Her composure was shattered in that brief, terrible moment. As he watched, the color drained out of her face and her mouth popped open in shock.
“Nay,” she breathed. “Nay… he does not.”
He nodded sadly. “I am sorry, but he does,” he said. “The horse is in nearly perfect condition and I made a bargain with the man to purchase him. Gilbert’s horse, too. We will take them back with us to Snow Hill.”
Tresta seemed to grow unsteady. She took a step back, away from him, a dazed look on her face. Tarran reached out to take her arm.
“Let me take you back to the tavern,” he said quietly. “We will continue this…”
She cut him off, staggering past him as she rushed for the livery. “I must see,” she said, verging on hysteria. “I must see him!”
Tarran ran after her, grabbing her before she could get too close to the livery entry. “Stop,” he commanded softly. “Listen to me, Tresta. You must keep your emotions under control because if the livery owner knows you have a relationship to Teague’s horse, he could very well not sell him to me out of sheer suspicion. You cannot go charging in there in hysterics and ruin it. I know Teague’s horse and I would not lie to you. Trust me when I tell you it is Arion. Do you understand me?”
He had her by the arms, forcing her to look at him, but she was so pale that her lips were ashen, her breathing coming in gasps. She tried to answer him but no sounds would come forth. As he watched, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed against him.
She’d fainted dead away.
With a heavy heart, Tarran picked her up, cradling her against his broad chest as he headed back to the tavern. He couldn’t say that he blamed her and, frankly, he was glad she was unconscious. This bold, stubborn, aggressive woman had the soul of a lion, the bravery of a tiger, and the heart of a woman who just realized she had lost her husband. They had known for two days that it might be the outcome, but knowing it might be and actually realizing that terrible end were two completely separate things.
Now, the grieving could begin in earnest.
He felt it to his very bones.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The room was small, but cozy, and he wasn’t alone. He had to share it with two other manservants who came in and out at all hours, helping the family who owned the home. At least, that’s what he had deduced. He didn’t really know because they wouldn’t talk to him. All he knew was that he’d been kept tucked away in the bed, visited by the physic, and fed broth so he could regain his strength.
And somewhere in the night, he’d had a dream and his name had come to him.
Hallam.
He knew his name was Hallam and he knew where he had come from. He knew everything. He had asked the physic about the ships, about survivors, only to be told that they’d only found one other survivor, a boy, and he was being tended to by another family. He’d also been told that multiple bodies had washed upon the shore as well as a treasure trove of possessions, but the physic wouldn’t tell him anything more than that. Maybe because the villagers had taken those possessions to either hoard or sell, and given that he’d been on the ship, he would undoubtedly view it as thievery.
And it was.
But Hallam didn’t really care. It wasn’t that he wanted his possessions returned to him. He knew that was impossible. He’d spent days trying to come to grips with the loss of everything he knew. His friends, his sister’s husband and liege… everything. All of those dreams of glorious victory upon the sands of The Levant were gone, too. Something they’d taken a year to prepare for.
Gone, all of it.
Yet the mental anguish was worse than the physical. With the return of his memory, so was the return of the wreck. That horrible, chaotic day when everything changed. He remembered standing on deck with his horse, clustered with Teague and the other men, watching Teague argue with the captain of the ship before the captain was finally thrown aside and Gilbert and William took the rudder. It had been chaos, but at least Teague had a plan. He’d tried to get that ship closer to shore so they at least had a chance to swim to safety, but then they hit something under the water and the ship broke in two.
Everyone and everything went straight into the briny deep.
There were men screaming as they tried to swim, but many couldn’t and they sank beneath the waves. Hallam could swim a little, but against those swells, he was destined to drown until someone shoved him upon a piece of wreckage that went floating by. When he’d turned to see who it was, he saw Teague swimming strongly in the churning water, trying to help Gilbert attach to a piece of wood for floatation.
As Hallam watched from his relatively secure perch upon a big piece of wreckage, he could see Teague helping all of his men, or at least the ones he could get to. The horses were swimming aimlessly and he directed them towards shore, holding on to his steed, Arion, and pointing the animal towards the beach. But he had to let Arion go because Sheen, who couldn’t swim, was clinging to the broken stern of the ship, refusing to let go as it bashed against the underwater rocks. In fact, he clung to the ship and refused to let go, not even when Teague begged. Sheen pushed himself into the sinking stern, terrified of the water, and Teague went after him. They both disappeared inside. A massive wave struck the stern and the entire thing sank beneath the waves.
That was the last Hallam saw of Teague.
But he couldn’t worry about the man. He was only worried about himself and therein lay the guilt. He felt as if he should have at least tried to help Teague as the man struggled to save his men and finally his ne’er-do-well brother. At least, Hallam assumed Teague had drowned because the Frenchmen who had saved him told him that they’d only found one other survivor in a young boy.
Somehow, Hallam thought it was his fault.
