Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2)

by Adam Copeland

  The wind blowing through their hair also swept patterns in the grass. White fluffy clouds drifted through the air like sky castles.

  “Dierdre is twice widowed,” Patrick replied, picking up the butter knife to examine the butter still clinging to it. “Both her husbands died in unfortunate accidents.”

  “That’s horrible,” Aimeé said.

  “Aye, and now everyone thinks she’s cursed. Despite her beauty no man is in a hurry to be the third.” Patrick meticulously wiped the knife against the lip of butter pot, then laid it across the mouth of the pot at its exact center.

  “And Catha?”

  Patrick smiled. “She almost killed the last man who tried to court her. She is no man-hater, but she is much too wild to be tamed. I imagine when the right man comes along she’ll let it happen.”

  Aimeé swallowed hard, and after a quiet moment of mustering her courage, she asked, “And us? What are your plans for us?”

  After readjusting the position of the knife across the mouth of the pot, Patrick leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, and replied, “I was hoping time will tell. My family likes you very much. That was the first thing I needed to know. In a little more time, God willing and I don’t drive you crazy, we can discuss... more.”

  Aimeé closed her eyes. Disappointment roiled through her body. She had hoped for a clearer answer from him, not an itinerary of one of his calculated plans. She knew better than to ask him directly if he loved her. On top of being a man, he was Patrick, and most likely would withdraw into an awkward silence. She also knew better than to corner him into consenting to a hypothetical marriage by posing the question if she were hypothetically pregnant.

  Instead, she just said it. “Patrick, I’m with child.”

  The wind picked up as he stared at her for a moment.

  “You’re certain?” he asked at last.

  “Yes. Your mother and Beatrix pointed it out,” she answered. “I imagine if anyone would know such things, it would be them.”

  “But it has been so long. How is it you’re just now learning of it?” he asked, brow furrowed . Perhaps it was a natural reaction in men to find a better alternative to a surprising problem.

  “I thought I was seasick this whole time, and my natural rhythms disrupted by the stress of travel. It all adds up now,” she replied.

  “But...” Patrick stammered.

  Aimeé could not believe he was still trying to reason the child away.

  “Obviously you don’t know women’s bodies as well as you thought,” she said with not a little sarcasm, “and there is that small matter that I died for a short while—on enchanted Avalon—and who knows what kind of disruption to the natural order of things that could have caused.”

  Patrick stood and looked down upon the festival at all the people going about their normal lives as if the most earth-shaking news hadn’t just announced itself. The wind ruffled the sleeves of his shirt as he begun to pace with his hands on hips.

  “Well then, it’s settled,” he said at last. He stopped his pacing to address her, doing his best to conjure a smile. “Marriage it is! What good chance it is we’re here with my family. We can plan immediately. Mother will be very happy, she will want—”

  “Patrick,” Aimeé said quietly, “I may only be a commoner who should be ecstatic at the idea of marrying up in the world, but I do have some measure of pride. It was my hope you would be happier than this. That you would want to marry me because you loved me, not out of some sense of honor and duty.”

  “But I do!” Patrick said. “It’s just a surprise. I wasn’t expecting it so soon. I—”

  “Stop!” Aimeé shouted. She wanted all the facts known before he said too much too soon. “There is more.”

  He spread his hands, a look of anticipation on his face. She rose from the blanket and stood under his gaze. The wind whipped her hair.

  “The timing. It could be Sir Geoffrey’s. Yet another reason I was not certain of my own condition: I had thought the trauma of his attack had disrupted my cycles. In any case, I do not know for certain, and even your mother says she cannot tell. She does say, however, trouble follows the child. There is a darkness.”

  Patrick swallowed hard, his open hands closed into fists and she knew if Geoffrey stood there now he would have been a dead man. Most telling, however, behind the rage surfaced a look of crippling uncertainty. And maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she detected a hint of relief in his eyes. The possibility of escape.

  It’s just my imagination, right?

