The Cast Of A Stone

by Avril Borthiry

  Her faith in all she held true had gone, her confidence crushed beneath a burden of self-doubt. Each night, lying next to him, she wondered about Stephen's hesitation to touch her. Certainly, he held her, and tenderly, but not with any great show of passion. Since leaving Cumberland he hadn't even kissed her, except for an occasional brush of his lips against hers.

  She silently questioned this behaviour, fearful his feelings for her had been blemished by the loss of her innocence. Was it merely his honour, his vow to Alex that quieted his touch? Or did he, Heaven forbid, consider her stained, used, undesirable as a lover or a wife?

  Her eyes filled with tears as she wrestled the questions in her mind.

  “Tired, sweetheart?” Stephen studied her face. “Just a few more hours. We'll be at Thurston before sunset.”

  “I am a little tired.” She offered him a tearful smile “Don't worry. I'm fine.”

  “Ah, I think not.” Without slowing the pace of his horse, he reached over, wrapped a strong arm about her waist and pulled her into his lap. “There. Now you can sleep. But first, you'll tell me why you have tears in your eyes. Are you thinking about Alex?”

  Emma sighed. “I think about him all the time.”

  “Only to be expected, my love. He's an important part of your life.”

  “He's lied to me all my life, Stephen.”

  “Perhaps, but I refuse to believe he killed your parents in cold blood. He's not capable of such an act. There must be another explanation.”

  “What explanation? He admitted to it. Argante said –”

  “Argante!” Stephen turned his head and spat on the ground. “The man is the Devil's spawn and spews the Devil's words. I hope he's burning in his sire's hell.”

  Emma tensed at Stephen's outburst. He groaned and tightened his arm around her.

  “Forgive me, little one. My ire is for Argante, not you.”

  She fidgeted against him, seeking further solace for her troubled mind. “There's something else I must ask you, Stephen. Please be honest with your answer.”

  “Ask it. I shall not lie to you.”

  “I need to know if you still want...I mean...what Argante did to me. Has it changed–?”

  Stephen cursed and pulled the horses to a halt. His fingers slid under her chin and lifted her head so that her gaze met his.

  “I know the question your tongue struggles with, Emma. Look at me as I answer you, for you must see the truth as well as hear it.”

  She searched his hazel eyes, remembering the first time she had done so barely two weeks earlier. Now, as then, she saw no sign of deception in their soft depths. He smiled and brushed her bottom lip with his thumb.

  “Aye, I remember it too; the first time I saw you, stepping out from behind that tree, your arrow pointing here.” He touched his chest. “I thought you were a creation of my feverish mind, such was the vision I beheld. Believe me, my brave little faerie, I wanted you then and I want you now.”

  “Yet you hesitate to touch me. I wonder if you no longer desire me because of what happened.”

  “No longer desire...?” He groaned and pulled her closer. “Christ knows, I'm beyond tormented whenever you're close to me. 'Tis a wonder I manage to sit the damn horse. But I'll not act upon that desire. Not until we're wed.” He cupped her face with his hand. “Besides, you're still healing. Argante hurt you, damn him to hell, and I need to be sure you harbour no more fear of what happens between a man and woman. 'Tis a beautiful thing when shared as it should be, when both are willing.”

  “When shared with someone you love, you mean.” Regret dulled her voice. “I wanted it to be you, Stephen. Only you, and forever. But Argante took it from me. He stole that which I wanted you to have. 'Twas my fault for leaving that night. I'm so sorry. Please tell me you will not abandon me.”

  “Abandon you? Oh, Emma, heed your own words. Argante took what he wanted. You didn't give him anything. Don't you see? Your love is still yours to give. That you want to give it to me makes me the luckiest man under Heaven.” He stroked her tears away with his fingers. “Set your fears aside, sweetheart, and stop tormenting yourself. I love you very much.”

  She shivered again, snuggling her head against his chest. “I love you too.”

  “Then I'm blessed.” Stephen urged the horses onward. “Sleep a little, if you can. Tonight, you'll have a hot bath and sleep in a proper bed. Thurston's a fine place. I'm eager for you to meet my family.”

  “Is Christophe much older than you?”

