wcEND.rtf (3 page)

Before his lady wife's tearful revelation a week past, Hunter had mourned her detachment toward him but had not understood; then he surmised her manners were in
truth an unfortunate outcome of her difficult former marriage. Détra was not a woman to laugh easily, to appreciate a jest or converse naturally. Efficient in the care of the castle and its inhabitants, she had time for naught e
l
se but her duties and obligations.

With the exception of her marital duty to him, which she skirted with great mastery.

"We can no longer avoid this matter," Hunter said.

"
If you take me against my will, and there is no doubt you can for your strength is greater than mine, then you are no better than William."

Blood rose to his face. "I need not use my strength against a woman, for I have every right to your compliance. You were given to me by king, our marriage blessed by God and made legal by men. You are mine, Lady Détra."

"Neither you, nor the king, not even God have ever considered my wishes at al
l
." There was such bitterness in her voice, such stubbornness in the way she defiantly pointed her chin at him, that Hunter began doubting every word she had ever spoken to him. "What about my choices?" she cried suddenly.

She spoke of choices as if he had been given many in his life. What choice had his heart those many years ago when he first caught sight of her beautiful face? What choice had he in having been born a bastard of unknown sire?

Had he reached higher than he should have when he wedded Détra? Hoped more than he deserved? Wanted more than fate was willing to give him?

And yet, when the opportunity arose, he took it, and, by God, he would offer no apologies for having done so. A woman's lot in life was to be wedded for gain of land, power or protection, and not always to her benefit. And yet, though he had gained land and power through her,
he had vowed to protect and care for her. And he intended to do so. He wished to go even further. He wished to offer her his heart, in which she seemed not interested at all.

Refusing to consider the chilling possibility Détra might have given her heart to another, he countered, "You bewail having no choices, and yet it looks to me you have made yours. You have chosen to deny the marital rights that are due to me as your lord and husban
d
—
"

"A bastard son of a village witch shall never be my true
l
ord nor husband," she spat.

The slur slapped Hunter with such a force he almost staggered back, his heart slamming against his chest. Finally the truth was revealed, lifting the veil from his eyes. Fool that he had been to think a highborn lady would overlook the circumstances of his birth. Mad that he had been to think Détra could love him.

Wounded pride made Hunter square his shoulders. The old mask of indifference fell over his face like a well-worn glove.

"A bastard I am," he whispered. "And yet, I am also your husband and lord. Keep your heart to yourself, my lady wife, if that is your wish, but your loyalty and obedience I shall have. You would do well to remember that."

If wooing Détra had proved impossible, he would try no more. But by God, she was his wife, and though their marriage had turned out to be naught akin to what he had once envisioned, his wife she would remain.

Rain began falling outside with swift violence. Lightning dazzled the chamber with sparkling streaks of light as thunder reverberated within the stone walls.

A tempest outside to match the tempest in his heart.

He reached to Détra but she evaded his hands, running away from him and tripping over his garment chest. With the lid ope
n
—
h
e had fo
rgotten to shut it the night be
for
e
—
a
nd Détra'
s
weight, the trunk toppled over, its contents spilling out.

Hunter lifted Détra from the floor but she fought his hold of her. "Cease your struggles," he demanded. "I will do you no harm."

"Bastard!" she hissed, pounding his chest with her fists.

The slur hurt him anew as ire rose in his heart. He fought against the debilitating emotion, warring against the need to take Détra to bed and consummate his marriage as quickly as possible, knowing that by doing so he would terminate the dream he had cherished for most of his adult life.

Out of the corner of his eye Hunter noticed his chalice lying on the floor amidst his spilled garments. He had always kept the heavy pewter chalice hidden from prying eyes. He pushed Détra away, hoping to reach the chalice before she noticed it, but when he darted a glance back at her, he realized she had already seen it.

Now he would have to find another hiding place for it. Still, Détra could not possibly know of the chalice's significance to him, or its supposed magical powers. Hunter had never spoken of it to her, or anyone else for that matter. The only remaining possession of his mother, and as such invaluable to him, Hunter would share the chalice with no one, least of all Détra.

As Hunter took the chalice in his hands, memories of his mother gifting it to him on his fourteenth birthday, days before she had passed away, flooded him. Her words of that long-ago day echoed in his mind. "This is a gift from the heart," she had said. "Your heart it shall read, and your wishes it shall fulfill."

Heart wishes! Hunter snorted. His mother had believed in the chalice's magic powers, though it had never benefited her, as it had not him, for naught had been given freely to him or by magical powers. He had paid a dear
price for all he had accomplished in his life.

