep breath and turned furious eyes to Edward, “- is my chamber. Damn you to hell, Fitzhugh, you treacherous bastard. Take up your sword.”

  Edward held up a hand. “Wait, Alexander. Things are not as they might appear.”

  “Indeed? Did my eyes, then, deceive me just now?” Alex took a step closer, his lips curled in a snarl. “Nay, I think not. Draw your weapon.”

  “Alex, please,” Alicia pleaded. “Edward has done nothing wrong. I... I was in need of comfort after you left. I've been...unwell.”