The Enchantress (35 page)

“True love?” There was so much loathing in those simple words. But she pushed on. She had to finish.

“William, all I am telling you is that I promise not to dwell on what is past. Not to mention it even, ever again. But as far as the present...the thought of sharing you with someone else. That is something I will not do. I--”

A soft knock on the door drew both of their eyes to the door.

“Go away!” he thundered. The knock, even more tentative than before, came again. Laura crept discreetly beneath the bedclothes as William, cursing under his breath, picked up his kilt and wrapped it quickly around his waist as he marched to the door.

She heard the quavering voice of Robbie, the stable lad who had taken to watching over Miriam, but she could not make out his words. William’s gruff “Aye, lad. You’ve done well” was clear enough, though, and a moment later, Laura saw her husband close the door and pick up his shirt.

“Something is wrong,” she said, starting to rise from the bed.

“Stay where you are,” he said, dressing. “Some of my men have decided to take the horses out and run them in the night. Edward sent the lad for me.”

“What?”

“St. Stephen’s Day! The drunken fools decided to get an early start on it. Some folk believe that if you run a horse near to death and then bleed it, the blasted creature will have good health for the coming year. ‘Tis all nonsense.”

“And where are you going?”

“I cannot very well let them kill themselves or my horses, tearing about the countryside on a moonless night.”

Laura watched him move gracefully to the door. His dark scowl made him look fierce in the light of the guttering candles. She understood that it would always be like this. He would always act on the compassion he felt for those he cared about.

He stopped at the door and half turned to her. “We are not finished discussing what is past.”

“Nay, William. We
are
finished with the past,” she called softly. “The present and the future. That is what we have now.”

He shook his head and frowned as he jerked open the door.

It took hours to round up the men and horses. It hadn’t been difficult finding them, loud and drunk as they were. But the icy mix of sleet and rain had stung his face and soaked him through in no time, and he had to force down the foul mood that had enveloped him. After all, he told himself as he herded his boisterous band of warriors back toward the castle, this was all just another part of the damned festivities.

It was perhaps an hour or so before dawn when he got back to the laird’s chambers, and Laura was fast asleep.

He stood next to the bed and stared at the innocent face of his wife. At her beauty. At the love that shone through her even in sleep.

He was undeserving of her--of everything that she stood for. The goodness. The trust.

It could not wait. He could not tarry any longer. Damn, he thought. The uncertainty that must have been eating away at her! The lie that she thought was the truth. He had to put an end to the torment that he’d been causing her. And then, maybe then, with time, he could see that look of trust in her eyes again.

Someday, perhaps, she’d forgive him enough to love him again.

He turned his steps toward his study.

*****

Laura awoke with a start just before dawn and touched the cold and empty space beside her in the bed. William had not come back.

She sat straight up in bed, worrying if the men had had difficulty gathering the horses during the night. Getting swiftly out of the bed and pouring water into the bowl on the table to wash, she saw the folded parchment with her name inscribed so carefully on it.

She opened it hastily. It was from William. Her knees were wobbly as she grabbed a blanket and threw it over her shoulder. She sat herself down in the closest chair. It had to be bad news, or her husband would be telling her whatever was written in this letter himself. She pressed the heel of her hand into a nervous stomach and tried to fight back the tears. It had to be the worst, and she dreaded the thought.

Forcing herself to look, she stared at the words dancing before her teary eyes.

“
My beloved Laura,

I start this letter asking for forgiveness, since what you are about to read are things that I should have revealed to you long before this moment. Long before we took our vows and I stole away your chance of finding real happiness, away from me.

But I waited. Waited because I was fearful of losing you. Of having you think less of me, as I knew you would, after hearing the truth. Of having you decide to leave Blackfearn Castle. Of having you leave me.

As you have already guessed, the truth behind my torment lies in my past. But contrary to your belief, the cause of all this pain is not the affection that I had for a certain woman, but the dishonor that my own foul acts have brought upon my family.

I tell you the truth. As it was. And I hold no one to blame for what happened but myself. And I do beseech your forgiveness, Laura, for the man I once was is now forever changed.

I was once infatuated with Mildred of Hoddom, but I can assure you that it was not love. It was never the same emotion that I hold for you, my dearest Laura. I have learned what it feels like to want to sacrifice your very breath. I know now how it feels to lose a desire for life, if that life cannot be completed at your side.

Mildred was beautiful, and her seeming affection for me drew me under her spell. Too blinded with my own pride, I never paused in my pursuit of her to give much thought to our unsuitable positions--or to her own hidden desire for a more advantageous marriage.

Blindly, I allowed myself to dream, to plan a future with Mildred woven into its fabric. But then disappointment came. Her occasional distraction and her haughtiness combined with the vicious game of wanting me as long as there was no better company to please her.

But again, selfishly, blindly, I did not withdraw. Playing the part of the loyal suitor, I continued to harbor hopes of what might be. I consciously ignored all kinds of rumors of other lovers, of better men than myself. I disregarded the constant prattling talk about an impending marriage. I wanted to believe it all mere lies.

It was late in the winter when Mildred came one night to my bed. It was not the first time she had done so. And I know now that I was not the only man whom she bedded.

I would have gladly forgotten that night long before now if not for the fact that the next day my brother Thomas arrived at Hoddom Castle. I knew nothing of his coming. I knew nothing about his intention to marry her. After forcing Mildred to speak, she confessed to me that day that she had known about the negotiations regarding the marriage. Flippantly, she told me that the night we had shared meant nothing. It had simply been her way of saying good-bye.

If I were a better man, if I were an honorable man, I would have spoken to Thomas then. And this talk would not have centered on my intentions for Mildred, but on my mistake in taking my brother’s intended to my bed just a few days before they were wed.

