The Cast Of A Stone

by Avril Borthiry

  * * *

  Time wove around them like a tapestry that evening, the hours filled with pleasant images, each one blending neatly into the next. Even so, Alex sensed an undercurrent. A tapestry could hide a damaged wall, he pondered.

  But if you look behind the pretty scenes, the damage is still there.

  Althena had retired first, encouraged to do so by Alex, who saw the weariness in her face. A little later, Stephen carried Emma to bed as she nodded off in his arms. When Stephen returned, the room lapsed into silence and Alex cast an amused glance around the table.

  “Will someone speak, for God's sake? I'm curious to know why the air has been thick with unspoken words all evening.”

  Finn smiled. “Ever the perceptive one, Alexander. Strange, though, how your perception is clouded when it comes to Emma. In fact, I'm not so sure she should be excluded from this conversation.”

  Stephen straddled his chair. “I agree. This concerns her too. I know you didn't tell her everything last night.”

  Alex frowned and leaned back. “What is this? A tribunal? If you have questions to ask of me, then please ask them.”

  “Easy, my friend.” Keir reached over and squeezed Alex's shoulder. “'Tis no tribunal. But it does have to do with Emma.”

  “In what way?”

  Keir took a measured breath. “While at Thurston, we all became aware of the strong connection you have to the lass.”

  Alex shrugged. “Is it so unusual that I should have one? I raised her as my own.”

  Keir smiled. “We have reason to believe that she is yours.”

  Alex struggled to keep his voice calm. “You're mistaken, my lord, but I would know the reason for your beliefs.”

  “That is what we wish to discuss with you.” Keir glanced at the others around the table, his expression guarded. “Stephen and I took a little detour on our way back from London. We paid a visit to Creake Abbey and spent some time with Francis. What we learned from him was quite interesting.”

  Alex sat forward, his heart leaping into a gallop. “Sweet Christ. You went to see my father?”

  “Aye. What we witnessed at Thurston led us to think there was something unusual about your connection to Emma, something more than that of a surrogate parent. You never did fully explain what led to the estrangement of your father, nor did Francis ever fully explain his sudden withdrawal from the Circle.” Keir glanced at Finn and Stephen. “Not that those things, by themselves, gave us any real concern. But the fact is, Emma continues to demonstrate certain abilities that lead us to believe she may be of a Guardian's blood. If that's true, then we must be involved in her life. Inherited traits are to be nurtured and developed in our children. The visit with your father appears to support our suspicions. He claims the girl is –”

  “I know what he claims.” Alex rose to his feet, an old familiar anger gnawing at him. “But it is simply that my father was fool enough to believe some heretical nonsense invented by a desperate woman.”

  “Heretical nonsense?” Keir raised a brow. “Consider, Alexander, the stone you guard, the power it possesses, all that it does. Do you consider those qualities to be heretical nonsense? Nay, I think not. How is it, then, you can so readily dismiss Alicia's claim?”

  “Do you truly believe...” Alex ran his hand through his hair, “...that I would be unaware of travelling halfway across the known world, making love to my wife, then returning to my paltry bed in the space of one night? 'Tis folly. An impossibility. Emma is Edward's child. Of that I have no doubt.”

  “Not so. You're riddled with doubt, my friend.” Keir's eyes lit with a soft gleam. “I can see it. 'Tis like a parasite, feeding upon what you think you know. Why is it so difficult to believe Emma is yours? Listen to your instincts for a change. You're a Guardian, a man with knowledge of things beyond most mortal comprehension. So why not consider the possibility that you ascended to another realm of consciousness, that your spirit, your soul, took physical form and conceived a child with a woman you loved? That Emma is, in fact, a miracle child?”

  Voices from the past, so recently disturbed, echoed Keir's words.

  ...for she is a true miracle. Never doubt it.

  Alex paced, his turbulent mind latching on to the safety of his denial. “If I agree, for a moment, to consider the possibility that what you say is true, then you must explain the why of it, my lords.”

