Anne wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “I suppose.”
“Lord Nathan is a fine match for Bee, don't you agree?” Emma smiled as she searched Anne's face, trying to read what lay in those dark sad eyes. To her dismay, she saw them harden beneath a shadow of resentment.
“Nay. I pity him. He'll have his hands full with the little hellion.” Anne flicked a crumb off her skirt. “I wonder if he knows she's been draping herself all over that strange Irish knight for the past few weeks. I guess he'll find out the truth of it on their wedding night. Trouble is, if she's already with child, we'll never be sure whose babe it is.”
Emma gasped at Anne's words. For God's sake, could the woman never find anything nice to say? She deserved no sympathy after all. Emma clenched her fists in anger, Finn's advice still echoing in her head.
Leave her be.
Nay, she would not leave her be. She would not allow such slander to go unchallenged.
“What wicked lies are you spreading, Anne?” She glanced around to make sure no one could hear them. “I can assure you, Bee is not with child. Finn hasn't...I mean, I'm sure they haven't...”
“I hope you're right, for poor Lord Nathan's sake.” Anne smirked. “Mind you, 'twould be quite something, all these babes coming at once.”
Emma frowned. “What do you mean?”
Anne gestured toward the head table. “Miriam. She hasn't announced it officially yet, but she carries Christophe's child.”
Emma looked over at Christophe and Miriam again, her anger subsiding. “But that's wonderful news. They must be so pleased.”
“They are. She's eager to announce it but wanted to wait until she felt the child quicken. Apparently, she felt it last night, so I've no doubt it'll be old news by tomorrow. Christophe, of course, is insisting she gives him a son and heir.” Anne shook her head. “Men. They're all so damn selfish.” She glanced at Emma's belly. “And what of you? What of your child? I don't suppose Stephen knows yet. It's to be hoped he arrives home safely, or you'll be left raising his bastard.”
Emma sat back on her heels, stunned by Anne's words.
“His...bastard?” She stumbled over her response. “Nay, you're sorely mistaken. I'm not...I can assure you, I'm not carrying Stephen's child. He has never touched me...like that. We're waiting until we're properly wed.”
Anne leaned forward, her narrowed eyes sweeping Emma's form. “Don't tell me he's spent every night in your bed and never coupled with you. I've been watching you, Emma. I notice things. You've missed meals, you sleep late and you're paler than usual.”
Emma's stomach clenched. “‘Tis true I've been unwell, but not because I'm with child. 'Tis only something I ate which disagrees with me.”
“Mother of God, surely you're not that naive?” Anne laughed. “You do know how a babe is conceived, do you not? Aye, you must, being raised as you were with the beasts of the forest.”
“But I can't be with child.” Emma turned her head and stared into the flames, her head reeling with confusion. “'Tis not possible.”
“Indeed? Tell me, then, when you had your last flow. I made enquiries of the servants this morning after I witnessed your little spell of sickness and saw you nibbling on a morsel of bread. I discovered you've not once asked for cloths since you've been here. Nor have you disposed of any, which tells me you've not bled. I suspect, then, you must have already been carrying Stephen's child when you arrived at Thurston.”
Emma blinked and looked at Anne, refusing to acknowledge a terrifying whisper of understanding. “When I arrived?”
“Aye.” Anne sat back, a triumphant smile on her face. “Waiting until you wed? Pah! Do you think we're all fools here? You're no virgin bride. I don't know why you won't admit it. The truth will out when you give birth to a fully formed babe after only a few months of marriage.”
Emma looked down at her belly and placed her hand upon it, trying to remember the last time she'd had her monthly flow.
Oh, sweet Jesus Christ.
Why had she not seen it? Why had she not realized?
She staggered to her feet, her heart frozen by a truth so abhorrent she could hardly breathe.
Dear God. No. Please, no. It can't be. There must be another explanation. There has to be.
In her peripheral vision, she noticed a tall silver-haired figure striding toward her. She recognized Finn, saw the concern on his face, the strange light in his eyes. His essence folded around her shivering body as her fragile world collapsed. His mind cradled hers, catching the shattered fragments of hopes and dreams as they exploded in her head.
