by Mia Pride
These past three days had taught Jeoffrey a very hard lesson. Clarice meant more to him than he ever expected. Should she perish, his life would be a bleak, worthless existence. And his affection for Wee Jeoff had only grown exponentially as every hour passed. The lad had a good heart and he loved his mama fiercely. At times, he would notice Wee Jeoffrey run his hands through his hair and shift his left leg at the same time, reminding him of himself. Or the way the lad chewed on his fingernails when he became anxious, which was often during the last three days. That had been a habit of Jeoffrey’s as a child, as well. The more time he spent in the child’s presence, the more we wondered about the truth of Clarice’s confession. If she had been telling the truth, then he was this child’s father.
Could it be? He found that he desperately wanted it to be so. Mayhap he could give up on his years of pent up rage and start again with Clarice as his wife and Wee Jeoffrey as their son. Could he be so fortunate? While locked up in his home with the lad for several days, Jeoffrey had longed to speak to the child about his past, to ask him questions about who is father was, where they had come from before finding their way to Miathi, or about the man who had caused her terrible injuries. But, he didn’t ask. With Clarice unable to defend herself or partake in the responses, it seemed most unfair to ask the lad. He owed it to Clarice to wait until she was well enough to answer his questions herself. Only then could he mayhap begin to let his own emotional wounds heal and move on. How terribly he wanted to move on.
“Clarice,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed and held her small, motionless hand. He often used his times alone with her to talk about everything…and nothing. He was certain she couldn’t hear, but he talked anyway. He told her about the pain he felt when she left him for Harrold. How he had slept with every lass he could get his hands on to rid himself of the pain of her betrayal. He told her of his father’s cruelty, and the battle where he had slaughtered his own father and ended the war for good. Most called him a hero, but he felt like a coward for hiding away all those years and allowing his father to control him as much as he had. He had even spoken to Clarice about Treasa, the woman he had thought he loved, but now knew he had only hoped to love in order to replace his never-ending affections for Clarice.
“Tis always been you, lass,” he croaked, trying to hold back his own tears. “Why did you leave me, Clarice? Why?” Jeoffrey squeezed her hand harder. “Perhaps I don’t even care anymore why you left…nay, that is not true. I am sorry, but I do care. I care because I have spent the last several years aching from the pain in the hole of my heart where you had once been. I care because I have lost four years of my life with you, holding you, loving you…making love to you under the stars as we always had done. Seeing your belly swell with my babe.” He laid a hand on her flat stomach and hunched his shoulders.
“You left and took all of that away from me. I won’t let you leave me again, curse it, Clarice!” Tears began to fall in earnest and he didn’t bother to hide them or wipe them away. Too many years of holding back his emotions had turned him into the cold, callous arse he was today. “You can’t do this! You can’t show up in my life, where I am trying to start over and forget you…make me realize how desperately I still love you, and then leave me again! Nay, Clarice, nay!”
Jeoffrey let go of her hand and leaned over her body, folding his arms under his face as tears fell down and soaked into the wool blankets surrounding her. This must be a cruel jest of the gods. What offense had he caused to bring this pain down upon himself? Was it because he had kidnapped a married woman last year? Nay, he had treated her with kindness, protected her, and even killed his own father to reunite her with her husband. Had it been the slaying of his father? Nay, Elim had been a crazed, vile man who killed too many innocent people. Jeoffrey had saved countless lives with the taking of that one. Nothing he had ever done could have led the gods to believe he deserved this pain.
As his sobs ripped violently from his body causing him to shiver and his shoulders to shake, he heard the door of his home open behind him. Still, he could not lift his head. He could not bring himself to continue to hide his anguish. Let everyone see how terrible he ached, how his heart had ripped open to expose his every desire for the woman who now lay upon her deathbed before him. A small hand touched his shoulder and he sat up to look into Wee Jeoff’s piercing blue eyes, which were now puffy and red-rimmed from three days’ worth of tears. “You have her eyes, lad. Your mama’s eyes,” Jeoffrey hiccupped between sobs. “Pray I see her eyes again someday.”
