Alicia Roque Ruggieri (24 page)

36

Oxfield

When morning came, Aine
had grown feverish but was coherent.  A girl from the village arrived shortly
after dawn to change Aine’s bed linens and wash her.  Then, after a breakfast
of bread and milk, Calum sat by her bedside once more, opening the small volume
of Scripture that Bricius had given him.

“What’s that?” Aine
asked, turning her eyes toward the book.

“The Holy Scriptures,”
he replied, smiling at her.

“Will you read it
aloud?” she asked in her mossy voice.

“Gladly.”  He bent his
gaze to the page.  “‘He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the
lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that
are with young.’”

Aine let out a sigh, and
Calum looked up to see tears in her eyes again. “God has been so good to me.” 
She looked up at him.  “I can sense His love.  That’s what I always wanted, you
ken.  To be loved, to be held important to someone.”  She smiled.  “I have
found out how low I truly am, yet God holds me dear anyway, aye?”

His heart embraced this
sweet sister.  “Aye, Aine.”

She turned her eyes up
toward the ceiling.  “I know that God will be a father to my child, but I
wish…I wish I could have provided one for it in a human person.”  She smiled at
him a little sadly.  “But God knows best, aye?”

There ‘twas.  The
sheepbreeder had said that the cottage was his brother Calum’s abode. 
Deoradhan nudged his horse down the rocky path to the broad door.  At the
bottom, he dismounted quickly.

I will tell Calum all
about my troubles.  He will understand.

Calum answered his
second knock.  His face showed him changed somehow, more restful, no longer
tormented.  He immediately gripped Deoradhan’s forearm in friendship.  “Are you
here to see Aine?” he asked, eyes meeting Deoradhan’s.

Deoradhan stumbled
back.  “What?”  Surely he had heard wrong.

Calum furrowed his
brows.  “Aine is here.  Isn’t that why you’ve come?”

“Nay!”  He turned and
staggered away across the grass.  Calum followed him.

“She is with child,
Deoradhan.”

Deoradhan laughed
mirthlessly.  “I know it.  I hope she didn’t tell you ‘twas mine.”

“Of course she didn’t.”

They walked side-by-side
silently.  Calum was first to speak again.  “Do you still plan to take Aine as
your own?”

“What, are you mad?” 
Deoradhan couldn’t believe his friend would suggest this.  “After what she’s
done?”

“She’s repented, man,
and found forgiveness from God.  If you love her-”

Deoradhan shook his
head, knowing the ploy at work here.  “Is that it, Calum?  The prostitute plays
her bit, repents of her folly, and the hero puts up with the fruit of her
misdeeds?”

Calum’s fierce grasp on
his elbow forced him to halt.  “She is more worthy of you than you are of her,
Deoradhan.  At least she admits that she did wrong.  You cannot even admit
that.”

Deoradhan felt the old
anger rise in him.  “And where have I done wrong?  In what way am I so evil?”

“Every time you reject
the living God as your Master, you sin against Him and the universe, against
all that is right and true.”

“Is that the way you see
it?”

“Aye.”

The two stood there
silently tense for long moments, Deoradhan’s mind whirling into thicker and
thicker knots.  At last he looked squarely into Calum’s eyes. 
I’ll catch
him in this game.  I’ll show his Christianity to be weaker than a child.
 
“If Aine is now so virtuous and good, my friend,” he smirked, “you marry her. 
Take her as your wife and her illegitimate babe as your son or daughter.” 

Now let’s see him
squirm.

But Calum gazed back at him,
nodding.  “Aye,” he replied.  “I will.”  The older man turned to walk back
toward the cottage.  Stunned, Deoradhan’s eyes followed him.

  A few steps away, Calum
faced Deoradhan again.  “I had planned to marry her anyway, Deoradhan, but I
wanted to give you the opportunity to do right by the girl.”

“Do right by her?  I
tell you, ‘tis not my child.  This ‘right’ that you speak of does not exist. 
She has no right …” Deoradhan trailed off, seeing Calum shaking his head.

“The only right any of
us have,” he said, “is the right to forgive, Deoradhan.  The right to have
mercy.  ‘Tis time you learned that, lad.”

Deoradhan watched his
friend disappear into the cottage.

~ ~ ~

Aine opened her eyes to
see Calum enter, his brow serious.  How good he was!  “What is it, Calum?  Who
was at the door?” she asked, raising herself on her elbows.

He smiled.  “Nothing is
wrong, Aine.  Don’t worry.”  He approached the bed and sat on its edge. 
Looking at her, he spoke, “Aine, I have something I must ask you.”

He wants me to leave.
 
She swallowed.  “What is it?”

Calum took her two hands
in his.  “I want you to be my wife.  I will take your child as my child.  I
will love you...”

His words faded in the
sweet joy that overwhelmed her. 
He will take my shame on himself.  He loves
me despite what I have done, who I am.
  The tears prevented her from
speaking.  She looked up into her protector’s scarred face and realized,
I
love him.
  Not with the romantic love that flushes youth, but with a love
pure and growing.  And as he met her eyes, she understood that his love for her
was of a yet more profound nature, needing no return to continue giving,
requiring no consummation to be satisfied in the one he loved.

Gratefully, Aine leaned
toward him, and Calum kissed her with a joy that went even beyond the sensual.

37

Upper Logress

“This is the last morning
our whole party will be together,” announced Garan at breakfast.

Bethan nodded and
continued braiding Enid’s golden hair. 

“The rest of the group will
gradually disperse,” added Garan.  “’Tis time, Bethan, you know.”

“Time for what?”  She
finished Enid’s braid.  Her sister ran off to pet the horses.

“Time to put Enid away
somewhere safe.”

“What…What do you
mean?”  Bethan was sure she had misheard him.

