Alicia Roque Ruggieri (23 page)

33

Aine fled through the
forest, tripping over roots, falling on her face in the mud.  Finally, she
stumbled against a huge oak, its trunk rippling brown in the slanted afternoon
sunlight.  Her mind aware only of pain, she huddled against the tree, shaking
with tears.

I never loved you.

“What value do I have,
then?” she moaned.

I never loved you.

Where could she go? 
Never back to Oxfield.  Aine could not face her accuser again. 
I would die
of grief.
 Deoradhan’s angry face had told her that she would never receive
forgiveness from him.

And if she would not
receive it from him who had said he loved her so much, how would she receive it
from anyone?

“Who will welcome a
harlot?” she mumbled, scratching her face against the bark.  At least the
physical pain drew her concentration away from the emotional agony.

Though he seduced
me.  Forced me, really.  ‘Twas not all my fault.  If Deoradhan knew…

No, even if he knew, he
would reject her now.  Yet again, after the brief respite of Deoradhan’s
worshipful love, Aine knew her own inadequacy.

I cannot measure up. 
I cannot, no matter how I try.
  The sobs poured out. 
All I want is to
be loved.  But I’m not worthy to be loved.
 

Groveling at the tree’s
roots, she remembered the words of the village priest… 

And sin when it is
fully grown brings forth death.

“Help me.”  The whisper
came to her lips, directed to whom she knew not.  Perhaps to the God whose
voice her mother heard in the song of the robin.  After a time, Aine stood
upright again, wobbling under the weight of her too-heavy burden, shivering in
the cold April wind.  She directed her feet west.  She didn’t know where she
was going, but she knew she could not return to the house of her judgment.

~ ~ ~

The shavings dropped one
by one around Bricius’ feet, curling into little heaps.  The cottage trembled a
bit in the blowing gusts, but here by his fire ‘twas warm and cozy.  He glanced
up from his whittling and caught a smile from Lydia, who sat across from him,
sewing patches on a pair of trousers.  Their old dog lay panting at her feet.

An impatient knock
interrupted the comfortable silence between them.  Bricius rose, groaning a
little.  “I’ll get it, my dear.”  He limped over to the door.

He knew his surprise
must have shown when he opened it.  “Deoradhan, isn’t it?”

The young man smiled
politely, but Bricius sensed the worry underpinning his expression.  “Aye, you
remember me.”

“Please, come in.” 
Bricius held the door open wide.  Deoradhan hesitated and then entered,
knocking the mud from his boots on the doorframe.

“I don’t wish to
intrude,” he said.  “I’m looking for Calum.  No one seems to know where he
went.  I didn’t know if you…”

Tenderness flooded into
Bricius’ heart at hearing Calum’s name.  “Aye, he’s left Oxfield, lad.”

“Do you know where he’s
gone?”

Bricius frowned.  “Nay. 
He had some things to sort out, to pray over.  ‘Tis all I know.  But God knows
where he is.  And that’s enough for me.”

Deoradhan snorted.  It
took Bricius by surprise.  “I’m sorry,” the young man said when he saw the
startled look on Bricius’ face.  “It’s just that everything seems to go back to
this unrelenting, unfathomable God.  No matter how I try to escape, He always
comes back to dog my steps.”  He turned away, facing the fire.

Bricius sat down to ease
his bones. 
Lord God, give me the words to say to this young man, so
bewildered, so angry.
  He glanced over at Lydia, who continued sewing, her
eyes lowered. 
Praying.
  Finally, he said, “I don’t know what’s at the
root of your troubles, lad.  I can only say that whatever ‘tis, God will help
you, if you ask Him.”

“I don’t want to ask
Him.  I don’t need His help!” the visitor burst out, turning wild eyes to
Bricius.  “All I want is what is mine by right of birth.”

“By right of birth?”  At
Deoradhan’s nod, Bricius raised his eyebrows.  “You ken what is yours by right
of birth, lad?  Death, that’s all.  Judgment.  A pretty inheritance, aye? 
Yours by right of birth as Adam’s son.”

“That’s not what I
mean.”  Deoradhan turned his eyes back to the fire.  “If I had what was stolen
from me, I could have peace, at least, instead of this unending knowledge that
someone else has what is mine.”

