Alicia Roque Ruggieri

by The House of Mercy

  She was surprised ‘twas he. He could tell from the way her dark eyes opened wide in her thin face. Like living tombs with the dead staring out.

  “Hush, don’t speak, lass,” he murmured, drawing the blankets up to her chin. She shivered down into the mattress. “Do you want some milk?” he asked, and when she nodded, he fetched it.

  The girl swallowed eagerly but stopped when she met his gaze. At that, tears came into Aine’s eyes. She began to weep as one who had no comforter.

  “Lass, lass, ‘tis alright.” Calum clasped her hands in his, eyes trained on her face. She looked lighter than any woman should, except for that heavy weight at her middle. He felt alarm race through his heart. “Don’t fret now. You’re safe here with me. Do you remember me?” He felt relief at the bare nod. “Good. I’m glad that the Lord has brought you here.”

  At that, Aine began shaking with sobs. “How…can you…say that?” she gasped.

  He frowned. “Say what, lass? ‘Tis true. And when you feel better, I can send word to Deoradhan or—”

  She stopped him with a violent shake of her head. “Deoradhan doesn’t want me anymore. I have no one.”

  Deoradhan had done strange things in the past, but he was generally a faithful man, true to his promises. “I know he is away right now, but surely when his child is born—”

  “’Tis not his child!” she interjected. “’Tis not Deoradhan’s. This child will have no father, as his mother will have no husband.” Her weeping increased. “I am a sinner, you see, Calum. Unloved. And now do you want to take care of me? A woman without a husband and her child of sin in your house?” she cried out, crumpling over his hands.

  Calum was silent for moment, stroking her dirty hair with his callused hand. Finally, he spoke, “‘Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation.’”

  His words seemed to calm her a little. “And He will cover you with His feathers, Aine, if you will take refuge in Him,” Calum added softly, feeling her heart beating rapidly against him.

  Aine sighed. “I wish God really was like that.” She looked up into his eyes. “I wish He was like you, Calum.”

  Humbled, Calum replied slowly, “It took me a long time to learn it, Aine, but God is merciful. He longs to take us under His wings, if only we will let Him.” He smiled down into her hollow eyes. “He is far better than we could imagine Him to be. More good, more holy, more loving, more pure. So pure that He can purify the filthiest sinner. So holy than He stops at nothing to make us like Him. So loving that He encloses all Creation in His Father-heart. So good, He never harms without need.”

  She lay against his arm, quietly crying. “But not for me now,” she whispered. “My poor mother…I have shamed her so with all I’ve done. And I don’t mean only this,” she said, indicating her belly. ‘Tis the least of my sins. How selfish and foolish I’ve been, all my life. I see it now that I’m going to die.”

  “Hush, you’ll not die,” answered Calum, pressing a kiss on her hair. He felt the Spirit urge him to speak. “But if you do die, Aine, and we all do at some point, you can go into the loving arms of Jesus. Death can be another birth into life.”

  “Can it? Will He have mercy for such a one as me?” She smiled weakly. “I thought ‘twas reserved for such as Bethan and Deirdre. They are so sweet and deserving and I—”

  “He who has been forgiven much, loves much.” Calum laid her back so that she could rest. “Fly to Jesus, Aine,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her moist forehead.

  The young woman closed her eyes. A few moments later, she opened them again, and Calum saw peace dwelling there at last. “He has,” she whispered. “He has mercy.”

  Dunpeledyr

  “Seonaid, I must tell you something.”

  Seonaid looked up from her weaving. For the past few days, she had done whatever she could to keep her hands occupied and her mind and heart praying. She smiled to welcome Fiona.

  Weylin’s daughter crossed the threshold and sat beside her stepmother. Seonaid could see something bothered the girl. “What is it, Fiona?” she asked, placing her hand on the young woman’s.

  Fiona was silent for moment, obviously gathering her thoughts. “Seonaid, do you know what happened to your son?”

  An old pang seized Seonaid, but she smiled anyway. “You mean my firstborn, aye?”

  “Aye. The one called Padruig.”

