Emma struggled out from under him, sobbing as she staggered to her feet. Through a red haze of anger, he grabbed at her ankle and brought her down hard, slashing at her leg with the knife.
“You little bitch. I'm going to cut you to pieces.”
He pulled her toward him, and pinned her beneath him, his blade pressed against her throat.
“If you kill me,” she gasped, “you'll also kill your child.”
Argante watched a bead of blood seep from a cut on Emma's throat, frowning as a drop of his own blood fell and mixed with hers.
“My child?”
“Aye,” she panted, her eyes fixed on his face, unwavering. “I carry your seed, Richard.”
“Lying whore.” But he lifted the blade from her throat, allowing her words to settle into his brain.
“I swear it before God. Your babe grows inside me.”
Still pinning her with his legs, he rolled onto his side and studied her body. “You're having my bastard?” His mind pondered the revelation. Spilling his seed had always been a matter of self-indulgence. He'd never cared about the consequences of his selfish pleasures. The point of his blade tracked a line down Emma's sternum and across her abdomen, following the small rise of her belly. Emma tensed visibly and a grin spread across Argante's twisted features. A child. His child. How perfect. How amusing.
“Does Mathanach know?”
“Aye,” she said. “He does.”
“Christ. Then he probably won't be too upset to find you dead. I can't see him bouncing my bastard on his knee.”
“You'd kill your own child?”
“I'd never let it grow up with that mangy Scot.” Still grinning, he rolled on top of her again, his blood dripping onto her face. “It's going to feel me in a moment. I wonder if it'll recognize its father's cock?”
“You're a demon,” Emma cried, pushing at him. “You belong in hell.”
“Where do you think I've been for the past few weeks? Ever since you left me, sweetheart, my life has been shite. I burned for you.” He chuckled. “Literally.”
Was it his imagination, or had the darkness of the room just lifted? Something buzzed in his brain, a warning, the sense of a presence, and a soldier's instinct emerged from the ruins of his mind.
He grabbed a handful of Emma's hair and sprang to his feet, dragging her with him, ignoring her yelp of pain. His arm wrapped around her throat, pulling her back against him like a shield, the point of the blade aimed at her heart.
The entire room glowed with a soft blue light, growing in strength with each moment, pulsing as if alive.
“What the hell?”
Then he saw him, and his cold skin grew colder yet.
“Remember me, Richard?” Stephen stepped out of the light, his eyes menacingly dark in his pale face.
“Stephen de Montfort.” Argante's hold on Emma tightened, his befuddled brain trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “But...you're dead. I saw your grave. I saw...”
Emma choked, gasping for breath, and pulled at his arm. Argante glanced at her, his mind searching for something important, something to do with her. Something she had said.
Got it.
“Stephen.” He spat out a large wad of saliva. “You're no ghost. This whore asked for you earlier. So, you're still alive. Living proof that there is, in fact, no God.”
“Let her go. You're killing her.” Stephen took a step closer.
“You're very perceptive.” Argante's mouth twisted as he pushed the knife against Emma's ribs. “And very inconsiderate. You've interrupted a sweet romantic interlude between me and Alicia's bastard. Speaking of bastards, where's that Scottish whoreson? I wouldn't want him to miss out –”
“I'm right behind you, Richard.”
A hand grabbed Argante's shoulder and something hit him hard in the small of his back. He dropped the knife, shocked by a strange sensation travelling up through his body, as if someone had lit a fire in his belly and poured ice-cold water around his heart. Then the hand on his shoulder tightened and he jerked backwards, aware of a sickening sound, like a boot being pulled free of mud.
“God's balls, Mathanach, I'm impressed,” he blurted, through a mouthful of red bubbles, taking Emma with him as he fell. “I didn't see that coming.”
Alex towered over him, the hilt of his sword glowing with the strange blue light, the blade dripping with blood.
My blood, Argante thought.
