They remained on the ridge overlooking the harbor for a long time, until a rumble in the distance caught their attention. Gwyn looked up, noticing dark menacing clouds had formed in the distance. The fishermen in the harbor began rushing around to prepare their vessels for the storm. “I think we should find Airell now,” she shouted over the wind.
Her sister met them halfway to the tents with guards trailing close behind. Airell’s eyes filled with relief. “I’ve been looking all over for you two. We must seek shelter in the village. The guards say a squall is on the way. Come, gather what you can from the tents and make haste.”
The winds and rain whipped around them as the guards escorted them toward shelter. The villagers rushed down the streets, covering the foods in the market place, boarding up windows and bolting doors. Before long, they found a sturdy structure big enough to shelter them.
One of the guards pounded on the door. “Open up, in the name of the Queen!”
A man unbolted the door with wide frightened eyes. However, when he recognized his queen, he bowed and motioned for them to enter. “‘Tis an honor to offer you shelter, Your Highness. Please come inside.”
They were ushered into a small room where the man’s wife and children had gathered. His wife’s confused look soon turned into surprise when she recognized them and bowed. “Please, Your Majesties, take a seat on our chairs by the hearth. I’ll put on a kettle of tea. Forgive our humble accommodations. Had we known you were coming we would have prepared the house for your visit.”
Airell shook her head. “What you have is perfectly adequate. Thank you for sheltering us. We are in your debt.”
The rain poured all evening and the wind blew with such ferocity—Gwyn feared the thatched roof of the building would come off. They were powerless, except to huddle by the warmth of the hearth and pray for God’s protection.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Aftermath
Gwyneth woke up the morning after the storm, disheveled and unsure of her surroundings. The rain and winds had stopped sometime in the early morning. They emerged from the hut, shocked at the damage before them. Some of the other villagers’ homes were without roofs and debris littered the streets. The further they walked, the worse devastation they saw. Toward the edge of the village, tears pricked Gwyn’s eyes, noticing several homes had been completely destroyed. Some people were wandering the streets looking for missing loved ones.
Like a natural queen, Airell remained calm and showed compassion toward their people, promising aid from Beatha as soon as possible. However, Gwyneth couldn’t contain her emotions. She had to get away from the crowd. She hurried away with Isla trailing close behind.
“Gwyn, stop,” her friend called out, but she continued walking. It was all too much. The village, so beautiful and tranquil the day before, was now in ruins.
When they reached the harbor, Gwyn tried to ignore the devastation along the coast. Some of the smaller ships were half submerged under the water or in pieces on the rocky shore. A larger cog-style ship had been torn apart by the rock formations and was sinking further out to sea. She bit her trembling lip and ventured up a hill until stopping at the ridge she had been gazing over the day before. Gwyn prayed the people on the ship had survived the wreck. She wanted to help, but how could she reach them so far out?
Isla’s hand touched her shoulder. “Gwyn, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
She released an exhausted sigh and sat in the grass. “I’ll be fine. I just need time to think.”
Her friend stayed with her, but remained silent as they watched the gentle waves lapping against the coast—a stark contrast to the violent, monstrous ones crashing on it the day before.
After a while, movement caught her eyes on the beach further up the coastline. Gwyn gasped, realizing what she saw—survivors.
She stumbled down the ridge with haste, tripping a few times and snagging her dress.
“Gwyn, wait!” Isla called from behind while struggling to keep up. “We don’t know them. ‘Tis not safe.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care. They need help.”
When they reached the beach, about a dozen men were scattered around the area. Most of them were sitting up or starting to awaken, but three were huddled around a young man dressed in black.
When she grew close enough to draw attention, a stout man with a bad leg limped toward her. “We be needin’ your help, Milady. Our ship wrecked durin’ the storm and the cap’n be injured.”
She recoiled, noticing his unique attire and cutlass tucked into his belt. He was a pirate. They were all pirates. How had she been so foolish to ignore Isla’s warning and rush toward strange men washed up on the beach?
