by Alexa Aston
The cavern was thronged like that night two months earlier when Elrik believed death caught up with him. Music and chatter drifted with the smoke of the fires toward the ceiling high above. The same people shared his table—an acutely gratifying fact—except for Betek. His friend chose to keep company at another table with Engl, the only child of Keir and Branwen, a buxom, brown-haired young woman with shining green eyes and merry dimples.
Yet he had not far to look to observe how the crowd had thinned. Many had died on his wedding night. Grief, with its twin handmaidens of loss and pain, would hold sway in the valley for some time to come.
Small fingers caressed his arm. “You are pensive this night, my husband. Are you weary?”
He lifted those fingers to his lips. “Nay, my heart. ’Tis but that too many seats are now empty that once were full.”
“Aye. The laughter is subdued and the humor less festive.”
He stared at his hand as he fingered the delicate repoussé pattern around the rim of a silver wine goblet, remembering when first he awoke to realize he remained in this world. The knowledge so astonished him, a night and a full day passed before he truly believed it. He had dealt death to others for so long ’twould have seemed just had that grim specter claimed him, as well.
“Tamescombe’s people are resilient,” Yrsa said. “Those who survived are determined to move on.”
“Aye, they gather this night, ostensibly to celebrate the recovery of those wounded—”
“You among them, thank Freya, though you are the last up and about.”
He grinned. “Complaining, sweet one?” He grinned at her gentle blush. “Methinks ’tis truth our people simply wished, aye, needed, to come together, regardless of purpose. They have courage to spare, Yrsa, and that is of great value to my eyes, but tonight is an affirmation of life for us all.”
“Our people. ’Tis strange to think of them that way. We have lived with them for so short a time. Yet I feel the same.”
He glanced across at Betek and a smiled pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Look you. If the expression on his face is aught to believe, he is smitten. That thought pleases me.”
It comforted him, too. In the past seven and ten years, he and Betek had not been separated for more than short periods. They both understood the day would come when life dictated one or the other must leave to follow a new path, but neither anticipated that time with joy. Though he rarely spoke of it, Betek longed for a home and the love of a woman. If he found those in Tamescombe ’twas all to the better. If he took a wife here he would stay, at least for a time.
A tug on Elrik’s sleeve brought his head round. He grinned. Alured stood at his elbow. He and the boy had become well acquainted during his convalescence.
Yrsa gave a little cry of delight. “Alured, ’tis good to see you. What is that you hold?”
The usual smile wreathed the little one’s face. “’Tis for friend Elrik. Papa says I must give it to him.”
Elrik leaned back on the bench to lift Alured onto his lap. “Then you must obey.” He accepted the cloth-wrapped package from the child’s hands and laid it on the table. “I suppose I am also to open it?”
The youngster giggled at such a silly question. “Aye.” He clapped his hands and waited only until Elrik pulled back one corner before exclaiming. “You will like it.”
“Ah, then you know what it is.” He met Yrsa’s amused glance. “Mayhap you wish to help me unwrap it?”
That was all it took. Alured’s eyes sparkled with eagerness. His nimble fingers had the cloth removed in no time.
“Well, now—” Elrik drew out the suspense. He ran a hand over the richly carved wooden box. “I wonder what this could be? Yrsa, know you what it is?”
She shrugged and shook her head. “I cannot imagine.”
The child looked back and forth between them, his eyes huge.
“What have you there, Elrik?” Chief Keir joined the game.
“I know not.”
Alured started to bounce.
“’Tis a pretty thing,” Branwen said.
The little one’s hands started to flap in time with his bouncing.
“Aye,” Pryderi agreed. “The workmanship is exceptional, likely that of Anyon, Alured’s father. Did your papa carve this, child?”
“Aye, papa did. ’Tis a special box, friend Elrik. You must open it.”
“Oh, of course. Now I wonder what is in this fine box?”
Alured lost all patience. “The knife,” he shouted, almost bouncing himself off Elrik’s lap. “’Tis the knife.”