  Seonaid shook her head. “Nay, I do not. Maybe he died all those years past, when I sent him away from the fortress with one of our warriors. Maybe he survives still but doesn’t know who he truly is.” She paused and patted Fiona’s hand. “If that is how God wants it, I am content. Content but broken-hearted. My prayer, Fiona, is that my son would come to know his Savior. Then we would be assured of an eternal meeting.”

  Fiona nodded, her gray eyes thoughtful. “Seonaid, I know who your son is.”

  The weaving stood still. “What do you mean, dear?”

  Her stepdaughter licked her lips. “The horsemaster, Deoradhan. He is your son. He is Padruig.”

  Seonaid gripped the arms of her chair, white-knuckled. “How do you know this?”

  “I saw him first at Camelot, where I mistook him for Solas. Then, I pieced it together from some hints he dropped, though I’m sure he didn’t mean me to find out.” Fiona sighed. “Finally, when I confronted him months ago, he told me the truth.”

  Seonaid couldn’t sit any longer. Rising from her chair, she paced the room. Deoradhan’s face appeared in her mind. “No wonder he looked so familiar to me,” she muttered. “He is the image of his father and brother.” She stopped and stared at Fiona. “But why do you tell me now, Fiona?”

  “I thought you should know because of what…may happen to Father,” the girl replied. “Your son desires more than anything to rule Dunpeledyr again. I am sure he will try to find a way if Father…” She trailed off. “I thought you should be prepared.”

  Lady Seonaid nodded. “I see.”

  36

  Oxfield

  When morning came, Aine had grown feverish but was coherent. A girl from the village arrived shortly after dawn to change Aine’s bed linens and wash her. Then, after a breakfast of bread and milk, Calum sat by her bedside once more, opening the small volume of Scripture that Bricius had given him.

  “What’s that?” Aine asked, turning her eyes toward the book.

  “The Holy Scriptures,” he replied, smiling at her.

  “Will you read it aloud?” she asked in her mossy voice.

  “Gladly.” He bent his gaze to the page. “‘He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.’”

  Aine let out a sigh, and Calum looked up to see tears in her eyes again. “God has been so good to me.” She looked up at him. “I can sense His love. That’s what I always wanted, you ken. To be loved, to be held important to someone.” She smiled. “I have found out how low I truly am, yet God holds me dear anyway, aye?”

  His heart embraced this sweet sister. “Aye, Aine.”

  She turned her eyes up toward the ceiling. “I know that God will be a father to my child, but I wish…I wish I could have provided one for it in a human person.” She smiled at him a little sadly. “But God knows best, aye?”

  There ‘twas. The sheepbreeder had said that the cottage was his brother Calum’s abode. Deoradhan nudged his horse down the rocky path to the broad door. At the bottom, he dismounted quickly.

  I will tell Calum all about my troubles. He will understand.

  Calum answered his second knock. His face showed him changed somehow, more restful, no longer tormented. He immediately gripped Deoradhan’s forearm in friendship. “Are you here to see Aine?” he asked, eyes meeting Deoradhan’s.

  Deoradhan stumbled back. “What?” Surely he had heard wrong.

  Calum furrowed his brows. “Aine is here. Isn’t that why you’ve come?”

  “Nay
!” He turned and staggered away across the grass. Calum followed him.

  “She is with child, Deoradhan.”

  Deoradhan laughed mirthlessly. “I know it. I hope she didn’t tell you ‘twas mine.”

  “Of course she didn’t.”

  They walked side-by-side silently. Calum was first to speak again. “Do you still plan to take Aine as your own?”

  “What, are you mad?” Deoradhan couldn’t believe his friend would suggest this. “After what she’s done?”

  “She’s repented, man, and found forgiveness from God. If you love her-”

  Deoradhan shook his head, knowing the ploy at work here. “Is that it, Calum? The prostitute plays her bit, repents of her folly, and the hero puts up with the fruit of her misdeeds?”

  Calum’s fierce grasp on his elbow forced him to halt. “She is more worthy of you than you are of her, Deoradhan. At least she admits that she did wrong. You cannot even admit that.”

