Lady Trent (37 page)

“I noticed you and Gerald Hinson spending a
great deal of time together,” she said to the younger of the two,
Mary, who had yet to marry. In fact, she had yet to do anything at
all with herself since becoming of age. “During last eve’s
festivities and the ones before.”

“She’s in love,” the other sister, Annabelle,
said.

“I am not,” she frankly argued. “He and I
are…well, we just take to one another. He has travelled some, and I
love hearing stories from his travels.”

This made Rachel think of Marcus. Off in the
distance he’d stopped his tall, black steed and simply stared
toward that direction.

“Are you always guarded?” Mary asked, also
casting her eyes toward his direction.

“Most of the time.”

“Isn’t it irritating?” Annabelle wondered.
“You were such a little hermit at times, hiding yourself in the
chapel. Do they go there as well to watch you?”

Come to think of it, she rarely ever visited
the chapel at all these days.

“Sometimes I slip away unnoticed,” she
commented. “This isn’t so great a deal, being guarded; it just
takes time adjusting.”

“You look to have gotten used to it easily,”
said Mary. She cocked her pale, thin face to the side. “How did you
get to be so beautiful?”

“I always was,” she said, putting her chin in
the air. “You just didn’t notice.”

Annabelle nudged her shoulder. “They look at
you as if imagining what you may look like naked.”

“Oh, Annabelle,” she scolded, but then smiled
at her sister’s train of thought.

“Once before she would have slapped you for
saying that,” said Mary.

“Maybe scold her,” she corrected. “None of
you were ever stricken, even when it was in my power to do it.”

“The guards are handsome,” said
Annabelle.

“Especially the one,” said the other, and
then, “This husband of yours…this Jacob Trent, is he handsome?”

“He is old,” Annabelle commented.

“Which makes him all the more distinguished
and…” she smiled up at the sky, “…quite the lover.”

“My, my sister, but this marriage has loosed
your tongue.”

They all laughed, thinking the same kinds of
thoughts, ones of romance and of love and of intimacy. But then
they made mention of the many messages that had come to Agatha, who
must have forgotten or not thought to mention herself…ones from
their siblings who’d settled in other places.

“We should go and ask to see them,” Mary
insisted, and Rachel agreed. She loved her siblings more than
anything in the world…well, almost anything. She did miss them all
and wished she had more opportunity to see them all. Perhaps in
time…perhaps now that she’d gotten better acquainted with New Ebony
and its domiciles. It would be so easy to seek their exact
locations and go to them. Yes, she decided. She would do this in
time.

Of course Agatha insisted upon reading the
letters out loud. She had such a way about telling a story, which
is what these letters actually seemed to be. Miniature little
stories. Although aged, the elder still had her sight. She did,
however, require the use of a magnifying glass which upon being
occasionally raised higher when the elder looked up became a very
amusing sight. It made her one eye so big and round. Rachel and her
sisters smiled between themselves, giggling quietly so as to not be
heard. She felt like a youngster all over again.

She learned by way the letter that two of her
brothers were officially husbands and fathers, her sister was also
married but had yet to bare any children, and the other brother had
decided to become a skilled swordsman.

“How exciting!” said Mary.

“I don’t think it is,” Rachel quietly said,
more to herself than anything. “Thomas…with this talk of…” She
stopped, not wanting to be heard making mention of the potential
war between Roark and New Ebony.

“Talk of what, my dear?” Agatha asked.

She hesitated a moment. The three of them
peered at her, waiting. “Well, of war,” she said despite an urge to
bite her tongue.

“War?” Mary’s brows rose and she stared from
Agatha to Annabelle to see their reactions before gaping
frightened-like upon her. “There can’t be a war.”

“And our dear old emperor is too old to fend
for us,” Annabelle commented.

Rachel raised her chin to defend, “He is well
enough,” she claimed, “Well enough to keep our nobles on his side.”
She looked at Agatha whose head had bowed, as if in slumber.