  Keir narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Why only that one night? If I have - or had - such a gift, why do I not ascend to this...this other realm more often? Why did I not visit Alicia once a week? Or once a month? Why only that one night? My need for my wife did not wane with time. I missed her terribly, and the pain of being apart grew in strength as the months passed. So what was different about that night? Explain it to me, if you can.”

  “I've wondered about that, and I have a theory.” Finn shifted in his chair. “The night you appeared on Thurston's roof, Emma had just learned about the child she carried. You were in Cumberland. Stephen had not yet returned. The lass was lost, alone, and desperate. Without hope.” He grimaced. “Truth is, Alex, I believe that Emma had other intentions on the roof that night.”

  Alex felt a twinge of apprehension. “Other intentions? What do you mean?”

  Finn set his lips in a grim line. “I believe she went up there to –”

  “Kill myself.”

  Alex stopped pacing as a collective gasp rattled the air. All eyes turned to the girl who stood, pale-faced, in the doorway of her room, her gaze fixed on Alex.

  “Christ, Emma.” Stephen leapt up and went to her.

  Alex sighed. “How much of our conversation did you hear, lass?”

  Emma shrugged. “Almost all of it, Cùra. Why did you not speak of your father before now? You led me to believe he was dead.”

  He ignored her question, a sudden heaviness beneath his ribs. “Is it true? You meant to end your life that night?”

  She shrugged again. “I saw no way forward. No way out. My foot was on the battlement wall when I heard your voice. 'Twas you who saved me. You pulled me back from the edge. But when you disappeared so suddenly, I thought you had merely been a dream, a vision conjured up by my desperate mind.” She looked at Finn. “I no longer believe that.”

  “I never did believe it,” said Finn. “I sensed your presence, Alexander. I know you were there that night, and I can only conclude you were there because your child was in despair, without hope. I now believe the same thing happened with Alicia. You told us how much you missed her when you were separated. Do you not think she felt the same? She too was alone, helpless, and desperate for your return. I believe you responded to Alicia's call for help, just as you responded to Emma's. In each case, their despair is what pulled you to their side. You created hope where none existed. You were a light in the darkness.”

  “Thank God.” Stephen dropped a kiss on Emma's head. “Thank God you were there, Alex.”

  I'm here because you have great need of me.

  Alex's heart missed a beat as the words rang out in his mind. His words, he felt certain. But spoken when? And to whom?

  His eyes had not left Emma's face. “I still find it...difficult to believe.” Yet ancient instincts stirred as he looked at her. Was it his blood in her veins and not Edward's? If so, that would mean –

  “Our initial fear was that you had knowledge of this ability and had not spoken of it,” said Keir. “But it appears that's not the case. That said, it also appears you have much to consider, Alexander. You have, at least, allowed us to open a door in your mind tonight. Do not be tempted to close it until you've explored what lies within.” He rose to his feet and looked at Stephen. “In the meantime, the Circle grows impatient for our report on all that has happened, all our findings.”

  Stephen frowned. “You're leaving now? In the middle of the night?”

  Finn grinned as he stood. “Those words are strangely familiar to me.”

  Stephen's puzzled expression chang
ed to one of disappointment. “But I was hoping you would help us find Argante. With your skills, we should have no trouble tracking him down.”

  Keir shook his head. “We hunt neither beast nor man, young knight. Our work here is done for now. We'll return in a week or so, for I suspect you'll be summoned to the Circle.” He glanced at Alex and Emma. “And I suspect you won't be the only one.”

  Alex pushed his sword into the soft earthen floor of the barn and ran his fingers over the silver knot on the hilt. The jewel hidden within responded to his touch, pulsing with a soft blue light that grew in intensity until it cast the shadows aside. He fell to his knees, pulled the hilt against his lips and closed his eyes, trying to balance the weight of his thoughts.

  Although Alex sought harmony, the Cumberland night refused to yield it. Outside, a screech owl challenged the peace with its strange call, answered a moment later by the haunting yip of a red fox. Upon hearing that, the chickens in the barn clucked subdued warnings to one other, and Bart snorted before landing a solid kick against his stall door. Yet Alex found some strange comfort in the sounds. They had a simple clarity, each one easy to identify. Unlike the truth, it seemed.