  Patrick sat down hard. After a long moment of silence and frowning thoughtfulness, he took her by the wrist and drew her down beside him.

  “No matter,” he said, staring off into the distance. “I will not leave you alone in this. I will take care of you both. I will marry you.”

  “Did you hear what I said?” she asked, wanting to be certain he knew what he said. “It could be Geoffrey’s, and your mother says—”

  “My mother says many things,” he almost snapped. “It’s like this business with the flute. Stories for a child.”

  “You don’t believe your mother has...” Aimeé struggled for words. “Skills? Knowledge?”

  Patrick scowled. “You mean do I think she has fairy magic?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Patrick remained silent for a while, grinding his teeth. “After my experiences on Avalon, I know she does. I understand my heritage better now.”

  “Then why don’t you believe?”

  Patrick growled and made a dismissive gesture. “My point is that I don’t know what to believe anymore. I felt she was always hiding something from me. Telling me half-truths to protect me. I’m an adult now and don’t need protecting. Her saying there is a ‘darkness’ over this child is her way of protecting me from the possibility it is Geoffrey’s. I don’t care. I will marry you and take care of it and you.”

  “Take care of me?” It was Aimeé’s turn to scowl at his presumptuous and dismissive tone. “I don’t want your protection. I want your love. We will need it if there is a shadow over this baby.”

  Patrick grabbed her wrists and pulled her towards him. His eyes turned intense and strange. “There is no darkness! Just things needing sorting out! I will sort them!”

  “Patrick...” Aimeé writhed in his grip that started to hurt.

  “There is nothing here I can’t fix! There is—”

  “Patrick, please, you’re hurting me!”

  Patrick froze. His eyes cleared and he looked down at his hold on her. Blood leaked from his bandaged hand and smeared her wrist. He shook his head as if waking from a dream, released her, and gazed at his shaking hands.

  “I’m the darkness,” he whispered, a far away look in his eyes. He slumped and rubbed at his temple. “Everything I touch goes to hell. You were raped in the first place because of me. Loki had you killed because of me. I’m a danger.”

  Aimeé wanted to reassure him, but realized she had instinctively pulled away when he had released her. She found herself protecting her stomach.

  “I don’t know the answer to these things,” Aimeé said at last, “but perhaps we should take our time before making any decisions.”

  Patrick’s distant gaze evaporated. “What do you mean?”

  “We should hold off on marriage—no, don’t argue. Let us, as you say, sort this out, but slowly,” she responded.

  Patrick protested just the same. “If you doubt I love you, then I will prove it to you over time.”

  “Perhaps,” Aimeé said, “but even before your outburst, your love did not shine brightly. You brought me to Eire out of guilt because of how you treated me before my death. You brought me back to life so you could balance the scales, not because you loved me. Not the kind of love I yearn for.”

  “I’m willing to try,” he said, brows knitting over his eyes. “I can’t leave you alone in this.”

  Aimeé shook her head, responding, “You won’t be, and if nothing else
I have my people and support back in Aesclinn. I will not be the first commoner to bear a child alone.”

  Patrick got to his knees and held her tightly, his throat constricting as he said, “Please don’t do this.”

  “Please let me,” Aimeé responded, embracing him just as tightly. The clouds had blotted out the sun. Fat raindrops started to soak them. “I do not have name, title, or land. You have your honor and duty. I only have my pride. It is all I have. If you truly love me, if only a little, you will let me keep it.”

  The rain came down harder and the wind swept their blanket and meal away in a sudden rush.

  #

  Days later, Patrick watched Aimeé say long tearful goodbyes to Beatrix, in which she called the Breton woman her “angel.” The rest of the family took turns in the yard to have their private moments.

  The night before he and Aimeé had talked long into the night with his parents and Beatrix about their decision. Though greatly saddened by the uncertainty, they respected Aimeé’s wish to try motherhood on her own, and all agreed it probably best to keep the news secret from the rest of the family for the time being.

