Samantha James (20 page)

When they neared Aubrey’s hut, she leaped to the ground even before he’d reined to a halt.

Genevieve stepped outside just as she reached the door. Tears stood high and bright in the Norman woman’s eyes as she spied Alana. “Alana!” She seized her hands. “Oh, praise God you are here! I was just about to send a man for you.”

Alana searched the other woman’s features and saw all she had sensed in the dream—all
she feared. Her heart seemed to wither in her breast. “Dear God. Never tell me he is—”

“Nay,” Genevieve spoke hurriedly. “But you must go to him. Quickly now, Alana!”

Alana squeezed Genevieve’s fingers then ducked within the hut. When Merrick made as if to follow her, Genevieve laid a beseeching hand on his arm and gave an imploring shake of her head.

Within the hut, Alana saw that Aubrey lay on his pallet in the corner. But he was so still that in the moment between one breath and the next, she was certain Genevieve was wrong, that the worst had descended even now. But then Aubrey opened his eyes. He stretched out his arm and beckoned. “Come to me, child,” came his rasping voice, just as in her dream. “Come to me now.”

Alana crossed to him, then knelt down next to his pallet. Blinking away the mist that blurred her vision, she bent low and kissed his wizened cheek. Drawing back, she clasped his hand within hers. “I am here, Aubrey. And I will not leave you.”

He smiled, a smile as feeble as his body. “I knew you would come. I knew it.”

Throughout the hours that followed, she stood vigil at his side. At times he slept. At times they spoke of all things past…and things yet to come.

His voice boomed suddenly. “You will bear a son, Alana. A son of Norman strength and boldness, a son of Saxon spirit and pride. His hair will be dark as his sire’s, but his eyes will
be green as yonder fields in spring…
your
eyes, Alana.”

For a moment Alana could not speak. She had not been aware that he knew of the babe she was to bear.

She clutched his hand to her breast and held it fast, as if to will the life from her being into his. “Aubrey, I beg you…I would have you see my son…you must fight this so you will be well again…you must…”

“I cannot fight the will of God.” The breath he drew was deep and rattling. “I am old. ’Tis my time. I accept this. So must you.”

She dashed away the tears that threatened. “I cannot,” she said brokenly. “I cannot bear it—”

“You will be all right, child. I feel it here.” With his free hand, he thumped his barreled chest. “And now…now I fear it is I who must leave you. But I would see you one last time…” His gaze roved her features. Eventually, his eyes drifted shut, as if he were incredibly weary. The hand clasped tight within hers grew limp. And she knew…

Aubrey had departed this world for the next.

H
ow long she stayed there, on her knees in the dirt, she knew not. As if in a daze, she staggered to her feet. Grief wrapped around her like a shroud. Numbly she moved toward the door. She was only dimly aware of Genevieve hovering nearby.

Outside, Merrick turned from where he’d been standing. It took but a heartbeat to grasp that the old man had died. Alana’s eyes were two endless pools of anguish. But when she would have passed by with nary a word, nary a glance at him, he laid a hand on her shoulder.

She whirled on him, her eyes shooting sparks of fire. “Do not touch me!” she spat.

Stunned, he released her. “Alana—”

“I should have been with him,” she accused. “All these days, he was alone. He was alone, for you would not let me near him! May the devil take you, Norman! May you burn in Hell forever!”

Merrick had gone utterly still. His conscience stabbed at him. He had denied them both this
time together, and all at once it seemed monstrously cruel.

It was wrong. He had been wrong. And only now did he acknowledge his mistake…now when it was too late…

He swallowed, his own throat tight, for the agony he glimpsed on her face rent him in two. “You are right,” he said with quiet dignity. “I should never have denied you.” He hesitated, then extended a hand toward her. “Alana, I will make it up to you—”

She knocked his hand away with stunning force. “
Now
you are prepared to be kind.
Now
you are prepared to be generous! Well, I hate you, Norman. I hate you as I will never hate another! I shall pray to God that I never set eyes on you again! Do you hear? I never want to see you again!”

His lips tightened. He caught her by the shoulders when she tried to rush past him, but once again she whirled on him, kicking and screaming, pounding his chest, fighting him with all her strength.

“Alana! Calm yourself, sweet—”

“Let me pass!” she screamed. “Let me pass!” Somehow she managed to wrench herself free. She grabbed her skirts and ran. Merrick swore and would have started after her, but all at once Genevieve was there, dragging at his elbow.

“Nay, Merrick! Do not stop her! Not this time!”

He rounded on her, his features taut and white. “Do not stop her?! Woman, are you mad!”

“Merrick, I know her. She will come back—”

“She will not! Did you not hear? She despises me! Surely you know this far better than any!”

“I know far better than any that she does
not
hate you.”