  “Nay. Five years only, and there are four years between me and my little sister. You'll like Beatrice.”

  “I hope they like me.”

  “They'll love you.”

  Not if they knew of my shame. They would surely think me unworthy of their brother.

  “Uh oh. There's that look again. I know it well.” Stephen smiled down at her. “Tell me the cause.”

  “Please don't mention Argante,” she murmured. “Don't tell them what he did to me.”

  “I swear I shall not speak of it, my love. You're an orphan of noble birth who has been raised by an adoptive father. 'Tis the truth, and all they need to know.”

  Somewhat placated, Emma allowed her gaze to wander across the vastness of the moors to the north. A carpet of purple heather stretched out as far as the eye could see, the tiny flowers rippling beneath the gentle touch of the breeze. The beauty of it managed to creep into her tortured mind, pushing away a little of the darkness.

  Lulled by the sound of Stephen's heartbeat, the gentle sway of the horse and the sweet scent in the air, Emma fell asleep.

  Stephen eased off the reins, content with the steady pace in this latter part of their journey. He bent his head and kissed Emma's cheek, glad that she slept, frowning at the bluish circles beneath her eyes. How she suffered, and how helpless he felt. What solace could he offer to one so bereft, so tortured?

  In quiet reflection, his mind explored the fateful path they had followed over the past few weeks. Until that moment, he hadn't really considered just how much his life had changed by what he had seen and learned. Everything had happened so quickly, spurred on by bursts of urgency and emotion.

  Unwilling to surrender to melancholy, he turned his mind away from the recent ugliness and focused on that which had enriched his life. The sleeping beauty in his arms, if she did but know it, had stolen his heart. Alexander's friendship and trust could only be described as a special gift, and the contact with the stone had been beyond description. His heart quickened at the thought of the strange unearthly object whose power touched the depths of his soul.

  The mysterious jewel had, after all, been the reason for his mission to Cumberland. He reminded himself he'd been sent there by his king, who no doubt waited impatiently for news. Stephen knew he'd have to journey to London eventually, but not until Emma had settled into Thurston. If, indeed, she was able to settle into Thurston.

  Emotion welled up inside him as he turned his focus back to the young woman in his arms.

  Even as she slept, her fear and uncertainty spilled into his thoughts and magnified his need to protect her. He longed to know the truth, for he was certain Alex held onto other secrets. Who was Emma, really? What had happened to her parents? So many questions and so many miles until they reached Thurston. Plenty of time to ponder.

  The light faded when they entered the thick forest surrounding Thurston. The sun was blazing just above the horizon, lancing spears of light through the trees. One of them flashed across Emma's face and she stirred, blinked, and smiled at Stephen. Then she shifted and stretched, wriggling in his lap. He groaned inwardly. Such sweet torture!

  “You slept well, sweetheart?”

  “I think so. Where are we?”

  “We're almost home.”

  Emma tensed and Stephen silently cursed his tactless choice of words. How easily he read her mind. Thurston was his home, not hers. She had none, or so she thought.

  She sat upright and gazed around her like a lost child.


  “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn't mean to upset you. I hope you'll come to think of Thurston as home.”

  “I know you didn't, and I'm sure I shall.” She sighed and leaned against him. “But it'll be very different to what I'm used to.”

  “True.” He nuzzled her hair. “But there's nothing to fear. I'll be at your side.”

  “Even so, your home is a castle, not a cottage in the forest. How many people live there?”

  “'Tis really not that large, as castles go. Including the knights, the men-at-arms and the servants, probably about forty.”

  She chewed on her lip. “And are they all as nice as you?”

  Stephen laughed. “Nay. You're stuck with the best. They're all good, kind-hearted people. You'll see.”

  A shout of recognition rang out from the battlements as they approached the castle gates. In response, the drawbridge dropped and the portcullis groaned and rattled a lazy ascent. Emma's fingers tightened around Stephen's as the horses rumbled over the bridge and entered the bailey.

  The de Montfort banner sat atop its pole on the battlements, snapping under the playful hands of the breeze. Shadows from errant clouds flitted across the castle walls as the sounds and smells of the bailey drifted through the air.

