‘You have to go to dinner,’ Firde said. ‘It will appear as though you are avoiding him if you do not.’
‘I am avoiding him,’ Lae said, glad that there were no secrets between herself and Firde. She put down the tasselled gold-mesh cap and looked at her reflection in the seeing-glass. ‘I cannot bear to look upon him and know that he has lain with another. Kert will see that on my face. He will know …’
‘People already know,’ Firde said gently, brushing her hair. ‘Any fool could see that you love the Guardian. Why, you only need to look upon him and your cheeks fire with passion, your eyes light with love’s glow and you tremble to be held by him.’
Lae closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands ‘Tell me that is not true. Tell me that my husband cannot see that in me.’
‘The Guardian sees it,’ Firde said. ‘And he is twice as bad.’
Lae peeked out from behind her fingers, then dropped them. ‘He blushes to see me?’
Firde laughed. ‘He cannot breathe when you walk in the room. This I have seen for myself.’
Lae spun on the chair and took Firde’s hands. ‘Tell me what you have seen,’ she asked breathlessly.
‘At dinner last night,’ Firde said. ‘I had put our little man to bed,’ she nodded towards the nursery, ‘and thought to find a meal for myself, so on the way to the kitchens I looked into the dining hall. There he was —’
‘The Guardian Pagan?’
Firde halted in her recollection of the tale. ‘Hear how you say his name,’ she said. ‘The reverence. The ardour. This love is not dead,’ she declared.
Lae slapped her hand and said, ‘Go on with your story.’
‘Very well,’ she said, ‘I was on my way to the kitchen when I looked in to see the Guardian, your beloved …’ Lae frowned at this but Firde merely smiled, ‘… waiting for you to arrive. I knew you had been with your husband —’
‘We were talking. That is all,’ Lae interrupted.
‘But the Guardian did not know that,’ Firde said and Lae felt her heart beat faster. Had Pagan been jealous? ‘And when he saw you walk in together, your hand on My Lord Sh’hale’s arm, such a mix of emotions ran across that handsome face as I wondered if he was going mad.’
‘Mad?’
‘For love,’ Firde said. ‘I swear he did not breathe for a full two minutes while you sat and smiled at your lord and looked at the cutlery and the flowers before you. Then at last when your slow glance drifted towards him he leaned forward, just a little, as though to catch your attention.’
‘I shouldn’t have smiled,’ Lae said, remembering.
‘Oh, but what a gift it was to him,’ Firde assured her. ‘He was like a dry riverbed looking for a trickle of water and your smile filled him to overflowing.’
‘He did smile back,’ Lae agreed.
‘That was not a smile,’ Firde said. ‘That was a declaration of love as loud as though he’d shouted it to the battlements. Did you not see the way he closed his eyes when you said his name?’
Lae shook her head. ‘I was turning back to Kert.’
‘Pagan, you said and he closed his eyes as though to hug the sound of your voice to his bosom.’
‘I did not know.’ Lae felt wonder inside herself remembering the night, how her own breaths had come more quickly, and how often her glance had strayed towards Pagan, marvelling at how the years had turned a loud, vain boy into a mature and very handsome man. A man who, when he smiled, stole her breath.
‘He loves you,’ Firde said, her tone matter-of-fact now. ‘And you love him.’
Lae turned back to the looking-glass. ‘You make it sound as though that is all that matters.’
‘I am not a fool,’ Firde said, and glanced again at the nursery door. ‘But neither must you be. Do not pretend to yourself that you do not love him. Your lord knows.’
‘Kert?’ Lae felt alarm then. If Kert knew that she was still in love with Pagan, what might he do? ‘He will not harm a Guardian who may serve his king.’ Dear sweet Lenid. If anything happened to him they must have a Guardian close by to heal him. The midwife’s warning still haunted Lae’s dreams.
‘He should not,’ Firde corrected. ‘But who knows what a jealous man may do.’
Lae nodded. ‘This would be easier if Pagan knew. About Lenid.’
‘Would it?’ Firde asked. ‘If he discovers you do not have a child with your husband, might he not feel justified in pursuing his love?’