Yrsa’s brows flew up. Elrik thought his own might do the same. Could it be?
He opened the box and there, cushioned in soft blue wool lay the knife with the jeweled handle, the very one with which Dugald threatened Yrsa.
“’Tis because you saved my life,” Alured chirped. “Mama said,” and his face screwed up as he sought to remember the grown-up words, “’tis not enough to repay such a great debt, but papa said ’twill have to do.”
Yrsa threw a hand over her mouth to cover a helpless snigger.
A tiny grin of bemusement curved Pryderi’s mouth. “It seems a fitting enough gift to me.”
“I thought so,” said Keir.
Elrik met his gaze and nodded. Obviously, Keir had approved Anyon’s choice.
“Alured,” he said, “this is one of the best presents I have ever received.” In truth, ’twas only the third gift he ever received since his mother died. Betek had bestowed upon him the first, his finely crafted lance, and Yrsa the second, her unconditional love. “Go now. Tell your mama and papa I am well pleased.”
“I go!” Beaming, the boy kissed his cheek and leapt from his lap. He tore away at a dead run to tell his father the good news.
Elrik slid an arm around his grinning wife. The gift of his life had also been bestowed, and after nigh two months of hard-won recovery, he eagerly prepared to accept another. This morn, Branwen finally agreed he could take Yrsa to bed.
“Come to think of it, my heart, I am a little tired.”
Her brows wrinkled and she reached to caress his jaw. She looked to Branwen and Keir. “You will excuse us? We would retire.”
“Fair night.” The wish was offered all around.
Elrik exchanged a surreptitious grin with Betek. He caught Yrsa’s hand, for these days he rarely came close to her without touching her. Amid the chorus of well wishes, he walked with her from the cavern.
The stone porch glistened in the moonlight and the lacy waterfall seemed more like mist drifting into the pool. The light shone brightly enough Yrsa needed no torch. She led the way, for by now, she knew the path well enough to follow it with her eyes closed.
Any other night, she would have taken a moment to savor the enchanting beauty of the valley rendered in mystical tones of silver, gray and black. But her husband grew weary, and she wanted only to get him home and put him to bed. Though Branwen had this very morn approved his attendance at the celebration, she worried ’twas too soon and feared he might suffer a relapse.
Until he tugged at her hand, she did not realize she pulled him at great speed along the path.
“Slow down, my heart. We have all night.”
She whirled to search his face. “Oh Elrik, forgive me. I did not mean—”
He never let her finish, but drew her into his arms. His mouth settled on hers.
She pushed at his shoulders. “Elrik, can this not wait until we are home? You need to get into bed.”
He chuckled. “Nay, Yrsa. I need no more rest.”
Her thoughts took flight in various directions. “But you said—”
“I lied.”
He lied? “About what?”
She stared into his beloved face and then lifted a hand to push tousled strands of golden hair off his forehead. His skin was cool.
“I am not feverish, nor am I weary. I but used it as an excuse to leave—and Yrsa, we are not returning to the cottage.”
“We are not?”
“Not right away.” He grinned, and a boyish edge came into his tone. “I feel like a walk. What say you?”
Light began to dawn in her worried brain, but still she faltered. “You wish to take a walk.”
“Aye.”
“Where?”
“To the stone pillars at the overlook above the oxen pasture. A place there is already prepared for us.”
“Elrik, ’tis a long way of which you speak.”
He caught her face between his hands and bent to rub his lips slowly, deliciously, with the lightest of touches, against hers. “While you worked at the weaving house this past week, I hiked it every day with Betek. Twice. I spent hours training with the other warriors. Yrsa, my heart, I am quite recovered.”
The thoughts that took flight a few moments earlier disappeared completely, replaced by a cautious hope. “Every day?” She knew not whether to be glad or vexed. “I thought you rested.”
