The Prophecy

by Sakwa, Kim

  “Yeah, sounds like fun,” she teased and stepped into the water. “Could you stop by the store on your way home tonight?” she asked playfully.

  Greylen smiled. “And what would I get for you at this store?”

  “Oh, the list is endless.” She laughed. “Tacos, doughnuts, Diet Coke.” Her eyes got wide. “How about a smart TV, and a Netflix account? We could cuddle in bed and eat popcorn and Milk Duds.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll tell me of these—” He lost his train of thought as she placed her foot over the rim of the tub and covered her leg with soap from his lathering brush. She reached for the razor using long, upward strokes.

  “I’ve a busy day, Gwendolyn,” he yelled.

  “So, what in the hell did I do?” she yelled back.

  “You’re distracting me,” he growled.

  “I’m shaving, Greylen,” she informed him with a smile. “I do this every day too.”

  He groaned and pulled her on his lap. Then he took the razor from her hand and gently ran the blade from her ankle to her knee.

  “Now, ’tis I who thanks you, husband.” She obviously chose her words carefully.

  Greylen dried her as they stood by the fire. He dressed as Gwen sat on the trunk at the end of their bed. He turned to say good day—images reeling through his mind as he stared at her. Images of the night he’d pulled her from the water, images of locking her satchel inside the very trunk she sat upon.

  He’d all but forgotten its existence. Now, however, its presence unsettled him. He walked to her as she stood up on the trunk, a tremor causing him to kiss her quickly and take his leave.

  He was shaking by the time he leaned against the closed door outside of their chamber.

  From an ominous chill that ran the length of his spine.

  Gwen had another long day. Big surprise. After breakfast with Lady Madelyn and Isabelle, she gave serious thought to what she could do. She already helped Lady Madelyn when someone was injured or became ill, which, thank God, didn’t happen often.

  It was a good thing she was married, she decided. She could only imagine trying to support herself being the village doctor. She’d probably live in a shack filled with animal bladders and other gross things people would try to pay her with. Ugh.

  “What bothers you, daughter?” Lady Madelyn inquired as she embroidered in the library.

  “I don’t know what to do with myself.” Gwen shrugged.

  “’Twill come in time,” Lady Madelyn said to her, smiling over her work.

  “I noticed the children watch as their parents tend chores. Do you think I could teach them a game?” Gwen asked.

  “Of course,” Lady Madelyn said quickly. “Though they, too, study in the late-morning hours.”

  “I know but maybe they could play in the courtyard after they finish.”

  “Gwendolyn, you needn’t ask my permission.” Lady Madelyn scoffed. “’Tis you who are mistress now.”

  “Lady Madelyn—Mother,” Gwen corrected after receiving a disapproving look. “This castle runs itself. I wouldn’t know the first thing of doing it, nor would I interfere.”

  “You could show Cook how to prepare the meals you and my children enjoy, not to mention Gavin.”

  “You’ve found us out, have you?” Gwen said with a laugh.

  “Aye, dear.” Lady Madelyn smiled. “And though I’d never intrude, I’ve heard you’re quite the cook.”

  “Well, I guess I can start there, but would you help me with something else?”

  “Of course.”

  “Greylen was wearing a pair of calfskin breeches this morning. Do you have more of that material?”

  “Aye, we’ve a room full of cloths and supplies.”

  “If I explain what I need, would you make something for me?”

  Lady Madelyn listened to Gwen’s instructions and informed her she would be done after their noon meal. Gwen left the library and sought Cook next, delicately broaching the subject of recipes. Thankfully, Cook was more than happy to listen to her suggestions.

  Finding a new purpose was easier than she thought.

  Gwen spent the rest of the morning knocking on cottage doors along the path. Connell had her guard today, and he stood quietly as she explained to the mothers what she wished to do. He helped her place flags at either end of the courtyard. “What of this, Lady Gwendolyn?” he asked, holding up the item that Lady Madelyn had fashioned.

  “This is a football, Connell. The children will be placed on teams and they’ll throw it to one another while trying to outmaneuver their opposing teammates and bring it through the goals.”

  “Truly?” he asked in surprise. “Do men play as well?”

  “Aye.” Gwen laughed. “Men play this game as well. In fact, they probably enjoy it more.”

  As she waited for the children, Gwen saw riders approach. It was Greylen and his men herding the cattle. They had removed their shirts and her husband began circling the animals, his voice thundering as he brought them closer to the corral behind the stables. He wore tight caramel-colored pants, rough leather boots, and a white band tied around his forehead. He looked like a cowboy—no, maybe a pirate. Ah, who the hell cares, either way, he was hot!

  Once the animals were inside, the men handed their mounts to the boys who came to help. They sat on the fence, allowing the animals a few moments of peace.

  “What will they do, Connell?” Gwen asked, watching the men drink from canteens, their legs swinging beneath them.

  “They’ll inspect them for disease and injuries, then brand the young calves,” he explained. “We see to fifty or so at a time until all of the herds have been checked.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “You,” he corrected, “have over three hundred cattle, and close to fifty wild horses on the land.”

  “Is that a lot?” she asked.

