Remembrance

by Jude Deveraux

  Beside Dorothy was Joanna, twenty-six, the plainest of the sisters, and threatening to run away with one of the gardeners if her father didn’t find her a husband. In one bold moment, she had said this to her father. John had merely looked at her and said, “Just so it’s not the head gardener’s boy. I need him.” Joanna had gone running from the room in tears.

  “He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Is incest truly a mortal sin?”

  “Joanna!” Dorothy said, trying to act as though she were aghast, but actually working hard not to smile.

  Callie went to the window to look out. Below them she saw Talis, a gleaming sword in his hands as he rammed it toward a man twice his age and half again his size. Talis was struggling with all his might to down the man while John sat on a horse and looked on, a faint frown on his face.

  “I don’t think Father is so pleased with him,” Edith said, coming to look out the window. “I heard that for all his size, he isn’t very strong. Philip unseated him yesterday.” She was speaking of her weak-lunged younger brother.

  At just the sight of Talis, Callie’s legs nearly folded under her. Some part of her seemed to fly out the window to be with him. Two days seemed like twenty years. She did not just miss him, she felt as though someone had cut her body in half and taken away the half containing her heart.

  As though he knew she was watching him—which he did—Talis turned and looked up at Callie. For all that Callie had recently been told all sorts of idiotic things about the proper conduct of ladies, she dismissed everything she’d heard as she leaned so far out the window, she nearly fell. “I am here,” she shouted, waving her arm at him. “I am here.”

  Callie’s unladylike shouting almost brought the people of Hadley Hall to a halt. No one had hardly heard the girl speak since she’d arrived; it was easy to forget she was there.

  Below, John was especially annoyed that his precious son should be so distracted by the pale girl, and he thought of reprimanding her that night. But John was not prepared for the change that took over Talis when he heard Callie’s voice.

  When Talis turned to look up at Callie, Hugh Kellon, the seasoned knight he had been struggling with (the man was having no trouble beating Talis’s awkward, weak, untutored thrusts), started toward his back. He meant to show the young whelp that girls should not distract a man from the important business of life.

  But Talis knew that Callie was watching him, and when the man came at his back, Talis whirled in one brilliant flash and attacked the man, driving him backward. Within seconds, the man was on his back in the sand, Talis’s sword at his throat.

  Ever the showman, Talis put his foot on the man’s chest and raised one arm toward the sky as he looked up at Callie, who immediately began applauding him.

  It would be difficult to know who was more surprised: John or Hugh Kellon, the man who now had Talis’s foot on his chest. For a moment, rage went through Hugh, rage at his humiliation, rage at the arrogance of this young pup for his foot and his bravado. But then Hugh saw the humor of it all. It had been a long time since he had performed great feats to impress a girl.

  Removing his foot, Talis turned to give a bow to Callie and to the two other young women who were politely applauding him.

  Edith pulled the three of them away from the window. “Have you no shame! Really! You’re acting like harlots. And with your own brother, too!”

  “He’s not my brother,” Callie said, as always letting everyone know that she and Talis were not blood relatives.

  Edith looked at Callie standing between her sisters Dorothy and Joanna and she could see the very strong family resemblance. But she turned away, not wanting to acknowledge what she saw. Her parents had told her that the young man was her brother and this hoyden Callie was not related to her. That was good enough for her.

  “Come, all of you. There is a music lesson in the solar.”

  Callie followed Edith and the other two, but she knew that her heart was in the courtyard below.

  26

  What ails you, son?” John Hadley asked Talis as the boy toyed with the food on his plate. John rarely allowed the boy out of his sight, which was why he had him eating in his private chambers instead of with the others in the Great Hall. At the first meal they had shared, Talis had asked that his brothers be allowed to sit with them. Talis had thought it odd that a father would choose one son over another, and, besides, he liked the company of Philip and James.

  “How do you expect to grow if you do not eat?” John asked.

  “Has he not grown enough?” Philip said, half teasing, half in jealousy at the way his father treated this new “brother.” “All the horses scream in fear at the very sight of him.”

  At that statement, John drew back his hand, ready to cuff his son for his insolence, but Talis laughed and reached for another roll of white bread. He missed Meg’s cooking, her table laden with simple food, undisguised. In this house he sometimes had trouble figuring out what food was, as even cheese was sometimes formed to look like beef. “And shall we saddle a grasshopper for you, little brother?” Talis asked. “Or a garden snake so your feet will not drag the ground?”

  Startled, John dropped his hand.

  “And what of you, brother?” Talis said, looking at Philip, whose hands shook from the exertion of the day.

  “Me?” Philip asked, never wanting attention focused on him at best, and never around his father.

  For a moment, Talis studied Philip, looked at his shaking hands, at the circles under his eyes. The three of them slept in a bed together and he knew all too well how much Philip coughed during the night. “Tomorrow we shall compete,” Talis said. “I will take both of you on. If either of you unseats me, both of you shall spend the day on your backs under a tree. If neither of you can unseat me, then I will nap under the tree while you train.”

