Teague had known it, too.
“You are in command now,” he said quietly. “Snow Hill belongs to you.”
Tarran looked at him sharply. “It does not belong to me,” he said. “It belongs to Sebastian d’Mearc, as the new Lord Dorstone, and I serve the young lord and his mother. That is the extent of my involvement, Hallam.”
He was defensive about it, which told Hallam that Tarran was far more shaken up by the situation than he let on. And then there was the matter of his sister, who was now a widow, a woman that Tarran had held feelings for a very long time ago. Perhaps being in close proximity to Tresta, and now the loss of Teague, had stirred something in Tarran that he didn’t want to face.
Hallam wondered.
“That’s only what I meant,” he said. “I meant no offense, Tarran. I simply meant that Snow Hill and the House of d’Mearc will need you now, more than ever. Without you, everything will fall to pieces.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Don’t you think Teague left you behind for a reason?”
That brought Tarran pause. “What do you mean by that?”
Hallam leaned back against the bed, feeling weary and hollow now that his emotional outburst was over and they were looking towards an uncertain future.
“I mean that he left you behind in case something happened to him,” he said quietly. “Don’t you realize that? Certainly, he forced you to stay behind with my sister to keep her under control, but I think he knew that something like this could happen. Surely you must know that he died with the comfort of knowing you would be there to take care of Snow Hill and his family. When he left you behind, he left the best part of all of us behind in you. You must not fail Teague.”
The statement shook Tarran up. He never looked at himself as the savior of Snow Hill, merely the embittered knight who would never know adventure in The Levant because he’d been saddled with a man’s spoiled wife. Odd how Hallam changed his perspective on that. There was much truth in what he said, but Tarran wasn’t ready to face it yet.
“Well,” he said after a moment. “Be that as it may, let us focus on preparing Teague and Sheen and Gilbert for the trip home. I can only think to the immediate future, Hallam, and no further than that. Once we get back to Snow Hill, I shall discuss with Lady d’Mearc what my future shall be.”
Hallam didn’t push him. They were both unsteady and dealing with loss. Perhaps it was best to try and focus on what needed to be done and not what was to come.
“It will be good to see home again,” he said. “But I have some broken bones in my feet, Tarran. I cannot walk.”
“Can you ride?”
Hallam shrugged. “I have not tried, but more than likely.”
“Good,” Tarran said. “I will speak with the lady of the house and pay her for the trouble she has already taken with you. Then, I will bring a horse and we will ride over to the tavern where you can reunite with your sister.”
“I will be ready.”
Tarran’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. In the midst of a terrible situation, the gentle knight’s appearance was a bright spot. “It is good to see you, Hallam,” he said quietly. “I know your sister will be very happy to see you, too.”
Hallam forced a smile. He was eager to see her but not eager to suffer through the grief she would surely know when Tarran told her about Teague’s body. Truth be told, he was just so incredibly grateful that Tarran had found him that he was willing to face whatever was necessary. When Tarran left the chamber, Hallam thanked God for the turn of events. The Lord was merciful in some ways, but not in others. In this case, it had been a small mercy that had meant the world to Hallam.
He was going home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The poppet was mangled.
When Tarran had sent her to her chamber and ordered her to lock the door, Tresta forgot about the angry villagers in the common room. She forgot about everything except that doll in her hands. As she endeavored to stop the coughing that was wracking her slender body, she inspected it closely, seeing that it had suffered a good deal of damage in the rough seas.
As Tarran soothed the mob down below, she’d taken out her sewing kit and sat in the sunlight that was streaming in through a small window, carefully stitching the tears and rips on the little figure. The embroidered phrase Remember me was still on the torso, thankfully, so she stitched up the little body and the little dress, though the rear of the dress was mostly torn away. She did the only thing she could do in that case and hemmed up the silk so it wouldn’t tear further. Then, she put it in her satchel for safekeeping. If anyone wanted that poppet, they’d have to step over her dead body to get it.
And she waited.
There had been shouting in the common room that she could hear through the walls, but that seemed to have died down. Now, she didn’t hear anything, but the silence was alarming, too. It left the door open for her to imagine all sorts of terrible things. But Tarran had told her not to come out of the chamber until he told her to, so she sat and waited for the man to make an appearance.
That wait turned into a long one.
Tresta was so exhausted that she ended up falling asleep with the poppet clutched against her, a deep and heavy sleep that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. She awoke at sunset, when the shadows in the chamber were long and someone was pounding on her door. Groggy, she stumbled to the door and threw open the panel to see Tarran standing there.
He looked exhausted.
“Du Reims?” she said, concerned at his appearance. “What happened? Where have you been?”
He put his finger to his lips in a silencing gesture with one hand and reached out to grasp her hand with the other. “Come with me,” he said softly.
Curious, she let him lead her across the corridor to the chamber he shared with Simon and Channing. He opened the door and led her inside. The first things she saw were the pages sitting on the floor, preparing to clean some of Tarran’s things. But there was another body in the chamber and she didn’t get a good look at who it was until Tarran pulled her closer to the bed.
When she saw her brother’s face, she let out a scream.
