Pagan longed to be part of that escort, to have time away from Lae and gain much-needed perspective on their relationship. But his duty was to remain at her side, painful though that continued to be. Each day he was confronted by her silence and indifference. Though he had told himself he must be patient as the Great Guardian had instructed, Pagan could not accustom himself to her grief. It kept him awake at night.
Barrion also slept little and craved visitors, but tonight conversation was the last thing Pagan wanted. He would rather head to the battlements hoping the fierce wind off the Everlasting Ocean would ease his troubled mind.
Pausing only to snatch a shirt from his wardrobe and pull it on, Pagan left his quarters, buttons unheeded. His breeches were creased, but it was the dead dark of night and there was no one about to take offence.
‘My Lord Guardian,’ the hall guard said softly. Pagan nodded as he strode past, continuing through newly cleaned reception rooms that smelt of lorthen oil and delicate sea blossoms, and following the sound of the ocean’s rhythmic call to the east battlement where the sharp tang of brine burnt the sweeter scents from his mind. It was a surprisingly still night and Pagan took comfort from that. The lulling sound of the ocean slowed his breaths and calmed his mind.
He rested his hands on the stone parapet and listened to that undulating roar, breathing deeply, wishing his frustration with Lae could be blown from his heart. He loved her, and love should be patient. Yet each day that passed was one less they could share together. Her time of mourning had long since ended and still she turned him away.
‘Oh, do not marry grief,’ he whispered to himself, reciting the lines of a tragedy he had once read, ‘for grief is the bitter husband who will hoard your tears until you are withered and old.’
Yet would Lae live to grow old? Would any of them? The earth shakes of recent weeks had terrified the people of Be’uccdha, yet Lae had assured them that the sky-mirror would protect their castle, and it had. Instead of falling away from the cliff into the ocean as the land around them had, Castle Be’uccdha was as solidly wedded to its foundations as it had been a thousand years ago when it had first been built.
They were safe for now but that wasn’t enough for Pagan. Before their world was torn apart, he wanted to know love with Lae. Impatience was a thorn in his side, constantly stinging him.
‘She cannot sleep either,’ a voice said from behind him, and Pagan turned to find Firde standing in the shadows.
‘Why does our lady find no rest?’ Pagan asked, and was surprised by the edge of anger in his voice. Had he begun to resent Lae’s withdrawal? Surely not?
‘Her grief fades and emptiness takes its place,’ Firde said, hugging her thick cloak about her shoulders. ‘I fear where that emptiness will lead,’ she added, nodding at the parapet wall.
Pagan looked at Firde afresh, seeing the deep lines of concern on her narrow Verdan features. ‘You think she will … harm herself?’
‘What has she to live for?’ Firde asked.
Pagan’s irritation bled away. ‘What can I do?’
Firde met his direct gaze. ‘Go to her now while she is alone. Be her husband. Do not listen to her denials. She will ruin herself if she is not stopped.’
Pagan’s breath slowed at these thoughts. ‘Break into her rooms?’ What if she denounced him? Called him an intruder? An attacker?
‘Here is the key,’ Firde said and pressed it into his palm. ‘Act from love and you will do no wrong.’
Pagan’s mind was spun back through the years to when he had spoken those same words to Talis on the cliffside overlooking this very castle. He had agreed that Talis should help The Light escape her husband and be damned of the consequences. His cousin had taken that advice, and on the other side of adversity those two had found love. Could he and Lae?
‘I know you mean well,’ Pagan said, ‘and I surely have love enough for two within my breast, but …’ he struggled with the words, ‘… I am older. I am not the man to whom Lae pledged her love so long ago.’
Firde’s expression softened. ‘My Lord, it is true you are not the boy our lady once loved. But neither are you an old man,’ she reminded him. ‘I remember your young countenance which I know was widely admired, and can tell you with honest words that you are far handsomer now.’
Pagan felt the breath leaving his chest. ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered.
