Torn (The Handfasting) (18 page)

Such
a fey thing, no surprise many thought her a witch. In truth, even as a child,
her ability to heal was unsettling. But he had been grateful for that ability,
as his father had been after him.

 
Why don’t they like me?   The question had haunted him. She had asked that when
still new to Oakland, and with good reason. She was no more than a peasant
child, who spoke the language of old, the Celtic tongue. That, in itself, made
her suspect. That she should be given absolute care of his father, when he was
so near death, did not gain her allies.  Yes, she had, had enemies back then,
until his father had strengthened. Until she had proved herself worthy of being
a part of Oakland. 

He
had to shut such thoughts out. That was the past. It mattered not that he
yearned to believe in Veri. That she alone, could re-instill his faith in
mankind. Should she prove not guilty of the crimes, should she prove to be the
same innocent soul who found him wounded and dying within a meadow, then the
world would tip once more. It would become a place of light rather than
darkness.

He
hungered for that.

He
knew the impossibility of it. She had lied to him even before he had left. The
world was not a place of goodness.

She
was his one weakness.

He
must not weaken.

Pivoting,
he faced Kenneth and the sisters of Our Lady’s. “She wants me to hear her
story?”

Slowly,
thoughtfully, he walked around the room, toward the three huddled together in
the alcove. He glanced at the shadowed features beneath the cowls of their cape
hoods, before he gestured toward the others. “And are these her witnesses?  Are
each of these women,” he studied the three closest to him, “here to claim
Veri’s goodness?”

“You
have heard many lies,” Mother Rose told him, “It is time you heard many
truths.”

“Truths? 
Such as the wolf spoke when he wore lamb’s clothing?”

He
fought for calm, but something in the air, some elemental charge of energy,
filled him, tested his senses. Not danger, such as Roland had come to know, but
something else entirely. Anticipation, exhilaration, it swirled through him, as
though he was on the verge of victory.

He
had her. He had her within his grasp. He knew where she was and how to bait her
from her den.

“She
relies on others?  Afraid to speak for herself?”

Father
Kenneth beckoned Roland back by the fire, “You need to hear the whole of it,
Roland, and you need to let your mind open before she can show herself to you.”

Mother
Rose crossed to Roland, took his arm to guide him to return to his former
place.

He
shook her off as the friar continued, “You are not the man you were, but that
does not mean the fellow of balanced judgment is not within you.” The friar
acknowledged the bench again, “Come back, be seated, we will discuss this.”

They
were too insistent.

“What
are you afraid of, Friar Kenneth?  Mother Superior?”

“That
you will not listen to reason”

Roland
didn’t believe him. There was more to it than that. Rose’s gaze flickered
between Kenneth and one of the sisters, as though seeking guidance. Roland
suspected the Mother Superior was a woman who wore calm as easily as another
donned a hat. A woman who confidently made her own decisions. Yet worry
shadowed her eyes.

She
was troubled. Why?

Roland
looked about him again. The gaggle of nuns by the door, more within the alcove
and the Friar with the Mother Superior.  Once again, he noted the woman in the
alcove. Not the women, but the one woman; the one who stood off to the side,
deep in shadow, looking through the window at nothing but blackness as if the
discussion held no significance.

The
one who Rose looked to for answers.

Slowly
Roland pivoted, to view the woman straight on.

Oh,
they truly were fools, totally inept at strategy.

They
had brought their queen to the king’s lair.

Check
mate!

“She
is here!” In two strides, he cut off the protective move of others, made toward
the figure, and was upon her. With one tug he pulled back the hood, to stare
into the face of his treacherous wife. “You fool!” Elation spilled over, as he
beamed his victory.