“Hallam!” she cried, throwing herself at the man as he sat on the bed. “God in heaven… Hallam!”
Hallam embraced his sister as she wept happy tears. The fear of the unknown, the pain of loss, hit her like a battering ram and Tresta squeezed him tightly as if afraid he were going to slip away. When she finally released him long enough to look him over, she was beaming even though tears were creating rivers down her cheeks.
“It is you!” she gasped.
He was smiling at her. “It is me, I promise.”
She touched his head, his face, as if trying to convince herself that he wasn’t an apparition. “But… where?” she said, overcome. “Where did you come from? How did you get here?”
He held her hands tightly, kissing them. “I was at a local house,” he said. “The lord and his wife were tending me, but Tarran found me and brought me here.”
Tresta turned to look at Tarran with her face alight, happier than he’d seen her in days. Weeks, even. The sight of her brother, alive, had her floating on air with delight and possibilities.
“I can never thank you enough, Tarran,” she said sincerely. “It is truly a miracle.”
Tarran was modest, but the look on her face told him everything she was feeling. “I was very fortunate, my lady. So was your brother.”
He meant the fact that he was alive. Tresta returned her attention to Hallam, squeezing his hands. “Oh, Hallam,” she said. “This is such good news. God has saved you.”
Hallam’s smile faded somewhat. “God and Teague,” he said. “It is because of him that I am here, Tresta. The man’s bravery is beyond compare. You should be very proud of him.”
Her features seemed to grow even more excited, her eyes widened. “Then it is not hopeless,” she said. “I have been resigned to the fact that my husband perished at sea,
but if you are alive, surely Teague has made it as well.”
Hallam’s smile disappeared completely. “Tresta…”
She cut him off, looking at Tarran with a disturbing expression between hope and psychosis. “Remember what I said to you?” she said, going to him. “I said that he is lying in a bed near a warm fire as some kindly old woman takes care of him and I was right. He is waiting for us to come to him, just as you came for Hallam. Tarran, we must find him!”
Tarran was watching her descend into the frenzied madness of hope. She’d had absolutely no hope until Hallam came, and instead of his appearance bringing her joy and gratitude, his appearance had brought her false hope. Tarran hadn’t expected that reaction, but it was something he would have to end quickly. He had planned to tell Tresta about Teague in a thoughtful, gentle manner, but it seemed as if he needed to tell her in a rush because if he didn’t, she’d run out into the streets looking for a ghost.
As she sat next to Hallam, her face alight with possibilities, Tarran took a knee in front of her, looking her in the eye as he held her small hands in his big mitts.
“My lady, there is much you must hear,” he said steadily. “Hallam’s discovery was an astonishingly excellent piece of good fortune, but that does not mean all of our troubles are over. Not at all. Hallam will tell you what happened with the wreck of Somerset’s fleet and you must listen closely. Please, my lady. It is important.”
Tresta was fighting down her excitement that Teague might still be alive as she nodded quickly, looking to her brother. “Of course,” she said. “How rude of me, Hallam. I did not mean to diminish your return. You know how glad I am to see you, truly.”
Hallam smiled weakly. “I know,” he said. “But as Tarran says, there is much to tell and I will tell you what I told him. The story is a harrowing one, Tressie. We were several days at sea in that terrible storm and when it was clear the ship was going to sink, Teague gathered us all on deck. It was a horrible sight – we could see the ships sinking all around us. Teague knew the same thing would happen to us, so he and William and Gilbert tried to steer the ship closer to land.”
Tresta was listening intently. This was the only firsthand account she’d heard, with her husband involved no less, so she was hanging on every word. “How terrible, Hallam,” she said sincerely. “But Teague directed the ship close to land so you could swim to shore, I am certain.”
“That is exactly why he did it,” Hallam said, eyeing Tarran as he continued. “The ship was heading towards the shore when it hit something underwater. The ship cracked in two like an egg. It split and we all went into the water. Men, horses… everyone into that churning water.”
Tresta’s hand ended up by her throat at the horrible thought. “Oh, Hallam…” she breathed. “All of those men… it must have been terrifying.”
Hallam nodded. “It was,” he said. “I knew I was going to die, but Teague pushed me onto a broken barrel. It kept me afloat and I kicked towards the shore as hard as I could.”
“And Teague? He came with you?”
Hallam shook his head, feeling so terrible for his sister with what he had to tell her. “Nay,” he said. “He tried to help Gilbert and William, but they could not swim. They sank before he could really help them. But Sheen… he was terrified. He could not swim, you know, and Teague tried to help him, but Sheen disappeared into the sinking stern of the ship and Teague went in after him. I watched as a wave caught the stern and sank it. He… he never came out, Tressie.”
Tresta stared at him as she processed what he’d told her. When she realized that he meant Teague had drowned in the sunken stern, she sat bolt upright and shook her head as if the mere idea was ludicrous. If weak Hallam could survive, surely her strong husband could.
“You simply did not see him come out,” she said. “He was a very good swimmer. You did not see him come out, so you assume he sank with the ship.”
