She hesitated. Once she kissed him… he would
be gone.
He rubbed his cheek to hers. “I will return
soon.”
She brushed her lips over his before kissing
him as though she never wanted him to leave her. They hugged each
other tightly before they parted, and he mounted his horse.
Royce looked to Ian. ‘Take care of her.”
Ian nodded. “She will be safe.”
He looked to Brianna one last time and then
turned and rode off.
She stood staring at him until he was out of
sight, and then she began to cry again.
Ian started walking toward her but Moira
stopped him.
“Let her be.”
Brianna walked off on her own, letting her
tears fall and her heart ache.
~ ~ ~
Several days passed with Brianna spending
most of her time alone. She spent the time alone in thought, deep
in thought, until she could stand her solitary time no longer. She
climbed the winding stairs to Moira’s workshop.
Moira had been raised in a convent since the
time she was twelve. She had always been inquisitive, and when a
monk had arrived seeking shelter and care at the convent, she soon
found an eager teacher. When she had arrived at the keep, she had
found an empty tower room and had converted it to her workshop,
where she did her studies and experiments.
Brianna had been an eager student herself
when she learned of Moira’s unique skills. She now needed to
immerse herself in something other than her confused and indecisive
thoughts.
“Do you need help?” Brianna asked of Moira,
peeking passed the partially opened door.
Moira waved her in. “Help is always
appreciated.”
Brianna hurried in, quietly eager to talk
with her, seeing that Duncan was fast asleep on a thick fur near
the hearth. “I have been sulking.”
“Understandable.”
“Do you understand everything?” Brianna
joined her on one of the stools that sat at the worktable.
“When a situation is examined, it can be
understood, though not always accepted.”
“As with you and my brother when you first
met?” Brianna asked, her curiosity caught by the bubbling potions
in front of her.
Moira made a notation in her journal, and
then laid the quill aside. “Aye, I did not understand your
brother’s intentions until I paid close heed to his words and
actions and realized that his decision was meant for the good of
many. I could not fault him for being unselfish.”
“It took you time to realize this?”
“Of course, I was angry at being used and
understandably so, and yet your brother was an honorable man with
good intentions, and then . . .” She smiled with delight. “He fell
helplessly in love with me.”
“And you with him.” Brianna smiled.
“I had never thought to love.” Moira was
serious. “I had thought the remainder of my days would be spent in
the convent, and I was content with that. I learned much and
continued to learn. I had not known a man’s touch, a lover’s kiss,
or the depths of love, so I did not know what
I missed. Your brother changed all that for
me, and I am grateful, for my knowledge would never have reached
its full potential locked away in a convent.”
“You have no regrets?”
“Not one.”
Brianna thought on this and wondered over
her own regrets.
“We cannot change our past. It is the
present that should concern us. What do you wish of your life
now?”
Brianna considered Moira’s words. “I wish to
feel free to love.”
“Why do you not feel free to love?”
“I worry that I make the same mistake—that I
trust too easily and too foolishly.”
“You compare Royce to Arran.”
Brianna nodded. “At times I cannot help it.
I know it is foolish of me, but then, I think it is foolish if I do
not look for similar traits. If I go blindly into this marriage,
what then? Do I suffer the same fate?”
“You thought Arran was honest and honorable,
and you gave your heart without question.”
She almost laughed, but the sound was
anything but humorous. “Arran charmed me and won my heart easily,
but then I believed every word he told me.”
“Now you wonder if you should believe
Royce.”
“He is not who I thought,” she said
sadly.
“Who did you think he was?”
“A warrior with a tender, caring nature and
a man who simply wanted to love and be loved.”
“Has your opinion of him changed?” Moira
asked.
Brianna remained silent in thought.
“Does he not wish to love and be loved?”
“He was not honest with me.”
“He spoke not of his exploits, the battles
he fought; he spoke as a man, a man who simply wished to love. Was
that wrong of him?”
Brianna had no answer.
“What if he had confided the truth to you?
Would you have feared him? Would you have judged him differently?
Would you have wanted to remain alone with him in that
cottage?”
“When I first looked upon his injured face,
I screamed. I thought him a demon. He spoke softly to me and
assured me that he meant me no harm. His touch was gentle and now .
. .” Her words drifted off and she grew silent.
Moira finished for her. “And now you wonder
how a legendary warrior could touch with such gentleness when his
hand wields a mighty sword.”
“I sometimes think him two men.”
“Sometimes men must be two men. Your brother
must harden his heart at times when decisions must be made, and
that is not easy for him, for he is a caring man and loves
deeply.”
“Then do I accept the two sides of
Royce?”
“I cannot answer for you. I can tell you
that it is not easy for them carrying such a heavy responsibility.
I would not want to make some of the choices presented to them. I
would not want to know that I sent men to die.”
Brianna recalled the story of Royce’s wounds
and how he had chosen to chance death so that his men could live.
She sighed heavily. “I do not know why this troubles me so. Royce
is courageous, honorable, and truthful in his intentions.”
“Then what prevents you from wedding him?
You were insistent that you would never again wed a handsome man,
and his scars have seen to altering his fine features.”
Brianna immediately defended Royce. “He is a
fine looking man even with his scars.”
Moira smiled. “Then what is the
problem?”
Brianna did not need time to think. She knew
the answer—had known it—but had refused to admit it. She whispered,
“Me.”
Moira simply nodded.
“I am stubborn.”
“It is not always easy to admit our own
faults, and besides, you are not stubborn, you are—”
“Determined,” Brianna finished with a soft
laugh.
“Why are you determined not to wed
Royce?”
“It is not that I do not wish to wed
him.”
“Then again, what is the problem? You say
you love him and you do wish to wed him, so why do you
hesitate?”