His gaze narrowed. “How do you know this? Has she said—”

“Nay.” Genevieve shook her head. “She does not speak of it, not to me.” She took a deep breath and poured out all that was in her mind—and prayed it was so! “She is confused, Merrick. She feels trapped between her feelings for you and her love for her land and her people.”

“Feelings!” He scoffed. “She has no feelings for me save one—hatred!”

Again Genevieve laid beseeching fingers on his sleeve. His arm was rigid beneath her fingertips. “I beg of you, Merrick, give her this time alone. Trust in her,” she entreated. “Aye, she is angry with you now. But it will pass. I know it will!”

His expression was grim. “She will never turn to me,” he said tightly. “Even now, with the old man gone, she must ever turn away from me.”

In that moment, Genevieve ached for him as never before. “I know, Merrick. But you must trust in her to return to you.”

His gaze lifted, then fixed on the place where he’d last seen Alana, tearing off into the forest. “I will grant your wish, Genevieve.” His tone was curt. “But only because ’tis you who ask
it of me. But I tell you this—if Alana has not returned by twilight I will go after her.”

So it was that he waited…and waited. Indeed, he waited until he could wait no longer.

A pale purple haze hovered above the treetops as he ordered his destrier saddled once more. He searched far and away, through the forest and fields, but he did not find her.

Anger burned through his veins that she would take advantage of his weakness to escape him yet again. Yet there was fear as well, a fear that soon crowded out his anger.

He was just outside the newly built palisade when he saw it…the yellow cat, Cedric. The feline sat squarely on his haunches in the middle of the rutted roadway. Twitching his ratted tail, he lifted his neck as if to confront him boldly, as proud and haughty as his mistress! Merrick reined his horse to a halt, one dark brow aslant as Cedric rose to all fours.

For a heartbeat, a curious tension hummed between the two. Yet the animal did not hiss and run off as Merrick expected. He remained where he was, his tail still swishing the air.

Merrick’s jaw firmed. By all the saints, he could almost believe the wretched creature awaited him…He lifted the reins and urged his horse forward. As he drew within a swordlength, Cedric turned and padded lightly away. Merrick followed, drawn by some nameless force he did not understand, unable—nay, unwilling!—to ignore it. He and his destrier kept pace behind Cedric as the cat
led them down a narrow, twisting trail that descended down the cliffs to the sea.

At first Merrick was convinced the wide stretch of beach was deserted. The breeze carried with it the scent of brine, sharp and tangy. High atop the bluff, Brynwald rose in noble majesty.

And then he spied her. She stood near the base of a huge rock, still as a statue but for the wind whipping the silken glory of her hair, tossing it wildly behind her like a banner of silver and gold. Her gaze was fixed far out upon the wild, churning waters of the sea. Boiling waves crashed upon the rocky shore, leaping high and spraying mist heavenward, and still she did not move. The air was cold and wet. Merrick paused, caught squarely betwixt two very different—and conflicting—urges.

Genevieve’s warning rang in his ears. Should he retreat and leave her be? His mind urged that Genevieve had been right. Alana neither wanted him, nor needed him. Yet the urge to hold her, to feel her soft and warm in his arms, was suddenly overwhelming.

Again he urged his destrier forward. As the distance between them decreased, an odd little twinge nipped his heart. Her profile was stark and lonely, as lonely as the wind.

At last he stopped. The narrow set of her shoulders went up. She was aware of his presence and obviously did not like it. The cast of his mouth grim, he remained in his saddle and said nothing.

She did not look at him as she spoke. “How did you find me?”

The corner of his mouth drew up in a faint smile. “Cedric led me to you.”

She turned then, unable to hide her startled surprise. “Cedric! Oh, but I should have known! He does not always choose to show himself yet he always lurks near!” Her lashes lowered again, swiftly veiling her eyes, concealing her thoughts. To Merrick it was as if all the life had gone out of her, for in that instant before she glanced back to sea again, all that she felt lay naked and open to him. Inside he bled for her, for never in his life had he seen such barren emptiness!

He clenched the reins in his fists. He had to fight to keep from leaping down and gathering her close, pulling her tight against his breast.

Quietly he called to her. “Saxon.”

Silence.

He dismounted and walked to her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. As she stiffened beneath his grasp, he stifled his frustration.

At length he spoke. “It grows cold and damp here, Saxon, viciously cold. You must have a care for yourself—and the babe.” He brushed his lips across the tangled cloud of her hair. “Come back with me.”

She bowed low her head. She gave no answer, yet he sensed no resistance as he guided her to his destrier and lifted her before him into the saddle.

Back in their chamber at Brynwald, she par
took meagerly of the meal he had brought to them. Later she stood before the window, watching as the circlet of the moon rose high in a night-dark sky. Her listlessness worried him, for it was so unlike her. His expression somber, he crossed to her.