  “In cattle, our numbers are low, but the horse count is high. Our men take good care of their steeds, and of the three hundred currently in use by soldiers, none show any signs of abuse.”

  The children began filling the courtyard. Their mothers sat close to the keep, working on clothing or holding babies on their laps. Gwen explained the game to the boys and girls, while trying to divide them fairly. When she finished there were two teams of nine and cheering squads for each team.

  It began as a mess, but as time progressed, the boys and girls took to the game. She told them only a touch from an opposing teammate would stop the play, and she watched carefully that no one became rough. Before long, the game was in full swing, and they learned to pass the ball and run like the dickens for the flags claiming a goal. The mothers and small children cheered for both teams, and Gwen saw that her husband and his men had come to watch as well. She smiled from across the courtyard, waving as Greylen returned her smile.

  “May we join your game, wife?” he called over the field.

  “Aye,” she called back. “But as long as the children play, a touch calls the play over.”

  “Very well. Connell, join us.”

  Greylen, Hugh, and Ian joined the team on the left, while Gavin, Duncan, Kevin, and Connell joined the team on the right. Her husband picked up the ball and turned it in his hand.

  “A football,” she called. “Cowhide filled with sand. Do you need me tell you how to play?”

  “Nay, we’ve watched long enough.”

  They obviously had, and it was the best game she’d ever watched. The men were fabulous with the children, lifting them as they came close to the goals and then racing them across. When the children began to tire, they sat with their mothers, and now only Greylen and his men remained. Gwen held up her hand and came on the field.

  “Now that it’s just the men”—she smiled wickedly—“let’s change the rules.”

  They beamed and waited impatiently for her to
continue.

  “To stop a play, you can tackle the opposing teammate with the ball,” she explained. “You can also rush the quarterback, the one holding the ball at the beginning of each play.”

  Greylen grinned and moved to stand before her. Her hair was filled with the flowers that the children had picked, and she was wearing a deep-blue gown. Judging from his look, her husband approved. “You’ve found good use today,” he said, reaching out to stroke her face.

  Gwen smiled, distracted as Greylen touched her. “We have to toss a coin to see who goes first,” she explained once her brain started functioning again.

  “I’ve no coin upon me,” Greylen said.

  “Nay, you don’t, but I do.” She flicked it in the air and then caught it in her hand. “Call it, husband, heads or tails?”

  “Tails,” he drawled. He watched as she flipped the coin on her forearm before taking her hand away.

  “Shocking, husband. You win,” she said suggestively.

  “Is it?” he asked, raising a brow.

  She didn’t answer but reached up and kissed him before she left the field.

  It was the most violent game of football she had ever seen. They played for at least an hour, and the more forceful they became, the harder the children cheered. She actually breathed a sigh of relief when they finished, and Greylen walked to her as his men went back to the corral. He was covered in dirt and had scratches on his shoulders and cheek.

  “Boys will be boys,” she said, shaking her head as he placed the ball in her hand.

  “’Tis no boy who’ll seek your bed later, lady.”

  “Ah, more promises, husband. What’s a woman to do?”

  He smiled at her taunt. “Begin praying now, love, for mercy.”

  “I want no mercy, Greylen.”

  “Remember your boast later,” he warned.

  Then he turned and followed his men.

  Greylen stood atop the battlement, the very place he found himself every afternoon, watching as his wife played games with the children or walked with Isabelle. Oftentimes, he’d just stare at her as she sat on the steps reading a tome she’d found in the library or his study.

  The past week had been…magical. He cursed. Magical? Good God, get a hold of yourself, man! He tried to think of another way, then cursed as he threw his hands in the air.

  “Problem?”

  Gavin. Damn!

  “Nay,” Greylen answered. “Be on your way.”

  “On my way?” Gavin laughed. “I think not. Your wife tells me you’ve been in the study. I think not again.”

  “Leave, Gavin. Now.”

  “As your first-in-command, I should see what has you in such a state,” he said, walking toward the outer wall.

  “You’re fired. Now, be on your way.”

  “Fired?”

  “Aye, fired. Dismissed, relieved,” he quipped in explanation. “My wife tells me we can advertise for new men all the time.”

  “Does she now?” He rolled his eyes as if not worried in the least. “I’m more than familiar with the term. Your wife threatened me with the same. Repeatedly,” he said as he continued farther out. “Speaking of your wife, would she be the fetching lass in pale green sitting atop the steps?” He leaned over.

  “I could push you,” Greylen muttered.

  “Aye, you could,” Gavin returned with a grin. “But then I’d fall on your beautiful wife.”

  “Be gone, Gavin.” Greylen sighed.

  “Shh, Bella just came outside.”

  Greylen shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You can’t hear her, you fool.”

  “You’re the fool, Greylen,” Gavin said as he turned again.

  Greylen raised a brow, wondering if Gavin’s body would clear his wife’s if he pushed him to the left.

  “Mayhap.” Gavin guessed his thought. “But is it worth the chance?”

  “Don’t you have something to do?”

  “Not more pressing than this.” Gavin smiled. “Speak, Greylen. What troubles you?”