“By the way, the stone was with me all along,” Alex said, patting the hilt. “Just thought you'd like to know that before you die, you bastard. Have a nice time in hell.”
Argante spat out a mouthful of blood and grinned at Emma, who still lay breathless at his side. “Mathanach doesn't know it yet,” he whispered, staring into the green depths of her eyes as his life left him. “But you're coming with me.”
* * *
Emma started hemorrhaging on the way home, a persistent steady flow coupled with sharp bursts of intense pain. Each of her cries struck like a blade in Alex's heart, for he had heard Argante's final words. Even now, they filled him with a sickening dread, a familiar feeling - one he had wondered about several times over the past few weeks.
Argante had been demented, aye, but there was more to it than that. Some unseen power had been at play, consuming the man, shielding him from Alex's sight and senses.
Tracking him to the keep had been easy. Argante left a trail even a two-year-old could have followed. But why hadn't Alex sensed his presence at the cottage? Why had he not felt Emma's absence? What kind of insidious demon had taken refuge in Argante's soul?
They rode their horses hard. By the time they reached the cottage, the flank of Stephen's horse was wet with a mixture of sweat and Emma's blood. Stephen carried her indoors, his face white and grim as he placed her on the bed. Alex caught the desperate look on Althena's face just before she donned a mask of hope. His guts twisted.
Now the two men waited in silence, the only sound being the crackle of wood in the hearth and the occasional hiss of a candle flame as it devoured the tallow.
Daylight crept through gaps in the shutters, yet neither man rose to open them. Somehow, Alex thought, opening the shutters would be accepting the arrival of this new day.
A day he'd never thought to see.
At last, the bedroom door swung back and Althena appeared on the threshold, her face grey and drawn, her hair damp with sweat. Alex tried not to look at the blood staining her skirts.
Both men stood, Stephen's eyes full of hope, but his face tight with fear as he spoke. “She has lost the child?”
Alex gripped the back of his chair.
Althena nodded. “Aye.”
Stephen took a step forward. “And... does she rally?”
There was a pause, a small measure of time in which the terrible truth resided.
“I can't stop the bleeding.”
Alex gripped the chair harder, his legs weakening, his heart racing.
Dear God, how can I ever begin to survive this?
“But...but she'll recover.” Stephen glanced at Alex as if seeking affirmation and his voice rose in fear. “For Christ's sake, Althena. Tell me she'll recover.”
“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, a sob catching in her throat. “I can do no more. Go to her, Stephen.”
“Nay,” Stephen ran a hand through his hair, his voice cracking. “Oh, nay. Sweet Christ. It cannot be.” He pushed past Althena and went into the bedroom.
“Forgive me, Alex.” Althena shook her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I tried everything.”
He went to her and drew her close, giving way to his own tears. “Don't blame yourself, my love. None of this is your doing.”
“She's asking for you. Go to her. Her time is very near.”
In all his life, he'd never felt such terror, such hopelessness. Losing Alicia had almost destroyed him, yet even that could not compare to the hell he now faced. Whether she was of his blood or not, Emma was his child, and he loved her more t
han anything.
More than life.
And what of Emma's fear? God's teeth. She was but a child of sixteen. What in Heaven's name did a parent say to their dying child? Had such words even been invented? Did such dialogue exist? He hesitated in the doorway, his fingers tightening around the sword's hilt. All at once he became aware of the stone's strange silence, as if it, too, was in utter denial.
Candlelight flickered off the walls and a pile of blood-soaked cloths sat in a bucket by the door. Stephen sat on the bed with Emma in his arms, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, whispering soft words of love to her. Her skin was white and thin as parchment, her lips circled with a pale blue ring.
She saw Alex and, bless her precious heart, smiled at him.
He went to her, settled himself on the other side of her, and took her hand in his.
“Cùra,” she murmured. “Don't be afraid.”
He realised, then, where to find his words. All he had to do was reach into his heart. “But I am afraid, a ghràidh. I'm afraid to face life without you. I love you so much.”
