Alicia Roque Ruggieri (13 page)

“Then I have nothing
else to offer you, Deoradhan.  There is nothing else I can give.”  The king’s
voice held tired authority.

Without glancing back,
Deoradhan moved toward the door.  “Then this interview has finished,” he said.

“What…”

Arthur’s question
trailed away, and Deoradhan felt compelled to turn around.  “I knew you would
deny me before I came.  I thought I would give you an opportunity to do right. 
I showed you mercy, though you’ve given none to me.  But now I know what I have
to do.”

With a grim smile, he
turned on his heel and swept through the doorway, into the bleak corridor.  He
let the door slam behind him, glad to see the guards’ astonished faces as he
disrespected the king.

Their king,
he reminded himself, moving down the
hallway.
  Not mine.  I have no lord but myself.  I will have no master but
my own spirit.

19

Oxfield

The cold wind whirled the
dry leaves into a dance at Bricius’ feet.  He stood from his work and limping a
little with stiffness, moved toward the open doorway.  Once there, the crisp
air intoxicated him, and he stood, letting the wind brush through his graying
hair, caress his wrinkled cheeks, and cause him to shiver.  A mystery existed
in the changing of the seasons, ‘twas certain.

But the LORD was not
in the wind…

Bricius smiled.  “Aye,
Lord, but sometimes I can hear Your voice in the wind,” he spoke aloud.

“Talking to yourself,
old man?”

He turned to find Lydia
smiling at him, a basket of unspun wool in her arms.  He held out his hand, and
she came to his side, smiling up at him.  His arm gently circled her shoulder,
and he felt her relax in his protection.

“Meghyn’s poorly,”
murmured Lydia after they had stood thus for long moments.

“Aye?”

She nodded.  “I visited
her today.  Her ankles have turned blue and swelled up like a blown-up
bladder-ball.”

Bricius raised his
brows.  “I’ve tried to give her my medicines, but she insists on those pagan
potions.”  Of course the woman wouldn’t get well if she refused the aid of
modern science, given by God.

“Oh, Bricius, I see your
commonsense, but where’s your compassion?  So your pride’s hurt because she
won’t take your help.”  Lydia sighed and turned imploring eyes up to her
husband.  “She covets your prayers, you know.”

“Very well.  I’ll go see
her in the morning, if you’ve time to come along.” 
And you can help me try
to talk some sense into her.

Lydia smiled her
thanks.  “I knew you would, love.”  With a peck on his cheek, she moved out
into the courtyard with her basket of wool.

Bricius shook his head. 
He had a sermon to prepare.

~ ~ ~

Tarian hummed as she
buckled the bridle of her favorite mare, Archer.  True, she could have the
stable lads tack up the small chestnut horse, but she preferred to do it
herself.  She took pleasure in the glossy red-brown coat, soft under her
fingers as she moved on to saddle the mare.  She felt a nuzzle against her arm
and playfully pushed the mare’s nose away.  Such a gentle horse Archer was.

“Is all ready for the
feast?” Tarian heard her husband ask as he entered the stable.  At his
question, her heart thundered so hard that it hurt her chest.  She tried to
breathe evenly, tried to avoid betrayal by her swiftly rising and falling
shoulders.  She felt fear clutch at her lungs, freeze her limbs.

“I said, is everything
prepared for the feast, wife?”

His tone demanded an
answer. 
Be my help, O Lord.  Give me courage.
  She turned to face her
husband. 
My enemy
, she realized, looking up at his hard face and wintry
eyes. 

“Well?  Is it?”

“Nay,” she finally
replied and felt relief.  She had done it.

Drustan smiled, his
eyebrows lowered as if he didn’t understand.  He gently took the bridle reins
from her hand and began stroking the mare’s nose.  “Well, hadn’t you better get
started with the planning, my dear?  Samhain draws near, you know.  Tomorrow night.”

Tarian heard the
familiar, lecherous excitement trickle into his voice.  She shook her head.  “I
will not plan that feast,” she answered.

“What do you mean? 
Don’t you know I can’t wait to see you all dressed up, dancing and laughing by
the bonfires?  We must have a feast, Tarian.”

She looked him straight
in the eyes.  “You may have a feast to indulge your lusts in the name of
religion, Drustan, but I will not.  I will have no part of it.”