  “I’m not troubled, Gavin.” Damn the man—be gone already. Greylen crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Gwen. “I’m not troubled,” he said again, this time under his breath. “I’m enamored with my wife,” he admitted with a sigh.

  “And I ask you again—what is the problem?”

  “Look at me! I’m watching her like a lovesick boy.” Greylen threw Gavin to the ground when he started laughing. “I wake with her in my arms every morn, Gavin. Run with her before watching the sunrise on the beach. Then I think of her the entire day as I tend duties.” He rested his face in his hands, then looked to Gavin again. “We—you and I,” he said, motioning with his finger between the two of them, “eat the meals she joyfully prepares for us every night, no matter the hour we return. And I watch her as she sits within the study after, sleeping as I work. I—” The blow hit with such force, Greylen stumbled back.

  “I can see how horrid your life’s become,” Gavin spat.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Greylen shouted, grabbing his man’s shirt. When Gavin remained silent, Greylen narrowed his eyes. “You can have the very things I speak of, if you cease being a fool with my sister.”

  “I’ve duties to see to,” Gavin said.

  “She loves you, Gavin. You love her. What are you waiting for?” Greylen pleaded with his friend. “You’ve no idea what’s it like,” Greylen whispered. “When I carry her from the study at night and she’s sleeping in my arms…good God, Gavin, I feel like I hold all the answers of the world in my hands.”

  “I’ll see you in the fields,” Gavin bit out, shaking off Greylen’s hold.

  Greylen grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. “Gavin, I’d not find another with more honor than you. Nor would I be more honored than to have you as my brother.”

  “I’ll see you in the fields,” Gavin stated again, his face expressionless.

  Then he turned and walked away.

  “I’ll be home for supper tonight,” Greylen told Gwen the next morning. She was sitting before him on the chest shaving his beard.

  “You know I’ve been here almost five weeks and we’ve never shared dinner together in the great hall.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I wasn’t looking for an apology. I’m glad you’ll join us,” she said quickly. “Gavin too?”

  “Aye, why do you ask?”

  “Isn’t it strange that he’s never approached Isabelle?”

  “Not strange, wife. Suspicious is more the like,” he answered. In fact, he had thought of little else since his confrontation with Gavin. And he was sure now that whatever kept Gavin from his sister must be far-reaching indeed.

  “Why hasn’t she married, Greylen? She’s old enough.”

  “She’s always refused any suitors, and I’m certain now ’tis Gavin that’s kept her from doing so. Besides, my father saw that she has her own wealth. In truth she needs not to.”

  “But she loves Gavin.”

  “Aye, and he loves her.”

  “Well?” she prompted, hitting his chest.

  “Well, what?” He laughed.

  “Do something. You fix everything—remember?”

  “’Tis hard to change someone’s will, Gwen, especially one as strong as my first-in-command.”

  “Not really. They just need a little push. Well, only Gavin needs the push.”

  “I’ve tried to broach the subject, but he refuses to listen,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Ahh, don’t shake,” she hissed, pulling back the razor. “Has Gavin admitted his feelings?”

  “Nay, he stares at me like I’ve sprouted horns.”

  “I know that look.”

  Greylen rolled his eyes. “I’m not surprised.” He sighed. “Dress for dinner tonight, wife.” He squeezed h
er thighs.

  “You’re kidding, right? Greylen, I dress every day and every night.”

  “I’m aware that you dress, Gwendolyn. I’m suggesting that you do so appropriately.”

  “Appropriately. Gee that’s such a big word, I don’t think I understand.”

  “You understand precisely,” he said, bringing her closer. “You could take the Eastern Hemisphere with an army at your disposal.”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet.”

  “’Twas an insult,” he muttered.

  “Take it back,” she cried with a laugh.

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “You drive me mad, woman.”

  And she did. Pliable in his hands one minute, and Armageddon in the blink of an eye. His wife was intelligent, loving, and mindful; foul-mouthed, headstrong, and downright feisty. She openly questioned his authority, and good God, her looks alone could raise the dead. Not to mention that finger of hers. She’d start pointing, and he’d seek escape. Or fight back if necessary.

  He’d tried to change the way she dressed, but his attempts were futile. In truth, they were explosive. One morning, he’d even gone to the trouble of choosing a gown for her to wear while she’d finished in the bathing chamber. Then he called to her that he’d meet her below stairs.

  He’d waited at the head of the table in the great hall, facing the archway. His mother, Gavin, and Duncan sat to his left and Isabelle to his right. He’d just taken a sip of coffee when his wife entered—the contents spewed from his mouth.

  Gwen, his wife, was not in the dress he’d carefully placed on the bed, but in the clothing that she’d come to him in. A tight white shirt revealing her arms, most of her chest, and the outline of everything beneath. And her trews, good God, her trews were the tightest pair of anything he could ever remember. They clung to her so low he could see her navel.

  And she was barefoot as well.

  She’d smiled as she approached the table, where everyone, save he, had covered their mouths and laughed. “Good morn, everyone,” she’d said sweetly as she looked to them. Then she’d turned to him. “Greylen, husband…” she had begun, her voice forced honey.

  He was going to nail her…against the wall, on the floor, to the door, the bed.