by L. M. Roth
Felicia turned away, but Marcus took her by the shoulders and forced her to turn around and face him. He loved his daughter, but her disobedience must be punished. Felicia tightened her lips and looked him in the eye with an anger that matched his own.
“Yes, Father, I do,” she huffed, her face reddening with the effort to keep her anger in check. “I have already been scolded like a child, and that is why I came home instead of continuing to my destination.”
She folded her arms in front of her in the gesture that Tullia hated, and Marcus did what she would have done had she been there: he removed them and forced her arms down to her side. Felicia pursed her lips and exhaled noisily, flinging her head back in a movement that set her curls dancing. Marcus merely tightened the grip on her arms and she cried out in pain.
“No defiance, Felicia. You are a young lady now; try to act like it instead of a spoiled child.”
He released her arms abruptly and she rubbed them with tears filling her eyes. Never in her life had her father physically punished her, and the experience was one she was not likely to forget. Marcus kept his eyes glued to her face, alert for any further demonstrations of rebellion. Seeing her vanquished spirit, he continued.
“Your mother and I guessed that your destination was Eirinia. Is that correct?”
Felicia nodded and hung her head.
“And why did you not continue?” Marcus asked, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. “For one so bent on getting her own way you certainly gave up easily enough.”
Felicia made a small gasp of protest, and put a hand on her father’s arm in a beseeching gesture that never failed to move him. He thought that today might the first occasion when it did.
“I came home, Father,” she shrieked in a small indignant voice, “because I met an old friend of yours on the voyage who made me see how wrong I was to run away, and that I owed it to you and mother to return home. And so I did.”
Tears filled her eyes once more, and she forgot that she was now a dignified young lady and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. Marcus found himself responding in amusement, so typical was the gesture of his daughter, but he quenched the chuckle that rose to his lips, knowing it was sure to give offense. He extended an olive branch by putting an arm around her instead. She snuggled up gratefully with the confiding air of a small child, and kissed her father’s fingers, now curled around her shoulder.
She smiled up at Marcus, and he could not resist smiling back. He kissed her brow and embraced her warmly. This only served to be her undoing as she dissolved into tears that racked her body and tore at her throat.
“Hush! There, there, be quiet now,” he soothed.
“Oh, Father, I am so sorry!” she whimpered into his chest. “And I did come home instead of going on to Eirinia. I did not mean to cause grief, truly I didn’t!”
“I forgive you, Felicia,” Marcus whispered as he dropped a tender kiss on the head bowed against his chest. “All is well, my little darling; all is well.”
Felicia heaved a sigh that quieted her sobs and she went limp, her head leaning against her father’s breast. For a few minutes neither spoke; then Marcus recalled her words.
“You said you met an old friend of mine on the voyage? Who was that, Felicia?”
Felicia now wriggled out of his arms and turned a tear-stained face up to his. A smile of excitement lit her face as she related the encounter.
“It was Bimo! I met him at one of the ship’s stops and befriended his daughter. He recognized the name Maximus and asked if I was your daughter. Then when I told him I had run away, he made me see the wrong I had done, and that I owed it to you and mother to return as you would be very worried about me. He said he traveled with you long ago.”
Marcus’ face suddenly appeared to his daughter as if the years had dropped away, and he seemed but a youth. His eyes lit with a soft glow, and a smile caressed his face as memory struck him. He turned to her and nodded.
“Yes, Bimo. I remember Bimo!” he laughed. “Oh, what a good friend he was to me, to all of my companions. I have wondered what became of him. Tell me, for I long to know.”
And Felicia recounted all that Bimo had told her of his history, and her father hung eagerly on her words. She listened with a thrill to how Bimo had saved Marcus and his friends so many years ago from the wrath of the Flame Throwers, and how he had proved such a great help to Dag in the early years of the Eirinia colony.
