Claire Delacroix (15 page)

My sister interrupted me. “There was a fire about you, Ysabella, when you were in Merlyn’s presence, a spark that abandoned you when you abandoned him. You have been brittle these years in your unhappiness.”

“You do not know that I have been unhappy.”

Mavella smiled sadly. “We have both been unhappy. In my case, the choice was inflicted upon me, while you made your own choice. Either way, we chose not to begin again, not to heal, not to forgive, not to forget.” She considered me. “I had forgotten how brightly your eyes could sparkle and how a flush could become you better than any powder.”

“Mavella, I tell you that I feel no need to mourn Merlyn.”

“I do not care for the reason, Ysabella. I was but surprised that his death did not cut you more deeply.” I felt myself flush but she looked back to the trunk, her hand sliding across a silken robe. “It is nearly the beginning of a new year and I would make a wager with you.”

“What kind of wager?”

“Merlyn has granted us the gift of a new beginning. Let us seize it, let us greet the coming year with open hearts. Let us forget and forgive, let us put the past where it belongs.”

Mavella spoke with a ferocity uncommon for her and indeed, she began to tremble as she clenched her fist before herself. “Let us live, Ysabella. Let us be happy. I have had enough misery to last me all of my days and nights. Let us rejoice that we are yet alive, for Death can come suddenly for any of us.”

“Amen to that.” I embraced her, then tightened my grip when I felt her shaking like a leaf.

“I saw Alasdair,” she whispered unevenly into my shoulder. Her grip tightened on my gown. “Before we left Kinfairlie.”

I pulled back to regard her. “You said nothing of this.”

“I could not speak of it.” Mavella shook her head without looking up.

“Was he alone?”

Mavella shook her head once. My heart ached for her. Alasdair had been her love and the light of her life, until he spurned her and left Kinfairlie. I knew that my sister still yearned for her lost love.

“Did he see you? Did he speak to you?”

“No and no again.” She took a shaking breath. “He carried a child, a young child, and they laughed together. The rumors were true - he wed another. And he is happy, as I am not.” Her words faltered and I hugged her fiercely, my own tears gathering at the unfairness of her circumstance.

Then she spoke with force. “There is a lesson here. Alasdair has lived all these years, Ysabella, while I have waited. He has put the past behind him, where it rightly belongs, while I have wallowed in it.” She lifted her chin. “I shall do this no more. Wager with me that we shall live this year ahead.”

“I take your wager, Mavella. I take it.” Even as I said the words, I thought of Merlyn’s pledge that life was worth little without a taste of risk.

I was startled to find myself agreeing with him.

We embraced tightly and wiped a few tears, then Mavella heaved a sigh. “God bless Merlyn for this opportunity. God bless him for waking me from my slumber. I do not care what he did in his life, Ysabella, but in dying he made a good choice.” She smiled at me. “He righted his debt to you and he granted us a rare opportunity. Surely that will be counted in his favor when he faces his judgment. God bless Merlyn Lammergeier.”

She looked up expectantly when I did not immediately echo her blessing. But I could not form the words. I stared at her mutely, unable to bless Merlyn, unwilling to admit that he yet drew breath.

“Indeed.” I managed to nod once and Mavella’s gaze softened.

She touched my cheek with a gentle fingertip. “You do mourn him. I knew you had lost your heart to him, scoundrel or no.”

I had to turn away. I immediately spied a sapphire gown in the trunk, one wrought of some shimmering fabric from the East. It was woven with silver, embroidered with silver upon its hems, and adorned with dozens of tiny silver buttons. It was an altogether splendid garment, as well as a perfect distraction.

“This would be perfect for you,” I declared and pulled the gown from the trunk.

My sister gasped. “Nay, Ysabella, I could not!” But her eyes shone as they had not in years and she reached out to touch the cloth with a tentative hand.

She was half smitten with it already.

“It is too small for me through the waist and hips. You must take it or it will be wasted.”

It was not that hard to persuade her to don the garment.