  “Besides,” his father had said, taking his mother’s hand, “you never know how these things turn out. God has a way of answering your prayers in the most unexpected of ways.”

  Despite the wise words, Patrick’s mind and soul were banked in fog. His joyful homecoming had turned into more anxiety. Because the Other had disappeared, he had thought his past troubles gone, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

  He rubbed at his temple, trying to vanquish the pain there and the remembered sound of cries and combat. Something lingered at the edge of his mind like a word on the tip of his tongue. He wondered what vexed him more: seeing ghosts, or this nagging inability to remember something important.

  “You must let her play the music for you,” his mother told him as he saddled Siegfried.

  He suppressed a scoff. “Mother, please.”

  “You liked it enough as a child,” she said, her beautiful eyes turning sad.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his tone speaking of another matter.

  His mother looked away. “When you were little, you came running home one day. Black eye. Tears streaming down your face. The boys at the Gathering Place had been particularly cruel to you that day. They called you ‘demon’ and ‘changeling.’ Because of me.” She turned back to Patrick and moisture glistened in her eyes. She reached up and touched his smooth face. “It hurt me so much to see you like that. My boy. My sweet, sensitive boy. I wanted to protect you from that. I said you were no different, just more beautiful and they were jealous, and so I told you year after year until I believed it myself. I’d protect you still.”

  “Still?” Patrick pressed her hand to his temple. “I thought I was going mad. I was seeing things, Mother. Avalon brought out things, magnified them until I couldn’t ignore them. If only I had some understanding beforehand, I could have dealt with it better.”

  “I’m sorry.” She embraced him. “We live in a Christian world, becoming more Christian with every passing day. No good will come out of clinging to the past. As for this Apparition, this Other you see, I have not heard of such a thing. I could not have prepared you for it. Perhaps it is of your father’s heritage.”

  Patrick shrugged. “I didn’t think I clung to the past, but it sure seems to cling to me.”

  “Then listen to the music,” she implored.

  “She barely speaks to me now. I’ve frightened her that much,” he responded, casting his gaze to Aimeé who now held Mayana and Maria in a double-armed hug.

  “Have you told her you love her?”

  Patrick shrugged again. “She knows I do.”

  His mother’s head tilted to one side and a wry smile curled at one corner of her mouth. “Say it like you mean it and the rest will follow.”

  Patrick tightened the last straps on this saddlebags and kissed his mother on the head.

  He paused and he felt his throat tighten before he said, “I love you.”

  His mother smiled. “I know you do, but it’s sure nice to hear you say it every now and again.”

  After that, Patrick finished with lingering hugs on each and every family member. Sian playfully rubbed at Patrick’s chin where he had struck him during his sleepwalking episode. Despite the lightheartedness of the gesture, concern clouded Sian’s face as he held his forehead to Patrick’s and wished him Godspeed.

  They left then, Patrick astride Siegfried and Aimeé on her pony. The good weather they had experienced during their stay turned chilly and turbulent. Dark clouds accosted them with rain as they traveled.

  “We picked a fine time to make this journey,” Aimeé lamented. Her attempt at making conversation sounded forced.

  “All this green comes at a price,” Patrick responded, also rather forced.

  Silence engulfed them again.

  During the long and uneventful journey back, Patrick truly wished bandits or pirates would set upon them once again so he could vent his frustration.

  Chapter Three

  Dread filled Patrick as he saw the large ship among the two smaller ones moored in the Cornish village harbor. The gloomy weather didn’t help his mood.

  He chewed on his lower lip as he gazed at the vessel, brightly painted in reds and golds, and flying the flag of the Holy See. Somebody very important from Rome had accompanied this season’s Guests, a fact that troubled Patrick. The last time envoys had come from Rome, they had come to perform an inquest into the goblin attack on Greensprings.

  “I’ve never seen a ship so big,” Aimeé said, gawking at the fat-bodied Italian boat.

  Patrick moved to her side to the railing of their ship. He quickly finished buckling his sword belt after having slipped on his Avangarde surcoat.