Lae looked up into Firde’s knowing eyes. ‘I fear that is exactly what I want,’ she said.
‘But what of the Guardian’s son, and the woman he left in the other world?’ Firde probed the wound Pagan had inflicted on Lae. ‘Can you forget that?’
‘I thought I never could,’ Lae said, ‘yet when I look into his eyes I feel such a riot of love that I cannot feel pain from it.’
‘And now? How do you feel now in the cold light of reason?’
Lae shook her head. ‘There is no reason,’ she said simply. ‘There is only love that sweeps away every impediment in its path.’
‘Your own son?’ Firde asked and Lae instantly felt the cold hand of fear. ‘Your Lord Sh’hale does not trust the Guardian,’ she added.
‘Kert may say that from jealousy,’ Lae said, but within herself she wondered if he had good reason to mistrust Pagan, who had lied about his son, albeit to protect her feelings. And his story of a royal woman on the Plains was impossible to prove, and harder to believe, so there could be no resolution of that matter until she arrived at the Volcastle. If she arrived. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Lae admitted.
Firde leant past her and picked up the headpiece. ‘Go to dinner with your husband or you will make him suspicious.’
‘He’s already suspicious.’
‘And tired,’ Firde added. ‘I have it from the kitchen staff that he called for a beaker of kitori in the dead dark of night. He is not sleeping for worry that he will lose you to the Guardian.’
Lae frowned. ‘You sound as though you favour him over my beloved. My betrothed,’ she pointed out. ‘And after what Kert has done to me.’ She waved a hand at her foot.
Firde looked at her for a solid minute without speaking and Lae did not know what to think. ‘He has hurt you,’ the maid said at last, ‘yet I believe that was from fear. My Lord Sh’hale is a complicated man —’
‘Whom I do not love,’ Lae interrupted. ‘I cannot believe you would recommend —’
‘I do not recommend,’ Firde argued, ‘I simply …’ She trailed off as though thinking of the right word, then shook her head. ‘Let us ready you for dinner,’ she said and reached forward to take from its case the necklace Kert had given Lae.
With a twist of nimble fingers she secured it at the nape and Lae gazed at the effect, teardrop jewels radiating from just under her chin, down her long neck and then spreading outwards like a waterfall pool across her chest. ‘It doesn’t matter which gown I wear with this,’ she said, ‘the jewels are all anyone notices.’
‘The Guardian barely saw it,’ Firde said and Lae nodded, remembering the way he had held her eyes with his own. She had assumed then that the breathlessness, the firing of her heart had been all one-sided. But if Firde was right and Pagan still loved her …
‘How will I get through this?’ she asked faintly.
‘Sit next to your lord and listen to him,’ Firde replied, ever practical. ‘Try not to look at the Guardian and be sure not to touch him.’
‘That sounds simple enough.’ But it would not be. Lae knew instinctively it would be neither simple nor easy. How was it possible to pretend politeness when your heart was leaping from your chest?
‘You do not fool me, My Lady,’ Firde said. ‘But let us hope that your husband is less observant.’
*
Pagan stood inside the door of his room, breathing. It was all he was capable of in that moment. ‘’Tis only a meal, not a bloodthirsty battle,’ he told himself, yet he could not seem to move, to take the
necessary action of opening the door and walking the short distance from his chambers to the dining hall. He turned back and stood before the looking-glass again, trying to settle his nerves.
‘I am not unattractive,’ he said to himself, though a part of his mind added, twice her age. ‘And I know that she loved me,’ or said she did, but now has a son with another.
Yet so did he. And that had not diminished his love for Lae. If anything, the years apart, though he remembered them not at all, seemed to have deepened his feelings. He could not stand in the same room as her without trembling, could not think of her without imagining her in his arms. Those thin lips he used to tease her about now filled him with desire as he imagined kissing them. Yet despite the urgencies of the flesh, most of all he missed Lae’s bantering jibes and her quick mischievous smile.
And he could not believe that they would never be together.
Simply could not.
