The Prophecy

by Sakwa, Kim

  “Is it that bad?” she asked.

  “You’ll heal, love,” he whispered in her ear. “No wonder you’ve not brought Tristan to me.”

  “Ah, Gwen.” He shook his head. “You are more beautiful than anyone I have ever known, even now.”

  “Nay, Greylen,” she argued. “I am weak. They overpowered me so easily. And I am hideous, just as he said.”

  He could only imagine what Malcolm had said to her. Guy had said that his words were unspeakable, and now she believed them. “You are none of those things, Gwen. You have never been weak, and that you could think that you are hideous, ’tis only words he threw to you.”

  She brought her hands to her face and traced the stitches and swollen skin that still covered her eye. Then she lowered her head in defeat.

  Greylen turned her around and lifted her chin. “You are beautiful, Gwen. Say it.”

  “I—” She shook her head and pulled her chin out of his grasp.

  He lifted her to the chest and stood between her legs, taking her chin once more. “You are beautiful, Gwen. Say it.” ’Twas barely a whisper, but she at last spoke the words that he had asked. “I am beautiful, Greylen.”

  “Aye, wife,” he whispered back, kissing her gently.

  “I don’t feel it, Greylen. They are but empty words. And I am just as empty for needing to hear them…just as shallow.”

  If he could, Greylen would kill Malcolm again for what he had done to her. She was broken and defeated, and though he didn’t want to hurt her, he needed to show her how much he loved her.

  He wrapped Gwen’s legs around his waist and carried her to their bed, lowering them both as he continued to hold her. He kissed her the entire time she lay beneath him. Kissed every part of her face, covered every scratch and bruise with his lips, and drank each silent tear that escaped from her eyes.

  ’Twas only after she slept within the circle of his arms that he realized every word they had spoken since he had first heard her voice that morn was spoken only in Gaelic. Even in her anger and despair, she had spoken only his language. And though he should have been pleased, something about this change in her left him unsettled.

  Tristan was brought into their room that night, happy to be with his mother again. ’Twas a rough few days before Gwen’s body could meet his demands, but Greylen knew she was grateful that their son turned only to her now.

  Gwen stayed mostly within their chamber and only left when he came and escorted her to meals or to sit with him in the study. The first time she sat with him as he went through his ledgers, he could sense that something bothered her, but she didn’t say anything. He had to ask her first before she’d speak of it. Then she quietly explained, with downcast eyes, that the study seemed different to her and many of the items that she had always admired were now gone.

  He explained that he commissioned new furnishings as well as maps that were more current than those he had had. The other ornaments and books, which she had quietly remarked were missing, he said he had packed away until their new things arrived.

  Had she looked more closely she would have seen that his desk was barely held together by spikes, and the few leather volumes that did line the shelves were void of pages. He had destroyed everything else, including the maps that he’d torn from the walls. As for the trinkets that had lined the shelves and tables, those he had shattered.

  But she’d not looked more closely. Not at anything. She went only through the motions.

  Greylen became more and more disturbed with his wife’s behavior as the weeks passed. Though she awoke early every day, she made no attempt to resume her exercise routine. And though she took great care of Tristan, ’twas she who clung to him, rather than he to her.

  Whenever he brought her to the great hall, or anywhere for that matter, he always had to retrieve her once he started to leave. He actually had to approach her and place his hand upon her shoulder, and when she would finally realize that he was there, he would then have to take her hand and lead her from the room.

  She spoke only Gaelic, and worse, only if she was addressed first. She’d at least stopped jumping at loud sounds and now was rarely lost to nightmares when they slept. But her submissiveness and her complacency were killing him. ’Twas only at night when they made love that he saw glimpses of the Gwen he now missed so much. Only then did she resemble, if but barely, the woman he once knew.