Firde smiled, her expression showing him clearly that she was surprised at his ignorance. ‘My Lord, there is not a woman in this castle who would not be yours on any night of your choosing. Fear not that our lady will find you unattractive.’
‘I do fear. Her nature has always been perverse,’ Pagan said, then added, ‘yet you have given me hope. I will do as you advise,’ he said, and he took Firde’s hand in gratitude, drawing strength from the older woman’s surety. ‘I will show my love, and where telling has failed, perhaps this time I will succeed.’
‘My thoughts go with you, My Lord,’ she said, and withdrew.
Pagan slid the key into his breeches pocket and set off for Lae’s chambers, buttoning his shirt as he strode down the dimly lit passages. His hair was untidy but Pagan would not return to his quarters for vanity’s sake or he might lose his nerve.
At the door of her chambers he faltered. Somehow Firde had distracted the hall guards. There was no one to see him enter. He should go straight in before they returned, yet he hesitated. He could still walk away, but even as he thought this he wondered how he could entertain such a notion. His whole world spun around Lae. This was his moment. He must go in. Unless his indecision was a premonition of some ill effect?
Pagan slid the key into the lock. He was a man of action. Thinking did not suit him well. It only confused his purpose. His purpose was to woo Lae, and tonight he had been given an opportunity. In battle, such an advantage would be acted on instantly. And half a lifetime ago, had he not bragged to Talis that wooing and warring were much alike? The assessment of the enemy, preliminary reconnoitre, engagement, and then … battle to the death.
The key turned and the door fell quietly back. Pagan was inside Lae’s audience chamber. Thick carpets cushioned his feet, and in the dim candlelight he saw glints of a burnished bronze trim on her tables and lounges. Pagan remembered this room. Many times he had fought word battles here with Lae in the days before The Light had escaped and their lives had been changed forever.
He stepped forward and touched the tassel on a tapestry cushion slung carelessly into the corner of a couch. So silky to the touch. Like Lae’s hair. Was that hair now resting on her pillow? And if it was, did he dare intrude on her there, in her bedchamber?
Pagan’s love carried him forward and he found that he did dare. His bare feet padded silently from the audience chamber to a dark hallway where he followed a dim light to Lae’s bathing chamber. He stepped into the marble expanse and breathed deeply, sure that he could smell her skin over the lorthen petals floating in her sunken bath and the low burning candles that adorned its edges. A towel had been dropped carelessly on the floor beside it and he stooped to pick it up, lifting the damp fabric to his face. Lae’s distinctive scent met his senses like a hammer blow, stunning him to dizziness with thoughts of caressing her body as the towel had done, softly, intimately.
A low throb ran through him then, in his temple and his loins. He was not yet even in Lae’s presence and his desire to seduce her was clouding his mind. Did he think he could woo her from grief with the pleasures of the marriage bed? Surely that would only be a temporary respite for her, adding a burden of guilty shame to her already struggling heart when she woke to sense the next morning. Yet how could he make her see they should be together, should be married, if she would not even admit him to her presence?
Thinking again.
Pagan cleared his mind and dropped the towel. He retraced his steps to the hallway and followed its dark length to another doorway, through which only the faint light of glowing embers in a fireplace gilt the edges of a bed curtai
n and pieces of heavy furniture. The faint sound of sobbing came from within.
‘Beloved?’ he whispered, and the sobbing was caught on a soft gasp. He saw movement on the bed but couldn’t discern any clear shape, knew that she would not see him clearly either. ‘It is Pagan,’ he whispered and forced his legs forward, hoping his boldness would not be met with disfavour. ‘I come to comfort you.’
A hiccupped sob. ‘I don’t want comfort,’ she said clearly. ‘I want the pain of my son’s death to be gone.’
Pagan frowned in concentration. Did she want him to use his Guardian powers to take the memory of Lenid’s death from her mind? He dared another step forward. Two steps from the bed now. ‘I can help you forget,’ he said, wondering whether he would do that if she asked. It was not wise. Grief must run its course. But surely if grief was unable to yield, it must be vanquished. Was that not healing?