But even Finn could not alter the reality of what had taken root in her womb.
Argante's seed.
The devil's spawn.
Reality formed a dark web in her mind, snaring her in a hopeless trap with no visible escape. Everything blurred into a nauseating haze and dissolved into a dull incomprehensible roar. Above it all she heard a cry of pain. 'Twas the lament of a mortally wounded creature, she thought, the final howl of a dying spirit, empty of all hope for the future. Better to finish off the poor thing than let it suffer such torment. Why were they waiting? Emma put her hands over her ears, unable to bear the noise any longer.
“Kill it,” she whispered. “Please. Kill it.”
As the room spun faster and the light faded to black, she felt strong arms holding her and heard a gentle voice in her ear.
“Hush, a chailín. Hush.”
A soft murmur of voices floated in the light above her, pulling Emma from the quiet depths of oblivion. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against a sudden wave of nausea.
“Emma?” She recognized Bee's voice and felt a cool hand on her forehead. “Can you hear me?”
“Aye.” The word grated against her parched throat. She opened her eyes, blinking in the candlelight, surprised to see the walls of her chamber. “How did I get here?”
“Finn carried you.” Bee leaned over her. “Do you remember what happened?”
Emma's hand went to her belly. Had it been a dream? Nay, not a dream. A nightmare.
“Anne said something to me, I think. Did I fall?”
“You fainted. Anne tends to have that effect on people.” Bee slid her arm under Emma's shoulders. “Can you sit up? Drink a little, perhaps?”
Miriam's voice drifted in. “Or eat something? It seems you and I each share a blessing that needs to be fed.”
A blessing? Emma struggled against her fear. 'Twas no blessing. 'Twas nothing but a curse. But they would never know whose child she really carried.
Never.
She took a deep breath, sat up, and even managed a smile. “I heard your news and I'm very happy for you, Lady Miriam. I'll take a sip of something, maybe. But I don't think I can eat anything.”
Miriam sat on the edge of the bed, and took hold of Emma's hand. “Anne said you had no idea you were with child. Is that so?”
She nodded, swallowing against a lump of emotion. “I... I never paid any attention to...that. To myself. It never even occurred to me. There was so much happening, everything new and strange. Then Stephen left and I....”
Stephen.
God help her, how could she face him? There would be no marriage, of course. Not now. He would never accept Argante's child. The thought of him turning from her, rejecting her, pressed heavily on her heart. Dear God, she loved him so much.
Despair wrapped around her like a cold, dark cloud and tears tumbled down her face.
“Nay.” Miriam squeezed her hand. “There's no need for sorrow, my dear. This child has come as a shock, no doubt, but I'm sure Stephen will be delighted. We'll bring the marriage date forward. Truly, 'tis of no consequence at all.”
“I think the news is splendid. Here you are, silly girl.” Bee handed Emma a goblet of ale. “I can't wait to see Stephen's face when he finds out.” She clapped her hands. “To think, God willing, I'm going to be an aunt twice over. 'Tis so exciting. I have to say, though, it scared me when you cried out lik
e that. The way you wailed, I thought you'd burnt yourself in the fire or something. Trust Anne to bugger things up in style. I swear she pisses vinegar from both ends.”
“Beatrice, please.” Miriam sighed. “My sister has not had an easy life.”
“'Tis no excuse to create a living hell for everyone else.”
Bee and Miriam's trivial argument continued. Their words skimmed over Emma's mental turmoil, fading into the background as she tried desperately to see a way forward.
Cùra, tell me, please. What shall I do? Dear God, I'm so lost. So, lost.
“Well, aside from all this excitement, I should tell you that I like Lord Nathan. We got along very well.” Bee's voice intruded into Emma's thoughts.
“Good.” Somehow, she forced another smile, wishing they would leave her alone with her grief. “I'm very happy for you, Bee.”
“Thank you. Ah, but you look so tired. We should leave you, let you get some rest.”
“I would appreciate it. I must also ask a favour of you both.”
