The Cast Of A Stone

by Avril Borthiry

  In contrast, Emma's night had been peaceful, apparently free from the dark dreams that usually disturbed her. Even now, her breaths were soft and serene as she lay at his side. He turned to look at her.

  His incessant thoughts slowed, subdued by his contemplation of the sleeping girl. It could not be denied. Alex's - or Caleb's - presence at Thurston had already made a visible difference to Emma's spirits. He had succeeded where Stephen had failed, calming Emma's distress and bringing a light back into her eyes. It was uncanny, especially since she didn't even know that Caleb was actually Alex. She'd reached out to an apparent stranger, who only reminded her of Alex, and taken comfort from him.

  Stephen searched for some jealousy on his part, but couldn't find any. Emma had a connection to Alex that defied any external resentment, a bond as natural as the sun to the earth.

  Strange for a man to have such an affinity with a child not of his loins. Moreover, the child of his wife's lover. Unusual. Puzzling, even.

  As he pondered, a migrant thought slipped into his mind, a revelation, the meaning of it so inconceivable it stopped the breath in his lungs. But it vanished before his brain could grasp it, leaving no imprint. He tensed, dredging through his thoughts, searching for the elusive information, but it had already gone. Was it something about Emma? Aye. Maybe. And something about her mother. Some kind of impossible truth. But gleaned from where? The thought had not been his, surely?

  He rubbed his eyes, frustrated, deciding to blame fatigue for the strange experience.

  Overcome by a sudden need to hold her, he gathered Emma in his arms and pressed a kiss to her head. Her mouth curved into a sleepy smile.

  “Stephen.”

  “Good morning, little one.” His lips brushed against her ear, his body hardening as she snuggled up to him. God help him. He resolved to marry the girl as soon as he returned from London. “You slept well, I think?”

  “Uh-huh.” She opened her eyes. “Did you?”

  He trailed a fingertip across her brow. “Liquid emeralds.”

  “What?”

  “Your eyes. They really are remarkable.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And your nose is absolutely perfect.”

  She placed a hand on his cheek. “What is it, Stephen?”

  “Your nose? It's what you use to smell with.”

  She blinked at him and grinned.

  “Stop teasing me. I know something's troubling you. I sensed it last night. Tell me what it is.”

  “Hmm. You know me too well.” He traced a finger down her cheek. “I had a missive from Henry yesterday.”

  Emma frowned. “Henry who?”

  Stephen chuckled. “You know. Henry. The man who rules England?”

  “Oh, him.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “He wants to see you?”

  “Aye.”

  “So, we're leaving Thurston?”

  Stephen's gut clenched. He sat up, punched the pillow behind him and settled back, pulling Emma against his chest. He knew he was about to hurt her feelings.

  “I have to leave Thurston, Emma, but I want you to stay here.”

  Her body stiffened against his. “Why? Nay, please. I can't stay here on my own.” She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.

  “Sweetheart, listen to me. The journey will be exhausting, for I intend to ride hard and fast. And, since we're not wed, you'd have to share a chamber with several other courtiers once we arrive at Westminster. Have you ever been to court? Do you have any idea what it's like?” He stroked her hair. “Besides, you'll not be on your own here.”

  He waited, feeling the fall and rise of her chest against his, aware of the rapid tumble of thoughts in her head. Finally, she spoke, her tone one of sad resignation.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “The sooner I leave the sooner I can return. But I can delay my departure a few more days yet.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Three or four weeks. Maybe a little more.”

  A sigh shuddered through her. Stephen placed a gentle finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at her.

  “I've no wish to leave you, little faerie, believe me. I'll deliver my report to Henry and return to Thurston immediately after. And when I do return...” he bent and kissed her mouth,” ...we'll plan our wedding. I want you, Emma. I want to make you mine. 'Tis torturous for me to lie with you like this and not make love to you.”

