William hesitated them settled his sword again as he called out. “Phillip!”
The younger man stepped from where he’d been waiting beside the door frame and stopped, his eyes never leaving the wounded man in front of him. Egan whipped his head to the side glaring at William as if he had been tricked, but William never took his eyes from him as he spoke, “Phillip, the man is wounded, take him to Thomas and stanch the bleeding—do so by knife point if he resists!”
“Aye.”
His knife was up and pointed at the man before Egan knew what had happened, his quick hands disarming the taller man as he tossed the weapons to Thomas who waited a few steps away.
William frowned angrily. “And Phillip, when ye are through, let the man go on his way in peace.”
“Aye.”
Egan glanced at the younger man warily, then staggered ahead and went in the direction he was motioned.
William turned to his wife who was still pressed up against the wall; her face was pale, her whole body trembling as she bit back tears. His heart clenched tightly at the fear he saw in her soft blue eyes, wishing he had seen Egan sooner. He lifted his arms to her and she nearly fell into them, great sobs shaking her thin frame. He held her against his strong chest, murmuring softly into her hair. “Shhh, ‘tis over now, little one. I only wish I had come home sooner. I shall see to it that he does not bother us again.”
She tilted her teary face to meet his, her voice a choked whisper. “But—but how? Oh, William, please, do not kill him…” But she knew short of killing him, there was no way to ever stop Egan!
He lifted a tanned finger and laid it on her trembling lips. “Shhh, my love, ‘tis not for thee to worry about. Trust me, in this.”
She hesitated then leaned her head against his chest again. He drew her to the side and settled her at the table and pressed a cup of ale into her hands. “Here drink this.”
She glanced up into his deep blue eyes and lifted the wooden cup to her lips with unsteady hands. “I—I prayed ye would come for me. He said he meant to—to take me and kill ye!”
William touched her cheek with the back of his hand and smiled softly. “I shall not fall by Egan’s hand. Do not worry so, he shall not have ye, lass. Ye are mine now, and I shall protect thee. I promise thee that.”
She looked at him, wanting so much to believe him, yet her heart cringed with fear.
“I shall leave Phillip with thee for a little while, but I do not want thee to worry after me.”
She nodded with a tear streaked face. “W—will ye be gone long?”
“Nay, not long. I want thee to lie down and rest, I shall be back before evening comes.”
She closed her eyes as he stood and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I shall be back, my love. And ye are not to worry after me…”
She nodded, unable to find words to tell him that could sooner stop her very heart from beating than to cease from worrying after him. But soon she sat there alone in the dimly lit room staring off into the dark corner, praying that his words were true…
“Miranda…”
She stirred feeling the soft kisses on her cheek, and then opened her eyes, her voice soft with sleep. “…William…”
He smiled into her beautiful face, running the back of his hand down her golden cheek to her soft neck. “Did ye rest well, my love?”
She smiled softly. “Aye…”
He bent down and kissed her again and she smiled under his cool lips. “Why is it ye smile when I kiss thee, lass?” He said with amusement.
She smiled even more and gently propped herself up on her elbows. “’Tis that ye make me glad, husband.”
He smiled and laid his forehead against hers. “Glad or not, I am hungry, my love. Come, lest we both starve to death.”
He stood, and she sat up looking after him. “William, how is it that ye know that Egan shall not bother us again?”
He shrugged and turned to the fire. “It is not for thee to worry about lass, but seeing ye do, I shall tell thee.”
He added some dried wood to the dying flames and the fire crackled to life again. “I went to Chadwick and met with the men there, I told them what Egan had done. And I reminded them that I was English and that if they allowed him to attack us, I would send word to Whittington and bring down an army against them.”
Her teeth troubled her lip at his words.
“Thy father stood with me in it all, and they assured me there would be no trouble for us from them or from Egan.”
She looked up at his soft words then slowly smiled, before she jumped up and ran to him throwing her arms around his shoulders and laying her head on his back where he still crouched by the fire. He laughed. “Are ye happy, lass?”