She started as he came up behind her. He caught her elbows and turned her to him. With his knuckles he brushed the curve of her cheek.

“Genevieve said that I should give you this time alone,” he said softly. “And so I held back. I left you alone, for I thought she knew best. But this is not what you need, Saxon.” The pitch of his voice grew lower still. “You grieve for Aubrey. So why do you not weep?”

Alana caught her breath, for in truth she had not expected such bluntness. But to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes, tears she dare not shed. She stuffed her fist in her mouth and bit down hard, praying the pain would give her the strength to keep herself from sobbing aloud. But Merrick would not allow her to turn from him. He caught her hands in his and pulled them to his chest.

The breath she drew was deep and shuddering. “When I weep, you ask me why. And when I do not, you still ask me why!”

He searched her face. “Do you fear I will think you weak?”

Her eyes grazed his, then slid quickly away. “I—I know you do!”

The merest of smiles grazed his lips. “You have no sword and shield and you battle me, Saxon—a battle it seems I cannot win.” His
smile withered. “I wish it could have been different,” he said, very low. “That Aubrey had not died. I know you think me cruel, and mayhap I was. I would not allow you to be with him, and now I realize how much I hurt you.”

His eyes darkened. His voice was low and taut with strain. “If I could set this aright, I would. If I could take away your pain, Saxon, I would. But I cannot, and so I would offer what comfort I may, if only you will let me.”

Alana’s mouth grew tremulous. She didn’t want him to be gentle—to be tender—for then it was so hard to hate him! And yet…as much as she wanted to hate him she could not. She
did
not.

An immense wave of pain broke over her. She twisted her fingers into his tunic. “First my mother died,” she said in a half-stifled voice. “Then my father. Now Aubrey. Don’t you see?…Now I have no one…now I have no one!” A dry, jagged sound escaped, then another, and it was like a well bursting inside her. She began to sob. Helplessly. Uncontrollably.

Merrick bent and gathered her in his arms. He bore her to the bed. He ached for her, for he could scarcely remain unmoved by the depth of her despair. A fierce surge of protectiveness swept through him, for she clutched at him feebly. Cradling her shaking body close, he smoothed her hair and kissed away the endless flow of tears, his heart in knots. And when she had finished, he undressed them both and
drew her once more against his length, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder. She lay against him, limp and exhausted, her emotions bled dry.

Darkness flowed all around them. For once there were no barriers between them, nothing but the starkness of emotions laid naked and bare between them.

Idly he sifted his fingers through the tangled skein of her hair. Low and deep, his voice fell into the silence. “You loved him very much, didn’t you, Saxon?”

She released a long, pent-up breath, still thready with tears, then nodded. Damp, spiky lashes brushed the skin stretched taut across his collarbone. The arm about her shoulders tightened ever so slightly.

“I—I do not know how to explain,” she said, her tone very low. “But…many times Aubrey was more my father than my own. He was there to guide me—to help me—when my father was not.”

Merrick frowned. “I thought Kerwain claimed you as his seed.”

“Aye, he did. But my mother was a peasant. He loved her but he would not marry beneath him. Instead he married Sybil’s mother Rowena, for she brought him lands aplenty and a fortune as well. Aubrey felt my mother should have gone to another village to live her life anew. But she would not…”

She swallowed. “I—I loved my father dearly. He gave to us what time he could, what coin he dared, but ’twas difficult for Rowena despised
us both, both me and my mother. Yet God forgive me, there were times I hated him—hated him for what he did to my mother. Many was the time he rode into the village with Rowena. Yet if he passed by my mother, he spared her nary a glance or a word.” A faint bitterness crept into her voice. “I saw how it wounded her, how it hurt her. I heard her weep into the wee hours of the morn. He wanted my mother. But he prized what lands and fortunes Rowena could bring him far more.”

There was more, far more. Merrick’s heart went out to her—and to the woman who bore her—for all they had suffered. The hardships, the ridicule, the innocent child called bastard and witch, the woman called whore. He listened, and for the first time, he began to truly comprehend all that she was, all that she had endured.

Oddly, the humiliation Alana thought to feel was simply not to be. From her own lips he knew all. Her secrets. Her deepest shame and heartache. Yet there was no contempt, no condemnation. He held her tight in the warmth of his arms, and never had she felt so sheltered and safe, as if no harm might ever befall her.

In time, peace settled around her, luring her into slumber.

Instead it was Merrick who lay awake long into the night. At length, he turned her in his arms. He kissed the swell of her belly, the downy curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. Inhaling the sweetness of her breath as if it were his lifeblood, he sighed.

“Ah, Saxon,” he whispered, “You think you have no one, but you are wrong, for you have me. And I have strength enough for both of us. I would share it, if only you would let me.”