Though my feelings for her had quickly turned to loathing, I would have married her rather than damage her reputation, or my brother’s, beyond repair.

But instead I said nothing. My guilt lies in the knowledge that I did nothing. That I did nothing to approach Thomas with the truth. Nay, instead I simply slunk away, withdrawing to lick my supposed wounds, and let the masque play out as Fate had devised.

I moved away. Turning my back to my family and deciding never to look back. But news of Thomas and Mildred kept reaching me. The announcement of Miriam’s birth, barely nine months after their marriage. Guilt continued to torment my soul. The questions of whether the child was truly Thomas’s or if she was mine. But in my heart I knew. And yet still I stayed away.

And then there was other news. Of Mildred’s dissatisfaction with Blackfearn Castle. Of her restlessness. There were even letters that I started to receive from Mildred, invitations to join the family for festive occasions. Though innocent in appearance, they all carried in them that unmistakable hint of deceit. She was always certain to send news of Miriam. Of the child’s looks. Of the child’s coloring that so much resembled mine. Of the lass’s temperament.

It was maddening. But I stayed away. What was done I could not change. And my guilt appeared to lie so heavily only on me. At this point, I decided, with cowardice in my heart, that there was no reason to upset Thomas with something as destructive as the truth.

You have already been told of the rest, I know. Of Thomas’s and Mildred’s death. Of the Lord’s punishment of bringing me back to Blackfearn Castle to live with my guilt.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Miriam was mine the moment I laid eyes on her. There was something between us, an immediate bond so deep and so sure, that I knew she was my child.

Although Mildred and I could have been the only ones to guess at the truth, there were times in the past when I thought Gilbert might know the truth as well. But we have never spoken of it.

There is so much that I have said here. More blame and guilt than I could possibly shake from my villainous bones. But then, hearing you last night, realizing that you thought you were somehow in competition with Mildred for my love...I could not allow that.

Laura, I swear on the blood of my father, on the Shirt of St. Duthac, on the Veil of the Blessed Virgin, that I never knew the meaning of love until the moment I met you. You opened the door to my heart and let me glimpse the light that shines from the very soul of you.

I ask for your understanding. I ask for your patience. I ask for the forgiveness that I know you have in your heart.

Laura, I know I am undeserving of your love, but stay with me, stay with my daughter, and perhaps with time I can once again earn back your trust, your affection, your love.

William

******

A frozen rain continued to fall, and the ground around him was churned up into a thick black ooze.

In the armorer’s shed beside the training yard, a fire had been lit for warmth rather than for work. Inside the open shed the warriors who had not participated in the late night ride stood together, watching with a certain unease the violent force with which the laird was battering away at the target post with his sword.

Sweat and rain clung to his bare chest and back. Water dripped from his long hair. His legs were covered with mud from the miles he’d covered through the hills.

Edward leaned against a post between the laird and the rest of the men. When young Robbie ran down from the keep, he gestured for the lad to come to him rather than approach the laird. The boy came to a halt beside the bearded warrior.

“Mistress Laura,” the boy whispered, warily eyeing the laird as William hacked a huge chunk from the target with a ferocious blow. “She is--she is looking for the laird.”

Edward followed the boy’s gaze and shook his head. “Go back and tell Mistress Laura that I’ll send her husband to her as soon as I dare get close enough to him. Nay, just tell her that he’s busy right now. He’ll be in anon.”

Robbie didn’t even pause as he turned and began to run toward the door to the kitchens.

Edward remained at his post, giving his master room enough to unleash his anger but at the same time staying between William and the men. Odd’s blood, he thought decidedly, at this moment no one--not he himself or even Sir Wyntoun--would be able to stand for long against the laird’s fury.

*******

William kicked the target post and turned his blows on a fresh one. Writing that letter, pouring out his past in words, had cut a wound in him so deep that there was no dressing large enough to cover it. No bandage strong enough to hold together the ragged edges of his burning flesh.

And all of this because he feared that Laura might never forgive. Perhaps, he thought--slashing viciously at the target--now that she knows, she will no longer love me, no longer desire me, no longer care to spend even one day more with me.

He would go mad. He knew he would surely lose his hold on life if she was to go. My God, he thought, she
is
life.

And yet, deep down, William knew he had done right. He’d had to tell her the truth. He’d had to put aside the past and face the future. Their future.

But where was that future now?

He had raised his sword again at the target when a movement over the east wing of the castle drew his attention. He looked up in time to see a cloth of some sort falling to the ground.

He lowered his weapon. His blood was pounding in his head. His heart, hammering away in his chest, suddenly threatened to burst. It was too much to hope that it could be a sign.

Peter ran toward the spot where the thing had hit the ground. He watched his warrior pick up the discarded material and turn to the rest of the men on the other side of the yard.

“‘Tis a lassie’s shawl.”

William held his breath as the shutter in the last window of the wing opened and a small hand darted out, throwing something else out to the amazement of the crowd.

“There is something more,” one of the men called, running toward Peter.

“Who is in that chamber now?” Edward asked one of the men.

“Don’t know! ‘Twas Mistress Laura’s bedchamber,” the first man announced. “Remember, she was feeding the hawks, and...?”

William stiffened and took a step toward the keep as he saw what Peter held up in the air.

“‘Tis a woman’s dress. I believe ‘tis Mistress Laura’s.”

Behind the laird, several of the men drew near. “Is she up there, m’lord?”

William watched as the wooden shutter opened again and a hand appeared, dangling something out the window. He knew what it was before she let it drop.

“‘Tis a shift!” one of the men called out eagerly, but William was already halfway to the keep.

He went through the kitchen like a rampaging bull, and nothing slowed him as he climbed the back stairs to the east wing, taking the steps three at a time. In a moment he was standing before the oak door at the end of the passageway, and he pushed open the door without any hesitation.