  A horse whinnied and another responded as the smithy's hammer took its toll on an anvil. Maids chatted and laughed over soapy laundry tubs. Outside the armoury, sandstone rasped against metal as several young squires sharpened a number of swords.

  Familiarity wrapped around Stephen with all the warmth of a mother's embrace. This was his home, his birthplace. His childhood at Thurston had been brief, because like most young noble sons, he had been fostered out at age seven. Even so, the walls surrounding him held nothing but good memories.

  “Welcome to Thurston, little faerie. 'Tis a very peaceful place.” Stephen reined in the horses and slid from the saddle just as a woman's shriek echoed around the castle walls. “Except for that,” he finished, reaching for Emma.

  Her eyes widened as she dropped into Stephen's arms.

  “What in Heaven's name is that?”

  He grinned, fully aware of the female-form hurtling toward them across the courtyard, her skirts lifted and hair flying.

  “'Tis more of a who than a what. I'm afraid Beatrice is not known for her subtlety. I have to let you go for a moment, my love, or we will both be flattened. Trust me.”

  He turned just in time to catch the girl, who launched herself at him from a good two paces away.

  “Stephen,” she yelled, flinging her arms around his neck in a strangle-hold. “You've come home!”

  “Your powers of observation almost match the power of your lungs, dear sister.” Stephen returned her hug. “I'm sure all of Yorkshire now know we are safely arrived to Thurston.”

  “We?” Beatrice looked past him at Emma. “Brother mine, you have brought us a guest?”

  “Aye, would that I live to introduce her.” Stephen feigned choking as he unhooked himself from his sister's embrace. He placed a gentle arm around Emma's waist and drew her to his side. “Emma, this is my sister, Beatrice. Or Bee, as we call her. Bee, this is Emma, my betrothed.”

  Another shriek had the horses veering away in fright, and a young stable-lad scrambled to grab their reins.

  “Betrothed?” Beatrice looked from Stephen to Emma in wide-eyed excitement, unkempt chestnut curls floating in complete disarray about her shoulders. “Betrothed? God's teeth. Since when? Christophe and Miriam will be so surprised.”

  Stephen chuckled, cleared his throat and gave Emma a squeeze. “I apologize, my love, for my sister's rudeness. She sadly needs reminding that you have a pair of ears and a tongue in your head. Care to show her how it should be done?”

  “'Tis my pleasure to meet you, Bee.” Emma smiled and grasped Beatrice's hand. “Stephen has told me so much about you.”

  “The pleasure is mine, and please forgive my manners.” Bee wrinkled her nose at Stephen and squeezed Emma's hand. “But my favourite brother has been gone for months. I've missed him terribly, and now I find out he's to be married. I haven't been this excited since Anne fell in the moat. Where are your things? Are they to arrive later?”

  Emma shook her head and gestured to the horses, which had at last been caught by the fraught young groom. “Nay, there's nothing to follow. Everything I own is on the back of that horse.”

  “Everything?” Bee threw a questioning glance at Stephen.

  He slanted a cautionary glance back at her, a silent plea for tact.

  “Emma grew up in the country with her male guardian. She's never had much use for silks and velvets.”

  Sibling blood shared a silent understanding and Bee performed with grace, offering a warm smile to Emma.

  “I take it this means you don't like sewing?”

  Emma laughed. “I hate it.”

  “Then I love you already, for I cannot abide it either.” Bee grinned at Stephen and linked her arm with Emma's. “Will you hurry inside, brother dear? I'm fair itching to see Christophe's face upon hearing your news.”

  Stephen fought an urge to grab his sister and swing her around in grateful abandon. In a matter of moments, the blessed girl had lifted Emma's spirit, ignited a tiny spark in a pair of haunted green eyes, and made his sad little faerie laugh again.

  I wish you could see her now, Alex.

  In that instant, it seemed to Stephen that the sun blinked.

  A shadow swooped across the bailey and a baleful caw pulled Stephen's gaze skyward. A crow landed atop the flag pole, fluttering its wings to steady itself against the breeze. He watched as a harsh gust of wind toppled it from its precarious perch. The bird dropped as if struck by a stone, smashed into the cobbles, and lay twisted and broken at his feet.