  He heard a soft footfall behind him.

  “You still have doubts, Cùra.” It was not a question. Emma's hand rested on his shoulder as she knelt by his side.

  “Aye, little one.”

  “Why did you not tell me about your father last night? Why did you not tell me what Mama had told him?”

  He turned to look at her, expecting to see accusation in her eyes. Instead, he saw only love and concern.

  “You overheard your mother's story, Emma. To me, it sounded like the ramblings of a woman desperate to hide the truth. I believed my father betrayed me by taking her side, hiding her in the abbey until you were born.”

  “Do you still believe that?”

  Alex released the hilt of his sword and sat back on his heels, watching the gentle sway of his makeshift cross, thinking that even prayer would bring him no peace that night.

  “I'm no longer certain what I believe.”

  He heard a soft sigh and saw Emma's head droop. “It troubles me that you continue to deny even the possibility of it, Cùra. Would you not like to be...I mean, is the thought of being my real father not appealing to you?”

  Alex resisted a curious urge to laugh. “Appealing?” He stood and pulled Emma to her feet, keeping her hands clasped between his. “The thought of you sharing my blood could never be simply appealing, Emma. Wonderful, aye. Incredible, certainly. The truth is, my reluctance to be proven your real father has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with me.”

  Emma shook her head. “I don't understand.”

  “Ach, child. Christ knows how much you mean to me. But do you not see? If you're indeed mine, then Alicia did not lie. She didn't betray me. Nor did Edward.” The notion hovered over him like a hangman's noose. “If I'm to believe your mother's story, then I must also admit to killing an innocent man. Worse yet, your mother, may God rest her tormented soul, died for naught. That thought alone is enough to sicken me. I find myself trapped between two possibilities, neither one pleasant to consider. The only shining light in each of them is you.”

  He searched her face, looking for traces of himself or Edward in her appearance. But all he saw was Alicia. She blinked at him, stood on tiptoes, and kissed his cheek.

  “I understand. But whatever the truth, you're not alone. We'll face it together. 'Tis what Mama would have wanted. For now, I shall leave you to your prayers, but I should like to talk more tomorrow. Perhaps, by then, God will have given you the answers you seek.” She turned to leave, pausing at the threshold. “Just know this, Cùra. I have no doubt who I am. None at all.” With a smile, she disappeared into the blackness.

  Alex groaned and dropped to his knees once more, his father's voice filling his head, as clear as if he stood by his side.

  Surely you can feel it, lad? Surely you can see it? 'Tis obvious whose child she is.

  Behind him, Bart nickered and kicked at his stall door again. Alex ignored him and touched the hilt of the sword to kill the light. The barn plunged into welcome darkness.

  God was not the only one Alex spoke to that night. He reached out with his mind, calling for Alicia beyond the limits of mortality, willing her to speak to him. But the dead, apparently, had nothing to say.

  Much later, his body numb with cold, his thoughts dull with fatigue, he struggled to his feet and stumbled back to the cottage. He had gone almost two nights without sleep, he realised. Perhaps things would be clearer once he had rested.

  It surprised him to see Stephen sitting at the table, staring into the glowing remains of the fire. He looked up as Alex entered, his eyes drifting to the open door. “Everything alright? I was getting worried, but didn't want to interrupt.”

  “Aye, I'm fine. Just need some rest. I thought you'd be asleep.” Alex closed the door, unbuckled his sword and leaned it against the wall.

  There was a moment of silence, a moment in which he heard Stephen's breath catch. The sound was like a cold hand around Alex's heart.

  “What is it, lad?”

  “Why have you closed the door?” Stephen rose to his feet, his face turning stark white in the candlelight. “Where's Emma?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Emma dropped to the ground like a lifeless bird; her head twisted back, blood roping its way along the strands of her hair. For a brief moment, Argante panicked. Had he hit her too hard? Killed her here, outside Mathanach's house? Not what he'd planned.

  But no. A small cloud of breath escaped from her parted lips, and her chest rose and fell. She lives.