Bricius rose to his feet
and placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.  “You want peace, lad, but
you’ll never get it by holding onto things, whether it be the past or the
future.  We must lay all that down at Jesus’ feet and follow Him if we would
have peace.”

“I don’t understand
that.”

“I’m sure you don’t,
because it goes beyond understanding.”  Bricius gazed into Deoradhan’s face. 
“I see in you the marks of the Creator, lad.  But if you go on rejecting Him, I
fear what will become of you.”

Bricius was sure that
the young man’s eyes glinted with troubled tears.  Yet after a moment,
Deoradhan pulled away from Bricius’ gentle touch.  “I must go,” he stated.

“Alright.”  Bricius
paused with a sudden thought.  “If you still seek Calum, you may find him in
Summer Country.”

“Summer Country?”

“Aye, he grew up there.”

~ ~ ~

From her seat behind
Enid, Bethan surveyed the small group travelling with them.  Five men, mostly
in their thirties and forties, and a few older women.  She and Enid were the
youngest members of the band, and what Garan lacked in years, he made up for in
fervor.  They had been traveling for a few days now together, but Bethan still
felt like an outsider.  Her father had not spoken of unbelievers as these
people did, as if they were some kind of mysterious wild animal that needed to
be tricked into a trap.

Yet they are sincere,
she admitted. 
And kind, especially among themselves.
  Bethan glanced
toward Garan riding to her right, and he met her eyes with a smile. 
Everything
he does is done purposely,
she realized. 
Even that smile.  I believe he
thought it through before he allowed me to have it.  But he is a good man, and I
am blessed to have him.

Her thoughts turned to
Deoradhan and Aine.  Aloud, she mused, “Deoradhan could have been gentler with
poor Aine.”

Garan’s head swiveled
toward her.  “What do you mean?  He was right.”

His voice allowed for no
question on the matter.  But Bethan felt she could not agree, at least not
completely.  “But, Garan,” she began softly, not wishing to seem contrary,
“Deoradhan didn’t know the whole of the story.  To be honest, none of us did. 
We only assumed.”

Garan frowned, as if she
were a disagreeable little girl.  “Bethan, the facts are these: an unwed lass
is with child.  Her promised husband doesn’t acknowledge the child.  Therefore,
she has been unfaithful to him.”

“But, Garan, others have
not been unfaithful but have gotten in the same way as Aine.  The Virgin
herself—”

“As far as I am aware,
there is only one virgin birth promised to the human race, Bethan.  Or do you
contradict the Scriptures now?”

Bethan blushed.  “Nay. 
I didn’t mean that Aine…I meant only that we don’t know all the circumstances,
Garan.  She may have been forced.”

His face softened the
tiniest bit.  “Perhaps.  If so, I pity the girl.  But the child is still the
child of sin.”

Bethan could not believe
he had said that.  “What did you say?”

“The child is one of
sin.  Deoradhan is right to reject it.”

Bethan felt such
indignation that it overcame her awe of Garan.  “But the child did not sin,
Garan.  Surely, the Lord has compassion—”

“‘Behold, I was brought
forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.’”  He glanced over at
her.  “I think that should answer your questions, Bethan.  God, not man, always
has the final word.”

But you are not God,
her heart rebelled as she looked at him in silence.

34

Summer Country

In the nearby fields,
Calum could hear the sheep bleating.  ‘Twas lambing season, and his brother
owned dozens of sheep, many of them about to lamb.  Their soft murmuring
usually soothed him to sleep, but tonight he found that rest eluded him.

I’ll walk the fields
awhile.
  He sat up, throwing back the light wool blanket.  How different
this life was from all those years as a guard!  How restful this country
existence was.  Each day, his soul healed from within, the sores closing up as
with ointment.

His feet took him
outside, where the stars sprinkled the sky like jewels across a peerless dark
queen’s brow. 
How beautiful.  Lord, You have set them in place.
  A
light wind rustled the grass, silvery with moonlight.  Calum strode toward the
oak on the hill, outlined black against the late night sky. 
Someday, all
the stars will sing together again, as they did at Creation.