He should have tried to help.
Now, he was without a liege or money or anything, and rather than continue to The Levant, he had to return to Snow Hill to tell his sister what had happened. He thought of Tresta’s antics when she’d surprised Teague in London and of their adventure across the channel to Calais. He recalled the fighting, the pleading, mostly from his sister. He knew how attached she was to her husband and his eyes welled with tears when he thought of the anguish she would surely suffer to know that her strong, noble husband had met his end ignobly by drowning while trying to save his useless brother.
How on earth was he going to tell her?
And then there was Tarran du Reims… as it turned out, he’d been the lucky one, forced to remain behind to watch over Tresta. He was still alive, although probably quite miserable. He was the best knight out of all of them and if anyone had a right to seek glory in The Levant, it had been Tarran. But instead, Teague had left him behind to nursemaid his wife.
That distasteful assignment had saved his life.
And Hallam was going to have to find a way home.
It wasn’t going to be a simple thing. His legs were battered and he couldn’t move them without a great deal of pain, and the physic told him that there were broken bones in his feet, so returning home would take time. He had already decided that he would summon a priest to write a missive for him to send to Snow Hill. Tresta had to know what had happened and by the time he was well enough to travel, there was no knowing how much time would have passed. Perhaps she would even send him money to return home.
Home to a new world at Snow Hill.
Home to pieces of a life that had once been.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tresta wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake, staring at the ceiling.
It was dusk, the sun laying low in the sky and the seabirds screaming in the distance. She looked around the chamber, slowly, realizing that she was quite alone. The fire in the hearth was banked and her satchel was set neatly on the nearby table. As she moved to sit up, she realized that her shoes were also on the table.
Someone had taken them off her feet.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Tresta sat for a moment, reliving the
last memories she had before she found herself staring at the ceiling. Tarran had gone into a livery and had come out with a tale of Teague’s horse. If the horse was in the livery, and Teague was nowhere to be found, then clearly that only meant one thing.
Her husband had died at sea.
As the shock of that realization began to wear off, the tears came. Copious amounts of tears accompanied by painful sobs, quiet and deep. Tresta ended up laying back down, weeping as grief filled every vein in her body. It was black and thick, clinging to her, spilling from her pores and filling up the entire chamber until she was drowning in it in an endless cycle of pain. Grief was everything she felt or saw or heard. Grief that her handsome, sweet, and powerful husband was indeed gone.
Her worst nightmare had come to life.
She began to think about that night before Teague left Snow Hill, when they’d been in their chamber and she had begged him not to go. Pleaded with him to stay. His words rang clearly in her head, as if he had only just said them.
If I do not return, then you will swear to me that you will live a life that honors me. You will not be weak. You will not do anything foolish. You will be strong, as I know you can be. And if you have the opportunity for happiness again, you will take it. I want you to be happy again.
Her first instinct was to hate him for saying such things. She denied them. She refused them. She would be as weak and cowardly as she wanted to be. It was her right. That horrible storm had ripped her heart and soul from her body and cast it out to sea, drowning right along with Teague. She hated him for not allowing her to come with him because she would have preferred to die alongside him. He had been the selfish one for not allowing her that right. Instead, he left her alive and hollow, facing a life without him.
She hated him for it.
She would love him until the end of all things.
Her sobs had drawn Tarran. He had poked his head into her chamber only to find her curled up like a cat. She was in a ball, on the bed, moaning and sobbing. His heart sank. Now, the grief was beginning and he truly had no idea when, or if, it would ever stop. It was the worst possible outcome, something she had feared from the beginning, and something that had come far too soon. Perhaps it would have been better had he never told her what he’d heard and they had returned to Snow Hill in blissful ignorance.
But even as he spared that thought, he knew that it was foolish.
He’d made the right choice to tell her.
So, he shut the door softly and left her alone. There wasn’t anything he could say to ease her pain. At least, not anything she would want to hear. Nothing gave him the right to give her comfort, so he didn’t.
This night belonged to her and Teague.
But he wasn’t going to leave her entirely. He couldn’t, in good conscience. His chamber was directly next to hers so he sat out on the landing, listening and watching and waiting.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Tarran ate a late supper sitting against the wall in front of her door. He didn’t even bother knocking to ask if she wanted anything, because he knew she wouldn’t. Near midnight, Simon brought him a blanket and he draped it around his shoulders as he sat in the dark, watching the door of a lady who was being torn to shreds by the claws of grief.
He sat there all night, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He’d earned the right to grieve, too.
Alone.
*
Tarran must have been dozing when he heard a creak, like a hinge opening. Having no idea what time it was, he lifted his head off the wall only to see Tresta standing beside him. There was some light coming in from the common room below, signaling that it was at least daybreak. Instantly awake, he rubbed his eyes and tossed off the blanket.
“My lady,” he said, sounding groggy. “Do you require anything?”