She smiled again, but Alex saw the life fading in her eyes. “You'll never be without me,” she said. “I'll always be with you. Both of you.”
Emma's final breath was a fine, delicate thing. It parted her lips and disappeared like a wisp of wind into the air.
At the same time, images exploded in Alex's mind, as blinding as the sun, overwhelming him with their brilliance. He watched them through a mist of tears, priceless memories of a beautiful child who had enriched his life.
Not once, not even for a moment, had he regretted adopting her. He remembered the exhausting nights he'd heard her cry and risen to feed her, only to be blessed by a toothless smile from a crib, while the rest of the world slept. Watching her grow had been a gift beyond value, beyond measure. He taught her the ways of the forest, guided her through her studies, cherished her innocence, and nurtured her adoration and trust. She had thrived with him, learned from him. And he, in turn, had learned from her. They had shared stories by candlelight and dreams by starlight.
“The stars will never shine as brightly again, little one,” he whispered.
Echoes of her laughter faded away to be replaced by Stephen's quiet sobs, each one wrenched from a shattered heart. The lad still held Emma, rocking her gently, his face buried in her hair. Alex's mind went back in time and saw himself on a bright summer's morning more than sixteen years earlier, when Alicia lay dead in his arms, her life's blood spreading out across the floor.
Alex knew Stephen's life would never be the same.
Through a haze of grief, he looked down at Emma's hand, still resting in his. There was blood under the fingernails. Argante's blood, no doubt. His fingers traced a vein across the back of her hand; a pale, bloodless line where life had flowed only moments before. How can this be? What purpose does it serve, the death of this innocent child?
“God, help me.”
But it was not God who answered.
The past does not stay in the past. It circles around to greet us as we step into the future. One becomes the other. Thus has it always been.
Alicia's death had been of her own doing. Tragic and painful indeed, but a choice had, nonetheless, been made.
And Emma? Was she given a choice?
Nay. Perhaps she had contemplated taking her life at one time, but in the end her demise had been brought about by the wicked deeds of men. He remembered Argante's final prediction.
...you're coming with me.
Could, then, such an end be preordained? Deemed to be the will of God? Surely not.
So why was he just sitting there?
“Step aside, lad,” he said, rising to his feet and drawing his sword.
Stephen lifted his head, his face wet with tears, eyes bright with anguish. “What?”
“Lay the lass down and step aside. I don't have much time.”
Alex felt something brush across his mind and saw shock flit across Stephen's face.
“What...what are you doing, Alex?”
“Have faith, Stephen. Am I not the guardian of a stone that lights the dark and plays havoc with men's weaknesses?” Alex smiled. “But consider for a moment. Would such trivial powers merit the protection of an immortal assembly across fifteen centuries? You're about to learn the real truth of why we exist. I ask only that you stay quiet and still.”
“Alex?” Althena's quiet voice wandered into the room. May Christ forgive him, for in his grief he had not considered what his actions would mean for her.
“My love.” He held out his hand and she stepped to his side. He kissed her, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “I pray you will understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Why I do what I do. Go and stand with Stephen, lass. Say nothing more for now.”
Something akin to fear flared in her eyes, but she did as he asked.
Alex knelt at the side of the bed and placed the sword on Emma's body with the hilt resting on her chest, close to her heart. He wrapped her fingers around the twisted silver knot on the hilt, and then covered them with his own before turning his gaze to her beautiful, lifeless face.
Years of training and mental discipline were brought to bear as Alex connected with the stone. He opened a forbidden door in his mind and, without hesitation, plunged into the depths of the stone's divine power. Like a child startled from sleep, it jumped beneath his hands. He felt its growing awareness, sharing its rapturous desire to connect with that most powerful and eternal force under heaven.
Life itself.
With his guidance, it reached out to embrace the young girl on the bed, caressing Emma's heart and mind, hesitating when it found only emptiness within. The air in the room turned ice cold, clouding Alex's breath. He shivered, fighting a violent surge of anger combined with an overwhelming sense of injustice.
