Claire Delacroix (39 page)

“Why? Why would I do such a thing?”

I straightened and held his gaze. “Because my love and companionship is worth the exchange. Because we would be happy together.” I thought for a moment that he was torn, that he might step forward and take my offer.

“How? How could you be happy without Inverfyre? I could drag you across Christendom and watch you pine for your birthright - that would ensure our match was fine.”

I ignored his sarcasm, for I knew it unwarranted. “Love will find a solution.”

“Perhaps you would prefer that we squat in the ruins of your home, perhaps even attempt to rebuild it. Even with success on your terms, you could watch me wither and fade for lack of adventure.” His words were bitter and his gaze was sharp. “Would that be fair compense to you for my father’s crimes against your father?”

I stepped forward and laid my hand upon his arm. “I love you and that is not so worthy of dismissal as you would imply.”

Instead of coaxing Gawain to my side, my words made him abruptly turn away. He tore his sleeve from my grip. “Then you are a fool to cling to such whimsy. There is nothing I can do to save you from yourself.”

I was so shaken by his coldness that I could not think of a protest in time. His gaze darkened, then he turned his back and stepped out of the shelter of trees to gruffly greet Tarsuinn and Malachy.

I was left the forest’s shadows, devastated I had offered my all to Gawain and that it was not enough.

* * *

We walked then, walked to Ravensmuir. We had no other place to go and Gawain insisted that his brother would offer us protection. It was a long walk, and our sole consolation that the weather was fair. It was almost unseemly how robustly the land burst forth in spring’s garb, how lush and green the countryside became.

I remembered Inverfyre burning and knew no spring would come there this year. Indeed, we saw the dark cloud of smoke rise behind us for four days and wondered who was beckoned to see its origin. The destruction of my home and birthright was echoed by the yawning emptiness in my heart.

But Gawain and I spoke no more beyond a minimum of cordial civility. What else could be said?

We turned our backs upon the smoke from Inverfyre and walked. We avoided the road, uncertain whether we might be pursued, though there were no signs of it. When we begged for food, only Malachy or Tarsuinn showed themselves. I remained hidden at all times, at Gawain’s insistence, while he hung back after my warning that his height and fair hair would be readily remembered.

Matters were so strained between he and I that I abandoned any hope of a tender glance that would reveal the contents of his heart. If he loved me, he would give no sign of it. If he loved me, it mattered no more to him than his father’s love for his mother had mattered to either of them.

Perhaps my mother had spoken aright, that the Lammergeier were cursed by their very name. Scavengers and bonebreakers, she had called them, but even knowing what I did now, I could not hate Gawain.

In a strange way, I respected him, for he knew what he was and accepted it. He knew that his essence could not be changed and he would deny the simple solution because it would prove less than adequate in the end. I could respect the nobility of his thinking, even knowing that he was wrong, even knowing that there was nothing I could do to shake his conviction.

* * *

We trudged east for fourteen days, and with each day, the land became more softly contoured, more welcoming, more cultivated. We saw more villages, more mills, more monks. We skirted Edinburgh with difficulty, for all roads led to its gates. We slept less as the signs of habitation became more numerous and took to walking all night, napping during the days, hidden in some copse of trees. Our course was not a direct one, thus took longer than if we had walked openly.

At Edinburgh, we debated the merit of approaching the king, but Gawain counseled that none would heed us in our current ragged state. Better, he advised, to continue to Ravensmuir and make our appeal with Merlyn’s endorsement. I suspected that he spoke aright.

We followed the south coast of the Firth of Forth, passed the royal docks at Queensferry, circumvented the salt flats maintained by the monks, and had porridge from the nuns who fired tiles near North Berwick. When the coast turned south, the Firth having opened to the sea, the wind offered an invigorating bite.

On the fourteenth morn, when we halted to sleep, I could see a dark keep in the distance, perched on the lip of the sea. I did not sleep that day, merely rested, my gaze fixed upon Ravensmuir.

Upon sanctuary.

* * *

Twilight claimed the skies that night with a leisure that infuriated me. Gawain was restless, unhappy with the open stretch of land we had to transverse and the fullness of the moon. The skies were clear that night, adding to his displeasure. He insisted that we wait until night reigned fully, and hesitated even then.

“We cannot stay here all the night,” I said finally. “Look - Ravensmuir is but there! We shall arrive no sooner for not beginning.”

“I do not like it,” he said, frowning as he shook his head. “Something is amiss. I can smell it.”

“What you smell is the salt of the sea and the dung of the cows.”

“No, Evangeline, my instincts tell me that danger is near.”

I heaved a sigh, well aware that our two companions watched us closely. “My instincts tell me that a soft pallet and a hot meal are near. We gain nothing by the waiting, Gawain.”

With that, I lifted my hood and strode out of our hiding place. They followed, of course, for they could do nothing else. Gawain quickly overtook me to lead the way. We moved quickly, though there seemed to be no one abroad but the four of us. It rose to my lips to tease Gawain that his instincts failed him and indeed I tapped upon his shoulder to do so.

But when he glanced back, I saw in his eyes what was happening afore he shouted.

No!

“We are assaulted! Run!” Gawain flung me ahead of him even as he pulled his sword from its scabbard. I stumbled at the vigor of his push and glanced back.

Six horses rode towards us, their riders’ cloaks flying in the wind. I saw the glint of steel and my heart quailed.

“Run, Evangeline!” Gawain shouted in my ear. “Run!”

Tarsuinn seized my elbow and urged me onward. I picked up my skirts and ran, sparing only one glance back. Gawain stood silhouetted behind me, Malachy fast at his side. Their feet were braced against the ground and their blades held high.