The royal had sent him to the Volcastle, to his ‘betrothed’. That must mean something. And Lae did not love Kert, so that was also a point in Pagan’s favour. However, much as he reassured himself with these good portents, he could not escape the fact that he had seen nothing in Lae’s manner, beyond her initial compliment, that would lead him to believe that she was interested in him at all.
Clearly her son was the most important person in her life, and Pagan had considered the notion of trying to find the boy to heal him. However, after further thought he had rejected that plan. Lae already mistrusted him, thanks to Kert, and he would not overturn that mistrust by sneaking behind her back.
So, he must be in her company and, without angering Kert, try to remind her how much she …
Loved him? Pagan frowned. In truth he had never been sure of her love, only of his own. In Lae’s heart there had only been potential. Therefore, perhaps his task was not to rekindle but to inspire love, all without Kert noticing and throwing him into the dungeon.
Pagan had never coveted another man’s wife before and hated the circumstances it placed him in, for he knew that if Lae was his and another man was trying to win her love, he would be mad with jealousy. Kert would be justified in any act of retribution, yet though he felt empathy for his rival, he would not walk away.
Instead, his steps would take him to the dining hall where for the sixth evening in a row he would attempt, covertly, to convince Lae of his love. So, after straightening one of the ribbons on his occasion uniform and assuring himself that his warrior plaits hung exactly evenly at the front of his hair, he turned away from the looking-glass and forced himself to leave his chambers.
‘My Lord Guardian,’ the hall guard said, nodding respectfully as Pagan approached.
Pagan nodded back and continued on, pacing his breathing, reminding himself of the topics of conversation he would try to raise: The Light’s rescue from Be’uccdha where he and Lae had worked together, although he must be careful not to mention the kiss in front of Kert. Still, by reminding Lae of the scene, she would soon recall what, for Pagan, had been the highlight of the adventure.
Although, would she then also remember how he had gone after the Plainswoman Noorinya, foolishly, to punish Lae for her jibes? That would not be a happy memory.
Pagan paused, struggling within himself for another recollection he could raise. But in truth, so many of his encounters with Lae had caused her nothing but vexation. He looked back on them fondly now, but would she? Or would they simply remind her how irritating he had been?
‘You have forgotten something?’ said a soft voice behind him.
Pagan closed his eyes, took a moment to calm himself before he turned, preparing himself for Kert’s disapproving glare but instead he found his beloved alone. For the first time. He looked up and down the corridor, then back to her. ‘Your husband …?’
‘Is delayed,’ she said, and smiled a trembling smile. ‘I think he seeks to test me.’
Pagan was lost in her smile and could find no sense in her words. ‘Test?’
‘I fear he expects me to fall into your arms in the first moment we are alone.’ She looked embarrassed.
Pagan nodded, aware of the danger of her predicament but unable to stop himself speaking his heart. ‘I wish you were in my arms,’ he said, and took a half-step closer. The warmth of her words had dissolved his caution like mist in the sun.
‘No,’ she held out a warning hand but her voice was weak.
Did she fear her husband? Or was she struck by the same desire that now shook him? When he was young and arrogant there had been no doubt in his mind, yet now he was unsure and overwhelmed, by her nearness and the delicate scent of her skin. ‘If you do not love me,’ he said urgently, before they could be interrupted, ‘take pity on me and send me away, for I cannot bear to look upon you and know you will never be mine.’
She shook her head. ‘You must stay to serve the throne, yet my husband does not trust your loyalty.’
‘And do you mistrust me also?’ Was this the only impediment to their love?
‘I do not know you,’ she replied, frowning now. ‘I sent away a young and foolish dolt. Now in his place returns a man who —’ She cut herself short. ‘Your bearing is greatly changed,’ she admitted at last. ‘It speaks of a quiet confidence …’
‘Perhaps the satisfaction of duties satisfactorily discharged,’ he offered. ‘The circumstance of my exile must have shaped my —’
‘No.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Circumstances do not make a man, they reveal him. What I see here,’ she opened her hand towards him, ‘was always within you. Yet … knowing this …’ Her frown returned.
