The Humming of Numbers (17 page)
Read The Humming of Numbers Online
Authors: Joni Sensel
L
ana said not a word about Brendan or the fisticuffs. Once the others had turned away, Aidan drew her close. She merely clutched him and hid her face in his sleeve. He could feel her shame through her trembling hands. Having seen what she'd done in the alehouse, he wondered why she'd never punished her half brother with some kind of hex. Aidan knew not to ask. He held her instead.
ana said not a word about Brendan or the fisticuffs. Once the others had turned away, Aidan drew her close. She merely clutched him and hid her face in his sleeve. He could feel her shame through her trembling hands. Having seen what she'd done in the alehouse, he wondered why she'd never punished her half brother with some kind of hex. Aidan knew not to ask. He held her instead.
In pain and abruptly exhausted, he decided not to wait for the elder Lord Donagh to appear. Aidan asked Lana if she wanted him to walk her downriver to her mother's cottage.
“No,” she said. “First I want to make a birch poultice for your poor hand. We can do that at the creek. Then I want to go back to the holly and see if it would keep my rowan charm. You should come with me.”
Aidan wearily wiped his face with his sleeve. “What I should do is take the manuscripts back to the abbey.”
“They've been gone overnight. Another hour or two won't make a difference. Leave them with your kin.”
Too tired to argue and longing for the searing in his hand to subside, he gave in. Before they left, Lana thrust the raw end of the battered holly branch into the ground near the horse trough.
“If it takes root it will bring powerful luck to the brewster,” she explained. “He'll need some.”
“I thought holly brought ill luck except on the Yule.”
“It wasn't unlucky for you, was it? You have to know how to wield it.”
Aidan studied her face, recalling the dreadful apparition she'd made with a blazing bough in one hand and a holly sword in the other.
“You were astounding, Lana,” he said softly. His heart squeezed down on itself in an unfamiliar and vaguely frightening way. “Terrifying and astounding.”
She looked at the ground, licking her lips. “I've never hurt anyone like that before,” she mumbled. “Even if they were invaders.”
He touched her elbow. “You did right. They would have gone on to kill many more somewhere else.”
“Will my soul burn for it, though?”
Aidan knew how he wanted to answer, but not what heaven's answer would be. Thinking of the newly dead villager and the injured one likely to join him, he ached as
though he'd dealt their fatal blows himself. If he had never sunk the longboats, probably both men would have welcomed next week. Yet he didn't see how a person could take action at all if he stood trembling in fear of the unknowable future.
though he'd dealt their fatal blows himself. If he had never sunk the longboats, probably both men would have welcomed next week. Yet he didn't see how a person could take action at all if he stood trembling in fear of the unknowable future.
“If any soul needs the purification of fire for tonight's work,” he decided, his stomach clenching, “it is mine. Yet Christ spoke of forgiveness. I will pray hard that God may grant it to you. Perhaps His grace will extend also to me.”
The concern on her face did not vanish, but an uncertain smile lightened it. She cupped the back of his burned hand. “You've already been in the fire,” she said. “I'll hope that was enough.”
Lana dressed Aidan's seared hand with a mash of wet, crumpled birch leaves and moss. The cool, soft cushion soon muffled the bolts of pain being thrown up his arm. She decided to hold the poultice in place with a strip ripped from the hem of her chemise.
“My undershift is already torn,” he offered. “Want to use that?”
“You can't tear a decent strip with only one hand, can you?” she asked.
“No, but you probablyâ” He stopped at the picture that rose in his mind. The potential embarrassment in lifting the hem of his robe up his bare thighs or fishing through its
new rip daunted them both. Lana blushed. Neither said anything more about his idea.
new rip daunted them both. Lana blushed. Neither said anything more about his idea.
Lana had only to curl the border of her long shift a few inches to tear at the fabric beneath. Though he'd seen plenty of legs while working the fields, Aidan found himself fascinated by his glimpses of hers. When she struggled, he wanted to help. He thought better of it.
As she gently tied the strip around his useless hand, he studied her face and wondered what she would do. Even if she still surrendered herself to the abbey, as she'd agreed to do just the previous afternoon, Aidan no longer believed a stone penitent's cell would hold her. Perhaps her part in repaying the raidersâand saving the ransomâmight move Lord Donagh to pardon her. Freed, she could return to her mother. Aidan felt a stab of selfish sorrow at that hope.