“Run!” Tarsuinn insisted. “Do not look back!”

I ran, his heavy footfalls beside me. I ran to the sound of swordplay, I ran as hoof beats echoed louder. I ran as a man cried out in pain, I ran as one man, then another, fell hard to the earth. I ran as a horse shied and whinnied, recoiling from the scent of blood.

I ran faster when Ravensmuir’s gates were thrown open, ran towards that haven. I heard the hoof beats of the horses behind me and feared we should not make the gates afore they overtook us.

I ran when Tarsuinn was snatched away from my side. I heard him fall, I heard both horse and rider fast behind me. I glanced back and stumbled even as Tarsuinn shouted for me to hasten. I was sickened by the carnage behind me, my throat choked with tears.

But I ran.

Hope lit like a flame in my heart when a great brute of a horse burst through Ravensmuir’s gates. It reared and its rider bellowed, hauling on the reins.

I glanced back as Gawain rose from the ground, his fair hair gleaming in the moonlight. He swung himself into the empty saddle of one of our attackers’ horses and gave the beast his heels. I dared to hope that all might come aright, then I saw the dark rider betwixt Gawain and I.

The steed was turned in my direction and I knew that I was the target, the reason, for all of this. I held my belly tight, my skirts bunched in my grip and ran.

The hoof beats pursued me. They gained upon me, my heart thundered, my chest was tight. The rider from Ravensmuir would never reach me in time, though he stood in his stirrups and coaxed his horse to greater speed. I felt the breath of the horse so close was it. I glanced behind me.

I saw Ranald’s smile of triumph.

I screamed in terror as he brought his shining blade down. I felt the cold bite of the steel sliding into my back. I had a moment to marvel at how readily, how treacherously, the smooth blade slipped between my ribs, and then I knew no more.

* * *

XXI

A haze engulfs me, swallowing me in pain as red as rubies, as merciless as flames. I burn, dimly aware of shadows beyond my pain. I am cognizant of shadows and whispers, silhouettes and commands.

From this world or the next? Do I wake or sleep? Live or die? I cannot say. I do not care. The pain consumes me, makes me bare my teeth, cup my hands around my swelling womb, weep and wail.

* * *

“It is not so fearsome as it appears.” A woman’s voice, pitched low and soothing. She sounded competent, someone who could be relied upon.

“The risk will be infection.” A man said this. His voice was low and his words slow. It reminded me of the sea, dangerous and mysterious. His accent, though, was like Gawain’s, foreign but not exotic. His voice was shadow to the sparkling laughter of Gawain’s, more like the roiling shadows of the sea than a merry brook dancing in sunlight.

“She cannot remain here,” he said.

“She cannot depart, not with such a wound,” Gawain argued.

“Of course she can, if well tended,” the woman argued firmly. “To remain is to die for certain, to depart grants her the chance to live. The infection will come or nay, regardless of where she slumbers.”

“You do not know their number, Gawain,” counseled the man. “And they know now that the lady is here.”

“I thought the walls of Ravensmuir unassailable.”

“You thought wrongly.” The man cleared his throat. “The Melusine is loaded to sail on the tide. Take her, take the lady, take my goods south.”

“You invite me to steal from you!”

“I invite you to partner with me.”

There was a pause, then Gawain spoke with resolve. “The life of reputable trade is not for me.”

The other man chuckled. “You think there is no thievery in the silk markets? You think there is no theft in good haggling? You think there is no adventure in cheating the sea time and again? I predict that you will be better at this than ever I was, Gawain.”

Silence. A bustle of activity, a plethora of shadows, stabbing pain in my back again. Soothing sounds when I cry out, a hand upon my brow. I feared suddenly for my child, for his future, and an urgency seizes me.

“The babe,” I managed to say, uncertain of my coherence. “The babe must be named Niall.”

“She is pregnant?” The woman. Surprised.

“Since January.” It was Gawain, his words uncharacteristically hoarse. I reached for him, but someone placed my hand back on my chest, rolled me to my stomach with a firmness I cannot fight.

Water ran in my wound.

“You need not fear for the babe,” the woman said with authority. “You will heal.”

“Fortune has already smiled upon you,” added the deep-voiced man.

“Niall,” I said again as a needle bit into my flesh. The pain swelled within me once more, screaming, protesting, pushing everything out of my thoughts. “Champion.”

I heard footsteps, fading footsteps as I succumbed to a descending veil of dark slumber.

“He is curt this night,” the woman said. I struggled to remain conscious, that I might hear what she says of Gawain.

“He has killed three men, chère,” replied the man. “No man of merit puts such a deed readily behind him.”

Three?

“Is he changed, or am I deceived anew?”

A smile in the man’s voice. “He is again what once he was, before our father put his taint upon him. Do not marvel that he is so surprised. And do not marvel that you see the change in him - you are as good a judge of a man’s measure as ever.”

Then darkness and pain claimed me again.

* * *

I am at Inverfyre then, impossibly balanced upon the summit of the roof of the chapel. A glistening half moon pours silver light the land I have loved all my days. My birthright and legacy, my responsibility and obligation. It is green yet, leafy and untouched by fire, complete as it is solely in my mind’s eye.

A peregrine cries, the shadow of her outstretched wings passing between me and the moon. I turn to watch her flight, taking joy in the beauty of her white wings against darkest night.

“A gyrfalcon,” my father murmurs, his voice beside my ear. “The noblest of birds, the consort of kings and emperors alone.”

I turn and find my father not rotted, but as a shadow clothed in quicksilver. He is there but not there. His affectionate smile is so familiar that it brings a tear to my eyes.