The man observed her reaction and put his hands up in a non-threatening manner. “Things not be as they seem. We’ve no intention of causin’ ye harm. Please, our cap’n needs help.”
Gwyn met the man’s gaze, recognizing a hint of kindness in his eyes. Although still anxious about the situation, she forced herself to be brave and approach the man lying on the sand. His blond hair and beard were tangled with sea salt and his pale face smudged with grime. He was still breathing, but the large wound on the right side of his forehead and leg concerned her.
She turned to Isla who stood a safe distance away from the pirates. “I need you to go back to the village and find help.”
Her friend hesitated—eyes wide with fear. “How could I leave you here alone, Milady? ‘Tis not safe.”
“Don’t worry about me. He needs a physician. Please, make haste!”
By the afternoon, six injured men from the shipwreck and ten from the village were gathered in a large tent close to the village. It made it easier for the physician to treat all of them. Gwyn, Airell and Isla helped care for the patients as much as they could.
A few hours before sunset, all of them were conscious and on the mend, except for the young ship captain. Gwyn took it upon herself to watch over him. She found a wet cloth and started cleaning the grime from his face and neck, taking care around his bandaged forehead. Something about him seemed so familiar to her, but when or how would she have crossed paths with a pirate captain?
The man with the limp, whom she’d learned was the first mate, approached and pulled up a stool to sit by her. “Thank ye, Milady…for takin’ such good care of our cap’n.”
She nodded and peeked up at him. “‘Tis my Christian duty to serve others…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name before.”
“It be Murtagh, Milady.”
Gwyn smiled, seeing the genuine concern in the older man’s eyes. “You must think a lot of him.”
“Aye, Milady. Cap’n gave me somethin’ to live for. Ye see, I’d lost everything when King Malcolm attacked Aoife. Me family…me livelihood as a fishin’ boat captain. But everything changed when the good cap’n made me part of his crew.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re from Órlaith?”
“Aye, Milady. Most of us call Órlaith home…that be when we’re not at sea, of course.”
Gwyn smiled, seeing the twinkle of pride in the pirate’s eye. “I heard there were survivors. I’m happy to meet a few.”
He nodded, but his smile faded while looking down at his captain again. “Will he be wakin’ up soon?”
Gwyn swallowed a lump in her throat before responding. “There’s no way of knowing that, I’m afraid. The physician was concerned about his head injury and how much damage it could have caused.”
Murtagh clenched his jaw and placed a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “So, the real question be if he wakes up, not when.”
She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Thank ye for bein’ honest.” He released a sigh of despair and stood to go. He hesitated before turning back and handing her a small cube-shaped object. “If he awakens, please give him this. Cap’n doesn’t go anywhere without it.”
Gwyn closed her fingers around the cube with a nod and watched Murtagh leave before opening
her hand to study it. The wood was worn and bleached out from seawater. However, she could make out small round dots engraved into the surface—a different number of them on each side. When she turned to the side with two dots, she barely made out an engraved fawn.
She clamped one hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Then Gwyn looked down at her patient with new eyes. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she gently smoothed back the man’s blond hair. It had grown longer and he was more heavily bearded than she remembered, but underneath his rugged appearance, she recognized the truth.
“Tristan,” she whispered with trembling lips. “After all this time…you’ve finally returned to me.”
CHAPTER SIX
Long Forgotten
“Tristan,” a feminine voice whispered, drawing Captain Brody Smyth out of his fog for a moment.
“Tristan, can you hear us?” another woman’s voice whispered, sounding younger.
He’d heard the name Tristan before. Many people mistook him for the missing Órlaithan King. After spending time in prison because of the resemblance, Brody avoided and denied it with every fiber of his being. Then last summer a man had shown up on his ship—a man claiming to be his cousin. Eventually, he came to believe him and even recalled a few long-forgotten memories from his past.