Garan smiled
sympathetically but with iron.  “She can’t come with us to Lothian.  Surely,
you understand that.”

“What do you mean? 
She’s my sister and—”

“And I’m your husband.” 
His smile revolted her.  “Or will soon be.  Enid must be put away in a
convent.  As soon as possible.  There is one a few miles from the Lothian
border, and-”

“Nay.”  Bethan heard the
word come out of her mouth before she thought it over.  “Never.”

She had surprised him. 
His pale eyes stared at her unblinking.  Trembling inside, she reiterated, “I
will not leave my sister behind.”

“You will if I say you
must when I marry you.”

“Then I won’t marry
you,” Bethan gasped.

Garan smiled, shaking
his head.  “Come now, Bethan.  You know you must.  Your father is gone.  You
have no other option.”

“I wouldn’t want to be
that if I were you,” she thought aloud, seeing him as if for the first time. 
This
is who he always was.  I knew it but didn’t want to admit it.

“What?” he frowned.

“My only option.  Don’t
you want to be loved?”

Garan arched his brows. 
“Affection has nothing to do with it, Bethan.  This is God’s will.”

Bethan stared at him and
finally shook her head.  “’Tis God’s will that you have compassion and love,
Garan.  And I realize now that you have neither.”  She stood from her seat on
the boulder, looking into those eyes that never warmed.  “I wonder if God truly
lives in you.  Your Christianity has none of the Christ I know.”

“I see.”  His face
showed no melting.  “So you wish to break off from our holy mission?  You wish
to go back on your promise?”

“Aye,” she managed,
realizing the whole course of her life would change. 
What will I do?  Where
will I go, so far from West Lea?  So distant from Oxfield?  And with Enid, too?
 
She closed her eyes.  If only Papa were here to advise her.

“Alright.  ‘Tis probably
for the best.”  He gave a sniff.  “I could not have had a wife whose heart was
divided from the Lord anyway.”

She stared at him.  Who
was this man that she would have married?  She swallowed as she thought about
her predicament.  “Is…Is there a village nearby where I could…?”

Garan nodded brusquely. 
“A small town sits a few miles nearer the border, I’m told.  You will likely
find some kind of work there.”  He rose to his feet.  “If you’ve finished
breakfast, you should prepare your things.  We leave shortly.”  He moved off
toward the horses, leaving Bethan to damp the fire.

God of my father,
direct my steps,
she pleaded.

Summer Country

Their marriage took
place very quietly, with only Kieve and his wife Eilley as witnesses.  Aine lay
back against her pillows as Heddwyn bound her and Calum’s hands together with a
cord. 
They have asked us no questions.  They assume that I am his wife
already in fact, though not in name.

Her gaze turned to
Calum, who returned a smile to her. 
‘Tis like the Scripture my mother used
to murmur, “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.”
  Tears
rose to her eyes.  Calum had insisted that the child she carried be known as
his. 
‘Tis no lie, lass.  ‘Tis a mercy, that’s all.
  A great mercy for
him to bestow, she knew, for all the time she had known him at Oxfield, no word
of reproach had marred his character.

As Heddwyn pronounced
his blessing, Aine felt a little ashamed that she’d not heard two words of the
ceremony.  She had been concentrating too hard on Calum, whose presence
perfumed the air with inexplicable peace.

What have I done to
deserve this?  Nothing.

Camelot

Deoradhan slowed to a
trot as he rode through the heavy gates.  Immediately, he sensed something had
occurred to stop the usual merry bustle of the capital.  The guard had been
doubled, and the gatekeeper had requested full identification from Deoradhan. 
What
has happened here in the short weeks I’ve been gone?
he wondered.

As he mounted the wide stone
steps to the main hall, a familiar king’s attendant burst from the doors.  He
grasped Deoradhan by the arms.  “The king has been waiting for you to arrive.”

Deoradhan frowned.  “But
I came of my own accord.”

The attendant raised his
brows.  “The Pendragon has sent letters to Oxfield, to Lothian, even Summer
Country when word reached him that you might be there.  When he heard that you
had been seen riding through the gates, he sent me to fetch you immediately.”

“Yestin, what has
happened here?”

  The attendant glanced
around him nervously.  “Treason.  A trial is in progress already.”

“Who has been accused?”

“The guard Rhun and Lord
Ilar, both.  But the one masterminding the plot from afar was found to be none
other than Lord Weylin.”  Yestin cleared his throat.  “Since you have been
employed by Weylin at Dunpeledyr these past months…”

“Am I suspected?” 
Deoradhan felt his heart thud against his chest in fear even as his mind raced
regarding the consequences of this charge for Weylin.

Yestin shook his head. 
“Nay, there is no evidence to convict you as part of the plot to kill the
king.”

“To kill the king?  Did
they actually attempt anything?” Deoradhan inquired, his voice low so that any
passerby would be unable to hear their conversation.

“Aye, two weeks past the
king rode out, and Rhun was with him, as well as some of the nobles at court.  Sometime
in the morning, Rhun shot an arrow—he said at first ‘twas at an animal, but
‘twas aimed toward the king.”

“Was the king hurt?”
asked Deoradhan, surprised at his own anxiety.

“Nay,” answered Yestin,
leading the way through the thick double doors.  The four guards stood at sharp
attention.  “But one of the nobles attending him took the arrow instead. 
Riding too close to the king, he was.  Lord Drustan of Oxfield.”

“Lord Drustan…”  ‘Twas
such an odd turn of events.  “How did the plot come out?” Deoradhan asked, his
words echoing a little in the torch-lit corridor.

“Under questioning, Rhun
admitted others had appointed him.  He named Weylin as the chief conspirator.” 
Yestin stopped before the king’s chamber door and knocked.  “My lord king,
Deoradhan has come.”