He stayed silent for a
moment.  Perhaps he would let it pass.  Perhaps the only outcome would be
additional coldness to their already numb marriage.  Tarian turned and began to
fasten the saddle cinch around the mare’s girth.

With a lurch of his
muscled arm, Drustan suddenly yanked the bridle reins down.  The horse gave a
squeal of pain and pulled its head up toward the ceiling.  Tarian watched
immobile as Drustan jerked the reins down once more, bringing a more frenzied
reaction from the animal.  Then her mind and body moved, and she flew at the
man, trying to grab the leather straps from him.

Drustan was ready for
her and shoved her away with a push so hard it propelled her into the stone
wall.  Tarian fell to the straw bedding and quaked as her husband, finished
with tormenting the mare, turned toward her.  Bending down, he wrenched her to
her feet by her elbow and gave a heavy blow to her cheek.

“Let’s understand one
another, Tarian,” he said, pulling her close to his face.  She couldn’t breathe
for fear.  “If you go against me, I will go against you.  If you hurt me, I
will hurt you.  I hope I’ve been plain.”

She nodded, unable to
speak.

“Good.  You’re going to
regret not participating in this feast.  I give you my word on that, my lady. 
I give you my word.”  He dropped his hands from her elbows, by all appearances
calm, except for the florid coloring of his countenance.  He smiled at her. 
“Now get cleaned up.  I won’t be embarrassed by a wife of mine looking like she
demeaned herself in the stables.”

Tarian’s face turned
white with insult.  “You are a…a depraved man,” she choked out as he strolled
toward the stable door.

Drustan paused and
turned.  The same slight smile decorated his lips, making his thick cheeks puff
a little.  “Depraved?” he questioned.  “You haven’t seen me depraved yet,
wife.  Watch and wonder, my dear.  Watch and wonder.”

~ ~ ~

Set your house in
order, for you shall die…

Meghyn struggled to open
her eyes.  They were heavy, so heavy…

Set your house in
order…

Even before full
consciousness came, the throbbing pain pushed through her legs.

Will I die, Lord?
 
Blurry-eyed with sleep, Meghyn gazed down at her calves, raised up on a stool. 
No matter how long she kept them up now, the swelling only increased.

She turned her eyes
toward the busy gaggle of kitchen maidservants, chattering as they prepared for
the evening meal. 
I was once young, too.  How fast the days fly.  Have I
redeemed my time?

Meghyn watched Deirdre
helping one of the younger girls with a stew bubbling over the fire.  Sweet she
was, that one. 
You cut her and Bethan from the same cloth, Lord.
 
Reluctantly, her eyes traveled over toward Aine, whose rapt face turned up
toward that troublemaker Winter.

What of when
Deoradhan returns?  Will he marry Aine?  Lord, help my headstrong boy if you
take me home.

Meghyn was just closing her eyes
again when she heard a flurry of whispering and then abrupt silence.  Her eyes
snapped open to see a young woman entering the kitchen through the interior
door.  After a moment of confusion, Meghyn realized ‘twas the mistress of the estate
herself.  The kitchen girls had already recognized someone significant had
entered and stayed mute, bobbing a curtsy or two.

Meghyn struggled to her
feet and stood, bent a little with pain.  “Lady Tarian,” she greeted the
noblewoman.  “Welcome.”

Lady Tarian seemed
relieved to hear herself well-received but kept her poise in place as she
stepped across the warm kitchen to Meghyn.  “Meghyn, aye?”

“Aye, my lady, I’m head
of the kitchen,” replied Meghyn.  As was her place, she waited for her mistress
to tell her why she had come.  She hoped ‘twould not take long, for the
pressure in her painful legs increased with each moment.

“I’m very glad to meet
you, Meghyn.  Please, sit and put your legs up.  Deirdre told me about them.”

The woman’s smile seemed
sincere.  Meghyn breathed a sigh as she sat back down and heaved her club-like
calves up one-by-one.  “Thank you, my lady,” she murmured.

Lady Tarian pulled up a
stool and sat across from her, almost as if she planned to stay for awhile. 
She sat up very straight but her long, slim fingers played with the wool fabric
of her dress.  “Have you had a doctor look at your legs, Meghyn?” she asked
suddenly, as if her occupied thoughts had been invaded suddenly with the
question.