‘You still mistrust me. Tell me how I may prove myself to you,’ he demanded, leaning closer still, his words as insistent as the blood that pounded in his veins. ‘Give me some task that will ensure your belief. Any duty, no matter how dangerous.’
‘No,’ Lae whispered urgently and grasped his arm, yet seemed not to notice that she had done so. ‘Every day of your absence I have feared for your life. I could never endanger you willingly.’
‘You feared for my life?’ Pagan felt as though his heart would float out of his chest ‘You worried for me?’
Lae’s brow cleared and her lips parted, she looked for a moment as though she would smile at him.
‘Beloved,’ he said softly, and moved closer still.
Lae seemed to remember herself then and she frowned. ‘I … it was at my command that you went to Magoria,’ she said, clearly concerned now by his close proximity. ‘I was to accompany you …’
‘How I wish that you had,’ Pagan breathed, moving closer still, backing her against the wall.
‘Because I knew you were too foolish to look after a babe.’ She turned her head away, as though frightened he would try to kiss her.
In truth. Pagan had been a heartbeat from the act, so desperate was his longing, but her words reminded him of the Lae of old, the girl whose life’s mission was to put him in his place. She was clearly still inside this woman he loved, yet could not reach. Or could he?
She stepped back a pace and gazed at him curiously. ‘Your glance has become strange.’
‘I was thinking to kiss you,’ he said softly. ‘Only …’ he looked down at her lips, ‘I fear to shred my silken cushions on your —’
‘Blade-sharp lips.’ Lae smiled then at the old barb he used to taunt her with. It was the first genuine smile she had given him and Pagan felt the warmth of it awaken his cold and fearful heart. ‘Your silken cushions are not so plush as they once were,’ she said, and her smile faded. ‘I fear you have worn them down, kissing the mother of your son.’
Pagan’s joy dimmed. Would this faceless woman, Sarah, always be between them? ‘Your lips are still as beautiful as they ever were,’ he told Lae. ‘The kisses you have shared with your husband have not worn their lustre.’
Lae shook her head. ‘I have shared no kisses with Kert,’ she said.
Pagan frowned. ‘Yet you bore his son.’ He looked on her anew. Had she been forced i
nto marriage by Kert? What other explanation —
‘I have said too much.’ She touched the necklace at her throat and looked past Pagan towards the dining room. ‘We must continue or —’
‘Would you leave your husband?’ he asked her, taking hold of her shoulders when she would step past him. ‘You need not be afraid.’
Lae gazed up into his eyes and shook her head. ‘I need only look at you,’ she said, ‘and fear overwhelms me.’
‘Fear of what? Of Kert?’
‘Fear for my son,’ she said firmly and stepped out of his grasp. ‘I may love you, but I will do nothing to endanger him.’
Love.
She loved him, but while Pagan’s heart would have him seal that proclamation with a reverent kiss, his mind told him their love would be better served by concentrating on her fears. He had no need to make further declarations. She already knew that he loved her. He must discover why she thought he was a threat to her child.
‘Can you not read my aura?’ he asked her. ‘I know that the powers your father pretended are truly in you.’
‘I will be The Dark one day,’ she agreed.
‘Then look into my soul and tell me what you see.’
She raised her chin and looked at him, her eyes unfocused as she searched his outline then looked away.
‘What do you see?’ he demanded again.
Lae was a moment answering. ‘The pale glow of honesty.’
‘And you mistrust that? There are no secrets from me, Lae. I can show you the letter I found from Magoria.’ He put a hand into his tunic to retrieve it.
She glanced at him sideways. ‘You carry it next to your heart?’
He knew how that would appear. ‘I have kept it with me, hoping for an opportunity to gift it to you, as an offering of goodwill, though it is scripted in Magorian symbols. I have no need to keep it for it means nothing to me.’
Lae snatched it from his hand and moved into the light. ‘Your son means nothing to you? My son means more than life to me.’
Pagan tried to control his frustration. ‘You look for evil where there is none,’ he told her. ‘’Tis Kert’s influence, I am sure.’
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