Tresta crouched down next to him. “Did you stay here all night?”
He nodded, looking closely at her for any signs of cracking. “If you needed something, I did not want to be far away,” he said. “May… may I get you something?”
Her lovely face was pale, her eyes swollen. She looked as if she had been weeping all night, which she had. But even with that pale face, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Nothing could mar that. But she shook her head to his question.
“I was wondering something,” she said. “You said that we would go to the priests to ask about the bodies that had been washed up on shore. May we do that this morning?”
As he became more lucid, he eyed her in the early morning light and thought that he should assess her mental state before he committed to anything. He didn’t want to take her over to the church only to have her fall into hysterics again.
“Let us go back into your chamber,” he said. “Our conversation will be more private there.”
She agreed without a word, heading back into her chamber as he stood up wearily and followed. The fire inside was nearly out and he crouched down, stirring up the embers and coaxing forth a small amount of flames against the damp, chill room. When he was satisfied with the little blaze, he stood up and faced her.
“With my discovery yesterday, the situation has changed,” he said as kindly as he could. “My lady, when Teague departed, he made you my responsibility. We have discussed this before, but it has never been more obvious to me now. Part of that responsibility is protecting you. You have suffered a terrible shock and I do not think I would be wrong if I guessed that you did not sleep last night.”
Tresta was standing near the hearth, her arms wrapped around her body in the chill of the room and her hair messy and hanging. But she shook her head to his statement.
“You would not be wrong,” she said. “Tarran, while I appreciate that you want to protect me, I think the time for that is long gone. There is nothing left to protect me from.”
“You are wrong,” he said quietly. “Now that we know what has happened, there is a good deal of work to do.”
“I know. And I shall help you.”
He shook his head. “It would be faster if I did it alone,” he said, watching her brow furrow. “My lady, if you try to help, then my attention will be divided because I will be worrying about you and how you are reacting, if you are safe and if you are handling the stress of the situation. You wanted to come to Le Touquet and you did. You wanted to discover what you could about your husband and you have. Now you must let me do my work to ensure we have all of the answers we need before we return to Snow Hill. Please.”
She was still frowning, but at least she wasn’t arguing. For her, that was a change, indeed. All the woman did was argue and fight to get her way, but not now. Somehow, she knew that this was not an issue to push.
Things were changing.
“But I cannot simply sit here and wait for you,” she said after a moment. “I must do something. If I sit here, I will only think about what has happened and how I… don’t you understand, du Reims? I must keep my mind busy.”
She was starting to tear up and he immediately softened. He understood her need to keep busy because he had that need, too. Focusing on what needed to be done kept thoughts of his drowning comrades at bay, so he sympathized.
But he still didn’t want her out and about.
He had to find something for her to do.
“And you shall,” he said. “I will need your help on a great many things. Do you feel up to it?”
She sniffled, wiping at her eyes and trying desperately to compose herself. “At the moment, I do,” she said. “I cannot guarantee how I will feel in the next hour, but at the moment, I can help. What can I do?”
Tarran thought quickly. “Did you bring anything to write with?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I have nothing like that.”
“Then the first thing we shall do is find a vellum merchant, if we can,” he said, sounding serious and decisive. “The tanner will do if we cannot find a merchant. I will find quill and ink, and I want you to write
down everything you remember Teague bringing with him. Everything he packed away, from boots to weapons and anything you can remember. Can you do this?”
She nodded seriously. “I can,” she said. “But why?”
He sighed heavily. “Because so much was scavenged, or so we have heard,” he said. “I need to know what Teague brought so I can look for it. I do not want some villager having something of his when it rightfully belongs to you.”
Tresta nodded, realizing he was right. She appreciated his foresight. “I will try to think of everything I can.”
“And your brother, too,” he said. “Even Sheen, if you know. We have to make a list of everything they brought with them so that I can find them, if possible. I will go out into the village and hunt things down and bring them to you, and you will create an inventory. It makes me sick to think of these French peasants stealing from the dead. Oh… I am sorry, my lady. I should not have said that. That was thoughtless.”
He was genuinely remorseful that he’d been so blunt, but Tresta shook her head. “You did not offend me,” she said. “I… I suppose I am going to have to become used to it where Teague is concerned, but… it does not seem real. It feels like a bad dream from which I hope to awaken.”
She trailed off, her features strained with sorrow. Tarran watched her for any breakdown, but so far she was remaining strong. Trying to, anyway. It was then that he realized there was a huge part of him that wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, and he was disgusted at himself for it. She looked like she was so badly in need of comfort and he wanted to give it. But he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
He wondered how long he’d be able to fight off old feelings that were struggling to be known again.
“Then let me send for some food,” he said, trying to distract himself. “We will break our fast and find a vellum merchant so we can begin the list. I’ll send the men-at-arms around, too, to help us track any possessions down. We’ll find what we can, my lady, I promise.”
Age of Gods and Mortals Page 13