Brianna understood that Moira questioned her
so that she would question herself, but the answers did not come
easily. “I have repeatedly asked myself that.”
“And have found no answer?”
“None that makes sense,” Brianna
admitted.
“Then there is no sound reason for you not
to wed Royce, and I remind you again that you do love him—a good
reason
to
wed him.”
“I had always thought to wed for love, and I
had thought that I had when I wed Arran.”
“Royce is not like Arran, and I think you
know that.”
“Aye, they are completely different; Arran
was a coward, Royce has courage,” Brianna said. “I found that I
could not trust Arran...”
Moira questioned her reluctance to continue.
“Do you refuse to trust Royce? Has he given you any reason besides
not completely divulging his identity to you for you not to trust
him?”
She shrugged. “He has been good to me, but I
wonder why he waited until I stood before my brother to speak the
truth.”
“Fear,” Moira answered.
Brianna looked at her strangely. “He is a
legendary warrior who has faced death in countless battles.”
“It was merely his life in question then,
now it is his heart. What if he had told you before leaving the
cottage? Would you have wanted him to return here with you? Or
would your anger have spoken before your heart had time to warn
you?”
“Stubborn,” she whispered, knowing full well
she would have reacted emotionally and probably with regret.
“The choice is yours, Brianna, but then, is
that not what Royce told you? Are you angry because he allowed you
a choice? For that is what he did.”
Brianna had not considered that. She had
told Royce that she could bear him no children. He had insisted she
could, but he had given her the choice to wed him on that very
condition. If she did carry his child they would wed, if she did
not the choice was hers. Was he actually saying the choice was hers
all along?
Brianna sighed with frustration. “I am more
confused than ever.”
Moira laughed. “I feel the same myself at
times.”
“Even with all the knowledge you have
gained?”
“Knowledge does not guarantee clarity of
life.”
“Then I am doomed,” Brianna said on a laugh.
“I thought that once I gained your knowledge, my life would be
easy.”
Moira spoke as a teacher to a student. “The
key to understand; it opens many doors. You have time before his
return. Use it wisely.”
“I do not know where to begin, confusion
clutters my mind. I think one way and then I think another way. I
ask endless questions of which I can find no answers.”
“Then do not look at the answers, study the
questions.”
Duncan stirred and began to fuss.
Brianna was about to hurry over to him when
she looked to Moira.
“Go take care of him; he has missed
you.”
Brianna hurried to the baby’s side. She
scooped him up and cuddled him to her, kissing his soft cheek. “I
have missed you.”
Duncan gave her a huge smile, and then
rested his cheek to hers. She wanted to cry; she felt the tears
well in her eyes and silently scolded herself for crying so much.
Where was her strength and courage? Where was her
determination?
“The questions,” Moira advised, seeing her
near to tears, “study the questions.”
The days passed more swiftly than Brianna
had expected. She kept herself busy with endless tasks and spent
much time with Duncan. Her only solitary time was when she climbed
into bed at night, and as of late she had been so tired, she fell
asleep as soon as her head rested on the pillow. The early mornings
when she woke were the times she spent in thought.
The dawn rose on gray skies, for winter had
set in with a flourish. The cold wind would whisper through the
keep, and the fires would roar with heat, and she would snuggle
beneath the wool blankets and think about Royce.
She thought often of their time together in
the cottage, of his actions, his words and of his love. And she
thought of all the choices he had given her and continued to give
her.
She placed her hand to her stomach, a hint
of a smile surfacing. She had counted the days over and over,
thinking that perhaps she was wrong, but in her heart she knew she
was not. She attempted to deny the obvious at first, and when that
was not possible, she began to accept and began to pray that it was
true, that Royce’s child did nestle in her womb.
Arran had convinced her that she was barren,
and after some time passed, she began to believe him. After all,
why was she not conceiving? He repeatedly told her that she was a
failure as a wife and as a woman. It was all her fault and he had
to suffer because of her ineptness.
A grin surfaced slowly, growing wide. Arran
had been wrong. She was not a failure as a woman. He was a failure
as a man. Royce was not; he was truly a man, for it mattered not to
him if she could give him a child. He loved her regardless and made
love to her regardless.
Royce knew how to love. Arran knew nothing
of love. And now because of love, a child nestled within her.
She intended to tell no one. This was her
secret and she would share it with no one but Royce and only when
she chose to do so. He would be returning soon, and she had decided
on one important issue. It would be her choice to wed and not
because she carried his child, but because they both wished it and
wished it because of love.
Royce’s scars were visible; hers were not.
Arran had left her with many fears, and if she were not careful,
those fears would prevent her from loving and being loved.
Moira had been right when she suggested that
she examine the questions instead of looking for answers. In her
questions she learned about her fears and where they
originated.
Now that she was armed with that
information, she could better understand her circumstances and make
wiser decisions.
Feeling better than she had of late, she
climbed out of bed to dress. The sudden movement caused her to feel
faint and she grew nauseated. She hurried to the bucket of water
near the hearth and drenched her face, hoping it would alleviate
her unease. Her nausea grew worse, and she grabbed for a nearby
bowl. Having not eaten since last evening, there was nothing to rid
in her stomach, and when she was done she made her way back to bed
and collapsed.
She smiled, laughed, and hugged herself,
though she felt wretched. She carried Royce’s babe, and the thought
made her so happy that it did not matter how terrible she felt. She
was happy, happier than she had ever been.
An hour later she rose, feeling much better
and looking forward to the day. She dressed in a deep purple tunic
and pale blue underdress. She pinned up her hair with polished bone
combs, allowing several stubborn strands to fall along her neck and
frame her face. A soft blush painted her cheeks and her blue eyes
sparkled. She felt and looked radiant, and there was not a person
in or out of the keep who did not comment.