  He couldn’t blame her for her behavior as it now was. She’d been through so much and not just in the hours that Malcolm and his men had held her. The past year had been filled with countless blessings, as well as horrible tragedies. He had to do something, though, and he knew the answer was there, he just couldn’t seem to find what he was searching for. He had just left Gwen with his sister in the library when he called for his mother and Gavin to meet him in the study. The furnishing had finally arrived, and he sat behind his new desk while Gavin and his mother sat in front of him.

  “I want my wife back,” he stated emphatically as he looked to them.

  Gavin heartily agreed with him that Gwen was not the same, and he missed her too. His mother, however, didn’t quite see things the same way. “Greylen,” she said quickly. “Gwendolyn is fine. Why, she’s the perfect embodiment of a wife.”

  “Fine?” he challenged. “You think that she is fine?” He was shocked that she could say such a thing. “I don’t want the perfect wife, Mother. ’Tis my wife I want. My Gwendolyn.”

  “She is here, Greylen,” Lady Madelyn soothed. “Think you she is so different?” she asked honestly.

  Greylen looked at her as if she had just sprouted horns and he wanted to rip them from her head. How could she not see it? To prove his point, he yelled for his wife. “Gwendolyn.”

  She was there in seconds. Tristan on her hip as she stood in the open doorway.

  “Wife?” he asked as she looked to the floor.

  “Aye, husband?”

  He fisted his hands when she didn’t look up to address him. Resolved, he continued, “You seem tired this day. Mayhap you should nap before supper.”

  “Aye, Greylen,” she agreed easily and began to turn. He stopped her, further proving his point.

  “Wife?”

  “Aye?”

  “Your clothes, those you run in,” he clarified. “I wish for you to relinquish them.”

  “Very well,” she said quickly. “I’ll have Anna remove them before I retire.”

  Gavin wasn’t as shocked as Lady Madelyn, who finally came to realize that Gwen was, in fact, further gone than she had thought. Her shame showed on her face.

  “Greylen?” Gwen asked timidly.

  “Aye, Gwen.” Look at me, damn it!

  “Tristan isn’t ready for his nap yet. Should I leave him with Anna?”

  She looked to him now for every decision. “Nay, Gwen, leave him with me.”

  Gwen walked to the settee and grabbed plaid that was thrown over the side. She placed it beneath Greylen’s desk and laid Tristan atop it. ’Twas one of their son’s favorite places, and Greylen kept a basket of small toys that he could hold or chew on beside the desk. She placed a few around their son and then walked quietly from the room.

  Greylen swept his arm across the desk, and each of the new items crashed to the floor. Tristan laughed, loving the loud noises that his father always made, but Gwen came back into the room, staring. “Greylen?”

  “’Tis only a bug, sweet,” Greylen said, shaking his head. “Everything will be put to rights, love. I promise you—I will put everything to rights.”

  When he was sure she was gone again, Greylen picked up his son. He looked to Gavin and his mother for help.

  Lady Madelyn was quick with an explanation. “She’s lost her spirit, son,” she stated plainly.

  Greylen’s eyes fixed on her instantly. How had he not thought of it sooner? ’Twas indeed her spirit, the very same he had vowed to safeguard. And now remembering his wife’s words of what had always made her feel alive again, he looked to Gavi
n. “The race is back on, Gavin. Raise the flags immediately. One week from today, we run.”

  “You think she’ll go?” Gavin asked. “She’s not had a desire since she returned, Greylen. ’Twas her run that left her vulnerable.”

  “I’ll begin to needle her this eve. Let us pray she takes the bait.”

  ’Twas going better than he imagined. He sat with Gwen atop the steps that night, watching as the flags were put into place again. For the first time, she addressed him without being spoken to first.

  “I thought you called off the race.”

  “Aye,” he replied. “I did. But Alex has healed enough, and as you seem to no longer have the strength or endurance, I find no reason for the delay. The men were disappointed to have it put off. And to be honest, I’d rather you watch and cheer my win as I cross the line. Just as my wife should.” He squeezed her knee with his explanation, and though she seemed to easily agree, he didn’t miss the flicker in her eye. ’Twas but a second, but ’twas there as he boasted his win and insulted her lack of skill.