“Aye, I am happy! Very happy! Oh, William, I love thee!”
He stood and turned her in his arms, gazing down into her soft sweet face. “And I love thee too, lass. Ye need not fear, I told ye I would protect thee.”
She stood on her tip toes and kiss him then. “No one dared stand up to Egan afore this, no one but my da, and now ye! Oh William!”
He smiled and put two strong warm hands on either side of her neck and tilted her face to meet his. He kissed her then with a kiss that was a promise that as long as he drew breath he would see her safe…
Winter came to Glenton Moor not long after the men had finished the small house along the ridge. Smoke spiraled from the stone chimney of both houses now from the roaring fires that warmed each in their hearths. William sat on the bench by the fire and worked on the new chairs he had started not long ago, working quietly, his tools on the floor beside him.
Miranda sat by the table, a fat candle flickered nearby as she mending a shirt he’d torn, a light Celtic tune on her lips threaded through the narrow house. She glanced up at her handsome husband, but this time with concern in her eyes, though she would never share her thoughts she could not help but worry after his health. He never complained after it himself—never, and although at first glance he seemed hale and hardy, she could tell subtle changes in him… His eyes that once were bright and blue seemed shallow and sunken, his skin had lost its healthy glow and was paler, and he had lost weight… She had noticed that too… And yet even now, she wasn’t ready to speak her fears aloud, not yet—maybe not ever… William glanced up from his work and noticed his lovely wife looking at him. “And what have I done to deserve such a look, my love?”
She blushed and gave him a bright smile instead.
“Ah, there is the smile that stole my heart.” He set his work to the side with a contented look. “Enough for today!” He stood and dusted off his trousers then walked towards the door, she noticed how he rubbed the back of his neck and worried that it might be happening again... “I shall bed the animals down for the night, and then return shortly.” He drew a heavy woolen cloak over himself and pulled his gloves over his strong hands before he turned to smile at her again, then he opened the door against the cold evening air and stepped out.
William took a deep breath of the chilly February air and walked through the knee deep snow to the barn. The animals fared well, and he settled them for the night before he turned to walk back to the house. He stopped before he got there to look up into the cloudless, starry night. His breath billowed from him in clouds of white smoke. His eyes focused on the brightest star in the heavens as he whispered, “…Make haste to help me…let me not die from the sword of my enemy…nor bring sorrow on the young girl whom I love…” He was dying, he knew it, and there was nothing he could do to stop it…
That night he held her against himself, savoring the soft sweet smell of lavender in her hair and her warm body against his own.
“’Twill be spring soon, William.”
He smiled and stroked her silky hair lightly. “Aye, there shall be much to do then.” But even as he said it he feared he would not be there to help her with it. And he worried what would become of her then… “Lass, have I ever told thee where I buried the silver I brough
t here, and the silver thy father gave me for thy dowry?”
She bit down on her lip to keep from crying, not wanting to know, not wanting him to speak of such things! She didn’t want to hear, afraid he would speak the one thing she’d dreaded herself—that he was dying… “Nay, husband, and I do not wish to know!”
“Ah, but lass, ‘tis important ye do. It is in the barn under a board where the grain barrel stands. Ye shall have to dig down some, but not far, and then ye shall find it in a chest of sliver. If need be ye could sell the chest as well…”
She felt tears slip down her cheeks in the darkness. “Do not tell me more…”
He bit back the emotion in his own voice. “…Aye, ye are my wife, ye should know these things…”
She hugged him fiercely as if to keep him with her forever. He turned her face to his in the dim room and kissed her as a man in love, and claimed her again as his.