Meghyn smiled.  “Aye, my
lady.  Bricius the potter has given me his opinion.”

The noblewoman’s
eyebrows shot up.  “He is a medical man as well, then?  Is there nothing the
man doesn’t do?”

Meghyn chuckled.  “He
learned something of the medical art when in the monastery, and ‘tis helpful to
others from time to time.”

The woman looked
thoughtful, her auburn hair wisping around her serious eyes.

Meghyn paused.  Would
the lady take a question without offense?  She decided to start small. 
“Deirdre tells me you’ve been coming to the Lord’s Day meeting under the oak,
my lady.”

Lady Tarian’s lips
turned up.  “Aye, I have.  I overheard one of the servants talking about it and
when I asked, Bricius told me I would be welcome.”

“And do you enjoy it, my
lady?”

“My heart hasn’t felt so
light for a long time.”

Meghyn’s smile grew. 
“‘I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD,”’ aye,
my lady?”

The noblewoman looked at
her questioningly.

“’Tis from the
Scriptures, my lady,” explained Meghyn.  “The psalms of David.”

“Oh.”

Meghyn took courage at
the woman’s vulnerability.  “May I ask a question, my lady?”

“Aye, please feel at
liberty, Meghyn.”

“Would you call yourself
a Christian, Lady Tarian?”

A thoughtfulness grew on
the countenance of the young woman sitting across from Meghyn.  She stayed
quiet for a few moments, then murmured, “When I was a young girl, I asked Jesus
to purify me from my sin, and I determined to follow him.  But now I don’t
know, Meghyn.”

“Why do you say that,
Lady Tarian, if you permit my boldness in asking?”

The noblewoman looked at
her, and Meghyn thought she detected a settled sadness in her eyes.  “Because
much of the time I don’t feel that I belong to Christ.  A true Christian is one
who is holy, set apart for God’s use, whose thoughts are only full of God.”

“And what are your
thoughts full of, my lady?”

A heavy sigh escaped
from Lady Tarian’s chest, as if her heart groaned in its prison.  “My own
happiness, Meghyn.  I want to be happy.”  She grimaced a smile.  “’Tis why I
married my lord.”

“I think we all want to
be happy, my lady.  ‘Tis not an evil,” smiled Meghyn.

“Then I sought my
happiness in the wrong things, I suppose.”  Meghyn cocked her head, listening,
as the lady continued.  “This all goes back a long time.  I grew up in Cantia,
near the southeastern coast.  Though not wealthy, my father held a position of
influence as one of the lord’s advisors.  His brother, my uncle, served as a
priest of the Church for the lord’s household.  My mother came from one of the
oldest tribes in Cantia; she was born a princess, the daughter of a chieftain,
subjugated by Uther Pendragon.

“As I grew older, I
realized ‘twas expected that I marry well, to bring the family wealth and
honor, as any daughter should.  When I was thirteen, my uncle undertook the
task of betrothal; the lord of Cantia himself contributed generously to my
dowry as a thank-you to my father for his years of service.  My parents left
the matter entirely in my uncle’s deft hands, stipulating only that the man
chosen be an honorable man of the Christian faith, not holding to the old ways.

“After a year and a half
of negotiations and bartering, my uncle announced that he had purchased a
bridegroom for me and thereby a favorable alliance with a neighboring lord. 
That lord was Drustan of Oxfield, an older man, aye, but favorable in every
worldly respect.”

Lady Tarian looked
Meghyn straight in the eyes, as if to make her understand through her
earnestness.  “My parents opposed the match from the start.  Initially, aye,
they felt flattered that their daughter would become lady of Oxfield, a great
and rich estate.  But then my mother remembered hearing of Drustan’s
ambivalence toward religious matters.  He acted a Christian when ‘twas
convenient and a pagan when not.  Not to be trusted, my father said when he met
him, and he knew the look of deceit from his many years of dealing with such
ones.”

“Why didn’t you listen
to them, my lady?”

Lady Tarian shook her
head and smiled.  “It goes back to what I said earlier, Meghyn.  I felt
discontent in Cantia, as the carefully-guarded daughter of the lord’s advisor. 
I thought I would be happy as the mistress of Oxfield, having my own way,
spending my time as I saw fit, doing as I pleased, the petted wife of a rich
nobleman.”