  He spied her that very same night looking at the clothes Anna had yet to remove per his orders. She took a halter and pair of trews from the pile and hid them among her dresses. He turned so she wouldn’t see his smile.

  The next day he watched as she warred with herself. She stared at the clothing she’d hidden, even reached for them several times, but in the end, she always pulled back. ’Twas a start, but with only six days left, he needed help to move her along. The next part of his plan began before their midday meal.

  “Gwendolyn,” Isabelle called as she stepped into the chamber.

  “Aye, Isabelle,” Gwen answered. “I’m in the bathing chamber, come in.”

  Isabelle stood in the doorway, watching as Gwen bathed Tristan. She was soaked from his splashing, so Isabelle held out a towel, taking her nephew when Gwen handed him to her.

  “Would you help me with something, Gwen?” Isabelle asked as she dried off Tristan.

  “Isabelle, I’ll help you with anything,” she said quickly. “What is it you need?”

  Isabelle was surprised that her brother had been so right. Gwen had no problem helping a woman. ’Twas men she now feared. Greylen had explained that if his wife could boost her own confidence, gain any modicum of control, ’twould help her on her way. “Will you teach me how to do sit-ups?” Isabelle finally asked.

  Gwen looked at her in surprise. “I suppose I could, but why don’t you ask Gavin or even Greylen? They can show you.”

  “I’m only a woman.” Isabelle shrugged. “They wouldn’t bother. Besides, they would tell me ’twas ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous? Exercise is not ridiculous, Isabelle. ’Tis one of the most important things that you can do for yourself.”

  Isabelle wanted to laugh. Gwen had spoken words so true to herself but had yet to realize it. “Will you?” she asked again. “Please?”

  “Aye,” Gwen said with a smile. “I just need to change first, and you’ll need to change as well. Fetch one of Gavin’s shirts and come back. I’ll be ready for you.”

  Isabelle watched from the hallway as Gwendolyn went to her wardrobe and pulled out her halter and pants. She seemed to struggle for a moment with what she should do. Then she changed and put Tristan in his cradle before she immediately reached for him again. Gwendolyn lifted the baby high in the air, then slowly brought him down. Then she did it again and again.

  Isabelle turned to Greylen, who waited on the landing, flashing him the brightest of smiles. He was obviously thrilled by her smile and motioned with his hands for her to go into his room and stir his wife even more.

  Isabelle lay before the fire as Gwendolyn had instructed. Then her sister-in-law showed her all of the ways to work the muscles of one’s abdomen. Isabelle wanted to kill her brother. Dear Lord, these exercises were painful. Especially with someone like Gwen, who seemed to enjoy the exertion and the—sweet mother of God—burn as she called it. She’d burn the whole castle down if she had to do this again. An hour later she finally left, barely able to walk to her chamber. She closed the door and slid helplessly to the floor as Greylen and Gavin waited for her to speak.

  Her voice was hoarse when she did. “I do not like to exercise,” she whined, not at all sorry for her pitiful behavior. Then she grinned. “But, brother, your wife surely does. Once she started, I swear she couldn’t stop. I’ve never done any of those things, and she’d not let me stop. Have you any idea how many ways there are to do sit-ups?” she asked. “Too many! And when I could do no more, she had to show me how to do squats and lunges. I shan’t walk for a week.”

  Greylen picked up his sister and twirled her in the air. “Thank you, Isabelle,” he said before placing her down again and turning to Gavin. “You know what to do?” Greylen asked. With Gavin’s nod, he left the room.

  That night as Greylen lay in bed with Gwen, she snuggled against him. Snuggled. She didn’t just lie in his arms as he held her, she snuggled him, and he heard her sigh. ’Twas something his wife had done so often before, but not since she’d been taken. His eyes misted in response and he had to turn her so she wouldn’t notice. He wrapped her body with his and slept as he hadn’t in weeks.