  Deoradhan felt the old anger rise in him. “And where have I done wrong? In what way am I so evil?”

  “Every time you reject the living God as your Master, you sin against Him and the universe, against all that is right and true.”

  “Is that the way you see it?”

  “Aye.”

  The two stood there silently tense for long moments, Deoradhan’s mind whirling into thicker and thicker knots. At last he looked squarely into Calum’s eyes. I’ll catch him in this game. I’ll show his Christianity to be weaker than a child. “If Aine is now so virtuous and good, my friend,” he smirked, “you marry her. Take her as your wife and her illegitimate babe as your son or daughter.”

  Now let’s see him squirm.

  But Calum gazed back at him, nodding. “Aye,” he replied. “I will.” The older man turned to walk back toward the cottage. Stunned, Deoradhan’s eyes followed him.

  A few steps away, Calum faced Deoradhan again. “I had planned to marry her anyway, Deoradhan, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to do right by the girl.”

  “Do right by her? I tell you, ‘tis not my child. This ‘right’ that you speak of does not exist. She has no right …” Deoradhan trailed off, seeing Calum shaking his head.

  “The only right any of us have,” he said, “is the right to forgive, Deoradhan. The right to have mercy. ‘Tis time you learned that, lad.”

  Deoradhan watched his friend disappear into the cottage.

  ~ ~ ~

  Aine opened her eyes to see Calum enter, his brow serious. How good he was! “What is it, Calum? Who was at the door?” she asked, raising herself on her elbows.

  He smiled. “Nothing is wrong, Aine. Don’t worry.” He approached the bed and sat on its edge. Looking at her, he spoke, “Aine, I have something I must ask you.”

  He wants me to leave. She swallowed. “What is it?”

  Calum took her two hands in his. “I want you to be my wife. I will take your child as my child. I will love you...”

  His words faded in the sweet joy that overwhelmed her. He will take my shame on himself. He loves me despite what I have done, who I am. The tears prevented her from speaking. She looked up into her protector’s scarred face and realized, I love him. Not with the romantic love that flushes youth, but with a love pure and growing. And as he met her eyes, she understood that his love for her was of a yet more profound nature, needing no return to continue giving, requiring no consummation to be satisfied in the one he loved.

  Gratefully, Aine leaned toward him, and Calum kissed her with a joy that went even beyond the sensual.

  37

  Upper Logress

  “This is the last morning our whole party will be together,” announced Garan at breakfast.

  Bethan nodded and continued braiding Enid’s golden hair.

  “The rest of the group will gradually disperse,” added Garan. “’Tis time, Bethan, you know.”

  “Time for what?” She finished Enid’s braid. Her sister ran off to pet the horses.

  “Time to put Enid away somewhere safe.”

  “What…What do you mean?” Bethan was sure she had misheard him.

  Garan smiled sympathetically but with iron. “She can’t come with us to Lothian. Surely, you understand that.”

  “What do you mean? She’s my sister and—”

  “And I’m your husband.” His smile revolted her. “Or will soon be. Enid must be put away in a convent. As soon as possible. There is one a few miles from the Lothian border, and-”

  “Nay.” Bethan heard the word come out of her mouth before she thought it over. “Never.”

  She had surprised him. His pale eyes stared at her unblinking. Trembling inside, she reiterated, “I will not leave my sister behind.”

  “You will if I say you must when I marry you.”

  “Then I won’t marry you,” Bethan gasped.

  Garan smiled, shaking his head. “Come now, Bethan. You know you must. Your father is gone. You have no other option.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be that if I were you,” she thought aloud, seeing him as if for the first time. This is who he always was. I knew it but didn’t want to admit it.

  “What?” he frowned.

  “My only option. Don’t you want to be loved?”

  Garan arched his brows. “Affection has nothing to do with it, Bethan. This is God’s will.”

  Bethan stared at him and finally shook her head. “’Tis God’s will that you have compassion and love, Garan. And I realize now that you have neither.” She stood from her seat on the boulder, looking into those eyes that never warmed. “I wonder if God truly lives in you. Your Christianity has none of the Christ I know.”