  The two young men looked at Talis as though he’d lost his mind. Their father would never allow such laziness.

  “Come now, don’t look so glum. I will not snore too loudly as the two of you train in the sun. Hugh will leave you all in the dirt. Tomorrow I shall be ready to spend the night dancing and you will be too tired to stand.”

  John chuckled at this, as Talis reminded him of himself at that age, so cocky and sure of himself.

  It was Philip who understood what Talis was doing and for a moment the beginnings of love filled his eyes. He had done what he could to make their father understand that James could not train every day, that he needed rest. Philip knew that tomorrow, early, Talis was going to be landing in the dirt and James would “win” the competition and therefore spend his day resting under a shade tree.

  “You!” Philip said. “You have the finesse of a butcher. You could never unseat someone with my training. Tell me, Talis, on this farm of yours, did you by chance ride cows?”

  “I’ll—” John began, but Talis cut him off.

  “I was as good a farmer as I will be a knight,” Talis bragged. “I raised chickens so big that I rode them. Of course I had a problem when I jumped fences with them as their feathers got into my mouth. But I solved that problem by selling the feathers to be used for logs for building boats. Chicken feathers float, you know.”

  At that, even John laughed, and for the rest of the meal, he ate in silence, listening to his sons taunt each other. It seemed that with each day that passed the gloom was lifting from the house. John had always believed that his happiness lay in having his own true son, and this beautiful, strong, intelligent boy was proving him right.

  But it was by the evening of the fifth day that John began to notice that something was wrong with his precious son. At first his exuberance had known no bounds. He had teased and laughed and pushed himself to show his strength with a weapon. He was untrained but he was extremely talented.

  Off the field, his teachers had raved about his knowledge of the arts as well as the sciences. They said that only James had been a better pupil. John dismissed this; what did it matter what his w
eak son learned? He would be dead in a short time so John refused to give the boy any part of his heart.

  But Talis was another matter. Here was a boy worthy of love.

  So what was wrong with him? John wondered. It was as though something was draining him. When John had expressed a concern that perhaps the boy was tired, Hugh had snorted. “How can a sixteen-year-old be tired? At his age did you not train all day and wench all night? I know I did not sleep at his age.”

  “Then what is wrong with him?”

  Hugh had no idea. They had been given a clue to Talis’s problem when Talis easily knocked Hugh to the ground and insolently placed his foot on his chest. In that moment, Talis had certainly not lacked energy. They had, of course, noticed that young Talis wanted to impress the girls hanging from the window, but all boys wanted that so they’d paid no attention to it.

  Tomorrow would be nearly a week that Talis had been with them, and during that time John had made sure that every moment of the boy’s time was taken up. Talis had not been left alone for a breath. John wasn’t sure what he was frightened of, but he seemed to fear that Talis would disappear if he were not supervised and guarded at every second.

  Now, after dinner, John started to walk the boys upstairs to their chamber, Hugh close behind them.

  It was on the stairs that John came close to finding out what was plaguing Talis. Coming down the stairs were a gaggle of his daughters—he did not bother himself to tell one from another; they were all alike to him.

  Suddenly, as though a spell had been cast upon him and he could not move, Talis halted on the stairs, his eyes wide, as though he were seeing something not quite of this world. Across from him, against the wall, one of the girls also stopped, her face a mirror of his.

  At first the two of them, the girl and Talis, did not touch, but the way they looked at each other was something that John had never seen before. No, it was more than something one could see; it was something that could only be felt. When the two of them looked at each other, they seemed to fill the air with a charge, like on a summer’s day before a lightning storm.

  None of the people on the stair could move or speak as they felt the vibration of the atmosphere around these two people. It surrounded them, making the very air quiver.

  As for Callie and Talis, they were trembling with such force that no words could pass between them. It had been days and days and days since they had seen each other. Never in their lives had they been apart for an entire day; separation was not something either of them had fully known the meaning of. So long ago when Talis had gone to the market without Callie, the two of them had nearly died getting back to each other.

  Now, to say they “missed” each other meant nothing. They were like plants that had had no water or sunshine for days on end. They were like rain barrels with staves missing; slowly all their contents were draining out.

  Very, very slowly, Talis put up his hand toward Callie, his fingertips extended, as she brought her fingers to his. Then, with the others watching, as unable to move as though they had been turned to stone, Callie and Talis touched fingertips.

  To a person, everyone on the stairs felt the thrill of that touch. The strength of their reunion overflowed from their strong, young, yearning bodies to the people around them. It was as though the stones and the air shivered with the connection of these two people.

  Neither Callie nor Talis was aware of the others on the stairs or of the sensation they were causing. For days now they had both tried to be good, tried to be brave and strong, tried to be what they thought of as “adult.” Talis especially had tried to keep Callie from his thoughts. He was a man, wasn’t he? He did not need a pesky girl to follow him about as she had on the farm. He knew that here he would be laughed at if she were near him as she had been all his life. These people were not Will and Meg, whose whole lives revolved around their children. These people believed that children should conform to their ways.