It was Tarran’s turn. He was still holding one of Tresta’s hands and he tugged on it gently to get her attention. “My lady, listen carefully to what I am about to tell you,” he said. “Earlier today, Channing and Simon were looking for vellum. Do you recall? You were going to compile a list of everything Teague had brought with him and we needed to find something you could write with.”
Tresta nodded. “I know.”
Tarran continued, trying desperately to be gentle but succinct. “They were unable to find any with the merchants, so they went to the local church to see if they had anything they could purchase,” he said. “The church is called St. Joseph’s by the sea. When they went there, they saw that the priests were burying the bodies that had washed up on shore from the wreck. While they’d gone to ask the priests if they could purchase writing materials, they ended up speaking on the shipwreck and telling the priest, a man named Father Alphius, about Teague and his men.”
Tresta simply looked at him, not responding or reacting. Her eyes were glimmering dully as she let his words sink in. There was something in his manner that suggested he wasn’t telling her this simply to pass the time.
There was a reason.
She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.
“They found something, didn’t they?”
It wasn’t even really a question. It was more like words of resignation, of grief, a statement of fact. Every word was its own dagger, driving it deep into the heart. There was no denying the pain they inflicted and Tarran nodded slowly.
“They did,” he said softly. “They came back to fetch me and I went to the church. There were many bodies being buried, but I was called for a reason. They wanted me to see what they had seen. My lady, it is not good news, I’m afraid.”
Tresta sighed faintly – a long, slow breath that seemed to take everything out of her. Her brow furrowed slightly, afraid to ask the next question but knowing she must.
“You found Teague.”
Tarran couldn’t even answer her. He simply nodded, once, closing his eyes.
Tresta swallowed hard.
“He’s at the church?”
“He is, my lady.”
“He is dead?”
“He is, my lady.”
Tresta’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before she looked away, dealing with unfathomable news. She didn’t even know what to say, what to think. Surely he was wrong. Stupid questions came to mind.
“You are certain?”
“I am certain.”
“You would not lie to me, du Reims?”
“Never, my lady. And I would not tell you this were I not positive.”
So there it was. The blows kept coming. But she still didn’t believe him, feeling desperate and unsteady in a way she couldn’t describe. There had to be another explanation. This simply wasn’t true. Perhaps if she could see him for herself…
“May… may I see him?” she asked. “I must see him, du Reims.”
Tarran cleared his throat softly. “It would not be a good experience, my lady,” he said. “You must remember him the way he was the last time you saw him. Seeing him now… I do not think it is a good idea, for your own protection.”
“But you could be wrong. Mayhap you simply didn’t recognize him, but I would. I would know my husband on sight.”
Tarran sighed sharply. “Aye, you would, but it would give you nightmares for the rest of your life.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he interrupted. “Do you truly wish to see the man after he has been dead for several days, most of those spent in the sea? Salt water is unforgiving on a corpse, my lady. He does not look like you remember him and if you love the man as you say you do, then at least give him that dignity. Remember him as he would want to be remembered, not as he is after the sea has chewed on him for a few days.”
The words were harsh and distressing. So very distressing. Tresta looked at him in shock before disengaging her hands from his and rising from the bed. Without another word, she left the men’s chamber and headed over to hers. With a concerned and perhaps regretful glance to
Hallam, Tarran followed.
He pursued her into her chamber, standing at the end of the bed as she sat on the mattress and stared at the wall. No weeping, no hysterics, and coming from a passionately animated woman, it was unexpected. It was also worse this way. He could handle weeping and rage, but what he couldn’t handle was fragile, terrible silence that cut him like a knife.
The kind of silence that went beyond tears.
“I did not mean to be cruel and I know this wasn’t the news you had been hoping for,” he said quietly. “This is not welcome, for anyone, but you must be realistic. At least we know his fate now, without a doubt. He is not in some old woman’s house, sick or hurt or dying. He is not in any pain. He is safe and warm, somewhere, and Sheen and Gilbert are with him. He is not alone, Tresta. His faithful men are with him, so you must take comfort in that.”
He used her given name, hoping it might convey a less formal manner and his true sympathies. He heard her sigh again. “Who else did you find?”
“Sheen and Gilbert.”
“No William?”
“Not yet.” He came around so he could look her in the face even though she was staring off into the room, not focusing on anything in particular. “I am having coffins built for him and Gilbert and Sheen so we can bring them back with us to Snow Hill. I intend to take him home so he can be buried with his mother and father. Until the coffins are built, he is being stored in the vault in an unused crypt, so he is being well tended. I thought that’s what you would want.”
Tresta nodded, though it was dull and without force. Her head was simply bobbing around. She was directionless, not knowing what to do or think or feel. But she caught sight of Tarran standing there and she looked at the man, seeing grief etched on his face, as well. Through her own agony, she could see how difficult this was for him, too.
“Thank you, Tarran,” she said, sounding faint and weak. “Nay, it is not the news I wanted and you were not cruel. Not really. The strange thing is that somehow… somehow, I knew it would always come to this. I do not know why, but the day you told me about the shipwreck, somehow, I knew this would be the end result. I have only been fooling myself thinking otherwise but I could not help it. Hope is a difficult thing to kill.”
Age of Gods and Mortals Page 17