  The next morning, he awoke early and stepped up his plan. He crept from their bed and went to the fire, sitting as close as possible. He sat there till he could take no more. He went back to bed and pulled Gwen against him. She stirred from his heat immediately, turning and covering his forehead with her hand, as he pretended to sleep.

  “Greylen, you’re so warm,” she whispered. Her hand moved, replaced by her lips before she pressed her cheek to his. She repeated it—twice.

  Good God, how many ways would the woman check to determine he was warm?

  She shot from the bed, returning seconds later. She sat beside him and placed a wet cloth on his forehead. When she ran her fingers through his hair, he slowly opened his eyes.

  She looked at him with concern. “Greylen, you’re very warm. Does anything bother you?”

  “Every—” he started weakly, then realized that he’d gone too far as her eyes widened with fear. “Everything is fine,” he corrected quickly. “I just feel a bit tired.” Better— definitely better. She took control again.

  “Well, we’ll not take any chances,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re to stay in bed today, husband.” As soon as the words were out, fear flashed across her face, as if she realized that she’d given him an order and looked back cautiously. “All right?”

  “Aye, Gwen,” he answered, taking her hand. “I’ll stay abed. You know what’s best, love.”

  She smiled and for the rest of the day took charge of his care. She wrote items on a list so that Cook could prepare a soup for him and left only to go to the nursery to feed Tristan. And each time that she passed through the doors, he leaped from the bed to warm himself again.

  Midday, Gwen called for a bath and washed him before returning him to their bed. Her orders to the servants, wary at first, came more easily as the hours passed. Finally, Gavin came in the afternoon.

  “Gwen, I need your assistance,” he said, stepping into the room. “You’re the only one who can help.”

  “Gavin, Greylen’s not well,” she returned, waving toward the bed. “Perhaps someone else could help you.”

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “The men are busy training. I’ve begun a new boxing routine, but I can’t find the right sequence.”

  “Go on, Gwen,” Greylen pushed. “I won’t leave the bed.”

  “Greylen, you’re sick. I’m not going—”

  “’Twould make me feel better,” he offered her with a weak smile.

  “Very well.” She sighed. “But I’m not leaving.” Greylen saw the angered look she cast at Gavin. His wife was preoccupied, something he’d made sure of. He knew ’twas the only reason she agreed.

  Greylen watched as Gwen joined Gavin by the fire. Gavin explained that he first wished to show Gwen the routine he’d come up with,
adding that he hoped she could improve it. Gwen looked to Greylen, and he nodded his encouragement. His wife turned then and bowed to Gavin.

  Gavin started slowly, and though Gwen took all of his blows, ’twas long minutes before Greylen saw the fight stir within her. With its first glimmer, Gavin lashed out with everything he had, leaving her no choice but to defend herself. Greylen nodded him on, smiling now as he continued with his silent orders for Gavin to push Gwen even more. She was breathless when the sequence ended and took a drink of water before returning.

  When she stood before Gavin again, her face was flush and her eyes narrowed in anger. Nay, Greylen realized, ’twasn’t anger; ’twas fury. She nodded for Gavin to receive her blows, and they bowed again before she began. But this fight wasn’t defensive on her part as the last had been. She was the aggressor now. In all of his years, he’d never seen a woman so enraged.

  Greylen watched his wife carefully. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She beat Gavin with everything she had, her anger unleashing as she finally let go. It killed him to watch her like this. He just wanted to hold her in his arms, to cushion her from all of the hurt that she endured. But he knew how much this was helping her. When she finally stopped, she turned away, looking at neither of them. She walked straight to the bathing chamber. His wife let go as she never had before.

  Greylen nodded to Gavin to leave the room. Then he got up and went to his wife. She was doing exactly what he had, destroying everything in her sight. Screaming and crying at the same time. He didn’t stop her. He stood in the doorway, waiting until she spent the last of her strength. He gathered her in his arms as she sank to the floor. Then he sat with her in the chair in the alcove, rubbing her back as he kissed the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Gwen,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I’ve made such a mess of everything, Greylen.”