  “It’s called a dromone,” he said, eager to make conversation. She had spoken little in the past few weeks. “That’s the sort of ship that brought many a crusader to the Holy Land. Though I’ve never seen one so large myself, certainly not one with fore and aft castles the size of houses.”

  He continued to point out specifics on the ship; everything from the ship’s single mast that would probably require at least four people at its base to encircle with outstretched arms, to the galley oars, as tall as trees and currently standing erect along the gunwales.

  Aimeé shrugged indifferently and wandered away.

  “It looks like we arrived just in time,” Patrick added, trailing behind her, smoothing out the front of his surcoat. “Judging by the activity on the docks, it looks like they’re not quite loaded with supplies. I was worried they would have been waiting for us and...”

  He stopped his attempt at small talk as she quickened her pace to pull away.

  He looked from her to the giant ship, and the gray sky and couldn’t decide which caused him more anxiety.

  #

  Patrick and Aimeé made their way to the local inn that had served as their resting place on their journey to Eire. Upon recognizing them, the innkeeper greeted them warmly at the entrance and led them into the public room.

  Normally a quiet place, tonight the inn was full of rollicking strangers. The fire roared almost as loudly as the soldiers in red-and-yellow-striped surcoats. Patrick recognized the hat-and-tassel crest on their surcoats as that of a cardinal, but despite knowing that, he felt a nervousness come over him amid the Italians. One hand instinctively gripped his sword hilt, and the other shot to his temple. For a moment among the cacophony of foreign language and clashing mugs, he thought he heard screams and the clash of steel.

  “Sir Patrick!” a familiar face exclaimed, breaking Patrick’s thoughts. “We were starting to wonder when you would show up. Have a seat!”

  The innkeeper pulled out chairs for them at the man’s table.

  “Sir Marcus Ionus,” Patrick smiled, clasping hands with the Avangarde recruiter. He hadn’t seen the man since he first came to Avalon, and seeing him tonight
was a surprise. Normally Marcus traveled the kingdoms searching for men to take up the White Swan.

  Sir Marcus turned to Aimeé and said, “You must be the mademoiselle I have heard so much about. You’ve become legend after your... revival.”

  Aimeé awkwardly allowed the tall knight to take her hand and kiss it.

  “Aimeé de la Chasse, Sir Marcus, which surely you must know because I served you often enough at table at Greensprings,” Aimeé said, and Patrick didn’t know whether to cringe or smile at her boldness.

  Marcus smiled the smile that made him famous, lighting up the room with dimples. A smile that had persuaded Patrick to cross a strange sea to a mythical island.

  As fair complexioned as Patrick, but with light blue eyes, he responded whimsically, “Apologies, Mademoiselle de la Chasse, but my stays in Greensprings are infrequent and short. When I had heard a maidservant had experienced a miracle, others were at a loss to describe to me which one, when all they had to say was, ‘the beautiful one.’”

  Aimeé took the seat offered her. With a hint of a smile, she said, “You are redeemed, Sir Knight.”

  Pleased with himself, Marcus turned to the innkeeper and ordered food. “Your timing is perfect,” he said to Patrick. “I was about to eat and did not wish to dine with a bunch of obnoxious Italians.”

  Marcus spoke true, for the discomfort Patrick had felt when entering the room increased as he noted how the Italian men-at-arms jostled and pushed one another, and not a few locals in the process, while enjoying their drinks. The serving women fared the worst, bounced from one group of revelers to the next.

  At his side, Aimeé’s shoulders bunched and she pulled her cloak closer about herself. Patrick moved to touch her with a comforting hand, but then his attention snapped back to the crowd. He thought he recognized a face. He could not find it now, but even as he searched he felt eyes upon him.

  “Plus, you saved me the trouble of having to find you and deliver a message,” Marcus added, drawing Patrick’s attention back to their table. “His Eminence, Cardinal Teodorico, wishes to see you before we depart the day after tomorrow.”