Miriam and Bee exchanged glances. “What?” they asked, in unison.
“If Stephen should arrive home today, please don't tell him about the...our child. I would prefer he heard it from me first.”
“Of course.” Miriam patted Emma's hand. “'Tis something to be shared between the two of you in private. I'll send a maid with a platter right away. You really must try to eat something. It helps with the sickness and the babe needs nourishment too.”
After they left, Emma slid from the bed and went to the window, eager for some air. She opened the shutters and peered out, startled to see an orange glow behind the clouds in the western sky. Until that moment, she hadn't realized the lateness of the hour.
The sight of day's end gave her a measure of relief. She knew Stephen likely wouldn't travel after dark unless he was really close to home. That meant she had, for at least another night, a respite from facing him, confessing to him.
Her hand wandered to the brooch he'd given her. She considered it a symbol of his love and wore it always, pinned to the shoulder of her dress. She caressed it with her fingertips, familiar with the shape of each tiny stone and each small bump on the delicately carved gold.
Tears spilled from her eyes again as she looked down at her belly. It showed no indication of what lay within, and a wild irrational stab of hope made her shiver. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps she was actually ill, and not with child after all. God, please let it be so.
Yet she knew, from the weight of dread sitting on her shoulders, her hope was ill founded.
She heard a light tap on the door, and a man's voice. “Emma?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Stephen? God, no. Not yet. Please.
But the next moment, Finn stuck his head into the room. “Are you dressed and decent, a chailín? Aye, you are.” He entered, a smile on his face, a platter of bread, cheese and fruit in his hand. “I stole this from the maid, who gave me strict instructions to feed you by force if necessary.”
He set the platter on the table, strode over to the window and closed the shutters with a bang “And they say the Irish are daft. Here you are, looking like death, standing in a bone-chilling draught. Sit down lass, and eat something.”
Emma didn't move. “You knew,” she said, studying his face. “On the roof last night, and this morning in the hall. You knew about the babe, didn't you?”
He wiped one of her tears away with his thumb. “Let's just say I suspected.”
Emma saw sympathy flare in his eyes. It answered another question she'd been afraid to ask, but she needed to hear him say it.
“What else do you suspect, Finn?”
“Sit down and eat something, will you?”
“Not until you tell me why you look at me with such pity. Are you not happy for Stephen and I?”
His expression softened as he glanced at her belly. “I know the truth of it, little one. The father of this babe is a sad circumstance, but what's done is done. 'Tis your well-being which concerns me.”
“The father of this babe is a tragic circumstance to me,” she whispered, her heart reaching out to his. “As it will be to those I love. I'm so very frightened, Finn. I don't know what to do, nor how I can even begin to survive this.”
“Nay, don't be frightened.” He took her in his arms, rocking her gently, stroking her hair. “I don't know why you've been given such a burden to carry, but I do know this. 'Tis not a burden you must carry alone. You have people who care for you, who love you deeply. You'll survive, I promise.”
“But I'm so afraid I'll lose Stephen.” She buried her face in his chest. “How can he possibly marry me now? He might be home any moment. I'm dreading it.”
“Stephen won't be back until tomorrow evening.”
She looked up at him. “How do you know that?”
He stroked the end of her nose with a fingertip. “I have my sources. Now, I believe I've answered your question, my lady. Will you at least try to eat a few bites?”
Under Finn's watchful eye, Emma managed to eat a decent helping, although it sat in her stomach like a weight.
“Rest now.” He brought her hand to his lips. “I'll check on you later. If you need me before then, just say my name and I'll come to you. Fear not, little one.”
Emma absorbed his words with wonder. “I need only say your name?”
“Aye.” His eyes shone in the candlelight. Ask me, they said.
She took a deep breath. “Who are you really, Finn?”
He smiled at her. “You already know who I am, a chailín. Or rather, what I am. Stop doubting your instincts. I'm a Guardian. Just like Alex.”
* * *
It stood at the other side of the clearing, watching her, lips twisted across a grotesque face. She couldn't make it out in detail. What was it? A creature of some kind, perhaps? Not human, yet there was something familiar about it. Strange, she thought, how it blends into the trees at its back. Almost as if it's made from the fabric of the forest. She had never seen such a thing.