‘Come here,’ she breathed, and Pagan’s heart rose in his chest. He stepped forward, not feeling his legs now, dizzied by the thought of Lae so close, her bed so convenient. ‘I need the pain to go away,’ she said, and though he could not see her in the darkness of her shrouded bed, he could feel her breath on his face.
‘I will do anything you ask,’ he said, and knew that to be true. He would abuse every Guardian vow he had ever taken if it would buy him Lae’s love. ‘Anything.’
In the next moment he felt his shirt torn open and a wetness on his face. Lips? A tongue. Lae was kissing him.
It took Pagan precious seconds to realise her arms were about his neck, and the body he had dreamt of for so long was now pressed hard against his own.
‘Make me forget,’ she whispered between kisses, then pulled him onto the bed beside her. ‘Make the pain go away.’
Her hands were like restless waves lapping at his shoulders, his back, his chest, then they pressed lower and Pagan felt faint from the longing that swelled within and without. He rolled her onto her back and kissed her in earnest, pouring all of the desperation he felt for her into his hands and his mouth, knowing they would tell her of his love far more eloquently than words could. Yet still he had to speak.
‘All the years of my absence, I never stopped loving you,’ he said and kissed her again.
Lae kissed him back, thrusting her chest against his palm, her breast beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown firm and peaked. When he pulled away from her to kiss those waiting nipples, she gasped, ‘Don’t speak. Don’t … try to make it real. It’s only a dream. A distraction.’
Pagan’s mouth, which had just closed hotly over the peak of her breast, stilled. She squirmed against him and the giddiness of having her in his arms at last returned, but he was unable to let it overwhelm him. Her words had woken him from his sensual daze.
He pulled away and said, ‘A distraction?’
‘Don’t stop,’ she breathed. ‘Touch me. Use your body to take me away from myself. Isn’t that what you want?’ Her hand drifted down to the front of his breeches and Pagan felt the dizziness come back in a wave of blissful sensation.
He pushed against her hand and groaned, did not resist when she found his mouth with her own, and the kiss they shared was so sensual Pagan swooned back onto the bed, letting her tongue thrust into his mouth even as her hand moved on him.
‘This is what you want from me.’ She leant over him, her breath hot at his ear as her silky hair trailed across his chest. ‘And it’s all I want from you. Pleasure and forgetting.’
Again, he stilled, his fingers falling away from the nightgown he’d been drawing up to remove. ‘All you want from me?’ His breathing was ragged, matching the rent she had just torn in his heart. ‘What of love?’
‘Love is pain,’ she said, and her mouth moved to his again, as though she could still his reservations with the same pleasure she hoped would drown her grief.
In truth, love had given Pagan nothing but pain since his return to Ennae, but still he said, ‘Yet love can bring us joy, if we would only share our burdens and —’
‘The only burden I will share with you is my maidenhood,’ she said, and he felt the fabric of her nightgown brush his cheek as she pulled it over her head. ‘Touch me,’ she demanded, and felt around for his hands, then raised them to press over her breasts. ‘Show me the prowess with which you pleased your Magorian lover. If you could block me from your mind while you joined with her, that was masterful forgetting indeed. For you claim you loved me then.’
Pagan felt the blood slow in his veins. ‘I have always loved you, Lae. Always.’
‘Shhhh.’ Her lips pressed against his own again, her tongue hot in his mouth, and Pagan knew as clearly as if she’d slapped him that if Lae lost her maidenhood to him in this fashion there would be no future between them.
Though her soft hands, now unlacing his breeches, drove him from his senses, he would not sacrifice his love for such a temporary reward. ‘I cannot do this,’ he said and rolled away from her, rising awkwardly from her fragrant sheets, feeling the insistent throb of his desire impeding his movements.
Silence from the bed.
‘Lae, I …’ Pagan struggled to put his feelings into words.
‘Love me too much to join with me? Am I your sister?’ she demanded, her voice trembling, whether with thwarted passion or anger, he wasn’t sure.