“Ah, well, he was always like a bird that could not be caged,” Marcus remarked. “But it sounds by your account that he is happy at last, and I am glad to hear it.”
He stood for a moment, lost in memories of the past, and his adventures in the days of the Empress Aurora. Then he returned to the present with a start and suddenly looked around the atrium.
“Where is your mother?” he asked abruptly. “She should be here this time of day. Yet, I have not heard her since I entered the villa.”
He did not inquire after his mother-in-law, Felicia noted. But then, no one really wished to converse with her willingly in the first place.
“I do not know where Mother is,” she answered. “Otho told me when I returned that she and Lucius left on an urgent errand, but did not say what it was. Even my grandmother does not know, and was very worried at their sudden departure.”
“Did she leave a message for me?” he asked his daughter.
Felicia shook her head.
“No. She did not leave a message for anyone.”
Marcus stared at his daughter with unseeing eyes. It was not to search for Felicia that Tullia left, for she knew that Marcus would look for her in Eirinia. And why did Lucius leave with her?
What could possibly have been so urgent that Tullia left everything behind, and with no message for her husband?
Chapter XXVI
A Ghost From the Past
It was with a heavy heart that Dag took leave of his dear friend Marcus. It had been good to see him once more, and share each other’s news, as well as spend time in one another’s company. How long ago it was that they had shared their adventures, and what changes had come since then!
Dag knew that the days and months ahead would be hard and difficult for the family. Not only had they lost their dear Brenus, but they would be saddled with the presence of his widow who bore his child. That she brought nothing but pain to his family he knew all too well.
How he wished that she would return from whence she came, but with the coming of the child she decided to remain in Leith. That Judoc looked forward to the birth he was well aware. But he also caught the glances of hostility that his eldest daughter cast on Melisande, and saw trouble ahead in the days to come.
Melisande herself had the appearance of a cat that has just eaten a mouse it had stalked for a long time. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw squared when she looked at her father-in-law, and a little smile curled around the corners of her lips but never reached her cold green eyes. She had a way of wrapping her body into a chair that brought to mind a cat curling itself around the legs of someone it wished to annoy, and the sight set Dag’s teeth on edge.
He studied her when she was unaware of it, usually when she sat in animated conversation with Nolwenn, who regarded Melisande with awe for some reason that Dag had never been able to fathom. So often had he seen their heads bent together in whispered conversation as giggles erupted from their lips, only to be hushed in the presence of the family. What did they whisper of, he wondered silently.
His younger son Brand was shy in Melisande’s presence, but frequently brought her small gifts since the death of Brenus in an attempt to cheer her. The wildflowers were now out in abundance and they found their way from the woods to Melisande’s hut, via the hands of her gentle young brother-in-law. He blushed under her thanks, and darted away as embarrassment overcame him.
Dirk also brought little gifts to the widow, mainly gifts of meat from the deer and rabbits he hunted in the woods. He never brought back game from the family table without tak
ing an offering to Melisande. If she joined the family that evening she generously brought her portion to the table to share. Dirk was more eloquent in his conversation than his younger brother, and bowed when his sister-in-law proffered her thanks.
On this occasion Cort and Siv, along with Brit, had joined the family dinner. Judoc wanted the rest of her children about her in a vain attempt to forget the loss of Brenus. It was as if a large gathering blotted out the horror of her son’s death, and consoled her with the sound of many voices sharing the events of the day, and partaking of the evening meal together in the days before Brenus’ marriage and subsequent discord with Cort.
“Nolwenn, I shall soon have to chase the young men away from you as I do Maelys,” Dirk teased his sister, as he ruffled the mane of dark hair that flowed freely down her back.
Nolwenn blushed and glanced furtively at Melisande, who stifled a sudden giggle. Why this should be Dag did not know, but wondered what was so amusing in the remark. His daughter was a comely young maiden, and although not as striking in appearance as Maelys, would have her share of suitors competing for her hand.