  Emma half rolled onto him, her expression serious. “Then make love to me, Stephen. I long for it too. If we're to be married, what does it matter?” She grimaced. “It's not like I'm a –”

  “Nay.” Stephen placed his fingers across her lips. “We’ll not use Argante's depravity as any kind of excuse. You're as innocent as you ever were, and will remain so until my ring is on your finger. Besides, I'll not break the vow I made to Alex.”

  He sat up, lifted her from him and slipped out of bed. “I have something for you. I meant to give it to you last night, but you fell asleep so quickly.”

  Emma sat and pulled her knees up under her chin. “Really? What is it?”

  Stephen dug a small leather pouch from his discarded shirt, smiling at the childlike excitement in her voice and soft flush on her cheeks. He bounced onto the bed and pulled her back into his arms.

  “This.” He grabbed her hand, opened the pouch and tipped the contents into her palm. “It belonged to my mother. In fact, it was one of her favourite pieces. I want you to have it.”

  The tiny brooch was a delicate circle of finely carved gold leaves, set with small brilliant red rubies and startling blue sapphires.

  Emma gasped. “Oh, Stephen. It's beautiful. But should it not go to Bee?”

  Stephen shook his head. “Nay. My mother gave it to me. Of course, it would be more fitting if it had emeralds in it. To match your eyes, I mean.”

  “Oh, no. I love it as it is. I shall treasure it and wear it always.” She looked at him, her eyes shining. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.” He kissed her again, soft at first then with more passion as she leaned into him. God help him, but it would not be easy to leave her.

  * * *

  Morning sunlight reflected off honed steel, dazzling the several pairs of eyes that watched as Alex and Emma battled against each other in the practise yard.

  “She fights well,” Keir observed. “Although I find it unnatural to see a woman with a sword.”

  “I find it quite stimulating.” Finn nudged Stephen. “Do you not find it a little warm out here, young knight?”

  Stephen gave him a withering glance. “Be careful, sir. 'Tis my betrothed you speak of.”

  Keir grunted, his gaze still on Alex and Emma. “Ignore him, Stephen. Finn was born in the forest during rutting season. He truly cannot help himself.”

  Finn chuckled and leaned back against the wall.

  “Tell me, gentlemen.” Keir's eyes narrowed as he watched Alex correcting one of Emma's moves. “What do you see when you look at them?”

  Stephen frowned. “What should I see? I don't understand the question.”

  Finn straightened. “I do. I noticed it last night in the Great Hall and wondered at it.”

  “So did I.” Keir looked at Stephen. “Don't even think about searching my mind. Just watch them and tell me what you see, independent of my thoughts.”

  Stephen watched for a few moments and shook his head. “I see nothing untoward. Besides, she thinks he's Caleb. You can't expect her to react exactly as she would to Alex.”

  “That's not what I mean. Perhaps you're too close to them emotionally.” Keir tilted his head as he watched them. “They share something, yet it appears neither one is aware of it. A link of some sort. A connection that transcends even the shield. 'Tis almost as if...” He turned dark eyes to Stephen. “How much do you know of Emma's mother?”

  A prickle ran across Stephen's scalp as a vague memory teased his mind. “I know little of her. Only that she died with her lover, although Alex will not say how exac
tly.”

  “Aye, we know that much. The child had been placed in some abbey in Norfolk.” Keir frowned. “Where was it, Finn?”

  “Creake Abbey.”

  “Aye, that's right. Creake Abbey.”

  The hair on Stephen's neck lifted. “God's teeth. Are you sure?”

  Keir nodded. “Certain. Why? Is that significant?”

  “It might be. That's where Argante went looking for clues about the stone. There's an old priest there who supposedly had knowledge of its location.”

  Keir's eyes widened. “Father Francis?”

  “Aye. You know him?”

  “We know him very well.” Keir glanced at Finn then turned back to Stephen. “I fear our trip to London may take longer than planned. I'd like to make a detour. I have questions for Father Francis.”

  “If he still lives.” Stephen grimaced. “He was at death's door the last time we were there.

  Keir smiled. “Oh, I can assure you, young knight, Francis still lives.”

  “But what's this about?” Stephen gestured toward Emma. “Is something wrong?”

