“I’ve always been alone,” Hope said, swallowing hard. “My sister and I never spent much time together. She was younger and had her own friends. My father only spoke when he wanted something. I was too old for the young, single women and I didn’t fit with the married ones. I never realized how alone I was until I came here. I never realized how much I hated it.”
“Aw sweetie, you’ve got us now.” Grace gave Hope’s shoulder a squeeze. “No matter what you decide, you’ll always have us.”
Chapter 12
Hope was picking up the last platter to carry into the dining room when she heard the misquote, obviously aimed at Grace, from the pantry.
“But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy has lent us Grace,
Our Lady of the House.”
She laughed and replied with another verse from the same poem,
“She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro’ the room,
She saw the water lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.”
The man entered the kitchen and finished the verse with her.
“Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side.
‘The curse has come upon me,’ cried
The Lady of Shallot.”
He laughed and said, “Good for you and good for me, too. I shall enjoy having a kindred soul to offer me comfort among these Philistines.”
She laughed as well. “The Philistines are in there waiting for their meat, so we’d better hurry. I’m Hope, by the way, and you must be the Professor.”
He gave a short bow. “Broadbent, at your service and I know who you are. Nardo kept me informed while I was away fighting the Parental Wars. Between you and me and anyone who’ll listen, I’d rather fight demons. Being the family disappointment is such a burden.” But he sounded cheerful when he said it.
He took the platter from her and followed her into the dining room where everyone was assembled, set the platter down and raised his hands in acceptance of the enthusiastic greetings.
“It’s good to be back. I never thought to hear myself speak these words, but I even missed the bumbling buffoons.” He nodded to Dov and Col. “And now to meet our newest member. Nardo told me of her beauty but he ne’er spoke of her intellect. To find an aficionado of the dear Alfred, ahh…” He placed his hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. “My heart doth leap.”
“Yeah, well leap all you want, but do it after supper. We’re hungry,” Dov complained, “And if you’re going to call us names, you could at least use words we don’t understand.”
Another place was set, food was passed, plates were filled and the meal became a volley of questions and answers as Broadbent told them of his visit to England and his attempt to make peace with his parents.
“It would be so much easier if I didn’t love them. I could tell them both to go to hell and be done with it. Unfortunately, I do love them and they love me. The conflict arises over their insistence that my chosen career is some sort of rebellion, an affront to their way of life. They can’t seem to grasp the fact that this is the life I was meant to live. Please pass the rolls.”
The rolls were passed. He buttered and bit and closed his eyes in bliss. “Like manna from heaven.” He opened his eyes and looked down the table at Hope. “So, how do you like being a Daughter of Man?”
“I don’t know that I am one,” Hope answered honestly.
“I don’t think you have a choice. It’s like being a Guardian. You can choose to ignore it, but that doesn’t negate what you were born to be. Like it or not, you are a Daughter of Man. The question then becomes, do you embrace it or reject it? I hate to be the one to point this out, but one’s posterior can become quite uncomfortable while sitting on a fence.”
“That’s enough, Broadbent,” Nico growled.
Hope reddened. She was still uncomfortable being the center of attention, but if this Guardian was as smart as the others thought him to be, he might be able to help.
“No, it’s all right, Nico. The professor has a point. I have been sitting on the fence.” Hope turned to Broadbent. “For me, it isn’t about accepting what I am. It’s about rejecting what I’ve been taught. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”
Broadbent’s eyes lit in recognition. “Ah yes, Exodus 22:18.” He rubbed his hands together.
“He’s gonna blow, Grace. Can we leave now?” Dov pleaded.
“No,” she said, “You can listen and learn.”
Broadbent ignored them. “I’ll begin by pointing out that the original Hebrew manuscript uses a word that means a woman who uses spoken spells to harm others in the vein of the crone who causes her neighbor’s cow to die or his crops to fail. The Septuagint was produced as a Greek translation about 200 BC. The translators were well educated city dwellers who had no familiarity with rural spell casters. They changed the word to one that means herbalist. People of the time used herbalists as healers and if the herbalist was good at her trade, her neighbors tended to credit magic as opposed to skill or intellect.”
“St. Jerome tried to correct the mistakes when he translated the work into Latin. His translation reads ‘You will not suffer practitioners of baneful magic to live’.”
“All these translations differentiate between light and dark magic and condemn only the dark. It wasn’t until the more modern translations that the two branches were lumped together. If you rely on the most ancient and accurate of the translations, there is no conflict as long as you practice for the good.”
Broadbent raised his wineglass in salute and drank.
“Thank you,” Hope said and meant it. “How do you know all this?”
“No-o-o,” wailed the twins together and everyone laughed, clearly in agreement.
Broadbent laughed with them. “I yield to the ignorant majority.” He looked around the table, taking them all in. “Damn, I’ve really missed you guys.”