William opened his eyes, his wife was asleep in his arms her soft young face was even more beautiful like this. Her long lashes fanned over her golden cheeks, her soft pink lips were almost smiling. He wondered what she dreamed about that made her smile so… His heart ached at the thought, she could no longer dream of them, nor of their lives together, nor even of the children they would have… He was dying, and soon would leave her with only tears… If he had only known it to be so, he would have never married the lass only to leave her a widow so soon. His long tanned finger traced her delicate brow as if to memorize it as he whispered into her soft silky hair. “…I’ll wait for ye, lass, forever and a day…” His whisper choked with emotion, though she did not awaken…
The soft spring rains came and with it the sight of tender green grasses. It was too early to work the fields, and too muddy to do aught else but work in the house. William had finished the chairs and sat whittling by the fire quietly. Miranda watched her husband struggle to his feet. He had lost weight, his handsome face was drawn and haggard, but he complained not. She wondered if he knew… Wondered if he only was trying to protect her from the inevitable and yet she could not bring herself to speak of such things with him. He rubbed the back of his neck and staggered toward the bed. She jumped up from the new chair her husband had made and raced to his side, threading her arms around his thin waist and steadying him as he went. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched against the pain, his breathes raged from his lungs as he took the final steps and collapsed onto the soft mattress. “Phillip…” His voice was choked. He feared leaving her alone, feared after the thing that would take him from her…
She bit back tears. “Do not worry, my love. I’ll go get him. Just rest, husband, just rest…” She pressed him back and took off his shoes. When she had him settled, she covered him gently and sank down aside him on the floor. She took his hand and felt it trembling in her own as she prayed, ‘…Let it not be tonight, let him live yet another day…’
Through the long night she sat in vigil, waiting, and praying, and hoping beyond hope. By sunrise his body had finally relaxed into a deep deadly sleep she feared he would not awaken from. The morning passed, and Phillip and Thomas came to the house noticing the animals had not been tended—it was that, that told them something was indeed wrong. They sat with her as the day went on. No one spoke, but they all knew… She remained by his side and would not allow herself to be consoled, she was losing him, and she didn’t know if she was strong enough to let him go…
It was evening when he finally awakened, weakened by the pain in his head that it was getting worse and they all knew it; though no one spoke of their fears aloud. He smiled weakly and touched her cheek softly. “…What a lovely thing to awaken to, my love.”
“Are—are ye hungry?”
“…Aye, I am...”
She kissed his cool lips and fought back tears, she would not speak of her fears, would not let them be true…!
The jubilant sound of revelry rang from the Red Wolf Inn; its occupants held their cups of ale to the winner of the arm wrestling match in the back of dim the tavern as the drunken man pushed away from the table and stood. “Lift thy cups, men! To James Sheridan—” The man lifted the his own cup in one hand and the winner’s arm in the other, his drunken words shouted out in a loud and boisterous voice in the dim crowded room. “—may thy arm always best thy enemies—and find eager young maids within its reach!”
The men roared. “Here, here!”
James stumbled back and bowed drunkenly, then turned to his friends and sat down with a thump. He raked a hand through his dark hair, then grabbed his cup and emptied it, slamming it down on the table in front of him with a thud. He smiled and beamed happily at his two friends. “There! Pay up! Ye owe me five pieces silver each!”
His friends reached in their purses and took out his due, before one laughed, “Come now, James. We had best be off before we are too drunk to even ride our horses!”
The two men both with dark hair stood and finished their cups smiling at the bar maid as she made her way through the crowd. James stood and tossed her a silver coin making her beam happily at him. He chucked her under the chin. “If I weren’t so drunk, lass, I’d marry thee.”
She giggled and slipped the coin into the pocket in her skirt. He made his way through the crowded room, being jostled this way and that, drunkenly stumbling as he went. He heard a low voice hiss in his ear. “For Glenton Moor…!” But before he had time to think further he felt the knife as it was driven to the hilt in his quivering stomach. The air whooshed from his lungs and he slumped to the side as the man merely slipped past unnoticed into the crowed room. Another to his left caught him as he slumped forward and jokingly yelled to his friends. “Hey now! Thy friend is too drunk to follow! Come get the sorry lot, before he falls to the floor!”