  “I hesitate to use the word 'wrong'. 'Tis more a sense that something is not quite right.” Keir raised his eyes to the sky as if seeking an answer from above. “But I'm not sure what it is.”

  “What's so special about this old priest?” Stephen asked. “How can he know so much?”

  Keir didn't answer, but pondered for a moment. “What did he tell Argante about the stone? He must have said something to lead you to Cumberland.”

  “I can't be sure of all that was said between them. Argante told us the stone lay buried south of the great estuary, next to an ancient king, protected by a shield of silver.” The mere mention of Argante's name left a bitter taste on Stephen's tongue. “The riddle meant little to me at the time.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow. “'Tis precise, yet still vague enough. 'Twas only circumstance, then, which led Argante to Alex.”

  “Perhaps,” said Keir. “But I'm still surprised Francis said anything at all.”

  “So, who is this priest?” Stephen fought with his rising impatience. “And what is his connection to the stone?”

  Finn nodded at Keir's questioning glance. “Aye. Tell him.”

  Keir's eyes lit with a strange gleam. “Father Francis used to be one of us.”

  Stephen hesitated as his mind fumbled with Keir's information. “A Guardian?”

  Keir nodded. “He chose to leave the Circle and take the holy vows instead.” He looked over toward the practice yard, his eyes thoughtful. “His mind must be deteriorating. I can't believe he would intentionally betray his only son.”

  Stephen followed Keir's gaze. Alex feigned a move and Emma's sword clattered to the ground. Her shriek of laughter echoed around the courtyard, followed by Alex's exaggerated shout of victory.

  As the meaning of Keir's words sank into Stephen's brain, his breath slowed. “Christ above. You're telling me the old priest is Alex's father?”

  “Aye.” Keir smiled grimly. “But they haven't spoken for many years.”

  Finn shifted on his feet. “They haven't spoken since Alex adopted Emma.”

  “But why?” Stephen thought of his own father and the closeness they'd shared. What could possibly drive a father and son apart? Besides, these were extraordinary men leading extraordinary lives. Surely they would be above the petty tribulations reserved for mortal existence.

  Keir shrugged. “Neither of them would ever speak of it. But something is plainly amiss here, and I intend to find out what.”

  Stephen felt a sudden need to protect Alex. “Perhaps they both prefer to leave the past where it is.”

  “Perhaps you're right.” Keir sighed. “But I suspect Alex simply refuses to see the truth.”

  “What truth?” Stephen demanded. “What is it he refuses to see?”

  “That's what I'm hoping Francis will tell us.”

  Another shout of laughter echoed across the courtyard, drawing their attention. Still wondering at Keir's words, Stephen watched Emma, her sword in hand, hair wild, and skirts whirling. He couldn't help but smile. By all the saints, he loved her so much.

  Keir's voice cut into his thoughts. “The change in her since Alexander arrived is remarkable.”

  Finn cast a grim look at Keir. “We’re being very careless of late, my friend. As you take such pleasure in reminding us, his name, for now, is Caleb.”

  “True,” Keir acknowledged. “But you're usually more careless than I, and need reminding. 'Tis merely this brush with mortality that has clouded my otherwise perfect mind.”

  Finn snorted. “Curse your balls, Guardian. It obviously hasn't affected your lack of modesty.”

  “Nor your lack of discretion,” Keir shot back. “Which reminds me, where did you disappear to last night?”

  “Christ, what are you? My damn nursemaid?” Finn's eyes twinkled as he looked at Stephen. “If you must know, I was battling with Bee.”

  “You and my sister? Who won?”

  “Me, of course.” Finn grinned. “Mated her easily. Three times.”

  Keir looked at the sky. “Dear God, please tell me he's talking about chess.”

  Finn chuckled and shoved his thumbs into his sword belt. “Ach, but she's a lovely wee girl. Parts of me just sit up and take notice whenever she's near.”

  “Aye, well, just remember who she is,” said Stephen. “You'd better keep your wayward parts in check.”

  Finn frowned. “I would never disrespect the lass, young knight. In fact, I've grown quite fond of the little filly.”