‘I will not despoil our love with —’
‘Our love does not exist,’ she spat at him from the darkness. ‘If there is any love, it is on your side, yet how you lay with another woman and loved me still, I do not know.’ There was scrabbling and the curtains parting on the opposite side of the bed. ‘Leave me,’ she said. ‘If you cannot do this simple thing for me then I do not want you in my presence. I will find another man. A younger man who may have the stamina you lack.’
She brushed past him and Pagan simply stood, staring at her naked silhouette as she limped from the room. His future collapsed around him. Hope, which had kept him at Lae’s side, struggling to find a way back to her love, was dashed.
A younger man.
Lae had no further use for him. Perhaps he should return to Sarah and his duty in Magoria. He had a son there.
STAY. It was the voice of the Great Guardian.
Why? Pagan wanted to ask. There is nothing for me here. But in his shattered state he simply did as he was told, turning on leaden legs and retracing his steps out of Lae’s rooms. He did not see or hear her, and wondered whether she had gone in search of a more willing partner. Was she even now in the guardsman’s quarters selecting a bedmate — one of the Be’uccdha males who shared her dark colouring?
Sickness more insidious than poison invaded Pagan’s mind and it was all he could do to force himself to return to his quarters where he lay on his bed and stared up at his own bed drapes. Could she still love him? Could her grief be causing this cruelty? In all the years they had sniped at each other, before love had grown between them, Lae had never wounded him as she had this night. Her blow had struck his heart like an axe, opening a deep gash out of which his vitality bled, leaving a shell of a man whose only remaining emotion was jealousy.
Could he simply lie in his rooms while another man claimed his beloved? Her soft, fragrant curves moulded by another man’s hands? Her hot mouth searching out another man’s secrets? Was Pagan the most foolish man alive to have refused her?
‘I will die of this,’ he whispered to himself, and in that moment he felt for the first time a kinship with Lae’s unbearable grief — a sure knowledge that he would go mad if he could not alleviate the burden of it from his mind. Yet he would not make himself forget her. He would kill himself first.
PATIENCE, the Great Guardian said.
But Pagan had to ask. Will Lae ever be mine?
The Great Guardian chose not to answer, and in desperation Pagan sought the only relief he had available to him, the relief he should have offered Lae — the oblivion of a forced healing slumber. Yet even as his mind closed down, his last thought was of Lae, and of love, but not of hope,
for in Pagan’s mind, all hope was gone.
*
Firde found Lae on the floor in her bathroom, curled up behind a pile of towels. She was asleep but the maid could tell from her lady’s damp lashes and tightly clenched fists that she had cried herself to sleep. Again.
And what of the Guardian? Firde had discreetly searched her lady’s chambers and he was nowhere to be found. Had they quarrelled? Or worse, had her lady refused to see him?
‘Poor child,’ Firde whispered to herself; yet as she bent to lift Lae’s light body from the cold marble floor to return her to her bed, she acknowledged that her mistress was not a child. The Dark was a woman, with all the emotions a woman must bear, and many that no woman should have to.
Were they all born to suffer and die, not knowing a moment’s happiness? Without The Catalyst to intervene, the Maelstrom would eventually kill them all, though Firde knew those safe within the anchored castles would be the last to die. Yet The Dark did not acknowledge this and seemed unable to plan for their future, or even to address the people’s fears. Her only expression of duty was the ritual of the Altar Caves where, like her father before her, she recited the ancient words and then read the auras of those who attended. Less each day. For they all knew the past and now looked to receive guidance for the days ahead.
Alas, The Dark knew no future, though she spoke the word. Her lady had admitted her mind was locked in the past, into the horrible moment in time when her son had fallen into the Volcastle mouth. Like a scene with actors, it replayed over and over behind her eyes, each time accompanied by the same breath-stealing horror and heart-pounding shock. These repetitions wore her to threads, until at last lament and the release of tears would lull her to slumber, only to wake and begin the cycle anew.
Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 Page 22