*****
Hope couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in the luxurious bed and prowled and paced about the room. She loved this room with its cheerful yellow walls and full lacey curtains. Today it felt like a cage. She tried to read, but the chair that was normally so cushioned and comfortable felt lumpy and hard. When she couldn’t stand it for a minute more, she grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed and headed for the kitchen.
From the parlor, the soft glow of fire light caught her attention and thinking of the danger an untended fire might pose, she changed her direction and entered.
“Oh! I thought the room was empty. The fire… I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I couldn’t sleep.” She was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop.
Nico stood up from his chair by the fire. He, too, was dressed for bed in black silk pajama bottoms topped with a long robe she thought might be what was called a dressing gown, also of black silk. It was belted tightly at the waist by a braided cord and showed only a small vee at the base of his neck. Except for the vee, he was as fully covered as she normally saw him, yet the idea that it was nightwear drew her thoughts to what might lie beneath. She felt a strange tightening low in her abdomen. Her mouth was suddenly dry.
“I couldn’t sleep either.” Nico smiled wryly at the cause of his insomnia. He’d paced his rooms like an animal in a cage. Every time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, her face loomed up in front of him, that auburn hair blowing wild, framing that milky complexion and those seductive green eyes flashing with the promise of dreams about to be fulfilled. The camera of his mind panned down to her creamy, heaving breasts, full and heavy and ardent for his pleasure. He’d shaken himself back to the reality of his cold and confining rooms, berating himself for acting like some youthful fool besotted with his first fantasies of sex and seduction. And a fool he was to be dreaming of someone he had no business dreaming
of. She was an innocent and therefore out of his reach.
He looked at her standing hesitantly in the doorway and compared the reality to his delusion.
Her hair was loosely plaited into a long, neat braid that fell below the middle of her back, begging him to unweave the strands and run his fingers through its russet glory. She wore a white flannel gown, long sleeved and floor length, like the one he’d seen before hanging from her bedpost. A neat ribbon bow tied it tightly at the base of her neck. It was a bow he longed to untie to expose the satin of her throat and beyond. Even the heavy, blue plaid robe called to him as he imagined the riches that hid beneath. He turned away before she saw his interest jutting forward beneath his robe.
“I was about to pour myself a brandy. Would you like one?” he asked, knowing she’d refuse.
“Yes please,” she answered and laughed a little at his look of surprise and shrugged. “For medicinal purposes. It might help me sleep. I only want a taste. Not enough to make me…”
“Tipsy? I promise.” He poured her less than half of what he poured for himself and passed the snifter to her. Their hands touched briefly as he transferred the glass and she faltered and almost dropped it.
“Come and sit,” he said as he steadied her with a hand at her elbow and led her to the sofa. He showed her how to hold the bowl of the glass in the palm of her hand and retrieved his own glass from the fold-out tray of the liquor cabinet then took his seat by the fire. He thought of her breast, firm and ripe, as he cradled the snifter in his palm.
“The warmth of the hand releases the bouquet, the aroma of the brandy.” He watched her, mimicking him, as she swirled the contents of the glass. Her hands were so graceful, the fingers long and tapered, the nails filed to perfect ovals. “Taste it,” he urged and watched, mesmerized, as her lips opened on the edge of the glass to receive the copper colored liquid. The sip was too large. He should have warned her.
Her eyes widened and she sputtered, “It burns! All the way down!” Her hand went to her stomach. “It tastes like the cough medicine Mrs. McCarthy cooks up on the back of her stove.”
Nico laughed. There it was again. No pretense, no feigned sophistication. She was real and true and beautiful.
Nico laughed and Hope’s heart filled with joy at the sound of it. “You’re laughing at me,” she accused and laughed as well.
“No, I’m…” in love with you and the thought sobered him. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have laughed but I don’t ever recall seeing that reaction to an 18 year old Janneau.”
“That’s the good stuff, huh?” She wrinkled her nose because she wanted to hear him laugh again.
“Yes, the good stuff.” He took the glass from her and returned to the liquor cabinet. “Let me get you something else.”
“Oh no, please. I don’t think I have the taste for alcohol.” She waved her hand.
He brought her a tiny silver wine glass and when she eyed it suspiciously, he did laugh again. “Try it. I promise it will be better than Mrs. McCarthy’s cough syrup, which, I might add, probably contained alcohol. She simply didn’t tell your father.”
She took a sip and grinned. “It tastes like peaches!”
“Peach Schnapps. Grace likes a taste now and then. She won’t mind sharing. Sip it slowly.”
He settled himself back in his chair and arranged his legs to hide his growing desire and asked lightly, “What great sin keeps you awake tonight?”
“The Professor,” she said and sighed.
“He’s a good man,” Nico said cautiously. He wanted to lie, to say the Professor was a blowhard and a dilettante, but he couldn’t. Regardless of his own desires, he had to be honest. Broadbent was the kind of man someone like Hope deserved; a true gentleman; someone who could bring her the honor and the life she deserved.
“So I’ve been told. I like him. He makes me laugh and when he recites poetry… well.” She sighed again and took another sip of Schnapps. “What I need to know is, does he really know what he’s talking about or is he just good at…”
“Throwing the bull?”