“Oh, but it is too long.”

“It pools upon the floor most attractively.”

“This is impractical, Ysabella,” she insisted, though she could not tear her gaze from it. “It will be stained before a single day is through.”

“How so? You are a lady of leisure, Mavella, and such garb is most suitable for you in these days. We could turn up the hem later, if you so desire.”

My sister spun, luxuriating in the quality of the cloth as she decided. I knew she would accept it. It favored her wonderfully, the brightness of the hue taking years from her countenance. She even preened a little, then turned to me with a radiant smile the like of which I had not seen in six years. I had forgotten how beautiful she is.

The sight brought a lump to my throat.

“I thank you, Ysabella.” She bowed low like a fine lady, then fingered the cloth with awe. “This is the finest gift that ever I have had.”

“And this,” I said, touching her smiling lips with my fingertip, “is the finest gift that ever I have had.”

She laughed, thinking I made a jest, but it was true. My sister’s smile and her newfound hope for the future was the best Yuletide gift that ever I could have received.

I realized with some dismay that I did owe Merlyn a debt of gratitude, for this moment was of his making. What had once been a clear matter of principle already became as slippery as a fresh eel.

That was perhaps Merlyn’s intent.

But was Mavella’s smile sufficient to persuade me to agree to Merlyn’s terms?

* * *

I had no doubt that Merlyn would seek me out. He had need of me, this I knew, and he never abandoned an argument he was losing. I guessed that he would appear suddenly, seeking to have surprise upon his side when he set to changing my thinking.

I was prepared for him. Not only did I hesitate before opening any portal that night, not only did I peer in every shadowed corner even as we decked the halls, but I sat awake in the solar until long into the night, expectant.

But Merlyn did not come. Beneath the shadow of the carved lammergeier, hours passed with no hint that he yet breathed. I wondered and I worried. Was his absence because he could not come, or because he had chosen not to come?

How serious was his wound?

What manner of fool was I to fret for his welfare?

In the darkness, my doubts festered. Was it possible that Merlyn truly intended to change? And why had I so readily trusted Gawain’s word, as I was unprepared to trust Merlyn’s? Had I merely been younger and more gullible then?

I could admit to myself in my dark solitude that I had been afraid to ask Merlyn for his version of events, afraid in those days to grant him any chance to sway me to his side. Was that why I held fast against his new assertions?

I punched my pillows and tossed restlessly in the chilly solar.

What did I truly know of Merlyn? He had wealth. He had charm. Though I called him cruel, he had never raised a hand against me. He could become angered as he had in the labyrinth, but I knew the sting of believing that a trusted soul had lied. And he had not truly abandoned me, even in his anger - he had left the light to summon me. His cruelty was less than even I might expect.

I rose and noted how far the crescent moon had moved, how close it came to dawn. And still, Merlyn did not come to me.

I was disappointed.

Perhaps he did not need me as much as I believed he did. Perhaps I only wished he would seek me out again. In the darkness I could admit to myself that I was curious as to who had assaulted him.

And why.

I had fewer qualms about Merlyn’s lust for vengeance than I would have liked him to know. Did I dare draw close to the untrustworthy flame that was Merlyn yet again? I knew there would be pleasure abed, but my choice could endanger others. If Merlyn deceived me and there was some foul price to be paid, it could be exacted of my innocent siblings.

My thoughts circled fruitlessly, seeking a solution that I did not have sufficient information to find. Eventually, I fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

It is night in Ravensmuir and I lie abed, alone for the first time since my arrival here. My husband does not come. I have not seen him since midday and the passing hours feed my doubts.

Has he left me?

Has he taken a mistress? Indeed, there could be a mistress resident in this massive place and I would never guess at her presence.

Is he displeased with me?

He comes finally on the cusp of the dawn, clearly irked that I am yet awake. He is distracted as I have never seen him, though he summons his charm to apologize prettily. His smile, though, does not reach his eyes. His gaze slides away from me, a shadow claims his features, and I know that he lies when he concocts a tale of where he has been.

