Shana Abe (40 page)

“Because of my fear I almost lost you forever. You almost died for it. I didn’t tell you that I had tried to do what you asked of me, back at Sauveur. I tried to see something of the story of Keith MacFarland. But what I saw made no sense to me, and so I told myself it had been nothing but imagination, my own morbid fancy. But it had been a premonition, I suppose. For as soon as we came to that chamber with Claudia, I was caught in it again, and I had to act out my part in it again, and nothing I could do would change it.”

The tail of a breeze came and danced past their feet, swirling the leaves in frolicking circles. The branches of the cherry tree nearby caught the motion and stretched up to sway amid the blue of the sky.

“If I had only
told you
,” Avalon said, anguished. “If I had not been so afraid, if I could have trusted my own eyes—if I had only recognized this thing in me for what it was, all of this might have been avoided.”

“Tell me, then,” he said, after a pause. “What is this thing in you that you speak of?”

“Your curse,” she replied. “Your legend. You were
right. I should have listened to you.” She sighed. “It’s been with me all along. I hid from it, I denied it. Yet it lives, and it always has.”

Avalon turned her head away and then back to him, his dear face, sober and attentive. “It
is
me,” she said. “It’s always been me. I understand that now.”

He changed suddenly, a blazing smile, quick and glad. “Your gift.”

“Yes, my gift.” And as she repeated his word, his own gladness began to bloom in her, lifting her, giving her the courage to meet his gaze. “I realized in that room that it was what you said. A gift, not a curse. And it was real. I finally realized that. It was so close to being too late.”

Marcus leaned his head back, took in the vines and bits of sky peeping through, and she could see he was searching for something to say to her, to ease her.

“All my life,” he said, “I fought to banish my childhood. I fought to understand the forces of the world that were so beyond me. The lust for killing in men. The thirst for power in those who had plenty of it already. I tried to make sense of the senseless, because I needed that. I thought I needed to have logic at my back, and that way I could make my way through the wars and the battles and the injustices. But that never happened. I never grasped the answers to my questions, and I think I finally came to realize that I never would.

“There are so many things beyond us, Avalon. There are so many outside things that shape us, that make us who we are and form the world. I think I know what your childhood must have been like with Hanoch. I think I can understand that, at least. And so I can understand
how much you wanted to deny him in whatever way you could. I did, as well. I stayed away from my home for years, just to deny him. Perhaps it was wrong of me, I don’t know.”

He seemed to lose the thread of his thoughts for a moment, gone far from her and this little garden—deserts, sand, golden sun—but then he came back.

“You should never feel sorry for reacting to what happened to you, what he did to you. You should never apologize for wanting to deny the legend. It was your right to do so, by God, and even more. Had I been you, I would never have had your wisdom, I’m sure of that. Yet you blossomed and grew, Avalon, despite this harshness, and you have become the most wondrous person I have ever known, gift or not.”

She tilted her head, studying him, finding nothing but seriousness on his face, no jesting, just this almost painfully raw speech, now more ardent with conviction.

“And no one can say what would have happened even if you had told me of your vision,” he went on. “We all knew it was a trap when we got the missive. Yet we came.”

“But I should have stopped it,” Avalon whispered, awash in the shame again.

“How? How could you, truelove? If this was what was meant to be, then it would have happened anyway. I see this as another gift, in fact. Look here. My wife is alive, I am alive, and at last an injustice long endured has been righted. It seems to me that everything has become right and good, all around.”

The sense of his words drifted through her, calm and peaceful, a balm. He had reached through his own pain
and doubts to embrace her own, to comfort her, to shield her with bare truths that she might be too lost to see by herself. To Avalon, Marcus was the true gift, the greatest gift ever, and she could not keep it to herself another second.

Though it might have been a miracle, she had managed to find her heart of hearts after all, and in it dwelled the noble grace of Marcus.

“I love you,” she said. “I have for a long time. But now I can say it to you. I love you.”

He reached out and pulled her closer to him, his hand strong and steady, revealing no weakness at all despite the sling and the bandages. She let him because, selfishly, she craved his touch, and if this was his only method of reassurance after her brazen admission, then she would take it and be happy.

But he was not done with her; he drew her closer yet, until her legs were curled under her and her head was somewhere near his neck, and she was trying without much success to avoid his injured shoulder.

“Be still,” he laughed. “You’ll break my stitches and bleed me to death, and all your pretty words will be for nothing.”

Dismayed, she sunk into place, unmoving, and Marcus let out a sort of satisfied sigh and kissed her forehead.

“That’s better,” he said. “I must remember to threaten you with my own demise again to make you do my bidding.”

“You would joke,” she said hotly, but he lifted her face and claimed her lips before she could finish her thought, and then it melted away under his sweetness and all he left her with was a slow burn for more.

