Claire Delacroix (31 page)

“The tale is that it was for a long time.”

“But then?”

“Lost. I believe the last time it was shown was in the twelfth century or so.” Gawain winked at me and made to re-wrap the bundle. “Merlyn would have known. He was always better with such details.”

I seized his arm. “What do you mean, he would have known?”

“This will do very well for your part of the wager, Ysabella.” Gawain knotted the twine with care so that the prize would be protected. He inclined his head in a mocking bow, tucking the bundle beneath his arm as he did so. “Every good fortune to you in this life, Ysabella. Per our agreement, I fear that our paths shall never cross again.”

“What about Merlyn?”

“Merlyn?” Gawain granted me a cocky smile. “Oh, he is dead, have you not heard?”

I was outraged by the implication of his words. “You said he lay wounded, you promised, you...”

“Oh, I lied, Ysabella.” Gawain shrugged, unrepentant, then clicked his tongue. “You should know better than to believe every bit of nonsense told to you, especially by the likes of me.”

I was aghast. “You cannot simply leave!”

But he was doing precisely that, striding through the chapel with remarkable speed. I chased him, bursting through the chapel doors as he leapt over the lip of the rocks.

“But wait! Wait!” I scrambled after him and he paused, but only just, though he was poised to flee. “The plate! There was a plate in the chapel. Did you leave it there?”

Gawain laughed aloud. “It is not my task to collect and clean the crockery.”

“Then you did use it?”

“I am not so churlish as to decline a meal Ada cooked for me.”

I took a step after him, my thoughts whirling. “But how did she bring it to you? This gorse was not cut back then.”

Gawain shook his head, amused at my confusion. “Foolish Ysabella!” He laughed merrily. “Are you the only one who does not know about the labyrinth?”

Then he was gone with all the infuriating ease that Merlyn oft showed. I lunged after him, but to no avail. He was faster than me, and evidently knew the winding course that made its way down the face of the cliff. By the time I spied the shadowed mouth of the labyrinth, there was no sign of Gawain or the
Titulus
.

I halted and my shoulders sagged. I would never find him in that dark hole. Reluctantly, feeling seven kinds of fool that I fell for his ploy, I climbed back to the chapel, said a prayer, then returned to Ravensmuir’s hall.

Too late I realized that I had been tricked out of the one gift with which I might have sated a greedy earl.

* * *

I stepped into the kitchens and Berthe came bustling to my side. “My lady, I have sought you high and low! A caller wishes to see you,” she said, her eyes telling me more of her reservations than her words.

Merlyn! Finally, he sought me out! Anticipation hastened my steps to the front gates. We ducked through the portal into the bracing chill of the air. Not twenty steps away, a man glanced over his shoulder. He stood in the building’s shadow, his anxiety revealing that his was no leisurely perusal. My gaze strayed beyond him to a mare harnessed to a cart.

The visitor was dressed simply, not richly. His chausses were dark, his boots muddied and worn with use. His cloak was full and dark, his red blond hair curled long over his collar. He turned a felt hat in his hands with restless gestures, though his fingers halted at the sight of me. He stared at me, his eyes narrowed.

“Ysabella?” he whispered, incredulous, even as I gasped in recognition.

“Alasdair!”

We gaped at each other, each failing to comprehend how the other came to be in this place. He was older, as was I, and somewhat thicker around the middle. There were a few strands of silver in his hair, but he looked well enough.

His ring finger, I noted immediately, was barren.

But then, not all men wore such clear evidence of a nuptial pledge. I remembered that Mavella said she had seen Alasdair with a young boy and steeled my heart against him.

After a long moment of silence, we strode toward each other and both spoke at once.

“Surely you cannot be the Lady of Ravensmuir...”

“What brings you to our portal...”

We paused and laughed uneasily, shaking our heads. I waved dismissively to Berthe, whose eyes were filled with undisguised curiosity. “We are old friends well-met. Thank you, Berthe. Return to your labor, if you please.”

She bowed, took one last lingering look, then disappeared into the keep with evident regret.

“Ysabella!” Alasdair exclaimed, his gaze slipping over me. “I cannot believe it is you.”