Their overlord had taken an interest in him and paid for Hunter's fostering, his horse and knightly accouter
m
ents, and to this day, Hunter stil
t
owed the man knightly services. Hunter had obtained the golden spurs of knighthood after long years of hard work and enduring endless taunting by the noble young men who believed he had no birthright to be a knight. And his latest largesse in lif
e
— Windermere Castle and Détra—
w
as a just reward for Hunter having saved the king's life in battle.

Nay, the chalice had naught to do with any of it.

He lifted his gaze to his lady wif
e
—
h
is heart wish and greatest disappointmen
t
—
a
nd her cold glare congealed his soul. There was no magic in the entire Christendom, let alone in a small chalice, that could transform his lady wife into the lady of his heart, or convert their arid life together into the vision of hearth and loving family he dreamed of.

Unable to withstand the sight of his wife's antagonistic glare, Hunter turned his gaze to the chalice. Sudden warmth invaded his body and the azure stones of the chalice began to glow like bright stars in the darkest night. Before his unbelieving eyes, a blue mist spiraled from within the chalice's depth, slowly forming an image. Hunter stared, unable to avert his gaze until the vision completed, revealing his heart wis
h
—
h
is lady wife carrying his child in her womb, sitting by the hearth and looking at him with love in a portrait of perfect harmony.

Hunter's breathing deepened, his heartbeat slowed, his heart filled with joy, pride, love, and then disbelief.

What manner of powers did his mother's chalice truly possess? Was it mocking his innermost desire or foretelling his heart wish?

A strong scent of rosemary suddenly engulfed Hunter
,
as if Détra had just doused herself with the fragrance. "Détra
,
" he whispered, then suddenly remembering where
he was and who was there with him, he fought to drag his gaze from the vision and face the cold reality of his lady wife's presence.

Darti
n
g a glance over his shoulder, Hunter found
Détra
standing behind him. Her blanched face could not hide her horror. Was she also seeing the vision? Hunter stared at her as she stared beyond him to the blue mist of his heart wish. Then with a sudden jerk, she pulled his arm, trying to reach the chalice.

Instinctively, Hunter pulled away, but Détra had latched onto his arm and now his hand, the hand that held the chalice.

"Nay," she cried. "I do not accept this."

The vision faltered as they fought for possession of the chalice. The mist swirled around them, enveloping them, possessing them in a dizzying speed. Hunter's head spun as whimsy and reality fused in a surreal moment. The chalice's blue stones flashed a last, blinding light before the bedchamber plunged into utter darkness. Robbed of consciousness Hunter toppled over to the floor, taking Détra with him.

VISION blurred, senses muddled, Hunter fought for clarity of thought. His head ached with a dull throb; his fingers tingled alongside his body. Lifting heavy arms, he pressed his palms against his temples and closed his eyes, listening to the rain falling outside. Moments later, he opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the bedchamber to halt its dizzying spin.

He dragged himself to a sitting position on the hard stone floor, struggling to clear his mind.
Deus!
What had happened?

His unfocused gaze found his lady wife's motionless body sprawled on the floor by his side. Hunter scurried to her side.
"
Détra
,"
he called, but there was no response.

He touched her pallid face, then moved a lock of auburn hair covering her eyes. The small lump on her forehead was surely less worrisome than her clammy skin undernea
th
his fingers. With mounting trepidation Hunter
leaned over her chest and listened to her heart. Shaking his head uncomprehendingly, he lifted, unable to accept the absence of a heartbeat.

Dread made his skin crawl. He shook her, at first gently, then a little rougher, hoping for a reaction, any reaction. Naught.

Détra could not be dead!

The mere thought spun Hunter into action. He took her in his arms and settled her in their bed, then rushed to the door and bellowed for help. His outcry resounded like thunder down the stone corridor and into the great hall below.

As he returned to the bed, he caught sight of the chalice lying on the floor not far from where they both fell. As he picked it up, the first memory that assailed him was of the vision
the
chalice had revealed, the second, Détra's angry rejection of his heart wish.

Could the chalice be responsible for their collapse? The thought perplexed and intrigued him as he set it on the table and returned to Détra's side. His mother had believed in the chalice's magical powers. He had been witness to its manifestation. And yet, according to his mother, the chalice was supposed to fulfill his heart wish and grant him the wife of his dream. How had he ended up holding a lifeless wife in his arms? The vision had revealed them happily together, not eternally separated.

Hunter refused to accept Détra was dead. He would not allow her to die. Even though she loved him not, even though she had flatly rejected him, she was still his wife. She was still his.

He donned his breeches, then returned to her bedside. Moments later, Maude, Détra's maid companion, finally rushed in.

"What happened?" Maude cried.

What could he tell Maude? Surely not that he believed his chalice had caused Détra'
s
demise.

"Détra tripped and hit her head," he said. "She is not breathing. Send for the village's healer, at once." There was no time to waste. Death would not rob him of his dream
.
He had despaired of conquering Détra'
s
heart, but he had not considered being without her.