“Sister Agatha,” she called and the elder
raised her eyes thus proving she had not dozed off but was merely
considering this news. Rachel frowned at the expression on her
face. “What is it?”

“Some or even most of the nobles,” she
commented. “But not all. Never all. There are always the bad
amongst the good.”

“I would hate to see Thomas get caught up in
a war with the king of Roark. I hear he’s such a horrible little
man,” said Mary.

“Thomas has always been a different sort of
child,” Agatha reminded. “He’s strong and able to fend for himself.
Twas why he went away.”

“To Emwark,” Annabelle commented.

“Emwark?” Rachel frowned upon them. “He is in
Emwark?”

“So it says.” She referred to the letter.

“But he had gone into the Northern Isles
to—“

“—to be trained, my dear,” said Agatha. “Now
he is trained,” she smiled thoughtfully, “to become this man of
valor he so desires. Tis no difference than you, my dear, becoming
a vestal, or Annabelle a seamstress and then a wife, and of Mary
here, well, dear child, mayhap you shall one day wed this prince
charming of yours.”

Mary’s cheeks blushed and she quickly went
about collecting their empty teacups. Rachel considered Agatha’s
words. So true what she’d said. No matter what one chose to be or
do…all positions worked together some way or another. But the idea
of her brother getting caught up in a war. She decided to contact
him as soon as possible. If he was going to be part of an army,
Jacob’s would be the best. She was sure of that.

******

Days passed, and a total of two weeks. It
went by so very fast, but she found herself missing her husband,
and although enjoying her visit, she went out in search of Marty
and Marcus. Not a difficult task. They were always close at hand,
whether separately or together. She saw them in the distance from
Agatha’s house and started toward them. Marcus, seeing how she was
approaching them, guided his horse forward.

“Summon the guards together,” she told him.
“Send one out to fetch those who have traveled to the Isles so that
we may begin our journey home.” Home. Yes, it was home now, and she
was more than content with that. “After we have all been accounted
for, we will go.”

Marcus glanced at Marty, giving him
permission to begin gathering the guards. It was something she had
grown accustomed to, so many people simply doing what she bid.
She’d never been one to require much of anyone. But casting orders
was no longer a difficult task; it had actually become quite
natural to her. She began walking away, and could feel his piercing
gaze upon her back. She ignored it best she could. Her steps took
her toward a place she had yet to visit…one specific chapel, and
the room she’d called home.

It was like some abandoned shack now, she
observed, obviously never used anymore. She turned the knob to find
the door was unlocked and slipped inside. Upon viewing the scene, a
sharp breath caught in her lungs, and she raised a hand to her
mouth. The room was so tiny, but still so tidy, just as she’d kept
it. It was simple and modest, just as her clothing in those days.
She observed its furnishings—three simple pieces: a small bed,
which was still dressed, covered by the worn quilt her mother had
made for her, a small desk and a chair. The book containing the
Oracles yet lied open upon the desk…the same page where she had
left it, she presumed.

Tears filled her eyes. She nearly gasped.
Inhaling a deep breath she held back tears that threatened to break
loose and never be stopped. Easing down, she sat on the edge of the
bed and slumped. She fidgeted with her fingertips, looking down,
recalling the scene in which she sat but refusing to look directly
at it. For a while she sat there in that same position until
finally gathering her wits, her emotions together and lifting her
head. Memories surfaced. Not many, for few had ever taken place in
this room. She could see herself sitting at the desk in her modest
attire, studying the Oracles. She could see herself kneeling beside
of the bed, saying her prayers. She could see herself sound asleep,
dreaming of a deity she’d come to love with all her heart and soul,
more than anything else in the world…one she’d forgotten with
time.

She glanced over at the door leading into the
chapel, one she’d walked thru many a time, either to enter or
exit…how many times? Hundreds, she could imagine. She stood, making
her way to that door. As hesitantly as the first, she reached up
and turned the knob, opening the door. Slow steps led her down a
very short hallway and into the chapel.