Alastar stood motionless to the side with a deep frown marring his face. It was unusual to see Alastar looking so serious and that thought only heightened the sense of doom in the room. She was running out of time to burn off this fever and survive. “What can I do, Jeoffrey?” Alastar asked as he tugged on his short sandy beard. “I will do anything.”
“Just pray, Alastar. Pray to every god in Ériu and Alba, pray that one of them hears you and shows mercy upon her soul, for I do not deserve their pity…but Clarice does.”
“You do deserve the favor of the gods, mate. You are a good man. They will hear your plea.” He stood there for a few more moments and then apparently deciding that the two Jeoffrey’s needed time alone, Alastar silently slipped out of the home.
Several hours later, it was full night outside when a soft knock sounded and the door creaked open. Peigi and Morna hesitantly crept into the room as they gazed at him questioningly, clearly hoping he had some good news to share. Defeated, he shook his head and looked back at Wee Jeoffrey, whom he had been desperately trying to keep occupied by sharing stories of his own youth, though finding stories that were not depressing became harder with every moment. Wee Jeoff was a bright lad and even at just three years of age, the child knew the stories to be a distraction. Still he accepted them and listened intently.
“Nay change?” Peigi asked as she tentatively stepped forward and ruffled Wee Jeoffrey’s brown hair with a smile.
“Nay,” Jeoffrey croaked and stood from the floor, wiping his backside of any loose debris. He wanted to ask how much time could pass before Clarice would never awaken, but the words could not get past his lips. It was unspeakable. There was no other alternative. She simply had to survive.
Morna walked over to Clarice and placed the back of her hand against her sweaty brow. “The fever has not broken,” she looked over at her mother worriedly and shook her head. Peigi stepped forward and did the same.
“Aye, burning up, she is. Even the willow bark I have been soaking her dressings in is not helping her fever.” Turning on her heels, she sent Jeoffrey a distressed look. “Tis been three nights. I fear if she does not break this fever soon, she will never awaken.”
Those were the very words Jeoffrey had been dreading all day. “How…soon?” Another day? Two days, perhaps?”
“Jeoffrey,” she sighed and slumped in defeat. “I fear if she is not showing signs of healing by the morn, she is lost to you forever.”
His frown deepened as his stomach churned painfully. He wanted to scream and cry that she had already been lost to him and was never his to begin with. But he knew this was not true. He had carried her with him in his heart all these years, keeping her memory alive. And the moment she stormed through the doors of the gathering hall, the missing piece of his soul had returned.
Wee Jeoffrey was still sitting with his legs crossed by the fire, but now his small body was shaking and he cupped his face in his palms. Jeoffrey knelt down to rub the child’s shoulders, wishing he could give him more strength but in truth, he had no strength to offer. Looking down at the lad, Jeoffrey’s heart constricted. Was this truly his son? Had she spoken true about never having been with another man? It seemed more than unlikely, especially having run off and married Harrold, who was a large virile man. Nay, Wee Jeoff had to be Harrold’s child. None the less, looking at the quivering heartbroken lad before him did strange things to his heart. He wanted to wrap the child in his strong embrac
e, promise everything would be alright and protect him forever.
That’s when it hit him like the hilt of a sword upon his skull, jolting him with another sad reality. If she did not survive this, Wee Jeoff would have nobody. Nay, that was not true. He had Jeoffrey and in that moment, he promised to always care for this lad as his own, even if he was not.
“Nay…she will recover,” Jeoffrey whispered, mostly for Wee Jeoffrey’s benefit, but he knew his words rang hollow in the stillness of the room. If mere words could heal, she would have awoken days ago.
“I pray she does,” Morna said and she squeezed Clarice’s clammy hand, as if willing it so. “I see how much she means to you, Jeoffrey. More than any other lass. I do not know who she is to you, but I see the pain in your eyes. I will pray to the gods more fervently than ever.”