“Yes,” she laughed, “But I would have found another way to say it.”
“I know, but we don’t have all day.” That half smile was back. “If Broadbent says it, you can take it to the bank.”
They sipped their drinks and sat in companionable silence for a few minutes and then Hope blurted out,
“Have you ever had doubts?”
“Doubts?”
It came out all in a rush. “Yes. About who you are and what you’re meant to do. Have you ever had the rug pulled out from under you where everything you thought you knew might be a lie and everything you’ve been led to believe by people you’re supposed to trust might not be true at all? Have you ever felt like there was something inside of you that you never knew was there and it’s begging to come out, but if you let it out, you can never put it back and what if that something gets out and you can’t control it and it turns into something bad?”
Her eyes widened and her voice rose in pitch with each sentence she spoke. She was frightened of the power growing inside of her. Broadbent was wrong. She wasn’t like the Paenitentian sons born with the Guardian’s teardrop on their chest. They could choose to become Guardians of the Race or deny their birthright. Her only choice was to accept what she was born to be or succumb to an unacceptable fate. He’d heard Grace and Manon speak of it. Hope couldn’t afford to sit on the fence. She might not have time.
Nico was on the seat beside her. She hadn’t seen him move. He took the glass from her hand and put both her hands in his.
“Have you ever known that kind of doubt?” she asked again. She sounded desperate. Her voice shook and her body trembled.
“Yes,” he answered and was surprised by his own honesty.
“What did you do?” Her eyes searched his. She was pleading for an answer.
And he could only speak the truth. “I worked through some of them and learned to live with the rest.” Though that wasn’t the whole truth. He couldn’t tell her that living with the rest controlled his life.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that.”
He released her hands and gripped her shoulders when what he wanted was to gather her into his arms. “You’re strong enough, Hope. You’re stronger than you know. Whatever it is inside you; let it out. You’re strong enough to control it and Manon will show you how. Let it out or it’ll eat you up from the inside. Let it out. Deal with it. And then we’ll look at the rest.”
Hope’s breathing slowed and she leaned forward until her forehead rested on his chest, over his heart where the skull and tears of his calling rested among the lilies. He felt her warmth through the fabric of his robe and for a moment he was afraid to breathe. That warmth and trust touched him in ways he’d never been touched before and with it came another feeling that he hadn’t felt since he was a fledgling in the time before the skull and tears had marked him. Fear. A small trickle of it shimmied up his spine and he was so startled by it, his immediate instinct was to push Hope and it away, but he couldn’t. She needed him. A fierce protectiveness overwhelmed him. He wanted to tell her that he would fight her battles for her, slay her demons and put her worries to rest, but he couldn’t do that either. Her conflict raged in her mind and her heart. She would have to do battle alone. All he could do was give her his faith in a strength she had yet to believe in.
Hope felt the pulse of Nico’s heart beneath her forehead. Stable and constant, its rhythm flowed through her in a steady stream until it reached her center and her own heart matched it beat for beat. He didn’t tell her that her fears were nonsense. He didn’t treat her as if she were a fool even if she’d acted like one. He advised, but didn’t insist on her compliance. He simply held himself firmly before her, his chest sturdy and solid; a wall of steel that offered shelter and support to a woman buffeted by self-doubt. She wanted to stay here, in the shelter of his strength, forever, safely following wherever he would lead. She
was ashamed of the small part of herself that still wanted to be told what to do. It was as if that want was a betrayal of Nico’s faith in her. She wanted him to be proud of her and he wasn’t the kind of man who would see a weak and unsettled woman as a source of pride. She didn’t need his protection. His belief in her would be enough. She had to fight her personal demons alone. She forced herself upright and away from the comfort of his beating heart.
“Thank you for listening. I’m afraid I’ve taken too much of your time.”
“We’re a long lived race. Time’s something we have plenty of.” He could hear someone stirring in the bedrooms above. “You’d better hurry back to your room. I don’t want you to be caught here in your nightgown.”
“Broadbent isn’t the only good man around here,” she said and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek before running from the room.
Nico added a log to the fire and returned to his chair. He was surprised to see the cat, Buffy, curled in the chair on the other side of the fire.
“She thinks I’m a good man,” he told the cat. Buffy yawned as if bored and went back to sleep.
“If only it were true,” he whispered to the flames.
Chapter 13
Beauty sat in her usual place on the floor in the corner of Tyn’s office. She kept her head down, hair flopping forward to hide her face. Through the curtain of her overgrown bangs she watched the beast walking back and forth across the worn carpet. At first, she’d been frightened by this grisly form. It’s rough and scaly skin rippling over its too long arms and lizzardlike legs made her skin crawl. She couldn’t look at the beady eyes and slavering jaws without bile rising to her throat. Now, it was just another part of the hell her life had become. She was grateful that it was in a good mood.
Guardian's Hope Page 10
