The Silent Love (37 page)

David paused for a heartbeat, and finished his thought quickly. "He is surely always near, watching over you... us."

"And what about the clothes... will I be in..vis...idble?" The boy stumbled over the word again, but almost got it right and brought a smile to David's face.

"In-vis-a-ble." He pronounced the word slowly, looking at Clay for signs of resentment. There were none. The boy had seemed to accept this strange journey without hesitation but David knew the battle was not yet won, only the first skirmish had gone to him.

"In-vis-a-ble." Clay repeated the word, his face scrunched in concentration. "I knew the word, I just forgot how to say it. Master Small says it happens sometimes, but I am smart and sure to learn everything very quickly. He says that I must never feel bad if I don't learn something first off, 'cause I am too small yet to use my brain as much as I will when I am grown."

Silently applauding the wisdom of the young tutor, David sat back and listened to his son's chatter with a lifting of his spirit. If he had a small twinge of conscience for having lied to the boy about his mother's motives for not being with them, he pushed it far back in his mind. Concentrated instead, on gaining his son's trust and love so that he might banishing the arrogance the old marquis had seeded in the boy's mind.

For this then, was the true purpose of the journey. He could not teach the child if he could not gain these things from him and David knew it well. Soon the rhythm of the carriage lulled both man and boy. Clay crawled up beside his father, resting his head upon David's knee, and slept awhile.

David stretched his long legs and lifted them to the opposite seat and cradled his son's curly dark head with one hand as he too, dozed. The carriage bowled along at clipping pace, carrying the man and his son to another world.

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* * * * *

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It was growing dusk when the coach, with its regal crested doors, pulled up before a cottage not unlike the one in the woods. It was no hovel, for the windows sparkled with fresh cleaning, the doorstep and porch were swept clear and the small dirt yard was neatly raked.

A small garden off to one side blazed in the evening rays of sunset with the bright colors of many roses on one side, and the healthy green vegetation of various vegetables on the other.

The middle rows were devoted to healing herbs and plants in great profusion.

An old man whose close resemblance to Gillian was evident, stepped onto the porch to greet them, his smile of welcome gentle in his weathered face. The old marquises' silver eyes looked out at them, and his Larkspur nose—only less marred by time than that of his cousin Gillian—sniffed the night air, the scent of roses irresistible.

He lifted a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes a moment, nodded as though in satisfaction at something he sensed, and came down the step with an agility that belied his ancient body.

"Welcome and welcome again. 'Tis glad I am too see you David Strongbow." He gestured with both arms, drawing them into a circle of mystic energy.

David took the elder's hands in greeting, aware immediately of the sensation the warmth that surrounded the ancient one, though the evening air had grown chill. "And we are both most pleased to be here."

"Is this your house, sir?" Clay was looking at the cottage with some puzzlement. "We have a house like this one, only the porch is larger and there the windows are bigger too."

"Well, and what is your name, young man?" Athol Strongbow knew well who the child was, but he wanted the boy to give him a proper greeting, without benefit of a scolding.

"I am Clayton Larkspur, the Earl of Thackery." He grinned and added, to David's astonishment. "But that is not very important. I am only six and cannot do much that is important."

"Oh, but that is untrue, lad. There are many important things you can do." Athol looked at the boy kindly and then at the man, though his words were for the boy. "You can begin as you mean to go on, and life will show you how to do very important things... for others."

He gestured toward the step and the three of them turned and entered the cottage, where Athol disappeared into another room, calling out, "Be seated where you will... I'll just get the tea and biscuits."

David, amazed that the old man seemed to expect them, for no word had had time to precede their arrival, stepped into the cozy room, nudging Clay along before him, a hand at his shoulder. The room was inviting and surrounded both man and boy with welcome.

A fire burned low in the stone fireplace where a kettle of something smelling delicious bubbled over the blaze. Two overstuffed chairs in good repair, though worn at the edges of the material, sat at an angle to one another, facing the hearth.

In a far corner, many shelves lifted to the ceiling, sagging under the weight of the books that lined them. A long plank lay across two supporting cross beams, bent under the weight of many small bottles and vials, their ingredients a strange glowing mixture, in varying colors, that caught the dancing flames of the hearth in their reflective glass.

There was naught a speck of dust nor a cobweb to be seen and the walls were whitewashed and clean, giving a bright spaciousness to an otherwise small room.

David selected the chair that appeared less used, hoping he had not taken his hosts favorite seat and indicated that Clay should take the small stool by it. The boy sat gingerly, his eyes darting here and there as he took in the wonders of this strange dwelling.

Plants hung about the walls, strange exotic things, some with blossoms of flowers, other's sprouting great berries from the rich soil of their wooden containers. Silver and bronze plaques with whirls of engraving upon them hung above the fire mantle and between them, a huge urn sat in silent splendor, it's burnished beaten gold polished to a deep glow of color.

Returning with a tray, Athol Strongbow noticed the boy's curious gaze and told him in a very sprightly, engaging voice, "Move about and look better at these things, lad. If you have a question, call it out."