“Then make it right,” he whispered, shocked at the stone's intense reaction. “Return that which has been taken away. Give her what we mortals cannot.”
The anger subsided but the cold increased. Frost formed along the blade of the sword and travelled across Alex's hands, turning them white. He tightened his hold, ignoring the numbing pain, watching his breath all but solidify upon leaving his lips.
A voice drifted into his mind; one he knew right well.
“You will cease this blasphemy now, Guardian”
“Nay, I will not.”
“Remember your sacred vow.”
“A vow I do willingly renounce.”
“There will be dire consequences.”
“I'll face them.”
“Then may God have mercy on your soul.”
“Amen to that, for He has shown me little of his mercy so far.”
A small tendril of shimmering light emerged from Alex's hands, curling like a delicate vine up into the air. Another followed, and another, until several of them danced over Emma's bed. A ball of light emerged from the centre and rose above them, pulsing, becoming brighter with each passing moment.
From the silence came the gentle sound of rushing water, like the enduring flow of a mountain stream, coupled with a soft, rhythmic song, reminiscent of summer rain drumming on the mirrored surface of a pond.
Alex knew he was witness to the stone's interpretation of life. The light represented the sun, and the sounds represented mortal essences, the flow of blood through the veins, the beating of a million hearts.
As the stone's power increased, his frozen hands prickled as if wrapped in thorns, an agonizing sensation that had him gritting his teeth. Then, just as the pain became unbearable, the ball of light exploded around him, blinding him for a moment, filling his veins with a force unlike any he had felt before.
The tendrils of light vanished, silence once again filled the room, and Alex closed the door in his mind. The entire episode had lasted but moments, yet he felt as if he had lived another lifetime. His heart pounded, his lungs snatched air, and his limbs shook. Yet beneath his touch
, he felt Emma's skin grow warm. Still, he waited for a sign that she lived, and a sliver of doubt wormed its way into his mind despite his belief in the stone's power.
He rose from his knees, sheathed the sword, and sat on the edge of the bed, studying her. Emma's face had lost its grim pallor. The blue lines had vanished from her mouth and eyelids. Her cheeks were now flushed a soft pink, her lips too.
“God's balls.” Stephen's voice shook. “What just happened?”
Alex ran a fingertip along Emma's jaw. Her eyelids flickered and, as he watched, her chest rose and fell.
He swallowed against a sob. “You've got your wee faerie back, Stephen.”
Emma opened her eyes and blinked at him. Alex's heart clenched. For a fleeting moment, he saw Alicia in those emerald green depths, and Emma's first words did much to affirm his impression.
“Oh, Cùra. I must tell you. I had such a wonderful dream. I was with Mama. She told me...” She frowned. “But I thought...am I...is this a dream also? Do I live?”
“Aye, you live.” He pulled her into his embrace, his heart both light with relief and heavy with regret. “I've told you this many times, yet I must tell you again. I love you, Emma, and I would do anything for you, willingly. You know that, don't you?”
She looked up at him. “I know it well and I love you too, Cùra. Are you alright? Is anything wrong?”
“Nay, little one. Everything's fine. Rest now. It will take a wee while to get your strength back.” He kissed her and rose to his feet, turning to Stephen, who stood staring at Emma in white-faced shock. “Close your mouth, lad. Come and sit by her.”
The look on Althena's face had not gone unnoticed by Alex. She too was pale, her expression one of disbelief. Yet she watched him, not Emma, and the fear he had seen in her eyes earlier still remained.
Alex knew that in choosing to save one heart, he was about to hurt another. He smiled at her and held out his hand.
“Come with me, lass.”
They went into the kitchen, the sounds of Stephen and Emma's quiet conversation behind them.
He gathered her close, breathing in the soft scent of her hair, feeling her heart thudding against him.
The Cast Of A Stone Page 32