  “What in God's name...?” He stepped back, his confused mind unable to grasp what he had just witnessed.

  A voice spoke. It came from nowhere, from everywhere, from without and within. Stephen knew the voice well, for it belonged to a man he loved and respected.

  A man who was many miles away.

  “Take heed, young knight. She is but a feather in the wind.”

  His heart clenched and the hair on his neck lifted. “Alex? How the hell –?”

  He looked over at Emma and Bee, who were strolling toward the castle door. It appeared they had not noticed the bird nor even witnessed the strange event. Bee hung onto Emma's arm, chatting as if nothing had happened. Obviously, they hadn't heard Alex's voice.

  An explosion of memories ignited in his mind, each one a cherished image. Emma, running silently through the forest, catching flat-fish with her bare feet, shooting deadly arrows, and healing the wounds of a dying knight.

  A beautiful girl, confident, courageous, intelligent and happy.

  The images faded. Stephen had a growing awareness of Alex's mental intrusion, but no longer questioned the inexplicable link. All at once, the impossible felt as natural as breathing.

  “Look at her now, Stephen. See her as I do.”

  Stephen watched Emma through Alex's eyes and what he saw shocked him.

  A gloomy aura, a grey outline, void of light or colour, surrounded her. Her head was bent as she listened to Bee's endless chatter. Her shoulders, previously square and proud, drooped as if bearing an unseen weight. The bounce had disappeared from her stride. There was no sense of purpose in her movements, but rather a weary deliberation driven by necessity and sheer effort.

  The symbolism of the crow's death became clear, and the clarity of it sickened Stephen's stomach. Now he understood the meaning. Emma fought her demonic winds every day and, like the bird on the pole, struggled to keep from falling.

  Anyone who had not known her previously would be no wiser, but Stephen now saw what he had not seen before.

  Damn it to hell. Had he really been that blind? Things were far worse than he realized.

  “Christ, Alex. I'm sorry.” He closed his eyes. “She's lost her spirit, hasn't she?”


  “Worse. She has lost her faith. Guard her well, lad.”

  “Stephen? Is something wrong?” Emma's sweet voice caressed him, drowning out the gut-wrenching whispers of truth. Her sweet voice. When, he wondered, had he last heard her sing? He glanced down at the cobbles. The bird had disappeared.

  Ignoring Bee's puzzled expression, he strode over to Emma and pulled her into his arms, revelling in the feel of her, the scent of her. “Nothing's wrong. I was only thinking about how much I love you.” He trailed his fingers along her jaw. “Come. I'm eager for my brother to meet the faerie I captured.”

  Emma grinned. “You have it backwards. 'Tis the faerie who captured the knight.”

  Stephen laughed. “Aye, that she did. And he has no desire to escape.”

  The evening sun poured through the windows of Thurston's Great Hall, highlighting an ever-present cloud of fine dust. Certainly, there were far bigger halls in castles all over England, but if Thurston lacked in grandeur, it overflowed with character.

  Years of wood smoke had stained the thick oak beams in the roof, turning them from soft gold to rich brown. The lofty canopy of darkened wood sat in stark contrast atop the rough white walls, which were decorated with an array of brilliant tapestries and battle-dented shields bearing the de Montfort coat of arms. The large fireplace at the far end of the hall had been built only two winters before at great expense. A tall man could easily stand inside and look up the new chimney. Of course, the hearth was bare of flame. The weather did not yet demand the warm crackle of burning logs.

  Fresh rushes, already trampled flat beneath human feet, cast off a sweet scent, which mingled demurely with mellow aromas of roasted meats and stewed vegetables. A faint odour of unwashed bodies also tinged the air.

  The evening repast had finished, but folks still lingered at the tables, relaxed by good food, well-brewed ale, and pleasant conversation. Memories flooded Stephen's mind as he stood on the threshold, and a smile spread over his face as he absorbed the atmosphere.

  Christophe de Montfort, Stephen's older brother and lord of Thurston, sat at the head table with his pretty dark-haired wife, Miriam. Both were deep in conversation with another beautiful dark-haired lady sitting with them. Stephen's whimsical mood dissolved at the sight of her.