“Tristan,” the first woman whispered again, squeezing his hand. “We are traveling to Beatha. You’ll recover there, under the care of the royal physician.”
Even though he had come to accept his true identity, the name didn’t fit—like a pair of boots three sizes too big. However, when the woman called him Tristan, somehow it suited him again. He tried to open his eyelids to see her face, but they were too heavy.
He groaned in agony as something jolted beneath him. Judging from the rough ride and the sound of horse hooves on the ground, he guessed they were traveling in a wagon.
Someone touched his shoulder. “We’ll arrive at the castle soon. It’s only half a day’s ride now.”
Tristan relaxed at the sound of the first woman’s soothing voice. He’d heard it before, perhaps in a dream. What was her name? He wanted to ask, but his mouth didn’t seem to work.
The wagon ride was long and rough. Tristan faded in and out during the journey, but whenever the wheels hit a rut, pain rippled through his head and his right thigh throbbed. The woman remained with him the entire time, dabbing his face and neck with a cool cloth. When he cried out in pain, she held his hand and spoke words of comfort. Sometimes she prayed or hummed softly.
Soon the air and light changed, revealing he was within the walls of the castle. The soft bedding underneath him brought comfort and the throbbing in his head had lessened.
Tristan used what little strength he had to lift his heavy eyelids. It took a while for his eyes to adjust in the dim light. A large glowing hearth came into view and when he turned his head, he saw a raven-haired woman sleeping in the chair beside his bed. In an instant, all the pieces fit together—the woman’s calming voice—her beautiful face. He’d seen her so often in his dreams, but now she was real. The name came to him so clearly, he said it out loud. “Lady Gwyneth.”
Gwyn awakened at the sound of her name, not realizing she had drifted off. Caring for her patient all the way to Beatha with hardly any sleep exhausted her. The soft chair had been so inviting. Now, her eyes searched the room for the person who’d spoken to her. Perhaps it was the physician? However, he was nowhere to be seen. Her gaze flew to her patient, shocked to see his green eyes open and fixed on her. “Tristan?”
“I believe that is my name.” He lifted his head and reached for something on the bed with panic in his eyes.
Gwyn moved closer and placed the wooden die in his palm. “Looking for this?”
“Aye.” He thanked her and closed his fingers around the cube, trying to catch his breath. “How…how are you here?”
She gave him a gentle smile while placing her hand over his. “Your ship wrecked in the storm. I found you and your crew on the beach.”
He began to relax and rested his head on his pillow again. “My crew…are they well?”
“Aye, they are all accounted for. Some of them wished to stay in Áthas, but your first mate and a few others accompanied you here.”
He closed his eyes and sighed, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She reached to touch his cheek, but stopped halfway. Now that he was awake, a sudden wave of uncertainty hit her. Had he changed? After all their time apart, was he still the kind, brave, young king she’d met so many years ago? All of a sudden, she felt the walls of the room closing in on her and needed to escape. “Try to rest, Milord. I’ll send for the physician and the servant with some refreshment. I’m sure your cousin will wish to see you as well. She’s been worried about you.”
He frowned for a moment as if concentrating took all his strength. “Isla?”
“Aye, you remembered. ‘Tis a good sign.” Gwyn smiled before turning to leave.
She’d halfway crossed the room when he said her name again. When she turned, the intense sadness in his green eyes made her heart ache. “Thank you…for all you’ve done. I certainly do not deserve your kindness, but you give it to me freely. I am in your debt, Milady.”
Did not deserve it? Gwyn stood puzzled for a moment, contemplating his words. Then she gave a slight curtsy and left the room. It was apparent, they both needed time to rest and think.
Tristan forced himself to his feet as the mast, now engulfed in flames, cracked in half and slammed across the length of the ship. As everything fell apart before his eyes, he peered over the hull for a moment, seeing the outline of large rock formations jutting out from the shore. They would hit within a matter of seconds unless someone turned the ship.