It was empty now. In times past, rarely had
she found it so. There’d always been someone there, especially in
the case of death when the citizens would come together to console
the brokenhearted ones, and to seek healing for their heart. She
had always comforted them.

Now the room was empty and quiet. She made
her way to the altar. It was not a far walk. And she found herself
easing down to sit, and then with her head bowed and the tips of
fingers and thumb to throbbing temples she began to cry.

It was short lived, this spell of weeping.
She raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears that just stayed
there, and she thought of home again. Her new home. Jacob, her
love. The palace staff whom she’d grown quite attached to. Father
Nelson and his brilliant sanctuary. She supposed there came a time
in everyone’s life when it was simply time to move on.

Sniffing back the remainder of her tears, she
left the chapel by way the front doors, closing them securely
behind her. She expected to find Marcus somewhere in the distance,
but he was nowhere to be seen.

“It will take time,” had been the start of
his last words to her, and she’d wondered if he ever smiled
anymore, or if he even liked her anymore for that matter. “We’ll
leave early morning. By then full preparations will be made. I will
send someone to ride ahead of us and make it known to the nobles
that you are on your way back so that they will be expecting you,
and also a message to Jacob.”

“Very well,” she’d agreed, and nothing else
was said between them. Not then. Not the next few days. Not the
morning she was to leave. She said her goodbyes to everyone, and
departed, the residents waving and she returning the wave until
they were no longer in sight. She felt a sense of sadness, but then
of joy. Home. Soon she would be home. And right now that was all
that really mattered to her.

******

Marcus felt a great amount of relief, but was
not prepared to fully relax. He’d gotten her safely there, had saw
to a safe visit, and now he was having her safely returned.

One more week, he thought after the first had
passed. They’d spent a night in Tarot and near Harvard Plain. Now
the next stop: Rylan, which was nearly a two day journey by
carriage. He dreaded passing through Ebbs Valley. But it was
unavoidable, just like it’d been before. A caravan of this
size…well, there was no other way.

Even along the way to Westerly, especially
coming through the Valley, he’d had a peculiar feeling, as if they
were being watched. This time, he moved the position of the guards,
spreading them out more, further from the caravan.

Already the sun was sinking down into the far
Western sky. Soon it would be dark. He wished they’d moved faster
earlier in the day. He did not like being so deep in the valley
this time of evening.

But all would be well, he told himself.
Rachel would return home to Jacob safe and sound. And then…well, he
would consider his future life. For now, nothing else
mattered—nothing besides the damsel in the carriage...the noble
one.

Tilly and Zaria had earlier in the day joined
Rachel in her carriage. Perhaps she’d become lonely. He was glad
she’d taken to the two maidservants so well. Tilly was most
understandable in the beginning. As for Zaria, well, he would have
himself chosen someone else to tend to her thinking she would be
offended by the damsel. But such had not been the case. In fact,
she seemed to be drawn more to her than Tilly, not that it was
overly apparent. Apparent to him. Then again, a lot of things
were…more than she knew.

Yes, he understood Rachel Trent…more than
she’d ever know or even wanted to realize. More than he’d expected
to. Then again, all along he’d felt some sort of connection to her,
one that’d spiraled into a horrible lust that he’d tired of
subduing. In the future it would become easier…after he married.
Zaria made it easier. He’d come to notice her more often, having
been placed in Rachel’s care. She was close at hand and certainly
helped to ease his desires. But when it came down to it, he would
never be able to stop imagining making love to Rachel the
Elder.

He almost closed his eyes for a moment, but
his heart told him not to. Too much chance of maybe dozing off. He
could not afford it. He hadn’t had an actual decent night’s rest
since he could remember. If not for strong drink, which for the
sake of his pounding heart he wished he had now, he would not have
slept at all in a great while.

Up ahead, he noticed Marty slowing his steed.
The two of them had been exchanging positions on and off, going
from front to back in intervals. Being in front, the slowing of his
horse slowed them all down, except for those who travelled
alongside to the left and the right in the far distance.