  “Good.” Keir nodded toward the castle. “Because the little filly is galloping this way.”

  All eyes turned to watch Bee approach, the quickness of her step not quite a gallop, but certainly not sedate, unlike Anne and Miriam who followed at some length behind.

  “God's teeth,” Stephen mumbled. “I hope they aren't going to start any trouble.”

  An expression of amusement settled on Keir's face. “I doubt it. Emma has a sword.”

  “Brother!” Bee arrived, panting, her breath clouding in the cool autumn air. She lifted her face for a kiss.

  Stephen obliged, dropping one on each cheek, his eyes on Anne and Miriam. “Did you have to bring them with you?”

  “I had no choice. Word of your dragon-slaying bride has spread through the castle. They wanted to come and watch. Thought I'd better come too, in case you need support.”

  Finn gave Stephan a nudge. “By all that's holy, you're a lucky man, my lord. All these women willing to fight for you. What's your secret?”

  Bee flashed a sweet smile at Finn. “For one thing, my brother's gentler with me on the chessboard than some I could mention.”

  “Ah.” Finn grinned at her. “Well, if that's what it takes to gain your favour, mo chroí, I promise to go easy on you tonight.”

  Stephen found himself juggling both pleasure and concern at the happiness on Bee's face as she chatted with Finn. Her attraction to the Irish knight was both obvious and surprising. Normally, she spurned men's advances, declaring them all to be forced and insincere, but it appeared she'd fallen for this one, and Stephen's gut clenched. Hell, she knew nothing about him.

  He was a Guardian, a member of an ancient assembly, a powerful being, free from the bonds of mortality and belonging to a realm beyond human comprehension.

  Finn could never be hers.

  Keir leaned over and murmured in his ear. “He'll not hurt her, Stephen. In fact, I guarantee she'll only benefit from his good grace.”

  Stephen grunted. “I don't fear for her safety. I fear for her heart.”

  Keir smiled. “Don't. You'll see. He'll ensure her future happiness before he leaves. 'Tis another part of what we do and who we are. When Guardians visit in friendship, they rarely leave a place, or the people within it, untouched or unaffected in some positive way.”

  Stephen opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut in.

  “Good day, my lords.”


  Stephen forced his mouth into what he hoped was a believable smile.

  “Lady Miriam, Lady Anne.”

  “We heard about Emma's prowess with the sword. I wanted to see it for myself.” Miriam looked over to where Alex and Emma stood talking, swords resting quietly in their hands. Alex nodded toward them and said something to Emma, who shook her head.

  Stephen shrugged. “Well, unless I'm mistaken, dear ladies, it appears you're too late.”

  “Oh, that's too bad. I expect our presence intimidated her.” Anne's voice purred with false regret. “Personally, I fail to see the attraction of such unladylike activities.”

  Bee rolled her eyes at Stephen who opened his mouth to respond just as a shadow skimmed over their heads, blue-black wings flashing in the sunlight. The crow settled on the outer wall and peered down at them in silence. Stephen chuckled. A new spectator? Perhaps Alex and Emma were not done after all.

  The answer came in a clash of steel as blade met blade. No one spoke, only watched as Emma's slight form moved with a grace and speed learned from childhood at the hands of a master swordsman.

  Of course, Stephen was fully aware of Alex's gentle sword-play, recognizing the intentional errors and false moves, which appeared to give Emma an upper hand. But the ladies watched in silence, apparently unaware of the pretence.

  After a while, when both mutually conceded and sheathed their swords, Emma strode from the practice field at Alex's side, her chin held high. Without hesitation, she stepped into Stephen's embrace. He didn't balk at the sweat on her brow or the tangle of her hair, but swung her around in his arms and joined his laughter with hers.

  Stephen's heart raced. Emma's face glowed with confidence. Her eyes were bright, her demeanour relaxed and happy. Alex met Stephen's gaze and a silent acknowledgement passed between them.

  Finally, he thought, he could leave her without fear for her safety or her well-being. All was well. He had nothing to worry about.