“Stop teasing her, brother!” Maelys admonished him. “She is too young and you shall frighten her so that no man shall stand a chance with her.”
“Is it possible that you are jealous, Maelys?” Dirk queried in a mocking tone. “Ah! That is it, is it not? You do not wish to share attention with Nolwenn.”
“Oh, do stop it, Dirk!” Nolwenn implored. “I am far too young, and am happy as I am. I have no wish to rush into marriage, and shall take my time when deciding on a mate.”
Dirk laughed, but ruffled her hair once more. Maelys shook her head severely at him, and gave her attention to her plate. Dag looked with concern at Nolwenn and saw her cast an anxious glance at Melisande, who looked at the table with a vacant expression in her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip in an apparent state of abstraction.
What is going on with those two, he wondered. He looked around the room and noticed that Maelys also was watching Nolwenn and Melisande furtively, her eyes darting back and forth from one to the other as a frown wrinkled her smooth white forehead. But she said nothing.
It was Cort who broke the awkward silence that followed this exchange.
“Melisande,” he began, giving his sister-in-law the rare courtesy of his attention, “what shall you do once the child is born? Shall you remain here or return to your people?”
It was as if someone had shot a flaming arrow into an enemy camp. Melisande gasped and shot a look of such venomous fury on Cort that Dag nearly gasped in return. She seemed like a kitten that had suddenly revealed the fangs of a lioness.
“Of course, I shall stay here, Cort,” she spat out between teeth clenched so tightly that her lips all but disappeared. “Where else would I bring up my husband’s child?”
“Oh, I thought perhaps you might want to raise the child among your own people,” he said airily, ignoring the baleful spite of her glance.
“I have no people to raise the child among,” she said in a steely voice as she warned him to silence with her glare. “My family is Brenus’ now; that is the only family I have.”
She raised her chin and stared at him with a defiant air, the atmosphere ringing with the sound of her unspoken threats. Cort grinned at her slowly and with obvious pleasure in what he was about to do.
“Oh, come now, I am certain that Pascal and Gaelle would be most upset to hear that statement. Why, you make it sound as if you disown them. How cruel of you, Melisande.”
Melisande gasped and paled, and she shook with a fury that she struggled to control. But it was in vain: Dag had heard Cort’s words.
“Pascal? Gaelle?” he repeated, in a voice that proclaimed his disbelief in what he had just heard. “What have they to do with you, Melisande?”
Melisande’s mouth dropped in dismay, and she quailed before her father-in-law. Then she faced Cort with hatred seething from every pore in her body.
“Why, nothing, Dag, nothing at all. Cort is merely making sport of me. Aren’t you, Cort?” she challenged him with eyes so wide that they dwarfed her other features.
Cort noted with satisfaction that there was not a trace of color in Melisande’s face, so pale was it with fear. He smiled mockingly into her face, and tilted his chair back on its feet, enjoying her consternation.
“Of course, Melisande,” he chuckled. “I am merely making sport.”
Dag pretended to accept this explanation, but Cort’s words and Melisande’s reaction to them haunted him. He had not thought of Fanchon since the day he met Judoc, and the mention of her parents brought back memories too painful to dwell on. He decided that he would talk to Cort at the first opportunity.
It was two days later that Dag confronted Cort in the fields. What, he asked did he mean by upsetting Melisande, she who carried his brother’s child? And what was this talk of Pascal and Gaelle; what possible connection could they have to his daughter-in-law?
Cort braced himself to see pain in his father’s eyes. He did not like to remind him of those days of his betrothal so many years ago, yet he did not trust Fanchon’s daughter, and felt it was best for Dag to know her identity. And to question her motives in traveling to Eirinia and marrying Brenus.
Briefly he related Melisande’s history, and her account of Fanchon’s death by her own hand. He flinched only when he informed Dag that Melisande blamed him for her death.