Tristan jumped into action, dodging flames and debris rolling across the deck. He had almost reached the captain’s wheel when a hand clamped around his ankle, sending him plummeting to the deck face first.
“You cannot kill me that easily,” the evil usurper cackled with a sword poised over his chest.
Tristan clamped his eyes shut, whispering one last prayer before his death—but the blade never reached him. Instead, a violent jolt shook the entire ship along with a deafening crack as the prow slammed into the rocks. An explosion of debris clouded the air and the ship tipped savagely to one side. The sea vessel moaned, snapped and gurgled as it took on water.
Tristan rolled across the deck and clung to the crippled hull. Flaming debris fell from above, singeing his skin and gurgled screams from the crew members flooded his eardrums. His muscles twitched from exertion and an agonizing groan escaped his lips as he struggled to hold on. Then with no strength left at all, Tristan’s fingers lost grip. His body slammed into the frigid water below, plummeting down, deeper and deeper until fiery red dissolved into black.
There was no air—only deadly water threatening to flood his lungs. The icy water pricked every inch of his body like needles.
Perhaps death would be a relief. Tristan closed his eyes, resolved to give up the struggle, but something stopped him from breathing in. Gwyneth’s voice.
“God has sent you here with a great purpose…remember…He will help you complete this quest if you keep your faith in Him…remember…”
Tristan opened his eyes as a small sliver of light appeared. He swam toward it. Hoping beyond hope. Lungs straining. Every muscle aching from the struggle.
Perhaps he could find forgiveness. Perhaps God still had a purpose for him after all. If only he could make it to the surface. It was so close. So close—yet out of reach.
Tristan woke up choking and gasping for breath. A quick glance around his temporary chambers told him he was safe within the Beathan Castle.
He rested back against his pillows, taking in a few precious breaths of air. The memories from his past were so jarring—so tormenting. Why had God chosen to spare him? ‘Twas a question he’d been asking since awakening. There had to be some purpose and he
had to discover what it was.
In the three days since arriving in Beatha, fragments of memories had returned to him—like a puzzle he had to piece together. His cousin, Isla, came by often, helping him make some sense of things, but Gwyneth had been absent since the first day. He assumed she had been disappointed, realizing he was no longer the charming young king she remembered. Or maybe she was distressed by his unexpected return. Isla had informed him of the handsome young duke courting Gwyneth. However, Tristan held no ill will against her for moving on in his absence. She deserved to be happy and the duke offered more stability than he could.
After a few hours, a servant delivered his breakfast and then someone knocked on the door. He was pleased to see a familiar face. “Murtagh, please come in.”
His friend grinned while approaching and sat in the chair by his bed. “It makes me heart glad to see ye farin’ well again, Cap’n. And look at these fine accommodations! These people of Beatha be generous to pirates who take ill. Perhaps I shall feign scurvy and be treated this well, too.”
Tristan chuckled at his friend’s remark. The way he responded also told him Gwyneth and Isla had kept his status as a king secret. “‘Tis good to see you, my friend.”
“Ye too, Cap’n. I have to admit, ye had me a mite worried.” Murtagh’s face dropped and he turned away for a moment to wipe his eye. “Sorry, there be a speck of dust in me eye. That’s all.”
Tristan gave his friend’s shoulder a brotherly pat. “So how is the crew faring? I trust they are well?”
“Aye, Cap’n. The injured be healin’ well. The able-bodied ones…they be salvagin’ what they can from the wreckage and lookin’ into tradin’ for another vessel. Sorry, Cap’n. No tellin’ how long before we’re out to sea again.”
Tristan’s heart sunk, hearing confirmation his ship was gone. It had been his home, freedom and a possible remedy for his nightmares. He masked his disappointment in front of his first mate. “Thank you, Murtagh. Please extend my gratitude to the crew as well.”
Lady Gwyneth's Hope (Ladies of Ardena Book 4) Page 3