The babe kicked hard. Emma looked down, placing her hand on the taut, stretched skin of her belly, feeling movement beneath. A moment later she felt breath on her face. Hot, foul, breath.
She lifted her head.
Emma awoke, a silent scream rasping from her open mouth, her heart thudding hard against her ribs.
“God help me.”
She gulped air and sat up, wiping cold sweat from her forehead, thankful the bedside candle had not burnt out. Still caught in the grasp of the fading nightmare, she searched the shadows, fearful something lurked within, watching her. Bile rose in her throat, bitter and hot. She slid from the bed, fell on all fours and heaved over the chamber pot.
“God help me,” she said again, trembling, clutching at the bed covers to pull herself up. A gust of wind rattled the shutters and Emma jumped, her frayed nerves triggering tears of utter despair. The grotesque face she'd seen in her dream stayed in her head, drooling from a deformed mouth, one eye sealed shut with ribbons of skin, the other a window into a depraved mind.
She knew who he was, this monster, this wretched soul, this father of her child.
...the man is the devil's spawn...
Stephen's words echoed across the crumbling remains of her life. He would never accept a woman who carried the seed of Argante's evil. He would find and marry another, grow to love her instead, share her dreams, and give her children.
Her thoughts turned inward. What of herself and this bastard child? What path would they tread? Where would it lead? Back to Alex? What then?
Emma did not sense the departure of hope. It didn't subside like a burst of anger, or fade away like a happy moment. It stole away quietly, taking her future with it, to be replaced by the deadliest of all human miseries.
Hopelessness.
Promise me you'll stay strong.
“I can't,” she whispered. “Forgive me, Cùra, but I can't do this any longer.”
She stumbled across the r
oom and pulled the door open. A cold breeze whirled past her and blew out the candle at her bedside, plunging the chamber into darkness. Barefoot and sobbing, she ran down the hall, clambered up the small staircase and staggered onto the roof.
The wind howled a welcome, snatching at her hair and skirts. She lifted her face to the heavens, where fragmented clouds hurtled across a star-splintered sky. Such beauty, such magnificence. Yet beneath it, evil had managed to survive and spread its seed. She went to the battlement wall and looked down at the dizzying drop.
Suicide was the ultimate blasphemy, a defiance of the Holy Spirit, an unpardonable sin. No one who took his or her own life would be allowed entry to Heaven. Nor would the body rest in consecrated ground, but be committed to some unmarked grave, abandoned and forgotten.
Yet hopelessness was without compunction, without guilt. It removed all reason, eradicated the need to justify an action. Nothing mattered to Emma anymore.
She grabbed the top of the wall and pulled herself upwards.
“Stop, Emma.”
She hesitated, flinching at the sound of the beloved voice she'd known all her life. Her cruel imagination, she thought, for Alex was many miles away in Cumberland. He had no idea of her plight. He'd understand, though, once he knew the truth. And he would forgive her. They all would.
“A ghràidh, please. Turn around. Look at me.”
A sob rose in her throat. “Nay,” she cried. “I'll not turn around, for you can't be real. 'Tis my wicked mind playing tricks. If I look, you will not be there. And Cùra, I cannot bear such false hope. I cannot.”
A soft sigh carried over the wailing of the wind.
“Come away from the darkness, child.” Strong arms wrapped around her, solid, warm, and so sweetly familiar. “'Tis no trick of your mind. I'm here. I'm real.”
The wind's lament ceased abruptly, as if a door had closed somewhere in the sky. Alex lifted Emma away from the wall and set her down. She clung to his sleeve, still disbelieving he was actually there.
She turned to look at him, tears blurring her vision. “God above,” she said, stunned by what she saw. The moon lay hidden behind the clouds, yet Alex's skin had a faint glow to it, as if lit by moonlight. “You look like an angel, Cùra.” She reached up with a hesitant hand and touched his face. “Is it really you?”
The Cast Of A Stone Page 23