The two looked at the crumpled man in his arms and laughed as they threaded back through the crowd to get him. “Come now, James, stand up or we’ll have to carry thee home!”
They each took an arm and hauled him to his feet. And it was then that someone noticed the blood. A cry went up silencing those in the room. “He’s dead! The Earl’s son is dead!”
A panicked frenzy ensued, men ran from the building, no one wanted to be found there and be blamed for the murder of the future Earl. James friends grabbed the men as they raced from the building trying to recognize faces or find a man with blood on his hands, but none were found…
The sound of horses brought her awake, she climbed out of bed glancing at her husband who slumbered on still. He was so thin and pale, a mere shell of the man she had married, yet she loved him even more today than the day before! She slipped on a shawl and went to peer out the shutters. She saw the ten man escort and the pennant of a golden lion against a red background; she knew the symbol, it belonged to the Earl of Whittington and he had come—for what purpose she did not know, but he had come…!
The knock at the door made her jump, she touched the latch and cast a look at her husband who had now awakened and was staring at her with dazed eyes. “…Who is it, lass?” He said and struggled to sit up.
“They—they bear a pennant of a golden lion...”
His lips drew into a grim line at her words as he pulled a tunic over his thin frame and stood. “…I shall see to it…”
He walked to the door slowly and opened it.
His father’s eyes came to rest on the man who was once his younger son, now thin and frail. “…William…” His words were a mere whisper.
“…Aye father, ‘tis I or what’s left of me.” He glanced at his wife who stood with worriedly eyes by the fire. “Why have ye come?”
The old man reached out and drew his son into his arms, almost wincing at his frailness he found there. He released him and looked down, his news hardly seemed appropriate now. “I—I came to tell thee that thy brother—is dead.”
William looked down and drew a soft sigh. “I am sorry for thee, father.”
The old man reached out and touched his son’s thin arm. “Ye have to come back wi
th me, William; ye are my only heir now. Once ye are back, ye shall again be well…”
The young man looked up with distant eyes. “…Look at me, father… look at me—I too am dying…”
“…Nay… William, I—I cannot lose thee also…!”
William glanced at his wife who stood looking at him with tears streaming silently down her lovely face; he knew they had yet to speak of such things, but he knew she realized it too. “…Aye father, I die.”
Edmund glanced at the young girl also who stood in bed clothes, a shawl around her thin shoulders. “Is she thy wife?”
William nodded his head. “…Aye, but there is no child, father. I shall not leave thee with an heir, I fear.”
The old man went still. “Tell me it is not so…”
“…I cannot… Go home, father, and live in peace… I shall say goodbye to thee—lest—lest I shall not see thy face—again.” He stepped forward and hugged his father fiercely; the old man choked back tears and held his frail son.
“…Come back with me, William…”
“…Nay, I shall die here. This is my home now. Father—please, leave me to die in peace—do not make me to mourn for that which I cannot change…”
The old man looked at him, and then nodded slowly, kissing his son’s sunken cheek. “…I never stopped loving thee, never…”
William bit back tears. “…Nor I thee…”
The old man kissed him again and slowly walked away, not wishing to torment his son with things that were not important now…
He mounted his horse and watched the door as it slowly closed, he longed with all his heart to stay and wait for the end, but the boy was struggling and had chosen to die alone as was a man’s right, and he would not harm him further despite the ache in his chest to be near him again.
William closed the door and laid his forehead against the cool rough wood, knowing it was for the best to send his father away. He didn’t want him to see him die, he didn’t want anyone to be there when he passed on, for he was not sure if he himself could let go of life if he saw the tears in their eyes… Miranda came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him softly, laying her head on his once muscular back, silent tears streaming down her pale cheeks. He didn’t turn around as he spoke. “…Ye knew it was so, and ye must let me go when it is time…” The choked sob in his voice made her shake from the violence of her own tears. “…I have—loved thee, lass… Phillip and Thomas shall care for thee, unless—unless ye choose to go back to thy father...”
Debra Kay Leland Page 12