He walked up the incline
slowly with the step of one who does not hurry anymore.  He was just a little
way from the wooden cross and decided to brush his fingers and eyes over the
carven words once more.  Moving toward it, he saw some kind of large object at
the cross’ foot.

A stray sheep.
 
He approached it quietly, not wanting to startle it into fleeing.  A few feet
away, however, Calum realized with surprise that a small woman, not a sheep,
lay facedown and curled up on the ground.  Kneeling in the sparse grass, he
reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Twas warm, so she still lived.  But she
didn’t respond to his hand.

“Hello,” he spoke
aloud.  “Lass.”  The person didn’t turn over or show any sign of having heard
him.

Calum gently rolled her
over. 
What in the world?  She’s heavy with child,
Calum thought with
alarm.  He brushed back the snarled mass of dark hair from her face and was so
startled that he fell back on his heels.

Aine.

So many thoughts rushed
into his mind.  Where was Deoradhan?  How did Aine come to be in Summer
Country?  He shook her shoulder again, but she still wouldn’t wake.  With the
tenderness of a herd with a broken-legged lamb, Calum took her crumpled body
into his arms and rose. 
O Lord, show me what to do.  Show me how I may care
for her.

~ ~ ~

He laid her on his bed. 
Aine’s body shook with cold, and Calum covered her with as many blankets as he
could find in the little shepherd’s cottage. Still she trembled convulsively. 
Calum threw his eyes around for something to add to her warmth. 

The heavy fur rug.  He
snatched it up and placed it on top of all the other layers.  Turning to the
hearth, he added more fuel to the dying fire and water to the pot hanging above
it.

Lord, what has
happened here?  How did this come to be?
he questioned, sitting by the
young woman’s side as he waited for the water to boil.  Looking at her, Calum
saw that her lips scaled with dryness.  He jumped up from his stool and fetched
a cup of water.  Raising her up a little, he put the rim to her lips.  He
breathed when she swallowed.  And swallowed again.  Without opening her eyes,
she reached out her small, soiled hands limply toward the cup.  After a few
gulps, she fell back, unresponsive again.

Should I go for
someone?  But for whom would I go?
  Not Kieve or his wife, two miles away,
surely asleep at this hour.  Not to the village, nearly four miles distant. 
And Calum had nursed many a sick man after battles.  He could nurse a woman
just as well for tonight.

His gaze rested on the girl’s
scratched, hollow face and then her swollen stomach. 
Her soul needs healing
as much as her body, I would guess.  O Lord, help me.

35

Dunpeledyr

“Welcome.  ‘Tis not often
that we receive messengers from our Lord Arthur,” greeted Lady Seonaid, trying
to appear calm.  Two stern men backed by several armed guards had arrived
without warning, bearing the Pendragon’s banner.  She had received them, as
Weylin had taken a horse up to an estate farther north.

“My lady, we come with
ill news for you.”

“Whatever word the king
sends, I am ready to hear.”

“I’m glad of it, my
lady.  We’ve come to take your husband into custody.”

‘Twas utterly
unexpected.  “What do you mean?” she questioned, sure that she had
misunderstood these solemn strangers.

“Just that, my lady. 
Your husband has been accused of treason.”

Seonaid drew in her breath.  “By whom?  Who has
accused him?”

“The
king, my lady.”

Summer Country

Deoradhan pushed his
mount to move faster.  The road over the hills flew under them, but he still
could not shake the feeling that something—Someone—tracked his soul.  He felt a
Presence like some great red sun, born from the foundations of the world. 
‘Twas burning, beating, unrelenting in its effort to win him over, to force his
acknowledgement.

He resisted, cowardly,
willfully.  Tears sometimes rose to his eyes, but he blinked them away.  He
drove his horse faster, determined to get away. 
I own myself at least, do I
not?
  Was he not at any rate the ruler of his own heart, though a kingdom
of darkness it might prove to be?

Summer Country

Aine woke fully on the
second day.  When her eyelids trembled open, Calum sat very still, anxious that
she stay quiet.  She stared up at the ceiling for long moments, blinking slowly
as if it caused her pain, before turning her head to look at him.

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.”