Encouraged by the friendly manner of the old fellow, Clay looked to his father for permission—something new to his demeanor—and seeing David's nod of approval, he went quickly to the mantle to better view the urn. Timidly, he asked, "And what is this for, sir?"

"Ah, that is where I keep my magic, lad. In good time I shall tell you more, but first you must eat, for I can see hunger in your eyes and hear a rumbling in your belly." He motioned his guests to the table and began to set out the wooden bowls and spoons, keeping an eye to the cauldron, boiling merrily away.

When they had seated themselves, Athol went to the cupboard and withdrew three fine crystal goblets that, curiously, did not seem out of place with the other, more humble accruements of his table. He poured some very fine looking burgundy into two of the goblets and fresh foaming milk to the brim of the other.

He then went to lift the heavy iron kettle and David rose immediately.

"Allow me, sir." He swept past the older man plucking from him the heavy cloth he would use to keep his hands from the heat and brought the stew to the table himself. When they were seated, the elder did not lift the ladle at first, but took man and child by a hand, forming a circle.

"Take your father's hand, lad. We shall have a thanksgiving prayer before we eat." He did not look at the boy to see him obey, for no one disobeyed him as a rule. Waiting only the second it would take for Clay to comply, he raised his face to the ceiling, eyes closed, and incanted in a strange tongue.

When he had done, he repeated in English what he had just said in the Gallic of his Welsh forbearers, from many centuries past.

"We take the bread for nourishment, oh Mighty God, and the wine for our souls, oh Mighty God, that we may be strong in our purpose and know your wisdom."

David waited until the old man lifted his spoon, then nodded to the suddenly obedient child that he might do so as well. They ate in silence and finished the meal quickly, for all were hungry. Athol had awaited their arrival to eat, so it was well past his normal dinner time. The boy—as boys are wont to be—was ravaged with hunger and ate his bowl twice over, adding to his meal a large toasted slice of a  strange flat bread loaf.

A quiet peace settled over the diners and Clay, though he had slept much in the carriage, was drowsing at his meal, and so was lifted by his father and carried to a small bunk in the corner where he promptly began to snore softly. Raising his eyes to the elder man, David looked astonished and opened his mouth to say so. Clay, even when exhausted from his day's activities, was a difficult boy to lay in his bed.

Athol raised a staying hand, nodding toward the chairs, where they repaired to digest the food and talk about the purpose of the visit. Athol spoke first, as David understood that he was here to learn. Not inclined to open the discussion, he allowed the old man's wisdom to flow through him with his words.

"The child will be well rested on the morrow and we will take him to the stones." Taking his time, Athol lit his pipe and David did the same, puffing away contentedly in the quiet room. "I know you wonder at many things and have many questions. All will be answered in time, but first I will tell you about your son, for that is why you have come."

Belatedly, David reached for the letter in his pocket, but Athol only chuckled, saying, "It is from Gillian and he bids me heal the boy... and you as well, I should think."

"How can you know... ?" David stopped his question in mid sentence, remembering that he had just been told that all would be revealed. Besides, Athol Strongbow was looking at him and through him and around him, all at once, giving David a very strange feeling of tingling all over. He subsided in his chair, waiting.

The old man leaned forward, the better to peer into David's face and looked a long time before he gave a satisfied nod of his head and sat back, relighting his cold pipe. "You are a man of many parts and many names, it would seem. You are now called David Larkspur, after the father who would use you ill to gain an heir... and found one in you at the last."

David held his breath, waiting for the old man to speak again and grew drowsy in the waiting, for Athol appeared to be asleep, his eyes nearly closed, his face turned to the fire.

Jerking himself awake, David fought off the sleepiness, and looked away from the fire, which seemed to be the source of his trance. Still, though many questions wanted to tumble from his lips, he was silent, for he could not speak, even as he tried to will the words to come. A strange lethargy spread through him, and he could not seem to move.

"You are troubled for the child. Do not be. He will learn in this place... in the place of the stones. He will know the power of good in his soul and will give in to that power and turn it to fine purpose."

David turned his head with a great effort, seeking the old man's eyes, and noticed for the first time how alike they were to the Marquis. An eerie chill went down his spine and David wondered for a moment, then shook his head as though to clear it.

Reading his thoughts, Athol said, "Your father was my distant cousin. My mother—a dairymaid—daughter of the first Gillian Strongbow, had caught the eye of Lord Rodney Larkspur, who found her comely.

"When she gave him the gift of myself, he sent her off to the village near here, setting her up in marriage with a distant cousin, Horatio Strongbow, a man of some standing who owned a bakery in the village and she lived well... as did I."

"It seems the Larkspur and Strongbow families have been intertwined for many a year... " David spoke into the hushed silence, his voice returned to him at last.

"Many a century, in truth. Most of us in this valley and the one where you live are connected through both bloodlines, one way or the other. 'Tis a strange thing, that we all are part of such a dynasty, yet only a few of us have the gift."

The old man knocked his pipe out on the stone hearth, and stood slowly, stretching. "I would retire now, though I cannot apologize for my lazy old bones. I have been up and busy this long day, awaiting your arrival, but you may sit here and enjoy the port... gather your thoughts and your questions, for I will answer tomorrow."