Authors: Diane Davis White
"Wait... just one thing for now... please." David looked up at the old man, nearly as tall as his grandfather, and beseeched him, "How did you know we were coming here? I sent no message."
Athol Strongbow smiled mysteriously, and raised his eyes to the urn above the fire mantle, and David followed his glance, seeing the object glow with an inner light and seem to pulse with it.
"I have my ways young fellow... and not all of my secrets will I tell you. Have a good rest. You cot is in the loft," he nudged his chin upward and pointed to a short ladder in the corner, "and climb carefully, for the rungs are worn and you are no small man."
check his son. He removed the boy's boots and tugged off his jacket, the child hardly coming awake at being so jostled about, then he covered the boy, smoothed back his dark hair from his brow and planted a kiss there, before making his careful way up the ladder.
As he reached the top rung, he recalled the poor coachman he had left outside, for when David had stepped into the room, all time had fled and he had forgotten his servant. He started back down, only to still his foot on the rung as Athol's voice drifted to him. "He has taken the coach to the village and stays this night with my cousin Edgar. He will return when we send for him."
Not wondering at Athol's awareness of his thoughts or how Gates had known where to go in the village, David went again up the ladder and slept peacefully for the first time in many a night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
~~
Hannah spent that first night dining with her cousin and the tutor, Mr. Small, for it had seemed silly to leave the man to a dinner in the empty nursery when he could just as well dine with the family—or what there was of it.
The talk was mostly of Carlton's plans for Crossham and his hopes in that area, and nothing was said by anyone about the missing Marquis or his heir. It was as though, by unspoken agreement, they all avoided that subject, and the evening was pleasant, which surprised Hannah a great deal, and the men no less than her.
Having appraised Hannah of his plan to take Harold Small to Crossham the next day, Carlton politely inquired of his hostess, "Of course, if you prefer we stay and keep you company until... " he shrugged, leaving the reference blank and awaited her answer.
"I will be fine here. Actually, I plan to spend much of my time in the village with Mary Strongbow. So it will hardly matter if you are not here."
She blushed at what sounded a rude comment, and stammered a bit, "I... I did not mean to imply, of course, that you are not welcome... or... or that I do not appreciate... "
Waving a dismissive hand, Carlton smiled at his petite cousin and reassured her. "I know this, and I am sure that Master Small understands your meaning, as well."
He turned his head to include the tutor, who nodded without speaking, for he was in awe of the company in which he dined. He had never been asked to table before by his employers, and was, in truth, a little uncomfortable, though thoroughly grateful.
Drawing the evening to a close, Hannah left the gentlemen in the small drawing room, sipping their port before the fire, and went early to her bed, drawn by an imperceptible thread, for she was not that tired, really.
She lay awake for a while and thought about the man she had wed. She remembered the humming of his voice when he could not speak to her, and in the remembrance, recognized the frustration of that sound. She knew he'd been hard put to keep quiet she smiled to think upon it now.
Somewhere in the darkness, not so terribly far away, that man and his son were gathered for a healing... and it made her glad to know it. Her own healing had begun as well and in her dreams he came to her, light on shadow, steeling into her arms, holding her close against the dark, speaking not. Her silent love had returned.
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* * * * *
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In his own bed, Athol Strongbow bent his concentration upon the woman first, sending a signal that he could feel vibrating along the air and knew when she accepted the peace he offered her. Knew when her dreams turned to blissful thoughts of the man who slept above him in the loft.
Next, he send his signal overhead and knew when David's spirit drifted through the night, knew when that spirit settled strong arms around his lady love and slept. He was not done yet, however.
Clay turned restlessly in his small cot and kicked his covers away, thrusting his hands upward as though seeking someone. A gentle touch upon his brow quieted the boy and he murmured, "Papa... " then fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.
Athol, never leaving his own bed, drew his hands back from the child, and went deeper into his trance... his healing spell surrounding and cradling the small family throughout the night.
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* * * * *
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"Why are these stones magic, Uncle Athol?" The boy had taken to calling him that right away, and fell into step between the two tall men as they slowly circled the outer perimeter of the blue stones.
"Tis not the stones that are magic, lad. 'Tis the aura of this place... the stones are merely the guardians of this ancient holy shrine, set here in a time beyond our measure by the ones with the knowledge."
"Were they the Druids?" The boy, showing off his facts, wanted to impress his new friend, and reached up to take Athol's hand as he spoke.
"Nay lad. Long before the Druid's were here, this place was old... older than time, say some." Athol smiled his mysterious smile that bespoke knowledge far beyond that time. "There were men here who were guided by Celestial hands, and moved these stones on that command, to guard the healing spot that lies deep within the earth, beneath where we now stand."
He came to a halt as he neared the center of the circle, their steps having wound inward through the great arch and pulled them to this place.