Dag heard Cort out, and took a step backward, passing his hand over his eyes, and suddenly appearing much older than his years. His knees buckled and he sat down abruptly on the ground beneath his feet. He sat with his eyes riveted on the ground; when he glanced up at Cort, he saw that they were wet.
“Fanchon,” he murmured in a strangled voice. “Little Fanchon, always so gay and glad. How could she? Oh, how could she have killed herself!”
The great man bellowed with the sound of a wounded bull, and Cort felt tears well up in his own eyes. He placed a comforting hand on his father’s shoulder, and Dag briefly covered it with his own. Then Dag shuddered and a long drawn out sigh escaped his lips.
“It is not my fault, though,” he muttered. “I can not take the blame for what she did; it was her choice alone.”
“Yes, that is exactly right, Dag,” Cort assured him. “Melisande blames you unfairly and I told her that. But she would not listen to me, would not listen to reason.”
“She is in great pain; that is why she will not listen to reason,” Dag informed him with a nod of his shaggy head. “We must be kind and show her the love of Dominio all the more.”
“All the more,” he repeated as he saw the look of protest on Cort’s face.
“Yes, Father,” Cort sighed reluctantly.
“And we shall not repeat this to Judoc, if you please,” Dag said sternly.
“Of course not,” Cort hastened to assure him.
He would not for the world hurt the woman who had raised him as one of her own by sharing news of his father’s former betrothed that would only hurt her and raise questions between her and her husband. Naught but pain would come of it, and he saw Dag’s wisdom in keeping Melisande’s parentage quiet.
He had to admit that sharing Melisande’s secret with Dag had lightened his heart. It had weighed it down to keep such knowledge to himself. Now, however, Dag would be on the alert for any possible retaliation from his daughter-in-law, who hated him so and blamed him for her mother’s death when she was still a child.
Chapter XXVII
An Alarming Mystery
Cort decided that it was now time for him to take Siv and his mother and leave the village for a while. His grief for Brenus was intense, and the sight of his widow gloating over the coming birth of their child only deepened the pain he bore. And he could no longer stand the sight of his brother’s widow, challenging him, and so obviously seeking opportunities to catch him alone.
Now that he had informed Dag of Melisande’s past, Cort felt that he was safe. He would be
watchful of her behavior and alert for any trouble that she might attempt to bring on the family. He knew that he had been a big help to Dag on the farm, but Dirk was now strong and hearty and could take his place. He was also skilled with a bow and could supply the family table with game as Brenus once did.
A day came when Melisande did not appear at the family table. According to Nolwenn she did not feel well due to the child and stayed in her own hut for the evening. She would take a plate to her after the family had eaten.
Cort chose that moment to make his announcement. He first looked at his wife, who silently nodded her head. Siv also found Melisande’s continued presence intolerable, and eagerly anticipated a chance to get away from it. In her eyes he found the strength he needed to break his news to the family.
“Father, Mother,” he began. “I have news I would like to share.”
He waited until he had the attention of his brothers and sisters as well. Strange, he thought in that moment, they are not really my brothers and sisters, yet they are all the family I have except for my sister back in Trekur Lende. He realized with a pang that he would miss them dearly.
One by one they all turned to face him with questions in their eyes. Only Dag appeared to sense what was coming. Cort knew that he would not truly be surprised, although it would bring him pain.
“After much discussion with Siv and my mother, we have decided it is time for us to leave Leith for a while and journey on. Where I do not know, but I feel the need for a change, and they have agreed to go where I go.”
A general gasp circled the room before coming back to rest in front of Cort. He ignored it and continued speaking.
“We shall leave the day after tomorrow.”
Judoc choked on a cry and sprang to her feet to embrace Cort. He permitted her to cling to him, but he stood firm in his resolve. He must think of Siv now, and it was clear that she and Melisande would never get on, and the tension between them at the family meals was intolerable. In his heart Cort would not admit that he feared Melisande might bring some harm upon his wife.