He thought about his own future, too, as they made their way back to the holly bush they'd visited in the dark hours before dawn. Brother Nathan's scriptorium would bear Aidan's mark; the books he had saved ensured that. But could he bear the abbey's mark upon him? He pondered going back to unhurried movements, downcast eyes, obedience, silence. The monastery promised rest and peace. Although at the moment he longed for both, he feared a monk's life, for him, would also bring numbness.
When she spotted the holly, Lana gave a cry and ran ahead. Her rowan charm lay on the ground beneath the branch where she'd hung it.
She scooped it up and spun to him, beaming. Her eleven rose and sang.
“Look! The holly has given my charm back. That means we don't owe it anything more. It is satisfied with our use of its wood.”
He smiled, more pleased by her jubilance than whatever relief he should feel. While she drew the red yarn back over her neck, Aidan gnawed at his lips and tried to make a decision. Looking back down the hill toward the monastery, and seeing instead everything that had passed since they'd both been inside its ramparts, he realized abruptly that most of his choice had already slipped past him. He had spent a year of apprenticeship in the abbey, and years of study before that, and the events of a single night had swept him too far downriver to return.
The same events had swept him elsewhere, though, and he was not there alone.
He caught Lana's hand and drew it to his chest. The girlish joy on her face mellowed to something richer but also more uncertain. She leaned into him. The hum of eleven about her leapt with a harmonic of hope.
Aidan brushed his lips against her eyelids and the bridge of her nose, but he forced himself to stop there. If
his lips fell upon hers, he knew the Naught of her kiss would completely empty his mind, and he had something he wanted to say, or to ask. If he did not set it loose soon, it would cower inside him until more reasoned thoughts battered it into regret.
his lips fell upon hers, he knew the Naught of her kiss would completely empty his mind, and he had something he wanted to say, or to ask. If he did not set it loose soon, it would cower inside him until more reasoned thoughts battered it into regret.
“Lana, listen to me,” he pleaded, when her free hand glided up his arm to his shoulder, urging his face back toward hers.
The earnestness in his voice gave her pause. She drew back a half step.
Aidan closed his eyes to ask for some grace. Deprived of the sight of her face, they sprang open again.
“I'm sure I am not under the proper tree, or the moon is not right, or everything's wrong,” he began. The words tumbled from his lips and seemed to skitter away, unchecked, into the long morning shadows. “I can't help it. And I know that you haven't known me for long, Lana, but it feels as though you've known me fairly, and I am ⦠bewitched by you, truly. So I guess with God's help what I mean to say isâLana, would you be my wife?”
Her mouth fell open before she caught it up and made it work more correctly. “But ⦠what of the abbey?”
He looked down between them, acutely aware of the dirt and blood and violence marking his robe. “With my father and Gabriel gone,” he said softly, “there will be enough O'Kirin cattle for me.” He gulped back both sorrow and
guilt, feeling as though he were treading on graves that had not even been dug yet. He and Gabriel had been close, though, and Aidan knew that Gabe would approve of him taking his place. “I haven't asked Liam or Michael yet, of course,” he amended, “but I am certain they will not object. And so many have been killed that the clan will be forced to hold a gaveling soon, to redistribute the land, and I can get a share of my own.”
guilt, feeling as though he were treading on graves that had not even been dug yet. He and Gabriel had been close, though, and Aidan knew that Gabe would approve of him taking his place. “I haven't asked Liam or Michael yet, of course,” he amended, “but I am certain they will not object. And so many have been killed that the clan will be forced to hold a gaveling soon, to redistribute the land, and I can get a share of my own.”
After a worrisome silence, he added, “I will ask your mother, your uncle, or even your father for your hand if you like. 'Tis your answer that matters first, though.”
“Oh, Aidan,” she murmured. Then she fell quiet again. He could barely raise his eyes to her face, afraid of finding disdain, or worse, amusement. He steeled himself and met her gaze.
“Yes,” she said, having waited for that. “I will and with honor, if you don't change your mind.” Apprehension tainted her happy glow. “But what about your books? What about being a scribe?”
He tried to ignore the knot between his stomach and throat. “I don't think I can do it,” he managed, forcing the words out. “I'm not sure I could have taken the vows in good faith even if I had not met you. And now all that has happened, all that I feel ⦔ He shook his head helplessly.