She loved him so much, wanted him desperately, but he had been so fearfully hurt. For too many days and nights he hovered between life and death. The body’s limits could be so fragile, so easily crashed. Despite his assurance, she hesitated to follow him down this road.
He laughed softly, his breath warm on her lips. “I asked that you not be told. I did not wish to worry you while I regained my strength.”
His hands traced the line of her shoulders and down her arms to her waist and then slid further to mold the curves of her hips. She caught her breath as he lifted her and planted his feet between hers.
She shuddered, her fingers curling against his chest. Such an intimate position. “You are certain?” She waited not for his answer, for there was no denying his physical vigor had returned. “Elrik, what else are you well enough to do? I need to hear it from you.”
With one hand, he pushed her hair aside and bent to set his mouth on the sensitive spot where the curve of her neck met her shoulder. The stroke of his tongue on her bare skin ravished her senses, one by one, until she hung on to his shoulders simply to keep from falling. Pressure built in the pit of her belly while cascades of pleasure rippled over her from head to toe.
He lifted his head. In the moonlight, his eyes gleamed dark with desire. “I am well enough to love you, my innocent rose. I will teach you the pleasures of the marriage bed, make you mine in the flesh and offer my body to you.”
She wished for enough light to see the gold flecks in that smoky gaze. “Then mayhap we should get started. As I said—” She gasped and clung tighter when his hand stroked down to assail a deeper, sweeter spot. Her words came out on a breathless squeak. “’Tis a goodly distance to the overlook.”
He smiled. “So ’tis.”
But he made no move to begin. Instead, he took her lips in a deep, drugging, wine-flavored kiss. His clean, male scent, heady as the drink, mingled with his warmth to envelope her. The hands she earlier feared would never again touch her drew her first into trembling, moaning depths then sent her winging higher and higher until she soared into the moon, only to shatter in a thousand starbursts of abandon.
Had his arms not supported her, she would have crumpled. She had no notion of how much time passed before she landed softly back on earth, but his husky laugh seduced her anew.
“Aye, Yrsa. I am well enough.”
A vast contentment suffused Elrik’s soul as Yrsa’s small hand drifted over the contours of his upper arm. She lay curled, warm and trusting in his arms. The sigh she breathed against his lips spoke of deep satisfaction.
How had this incredible gift come to him?
He smiled, remembering the ambling walk to reach this secluded spot above the lake. An ancient people had balanced two massive stone slabs onto their sides and then lifted a third, larger slab to straddle atop them. Their bed, topped with the same thick pallet, soft linen bedding and furs that covered the one in their bower chamber the night of their wedding, was placed beneath this shelter. Furs shrouded the open back section and the two inner sides, creating a cocoon of privacy, but left the front open to the hushed, star-studded night.
To this sweetly scented haven overlooking the valley he brought his bride. In the bed’s warm depths they spoke of precious matters, of tears and hope and of life given back.
Then they loved until she drifted into an exhausted sleep while he lay, wrung out, watching the stars wheel past overhead. He drifted, neither fully awake nor asleep, until she stirred.
“Elrik?” Her fingers stroked his jaw in one of her favorite caresses.
“My heart?” He closed his eyes to savor her soft curves pressed against his naked chest.
“Will we ever see Estienne and William again? I miss them, though they left but three weeks past.”
“’Tis possible, but not for some time. When he learns what happened here, King William will likely increase patrols along the border, especially while Northymbre and Duresme lack leadership. ’Twill be a busy time for those whose task is to keep the land secure.”
“We owe so much to Estienne, and William, too. Why think you they refused the coin Keir offered for their service?”
“Estienne said their liege lord pays them enough, but ’twould seem to me more a matter of honor. They pledged their word to keep silent about the treasure and the whereabouts of Tamescombe, and to speak only to King William of the true reason King Malcolm sent Dugald here. Mayhap they simply wish none to wonder if their actions were motivated by coin.”
She was silent for a time, and he took advantage to nuzzle her temple, her forehead and kiss the tip of her nose. He felt her smile.