I shrugged. “It is indeed, and I am Lady of Ravensmuir.” I resisted the urge to comment upon matches well made.

Alasdair fingered his chin and sobered. “Though your presence here makes more sense of what has happened.”

“What do you mean?”

He regarded me keenly. “How fares Mavella? Has she wed? Is she well?” His gaze slipped over the high walls. “Is she here?” His face fell. “Or has some lofty lord claimed her for his bride?”

I took a step back, choosing not to answer his questions as yet. “Tell me why you have come to Ravensmuir, Alasdair.”

He smiled in a way that made him look boyish. “You will think me mad.”

“Perhaps not.”

He shrugged in his turn and cast a glance down the road as he sobered. “Perhaps you know that my father died last winter.”

“I had heard. I am sorry.”

“I thank you. I returned to Kinfairlie to administer the mill, which is my inheritance.”

I saw no reason to delay. “With a child.”

Alasdair met my gaze steadily. “With my cousin’s son.” He smiled as my eyes widened. “As I have no child of my own and his five brothers will ensure he has little inheritance, I deemed it fitting to take this boy as my apprentice and heir.”

It was a gracious gesture and one I would have expected of the Alasdair I had known, at least before he had shredded my sister’s heart. “You did not wed again,” I guessed.

Alasdair shook his head firmly. “I could not.” He frowned, choosing his words with care. “Mavella has haunted me all of my days and nights. I know that I showed cowardice in bending to my father’s demand.” His lips tightened. “And I know that I never loved the bride I took with the fervor she deserved, for the memory of Mavella stood always been us. I erred, but many others paid the price for my mistake. I could not wed a second time and make the matter worse once more.” He glanced at me. “I have long known this, although last night, I was reminded of my folly.”

“How so?”

“You will laugh.”

“I pledge not to.”

Still he struggled to find the words. “Last night, a demon rose from hell to visit me. You may believe that I am mad, but I did not think myself to be dreaming. I was and am certain that I was awake, that this demon stood before me in the very flesh.”

“A demon?”

Alasdair shook his head. “It sounds mad, I know. He was garbed in black, he was tall and terrifying. His face was pale, his eyes glittered, his steed was larger than any that I have ever seen and it fairly breathed fire.” He took a shaking breath. “Never have I seen a soul so fearsome. He called to me from my own stoop and when I barred the door against him, he spurred the beast onward.”

I watched Alasdair’s throat work in agitation. “The steed kicked down the door. The demon entered my abode. He halted the beast by my very pallet. He leaned down, eyes gleaming. He seized my chemise in his cruel grip. He shook me like a sack of bones and he told me he had come to avenge my crime.”

Alasdair shivered, then swallowed. “He told me that I had wronged a woman in my time, that I had cast aside a love granted to me by God’s own grace, that I had heeded malicious gossip when my heart should have been true. He told me that I had proven love a lie, and that if I did not repent, he would see my soul in torment for all time.”

Alasdair hung his head. “I thought immediately of Mavella, for I knew that I wounded her and feared even then that it was for no good cause.”

He shook his head. “I know it sounds like madness. I know that no thinking person could credit my tale, but...”

“I believe you.”

Alasdair spared me a hopeful glance. “You do?”

I had an inkling who this demon had been and thus I smiled. “Yes. I do not think that you are mad.”

“Good. Good.” He shuffled his feet and turned his hat at this unexpected endorsement. “Well, good!”

“And what happened?”

“I shivered and I begged for mercy and the demon spake again. He told me that my crime could be made right. He said that if an honest love yet burned in my heart, that he had no desire of my soul. He wanted only those whose hearts were as black and cold as a week-old ember. He told me this was my last chance to make amends.”

“But how?”

“He bade me ride to Ravensmuir with all haste, he commanded me to arrive here before the sun set again lest he be compelled to take his gruesome penance.” He shivered. “He said he would return for me this night, and drag me into his demon hole, there to torment me for all eternity - unless I rode for Ravensmuir this very day.”

Alasdair met my gaze. “I did not understand how my arrival here might grant me a chance to apologize to Mavella, but I came. Indeed I dared not do otherwise! Now, it seems more clear. I beg of you, Ysabella, if you know Mavella’s whereabouts, then tell me of them. I must see her and I must see her before the sun sinks again.”