We wanted to deny her words, but he could not. It was useless at this point to deny his love for the woman to himself or to anyone around him. He nodded his thanks and looked away before she saw the tears begin to run down his cheeks.
Peigi cleared her throat. "Get some rest, lad.” She was speaking to Jeoffrey, but it was true for both him and Wee Jeoff. Neither had slept well and he knew he would not again, but he should try. Morna and Peigi did one last dressing change to the wounds on her knees, which seemed to be healing quite nicely and placed a new cold cloth across her forehead. Then they silently left the house just as Jeoffrey was piling up the cushions around the hearth for the child.
He would have to make a bed for the child on the morrow. Whether Clarice survived or not, Jeoffrey had no intention of allowing her son to live anywhere else. And if she did heal and wished to leave him, so be it, but until then, the lad needed a place to sleep that was not a pile of cushions.
“Good night, Jeoff,” Jeoffrey whispered to the child as his eyelids fluttered closed and he rolled over onto his side, tugging his wee legs into his chest. A small smile tugged on Jeoffrey’s lips at the absolute innocence laying before him. How could he have ever considered kicking this child out into the snow? He had been a cold-hearted beast but his frozen heart had thawed. Now he feared he had opened his heart up to nothing but disappointment once more, but it was too late to go back. He loved Clarice and he loved her son. If she survived this, he would seek answers about her past, and he hoped desperately that he found them acceptable…though how, he could not imagine. Could he truly forgive her for her deception? Was love enough? He truly did not know.
Chapter 5
“You left and took all of that away from me. I won’t let you leave me again, curse it, Clarice!” Clarice heard the words all around her, like an elusive mist she could feel but could not see. She could feel the pain and torment, hear his sobs as if they were her own. She wanted to shout that she could hear him, but her mouth would not move. Her brain screamed with panic. She felt trapped in an inferno while her entire body blazed with heat. Where was she? Had she crossed the veil to the Otherworld?
“You can’t do this! You can’t show up in my life, where I am trying to start over and forget you…make me realize how desperately I still love you, and then leave me again! Nay, Clarice, nay!” Those words encompassed her with more pain than the fire consuming her skin. The voice was so familiar, and yet she could not accept these words would truly come from the man she believed spoke them. Jeoffrey hated her with his entire being. This man who spoke these words, confessing his love, desperate for her to come back to him...that was not her Jeoffrey.
A strong hand clutched hers and she wished to respond, but her body would not cooperate. She was trapped in this place between worlds and wondered if it would be easier to forfeit her life to the gods than to struggle to get back to a life as bleak as the one she had lived.
Then her son’s ocean blue eyes swam before her and she heard his sobs echoing around her. Wee Jeoffrey! What would happen to her precious child if she were to succumb to the darkness? He would have nothing and nobody. Nay. She would fight this, for him.
Time melded together in this place and she could not tell if it were days or mere minutes that had passed while she lay useless, sweltering and sweating from the heat. Voices came and went, some familiar, others not. Some words were clear enough to cut through her hazy mind, others sounded like a jumble of murmured nonsense.
A woman’s voice was now next to her, calm yet firm. “Jeoffrey, I fear if she is not showing signs of healing by the morn, she is lost to you forever.” Was the woman speaking about her? Was she truly dying? She struggled to move and show them it was not true. She was here! But it seemed her body insisted upon betraying her. Did the woman speak to her son? She could not be speaking to the elder Jeoffrey, for he would never care if she died or not. He had meant to rid himself of her presence in any case. How could her mind be lucid enough to remember such details vividly, and yet her body would not respond? She felt trapped, worthless.
A coldness enveloped her forehead as something was placed on her skin. It felt wondrous as the heat died down slightly. If only it would last but she had felt this sensation many times since the haze took over and knew it would soon go away.
“I am more than sorry for the way I treated you, Clarice,” the soft familiar voice whispered. What was he apologizing for? “I should never have called you such a horrible word. It was intentionally cruel and if it is the last thing you ever hear me say, I will never forgive myself.” It was Jeoffrey. She knew it for certain now. She remembered what he was referring to. That night when she believed for one small moment he could forgive her and would make love to her…until he said the words that cut her more deeply than any dagger ever could have.