“My beautiful Avalon, my warrior bride, would I dare joke with you? Well, perhaps a little,” he admitted, not letting her reply. “But now I have something very serious to say. I was awake in the baron’s chamber, even after I’d been shot. I haven’t told you that yet because I wasn’t sure how you would react. But I saw it all. It was hazy at first, yes, but even a man shot twice could not have missed that fire, my love, nor those men.”

She stirred and he held her still against him, brushing her forehead again with his lips, stroking her hair.

“It was terrifying,” he continued. “I would have been shaking, if I but had the strength. And I knew even then the source of it. I knew what you were doing, and why. I was proud of you. I was … in awe of you.”

“No.…”

“Yes. But you must understand, Avalon, that even during all of that, not once was I afraid of
you.
I told you before, truelove, I know your heart is good. It’s so clear to me. You are a blessing, kind and clever and compassionate. And if you don’t know that, I’m going to spend every day of the rest of my life trying to prove it to you.”

Her tongue was tied in knots, and the annoying tears were back in her eyes, but it was worth it, worth it all to be here with him, so close and strong, so steady in his faith in her. Yet she pulled back to look at him, frowning just a little. A ribbon of sunlight fell across his face, became lost in the ebony of his hair.

“But do you think,” she began. “That is—well, I told you that …” She let her voice fade away, too embarrassed to ask what she wanted to know, too needy to let it drop completely. She needed the words after all, after everything. They mattered.

He studied her again, blue eyes to match the peaceful sky, then his face cleared, became something close to joyful.

“My legendary Avalon. I’ve relied on that story so much, hoping, praying for you. Do you truly not know my deepest heart? If you did, you would know how much I love you. But I’ll say it anyway, even though I feel like I’ve been shouting it out to you forever. I love you. I love you more than life, more than myth, more than anything I could ever dream of. You are the answer to every wish I’ve ever had. I give thanks to God or to destiny, or to a curse or to men—whatever it was that led me here to you, and you to me.”

Marcus leaned into her and Avalon met him there, their lips so close, their souls in matched harmony.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I will always love you. I’ll say it to you forever.”

I love you, Avalon, I love you.…

I love you, truelove.

In the winter cherry tree arching beyond them, a lark began a serenade of long, liquid notes.

Epilogue
 

A
way and near, above and below, in time and out of it, the hundred-year-old laird and his wife watched the conclusion of their story play out in gentle words and tender touches, watched their beloved children embrace and kiss and begin those things that mortals did, the sharing of their bond of love.

“It is the end of the curse,” rejoiced the laird.

“Aye, the savior came,” replied his wife. “Our beautiful family is redeemed, treuluf. The new golden age has begun. And we are free at last.”

As one, the two spirits rose, and if such a thing as heavenly laughter could have been heard, it surely would have been then, as they melted into each other, indistinguishable, and dissolved into sparkles of bliss, joined together forever, just as their love had always promised.

Author’s Note
 

To the best of my knowledge, medieval Moors did not use the art of tattoo for decoration, religious or otherwise. Both the Coptics and other Christians of this era would have almost certainly viewed such things as pagan. Yet Balthazar spoke to me from the very beginning with his elegant markings, and I could not resist him.

The practice of Asian martial arts would have been uncommon indeed in medieval Scotland, even after the cross-cultural influence of the Crusades. Truly it would have taken a legend to bring about Avalon’s skills in this area, but fortunately, I had one.

Even though this book is a work of pure fiction, I beg the reader to indulge my lapses into the dramatic on these issues, and any others you may have found that vexed you. The telling of the tale necessitated it all.

I hope you enjoyed the journey of Avalon and Marcus to true love as much as I did.

—S.A.

For the lovely and talented Gwen, who very generously took me with her on her tour of Great Britain and Ireland, and who insisted that I have the window seat the whole time. It is thanks to her that this story was written. I love you, Mom.

Also my deepest gratitude to my father, Ted, who gave up his ticket so that I could go; to Adriann for the names; and to Darren for his devotion.

This book never would have been finished without the unending patience and help of Ruth Kagle and Stephanie Kip. A thousand thank-yous to you all.

A ROSE IN WINTER

THE PROMISE OF RAIN

THE TRUELOVE BRIDE

A KISS AT MIDNIGHT

INTIMATE ENEMIES

THE SECRET SWAN

THE SMOKE THIEF

THE DREAM THIEF

QUEEN OF DRAGONS

THE TREASURE KEEPER

Shana Abé lives in Southern California with her husband and four—yes, four—pet house rabbits in a small home on a hill overlooking a freeway. Shana strongly wishes people would neuter their pets. She may be reached through her Web site at
www.shanaabe.com
.