  A horse whinnied in the barn, and Argante heard the bang of a hoof against wood. That damn stallion. It always sensed him. He should have cut its throat.

  The strange blue light in the barn went out, and he held his breath, watching the doorway, expecting to see Mathanach appear on the threshold. But all fell silent.

  Grinning, Argante picked Emma up and heaved her over his shoulder.

  “You're mine, Emma,” he gurgled, heading toward the trees. “See you soon, Mathanach.”

  The thought of Alex on his trail kept Argante trudging onward, stopping once in a while to glance behind to see if he was being followed. Although Emma weighed little, her inert body dragged at his muscles and pulled on his limbs as he staggered through the forest.

  His body ached and his knees buckled, but he struggled on until he reached open countryside. At the edge of the forest he paused, fatigue forgotten as he hummed a raspy, nondescript tune. He'd waited a long time for this night.

  The walls of the keep loomed ahead, a dark shape against the frost-bitten slopes of Black Combe. Argante stepped through the doorway and climbed the stairs to what had, at one time, served as the Great Hall.

  Moonlight fell through the small, uncovered windows, drawing silver lines across the begrimed floor and walls. Somewhere up in the cobwebbed rafters a bat squeaked, its leathery wings fluttering in the darkness.

  Argante placed Emma on the floor by the fireplace. Many years had passed since the massive hearth had held a fire, but the black scars of flames remained, scorched into the cold grey slate for eternity.

  “Romantic, don't you think?” He slurped on a mouthful of saliva. “You always bring out the best in me, Emma. But I'll not be lighting a fire. I'm sure you can understand why.”

  Drool dripping from his lips, he knelt at Emma's side and pulled some strands of hair from her face. His fingers traced her jawline, tracked down her throat and circled a breast. He pushed his hand inside her dress and rolled her nipple between his fingertips. It responded, hardening beneath his touch.

  He groaned, his mind high on intense sexual desire, his thoughts haphazard. “God's balls, you're a sweet wench. Open your eyes, will you? I want you awake when I stick my cock inside you. This will be our final romantic tryst, so we should both enjoy it, n'est-ce pas?”

&nb
sp; Emma's eyelids flickered. “Ste... Stephen?”

  Argante stood, unfastened his filthy braies, and tossed them aside. “Who's Stephen? My name is Richard. Have you forgotten me so soon?”

  Emma looked up at him and for a heartbeat Argante caught his breath, his twisted mind thrown by the expression of profound pity in her eyes.

  “Argante,” she whispered. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

  He blinked, his mind settling back into its dark cradle. “Ah, so you do remember me. Good. Do you remember this?” He kicked her legs apart, waving his erection at her. “Ready and willing, just like your mother. I'll mount her on one side, and you on the other.” The walls echoed with his laughter. “Moonlight, a fireplace and poetry. What more could a lady want?”

  “You're insane.” Emma tried to sit up. She moaned and touched her fingers to the wound on her head.

  “Nay. You're confusing me with Mathanach. He's taken up with that black-haired witch. Where did you go? Did he send you away?”

  “You'll not touch me,” she murmured. “Not again.”

  “Aye, I will. And you'll like it.” Argante took a knife from his belt, knelt between her legs, and pushed her skirt up around her waist. “I've waited so long for this.”

  She whimpered as he pressed his groin to hers, supporting himself on his elbows, the knife blade pointed at her breast. “Jesus, wench. God have mercy, you feel so good. A bit skinny, but good.”

  “Alex will kill you,” she cried, her stomach roiling at his foul breath.

  “He's tried that once or twice already.” He chuckled, slipping his hand between them to adjust himself. “Besides, I'm already dying. But I had to have you just one last time.” Spittle spattered across her face as he coughed. “I shall take my pleasure and then take your life. I want to see Mathanach's face when he sees your sweet little body next to mine. It will be my final moment of joy.”

  A moment later, his scream echoed around the stark walls as Emma's fingernails raked him, grabbing and ripping the scarred skin covering his closed eye. Blinded by agony, he clutched at his face, blood dripping through his fingers.