“Lest the demon return again?”

Alasdair shook his head. “I fear him, of course. But he told me only what I knew, what I had already been summoning the courage to do. I should have sought Mavella out immediately upon my return to Kinfairlie, but I feared she had wed another and I feared to see her as happy with another as I was miserable alone. I know that I deserve no less. I should never have spurned her, but then, perhaps she deserved a more loyal ardor than I could offer.”

I studied the long stretch of the road, touched deeply by Merlyn’s intervention to secure my sister’s happiness.

“I do not care if Mavella is wed, so long as she is happy. I do not care if she spits in my eye, if only I can see her again. It is time that I told her truly what is in my heart. It is time that I grant her the apology she deserves.” Alasdair seized my hand, evidently concluding from my delay that I would refuse him. “Tell me, Ysabella, I beg of you, whatever you have thought of me before.”

There was no doubting his sincerity.

Nor what Merlyn had done to win my favor. I touched Alasdair’s shoulder. “She is here. I shall fetch her.” His eyes lit and I knew I should offer him hospitality. “Would you like a place by the fire and a cup of ale? There is food aplenty in the kitchen and the hall.”

Alasdair shook his head. “I will stay with my horse.”

“I shall send you a cup.”

“I have no need of even your reputed brew, Ysabella.” He smiled, looking as anxious as a much younger man. “And I would prefer not to plea my case beneath its potent influence.”

I hastened back to the portal, intent upon uniting two souls who had been parted overlong, then paused, unable to resist. “You might see a familiar face in this kitchen. Ada Gowan labors here.”

“Ada Gowan?” Alasdair frowned as he sought to place the name.

“The silversmith’s daughter.”

“Oh!” He grimaced. “I shall wait here, if it pleases you.”

It most certainly did.

* * *

I found Mavella in the hall. A word in her ear and she was on her feet, mystified and showering me with questions even as she followed me. I ignored her queries, then pushed her silently through the portcullis.

“But what madness is this? Do you cast me from your hearth?” she demanded, smiling at my mysterious manner. I grasped her shoulders and kissed her cheek, then spun her to face Alasdair.

She knew him immediately, even at this distance. I heard her breath catch and when he turned to stare at her, she clutched my hand where it still rested on her shoulder. Her voice trembled. “What jest is this, Ysabella?”

“No jest. Alasdair comes to apologize. The boy is his cousin’s child, his chosen heir because he has no wife and child of his own.”

“Oh!” Mavella’s face suffused with color. Alasdair turned his hat restlessly in his hands once more, his gaze fixed upon her. I was glad that she was dressed as finely as she was, glad that he would be humbled and awed by the sight of her.

Because I knew that she would forgive him without a moment’s hesitation.

“What should I do?”

“Live, Mavella,” I reminded her. I squeezed her fingertips tightly. “You should seize the moment and live, as you yourself pledged that you would.”

Her grip tightened on my fingers briefly and she lifted her chin. She kissed my cheek and I saw that there was a sparkle in her eyes and a smile upon her lips. Then she lifted her skirts and strode towards Alasdair, as regal and as fair as a queen of the fey.

I leaned back into the shadows, hugging myself with delight, laughing aloud that she managed only half the distance before picked up her skirts and began to run. Alasdair shouted with joy and opened his arms to her, swinging her high in his embrace as they laughed together.

They kissed and touched each other’s faces and whispered before they walked away, hands entwined as they shared words long overdue. Their heads bent close, gilded in the sunlight, confidants as they had so oft been before. I turned away, tears glazing my vision and my throat tight.

Ah, Merlyn. How could I resist a man who made my battles his own to win? My heart swelled fit to burst. I knew where his steed had been, I knew the demon who tormented Alasdair. I loved him for it, loved him with all my heart and soul, loved him with all the ferocity he had asked of me.

But in the solitude of my chamber that night, when Merlyn still did not show his visage, Gawain’s lie grew monstrous with possibility. I thought of the blood in the stables and I feared that Gawain had unwittingly found a root of truth for his falsehood. My wound itched with vigor and even the hound was haunted by dreams.

* * *