She stepped closer again and raised her free hand to
stroke his where it still held the other to his chest. “You know how to read regardless. If you'll chop the wood, I will help you make tablets from beech. Beech wood is smooth and full of ideas, and it holds on to knowledge. It is perfect for writing. You can make books of your own.”
stroke his where it still held the other to his chest. “You know how to read regardless. If you'll chop the wood, I will help you make tablets from beech. Beech wood is smooth and full of ideas, and it holds on to knowledge. It is perfect for writing. You can make books of your own.”
Trying to smile at her innocent suggestion, he did not lay out the reasons he couldn't. He just raised both her hands and pressed his lips to her knuckles. They wanted to explore her hands farther, but he made them talk yet.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” he said. “After Mass I will ask Father Niallâ” A fear struck him. “If he's still alive, anyway, I will ask if he would sanctify our marriage.”
“Our handfasting,” she added, squeezing his fingers. A dreamy anticipation lit her face.
Reluctant to disturb that joy but unable to press back a worry, Aidan said, “I'm not sure if a bastard's father has the right to approve any match, but yours often takes liberties that aren't rightly his. Do you think he will object to me?”
She snorted. “He won't care. You just saved both his son and his ransom. Besides, I can always renounce the inheritance that the law says I should get. He'd be delighted to keep that as a bride-price.”
“I don't deserve a bride that costly,” murmured Aidan, both relieved and appalled.
“Don't make me slap you,” she said, softening the words with a smile. Then a startled look crossed her face.
“My mother certainly has to approve, though!” Her concern shifted quickly back to a grin. “Though 'tis hard to see how she could object to a monk.”
“My mother certainly has to approve, though!” Her concern shifted quickly back to a grin. “Though 'tis hard to see how she could object to a monk.”
Aidan said gently, “I won't be a monk for much longer. I'll just be a herdsman and a tiller of land.” It hurt even more to say to her than to admit to himself. He grimaced in apprehension of relating that decision to those left at the abbey.
They parted there in the woods. Lana would not hear of him taking her back to her mother's cottage that day. She wanted to present him as a suitor, preferably one not wearing a monk's robe streaked with blood. He understood. He didn't mind missing the extra walk, either. Hunger had begun to gnaw through his exhaustion and he wanted to beg a few bites from Liam, return the manuscripts he'd saved, and be done with whatever trial he might face with the monks.
Aidan found the abbey mercifully free of corpses. The grating sound of the number one, that buzz of fear and pain and dread that had echoed the last time he'd been here, had faded. Kinder, more familiar numbers had replaced it, prompting a twinge of nostalgia he hadn't expected. He hesitated just inside the front gate, braced for shouts or expulsion. The few monks within view only looked, saw he posed no threat, and continued their scrubbing of blood.
Not sure where to go first, he glanced into the open
doorway of the dead abbot's chamber as he passed. It was not empty, as he had assumed it would be. Brother Nathan kneeled in the corner, his hands clasped in prayer.
doorway of the dead abbot's chamber as he passed. It was not empty, as he had assumed it would be. Brother Nathan kneeled in the corner, his hands clasped in prayer.
Aidan stopped and stood in the doorway a moment, unsure what to do. He did not want to interrupt devotions, but the door yawned wide open, and Brother Nathan was the person he most wanted to see.
While he debated whether to speak or walk on, Brother Nathan heard his rustling presence. He opened his eyes.
“Brother Aidan,” he said. “I was not sure we would see you agâ” He froze, taking in the fabric-wrapped bundle clasped to Aidan's chest.
“I've mostly come to return these,” Aidan said, hurrying to rest his load on the table. “Did you hear what took place at the brewster's?”
“We heard.” Brother Nathan's somber expression made Aidan wonder which details the monk knew. He supposed, given his errand, it made little difference.
Nathan continued, “The messenger did not mention, however, that any of God's stolen riches had been retrieved.” He rose quickly from the corner to lay his hands on the altar cloths. As he drew the fabric aside, the old monk uttered a dry gasp.
“'Tis only a few, the rest were hacked apart for their bindings or burned,” Aidan said, apologetic. Brother Nathan did not answer. He ran his hands over the leather-bound
volumes, quickly sliding them left and right to see which books had been saved. Even after he'd touched each one twice, his hands hovered, trembling, over their covers.
volumes, quickly sliding them left and right to see which books had been saved. Even after he'd touched each one twice, his hands hovered, trembling, over their covers.
“I think,” he said, sinking very slowly onto his stool, “you had better explain your part in this merciful bounty from God.”
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