She heard his sobbing and felt him squeeze her hand. “Could you ever forgive me?” Aye! She screamed the words, but they only resounded in her own mind. Jeoffrey, I forgive you. And, she did. Though his words were untrue, she knew that to him, they were very much borne from a true sense of betrayal he had carried around for years. If only she could tell him the truth. Would she ever get the chance to tell him?
The burning in her body was slowly cooling, but it was still a constant reminder of whatever ailment plagued her. “Clarice, I love you.” His voice cracked and faded off, as if it had cost him greatly to speak those words.
I love you too, Jeoffrey. I always have.
She felt his hand squeeze hers harder and she responded by squeezing back with all her strength. She knew he would not feel it, but she had to try to let him know she could hear him.
He gasped and pulled away. “Clarice? Clarice! Can you hear me?” He stroked her cheek and she was surprised by how real his touch felt and how little she felt the burning sensations. She tried to open her eyes but they would not comply.
“I know you are in there, mo chroí,” he said softly, stroking her cheek again. “I see your eyelids fluttering. I felt your hand twitch. Keep trying, love. Come back to me. Do not leave me!”
She swallowed hard and moved her head back and forth, feeling a terrible pain searing through her temples. She whimpered at the sudden onslaught of pulsing misery. Trying to open her eyes one more time, she was startled to see two dark red-rimmed eyes gazing down at her.
“My sweet, sweet, lass, you are awake,” Jeoffrey breathed in relief as he bent lower and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, one cheek, the other, the tip of her nose, then finally grazing her mouth with his before moving away slightly.
She opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice would not work and the pain in her head intensified again. She swallowed hard and tried again. “Where…is…my son?”
“He is asleep by the hearth. He is safe.” Jeoffrey ran his hands through her tangled hair and she sighed at the affection in his gaze and touch. How could he have softened to her so suddenly? It had only been…how long had it been since their night together?
“What…happened to me?”
A tear ran down his cheek and her brow furrowed. She wanted to wipe it away but had not the strength to raise her arm.
“Tis been three da
ys and nights. I thought I would lose you to the fever.” So that was why she felt her entire body aflame. She had raged with fever for three days. He wiped his own tear away and frowned down at her. “Can you forgive me for the way I treated you?”
She smiled weakly and nodded. “Aye. I cannot…expect you to feel…otherwise.”
“Nay,” he said with resolve. “I was cruel to say and do what I did. Nothing excuses it.”
“I need rest, Jeoffrey.” She could feel her eyelids growing heavy and could not help but relinquish herself to the pull of sleep beckoning her. She saw the sudden stiffening of his body and his jaw clenched. Fear glistened in his eyes and she knew he was worried she would slip away from him again.
“I am alright. My fever has…broken. I will awaken again,” she yawned as her eyes closed. “I must sleep.”
She could not see him, but she felt him squeeze her shoulder as she rolled over and let sleep take her away.
***
A distant pounding sound sent Clarice shooting straight up in bed with a yelp. Then, the dizziness caused by her abrupt movement sent her crashing back down against the mattress. Was the pounding in her aching head?
“Mama!” She heard the most beautiful voice in the world call to her as Wee Jeoff plopped next to her on the bed and squeezed her tightly around the waist.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet lad!” she cried as she clung tightly to him and pulled him against her chest, then pulled back to scrutinize him. “Are you alright?”
“Aye, Mama. Jeoffrey took care of me.” He squeezed her again and her heart skipped a beat. She was so happy to see her child again. But that was not the only reason her heart was aflutter. Had Jeoffrey figured out that he was Wee Jeoff’s father yet? She had told him she had only ever been with one man, and she was telling the truth of it…but of course he would not believe that, would he? Which meant Jeoffrey took care of her son for no other reason than out of the goodness of his heart.