  “I see.” His face showed no melting. “So you wish to break off from our holy mission? You wish to go back on your promise?”

  “Aye,” she managed, realizing the whole course of her life would change. What will I do? Where will I go, so far from West Lea? So distant from Oxfield? And with Enid, too? She closed her eyes. If only Papa were here to advise her.

  “Alright. ‘Tis probably for the best.” He gave a sniff. “I could not have had a wife whose heart was divided from the Lord anyway.”

  She stared at him. Who was this man that she would have married? She swallowed as she thought about her predicament. “Is…Is there a village nearby where I could…?”

  Garan nodded brusquely. “A small town sits a few miles nearer the border, I’m told. You will likely find some kind of work there.” He rose to his feet. “If you’ve finished breakfast, you should prepare your things. We leave shortly.” He moved off toward the horses, leaving Bethan to damp the fire.

  God of my father, direct my steps, she pleaded.

  Summer Country

  Their marriage took place very quietly, with only Kieve and his wife Eilley as witnesses. Aine lay back against her pillows as Heddwyn bound her and Calum’s hands together with a cord. They have asked us no questions. They assume that I am his wife already in fact, though not in name.

  Her gaze turned to Calum, who returned a smile to her. ‘Tis like the Scripture my mother used to murmur, “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” Tears rose to her eyes. Calum had insisted that the child she carried be known as his. ‘Tis no lie, lass. ‘Tis a mercy, that’s all. A great mercy for him to bestow, she knew, for all the time she had known him at Oxfield, no word of reproach had marred his character.

  As Heddwyn pronounced his blessing, Aine felt a little ashamed that she’d not heard two words of the ceremony. She had been concentrating too hard on Calum, whose presence perfumed the air with inexplicable peace.

  What have I done to deserve this? Nothing.

  Camelot

  Deoradhan slowed to a trot as he rode through the heavy gates. Immediately, he sensed something had occurred to stop the usual merry bustle of the capital. The guard had been doubled, and the gatekeeper had requested full identification from Deoradhan. What has happened here in the short weeks I’ve been gone? he wondered.

&nb
sp; As he mounted the wide stone steps to the main hall, a familiar king’s attendant burst from the doors. He grasped Deoradhan by the arms. “The king has been waiting for you to arrive.”

  Deoradhan frowned. “But I came of my own accord.”

  The attendant raised his brows. “The Pendragon has sent letters to Oxfield, to Lothian, even Summer Country when word reached him that you might be there. When he heard that you had been seen riding through the gates, he sent me to fetch you immediately.”

  “Yestin, what has happened here?”

  The attendant glanced around him nervously. “Treason. A trial is in progress already.”

  “Who has been accused?”

  “The guard Rhun and Lord Ilar, both. But the one masterminding the plot from afar was found to be none other than Lord Weylin.” Yestin cleared his throat. “Since you have been employed by Weylin at Dunpeledyr these past months…”

  “Am I suspected?” Deoradhan felt his heart thud against his chest in fear even as his mind raced regarding the consequences of this charge for Weylin.

  Yestin shook his head. “Nay, there is no evidence to convict you as part of the plot to kill the king.”

  “To kill the king? Did they actually attempt anything?” Deoradhan inquired, his voice low so that any passerby would be unable to hear their conversation.

  “Aye, two weeks past the king rode out, and Rhun was with him, as well as some of the nobles at court. Sometime in the morning, Rhun shot an arrow—he said at first ‘twas at an animal, but ‘twas aimed toward the king.”

  “Was the king hurt?” asked Deoradhan, surprised at his own anxiety.

  “Nay,” answered Yestin, leading the way through the thick double doors. The four guards stood at sharp attention. “But one of the nobles attending him took the arrow instead. Riding too close to the king, he was. Lord Drustan of Oxfield.”

  “Lord Drustan…” ‘Twas such an odd turn of events. “How did the plot come out?” Deoradhan asked, his words echoing a little in the torch-lit corridor.