It is the first lie between us.

It stains the air.

It leaves an odor like a rank perfume. It feeds questions and doubts in my mind. It makes me hold back from him when we make love. The wedge is driven between us and I cannot help but resent him for choosing to invite it, for deciding to lie.

For nothing will ever be the same.

I dream, on that night and again on this one, of a priceless treasure slipping through my numbed fingers. The gem flashes, momentarily in my grip, then turns slippery. I am powerless to snatch it tightly, unable to halt its tumble into a fathomless abyss.

As it disappears from sight, swallowed by darkness, the sun disappears without warning from the midday sky. Two pinpoints of light burn painfully bright on the horizon and I reach for them in hope.

The yawning maw of blackness devours both lights. I tremble in terror. A shadow has swallowed the world, a shadow so complete that I cannot see my own hand before my face.

Then, just when I can endure it no longer, somewhere in the distant darkness, a scream begins. Its volume rises, it grates like nails on a stone, it fills my ears to bursting.

It is a child, I know this, a child in anguish and in need of solace. I scramble in the darkness, hoping to aid somehow, knowing that I cannot arrive in time. The scream grows to terrifying volume, its pain and plaintiveness making me fear that the child is lost forever.

* * *

December 27

Saint John the Evangelist’s Day

* * *

VI

I sat up with a gasp. My heart was racing.

But no child screamed for aid. The solar was filled with nothing more threatening than the glow of the moon and the stirrings of the wind. I could smell the promise of yet more rain and hear the waves of the sea. I reassured myself that I was safe and took a deep breath.

Then choked upon it when I saw something glitter and spin on the far side of the chamber.

The silhouette of a man was barely discernible as he held his hand high, that glittering trinket evidently strung on a cord. It glimmered again as it spun and I realized what it was.

The key to Merlyn’s box.

The key that hung upon the red silken cord around my neck. My hand rose to my chest, fearing what I would find, and closed upon nothing at all.

“Merlyn,” I whispered, my heart racing with hope that I guessed aright.

His smile glinted in the shadows, his voice was low and dark. “The beauty awakens, not requiring my kiss to tempt her back from dreams. I confess myself disappointed,
chère
.”

“It is the kiss of a prince that awakens the damsel in the tale, not that of a blackguard,” I retorted, pulling the furs up over my bare breasts.

Merlyn chuckled, then unfolded himself from his seat. He came and perched upon the side of the bed. “Whereas the blackguard comes only to ravish the damsel?”

“Indeed.” I put out my hand with imperial poise. “You appear to have something that is mine.”

Merlyn rolled the cord between his finger and thumb, setting the key to spinning again. “You should wear it always,
chère
. If you carelessly lay aside your treasures, any rogue could claim them in the night.”

That I sat in the company of a rogue holding my prize only emphasized his point. I was not convinced that he spoke only of the key, but was not in any mood to accept an implied compliment.

I reached for the key, but Merlyn held it out of my grasp.

“It is evident that locking and barring the door is not sufficient to keep rogues at bay,” I snapped.

He smiled, then lifted the cord in both hands, obviously intending that I should dip my head through its circle. Of course, then I should have to lean closer to him, and he would have a glimpse down my cleavage. He knew I slept nude and he was man enough to want a glimpse.

Scoundrel. His gaze met mine in silent challenge and I set my lips as I took his dare. Indeed, I let the furs dip low in my grasp, so they only barely covered my nipples. I bent my head and leaned forward, smiling at the slight sound of his inhalation. He released the cord with startling speed, so I jumped when the cold key fell against my flesh. The key slipped between my breasts and Merlyn watched its downward progress.

I flicked back my hair and smiled at his obvious interest. “Did you come to persuade me to agreement, then?”

“You made mention of a wager to Ada,” he whispered, his eyes dark. My breath caught as he eased closer. His hands landed on the bed, on either side of my hips, imprisoning me within his embrace. I leaned back, trapped against the carved headboard even as Merlyn loomed over me.