  No one knew how long Talis and Callie stood there in silence, their hands outstretched, the tips of their fingers touching, drawing life and strength from each other. Had it not been for some other diners wanting to get up the stairs they might have stayed there all night.

  John was the first to recover. “Here, boy, let us pass,” he said, giving Talis a little shove, thereby bringing him back to reality.

  Abruptly, everyone came to their senses, and, like a dog shaking off water, each person shook himself, not wanting to remember what he had just felt.

  “Come along, Callasandra,” Edith said, pushing Callie and her sisters down the stairs in front of her. She would do most anything to keep from experiencing her father’s wrath.

  Callie turned away, not looking back at Talis as he started up the stairs. Her heart was beating faster and her legs were weak with wanting to touch him, to talk to him, to do nothing but look at him, but she made herself go down the stairs.

  Behind her, Dorothy whispered to Joanna. “Is that what it feels like to be in love?”

  “No,” Joanna said. “I do not think those two love each other.”

  Dorothy, ever a romantic, looked at her sister in horror. More than anything in the world she wanted to be in love. “Not in love?”

  “I think what is between them is something different from love. I do not know if it is of the devil or of God, but I am sure it is not natural.”

  Frowning, disappointed, Dorothy followed her sister down the stairs.

  Quietly, so as not to disturb the two girls in bed with her, Callie got out of bed, tossed her clothes over her arm, and made her way to the garderobe. In this stone-seated toilet, she was able to dress without being heard. Then, silently, she left the room and started down the wooden stairs to the back of the house, toward the doors that led out to the kitchen.

  She had been waiting in bed for a long time, until the others went to sleep. Waiting and knowing that Talis was going to meet her.

  When he stepped from behind a tree, his body no more than a dark shadow, she did not so much as hesitate. Picking up her heavy skirts, she ran toward him, wanting to throw her body on his.

  But Talis did not hold out his arms to her. Instead, he caught her hand in his and began running, Callie working hard to keep up with him as he ran around buildings and equipment, around trees and through garden paths. She didn’t know where he was leading and she didn’t care. She truly hoped he was leading her to the edge of the world where they’d both jump off—or if it was a circle, maybe they’d run round and round the earth and never stop. Just so they were never separated again, she didn’t care what happened.

  He took her to a place she did not know existed: an old, burned-out castle that had two towers still standing, its walls blackened from a fire, timbers tumbled to the ground. There was evidence that the villagers were taking stones from the castle to build new homes for themselves.

  Talis, holding firmly onto Callie’s hand, ran with her up ancient, worn, slippery steps. Once when her feet went flying from under her, he caught her, then pushed her against the wall, his big body pinning hers to the stones.

  He was different tonight, she thought. Different than he had ever been. The last time they had been alone, they had kissed each other and his hand had traveled up under her skirt. Now, as he pressed her against the wall, for a long, long moment, his breath was on her face, his black eyes boring into hers; she could feel his heart pounding against her breast.

  Callie could feel her body growing limp as she leaned against him, her lips moving toward his. But then his laugh rang out and he grabbed her hand and began to pull her up the stairs, coming at last to an ancient oak door that was sealed with a rusty lock.

  Turning, he saw the disappointment on her face, then, with one powerful kick, Talis broke the weathered and rotting oak of the door. When the old door went crashing to the floor, Callie laughed in triumph as Talis swept her into his arms.

  On the parapets, the old walk where the sentries guarded at night, he held her and whirled her around and
around, while Callie threw back her head and laughed in delight.

  Talis began to laugh too as he set her on her feet and snatched the headdress off her head. Then as she shook her head to free her hair, he ran his fingers through it, pulling it out to surround her body. A gust of wind made her hair wrap around both of them, enclosing them even further in the silent moonlight.

  Easily, naturally, he slipped his arms about her and kissed her softly and sweetly, and when he pulled away, there was wonder on his face.

  Moving onto her tiptoes, Callie started to kiss him again, but he spun her around. “What is this you wear?” he asked, feeling the corset under her dress.

  “Steel,” she said, knowing that at this moment she was happier than she had ever been before.

  Talis didn’t take two minutes unlacing the back of her dress, those laces that had caused her great trouble in the dark garderobe. He smoothly slipped the dress from her shoulders, then unlatched the corset from her ribs.

  Holding the thing at arm’s length, he started to toss it over the side of the walls to the old, dried-up moat far below, but Callie squealed in protest. “No! Edith will kill me if I lose that.”

  Talis only laughed and in the next second it went sailing over the battlements to the ground below. Running to the wall, Callie watched it fall, then over her head, he sent her headdress sailing. “You idiot,” she said. “I will get into trouble for this.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she turned to look at him. She would have thought she’d seen every expression Talis could put on his face, but she’d never seen this expression before. His dark eyes were black in the moonlight, glittering in a way she’d never seen any man’s eyes glitter. For a split second she was almost afraid of him. He looked so very old, so very adult standing there. He wasn’t the boy who’d chased her through brambles, but a man who was looking at her as he would look at a woman.