They stood quietly, the ancient wizard, the small curious boy and his bemused and enchanted father, soaking up the energy that fed up through the bowels of the earth, sliding along their bodies and plucking at their pain, removing the sorrows and the fears.
It was truly a enchanted spell cast by this mystical place. The stones pulsated softly, seeming to move—though they were stationary—a droning sound thrumming through each man and the boy as they held themselves still, absorbing the medicinal powers of the earth.
After awhile, Athol motioned to his guests and they made their way in a most respectful manner, back through the arch and into the open ground where the magic did not follow them.
"I felt very funny there, Old Uncle, like I could see everything all at once. But I was not sad. Is my Papa... " the boy paused and corrected his speech, "... my Grandfather there?"
He pointed to the center they had left, and looked up at first one man, then the other, his amber eyes shining with a light that was most reverent, as was his speech.
"I do not know the truth of it. Where our spirits soar when we leave this earthly plane is not for us to know. Yet sometimes under very special circumstances we are visited by those gone afore us, I believe."
"I saw my grandfather in my dream, while we stood in the circle. He said to listen well and hear your words as truth." The boy was speaking far beyond his six years and that startled his father.
Not so the elder man, who merely gazed at the child in a most serene manner and nodded his white head in a very sagacious fashion, the early rays of sun glinting off his snow colored hair.
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* * * * *
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The next several days were much the same as the first one, David and his son in company with Athol Strongbow as he went from place to place, whether tending his garden, or walking to the burial mounds to offer his respect to the ancient warriors ensconced there at the earth works. And though they walked near the stone circle, they did not enter again.
Neither David or Clay asked why. It was as if they knew, by some invisible strain of knowledge, that it was not necessary to do so again.
Each night, David drifted across the miles, his spirit cradling Hannah, keeping her loneliness at bay and his own as well. Clay slept peacefully, after the first night, not even kicking away his covers. His dreams were of great white banks of clouds and drifting there, speaking with the old Marquis, whose face would sometimes change to that of the old uncle.
He would awaken early and be eager to start the day, washing his face in the cold dawn, shivering in his nightshirt as he crossed the yard to the well on bare feet. He did not think once of his status as a peer, nor think as well, that he should have better lodgings. The boy was content and well fed, both in his body—from the vegetable garden's fresh supply of food—and in his spirit—from the place in which he dwelt, surrounded by its enchantment.
Hannah went daily to visit her mother-in-law and spent the hours watching the woman sew, and listening to her as well, for she knew that Mary Strongbow was no ordinary personage, and had wisdom beyond that of the average woman.
Gillian would join them at times, mostly for the meals, and he too, had much to say that interested Hannah. She took strength from their closeness—drawn into the small circle of their lives. Her loneliness was thus held at bay, and her worry flowed off into a vaporous nothingness under the warmth of Mary's caring tutelage.
It was on the third day that Mary spoke to Hannah about the old Marquis and their ill-fated love, telling Hannah the story she had wondered about for so long.
"He was much older than I, for I was just fourteen—but I cared not for that. It was as though we were fated to be together. I knew this, even at such an early age. Old Father found him wandering in the woods, aimless and lonely, and taking pity on the lord of the manor, he brought him home for our evening meal. He seemed to stare at me most of the time, but I was not uncomfortable with his looking."
When Mary paused, Hannah ventured a question. "Was your father not angry that he was looking at you? I should think that he would want to protect you from... well, you know." Blushing, she subsided.
"Aye, he was. But he said nothing, for he knew me well and to thwart me is to make me do that which you are trying to prevent me doing. I have always been this way. Even..." she laughed shortly, "... even when it spites my own purpose, upon occasion."
They sat silent for a while, each woman deep in her own thoughts. Mary, gathering her story, fixing and placing her words in her head. Hannah, mulling over what she had heard and trying to envision herself in Mary's place—and of course, she could not.
Mary told her of learning to do sums, to read and write, and how excited she was, how hungry to learn. "I had some learning from my father, of course, but he did not speak so well as the Marquis, nor could he select the right dinner fork."
She talked of the long tedious hours she had spent learning to alter her speech to that of a gentle woman and how the Marquis had treated her with such respect and diffidence, even her father was lulled by his manner. It reminded Hannah of her days under the tutelage of the old Marquis.
"On my sixteenth birthday, however, that all changed. I had grown early to womanhood and it was time I mated, and knew it well in the presence of the handsome Marquis."
She smiled softly, her face transforming with her memories, and she became almost young again. She fell to ruminating and when Hannah tried to prompt her, she waved a hand for silence, gathering once more the next threads of her tale.
"He had a small cottage in the woods that he hired special servants from London to come and repair. When they were done, he sent them back. He did this so no one would know the cottage was going to be used.
Most here about had forgotten the old run down place and it was so overgrown with weeds that it would not have been accessible to any but the most adventurous. He wanted a private place, away from his big empty house and it's big empty memories. A place to be healed."