“I am glad we loved,” she said, “our first time, out here upon the earth and beneath the open sky. After…everything… I wish never again to enter any chamber under the ground except the main cavern.”
He caught the slight waver in her voice. “Yrsa, Keir said you were well cared for by Branwen when first brought here. Yet always I have felt in you an unusual aversion to the small chamber, a dislike beyond the events of our wedding night. Did he speak truth?”
“As far as he knew it, aye. I never told Branwen, or anyone, I woke before she came.”
“Saint’s toes, Yrsa! You woke alone in the dark?”
“’Twas bad, Elrik, cold as death, and the blackness.” She shuddered. “It cannot be imagined. It seemed like a thing alive, that it wished only to smother all light, and life and breath. The first time I woke I did not yet know what had happened to me or that I was underground. When Branwen brought light and heat, she explained, but even then, after she left, I had not the courage to face the darkness in the main cavern. I did not understand it could become a wondrous shelter of beauty and light.”
The remembrance of terror in her voice maddened him. He forced the anger from his tone. “My poor rose. Ah, Yrsa, I am sorry I arrived not sooner.”
“Why? ’Twas no doing of yours and once, when the fear became very bad, I thought I heard you speak to me. It eased my panic.”
“You heard me?” That same moment he sensed her fear and spoke to her in his mind? “When was that?”
“A little while before Dugald came to bring me to the Hall of Council.”
He marveled. Truly, the connection between them reaped powerful rewards.
She continued. “The darkness I would face had you died would be so much worse, ’twould make the blackness of the cavern seem as naught and my fear, a baseless child’s terror. There is howbeit, a matter that was your doing and of that, we must talk. Then we may put it behind us and speak not of it again.”
“And what is this matter?”
“Betek said you always believed in my dream.”
She tensed and the pace of her breath increased. Whatever she meant to ask, it mattered much.
Her hand stroked the outline of his arm. “When you threw down your sword at Dugald’s command, did you think of my vision?”
He rested his cheek against her soft, fragrant hair. “Many things passed through my mind at that moment, my heart, among them the memory of s
o many innocents who died by my hand. You once asked, but I never told you about my dream. For months before I met you, Yrsa, nightmares of my death by the stroke of a sword haunted me. At the end, some became so intense I felt the pain as the blade cleaved my flesh. I thought it a premonition, a knowing that so much death dealt by my hand must be paid for with my blood.
“When Dugald threatened your life and that of Alured, it all seemed to come clear. ’Twas fitting my blood, my death, should thus protect the life of a young child and the woman I loved. Yet I swear to you, in my heart remained true belief in the validity of your dream. When Dugald’s blade entered my body, I still trusted your certainty we would live a long life together, though I knew not how both death and life could coexist at the same time in one soul. I remember one last thought before darkness came, that mayhap ’twas destined but not in this life. I hoped after death we would meet again and find our love, but Yrsa, never once did I cease to fight to live. For you. For us.”
“You lost not faith.”
Shame touched her tone.
“Yrsa?”
“I lost faith. I believed Freya wrong, that the darkness would overcome the light. I did not understand one might find one’s way to the light through so much darkness. I could think of naught but the bitter betrayals of past years and the senseless deaths of módir and Old Truda. When you lay so nigh death, and Branwen offered little hope, only Betek kept me going. He would not let me give up. I am glad such a man is your friend, Elrik.”
He smiled. “He will always be your friend, as well, Yrsa.”
“I know. Do you—?”
“Yrsa! Can this question wait?”
She chuckled. The warmth of her breath fanned over the hollow at the base of his throat. “Methinks you will mind not this last query, my love. Like you this?”
The hand that caressed his arm ventured downward with unhurried pace. Her gentle, inquisitive touch drew forth from him a deep and ragged breath that drugged his senses with her scent of flowers and woman and moonlight. Lucid thought became markedly difficult.
He retained enough coherence to murmur, “Oh, aye, my heart. I do like that.”
