Francis closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers playing along the string of worn wooden prayer beads hanging from his belt.
“My son confessed to breaking our most sacred law, but his action was not one of malice, nor was it intended to do harm. He was not seeking to demonstrate his power over a weaker soul, nor attempting to assert his strength against God's will. When Emma died, Alexander couldn't see beyond the next moment. Is it any wonder? Grief blinded him to everything other than his sorrow. Consider what had already been ripped from him before that terrible morning, then ask yourselves if you could suffer as he did without casting the stone aside and relinquishing your vows.”
He gave a grim smile.
“But despite all these sacrifices, it seems my son has not yet given us enough of himself. Nay. There is one more thing you demand from him, that being his own precious life. Just like all the other lives he has lost, it will be surrendered in the name of this celestial relic we protect. If you choose to dispatch his soul, you will set an example and create a future for this sacred Circle of which I want no part, for it is not God's will that Alexander must die. It is yours and yours entirely, and may God forgive you for it. Aye, I've completed the reckoning, my lords, and I find there is indeed a debt to be paid. The problem is, you're demanding it from the one who is owed. Be certain, then, your decision is justified, for no punishment is as final as death.”
He gestured toward Alex, his voice harsh. “Go and stand with your father, Emma. You go with her, Stephen.”
Emma jumped at the ferocity of his command.
“I would not wish to get on the wrong side of your grandfather,” Stephen murmured as they crossed to where Alex stood,
“Athair,” she whispered, looping her arm through Alex's. “Your father is magnificent.”
“Aye, little one, he is.” Alex smiled. “I'd forgotten.”
Beneath their feet, the earth rumbled with a slow steady beat, while the rocky walls gave off a gentle light which, Emma thought, belied the tension in the atmosphere. No one spoke. Even the sword lay silent at the foot of the golden cross. All eyes were on Francis, who stood poised like a great bird, surveying the Guardians with a dark expression.
“There will be no further discussion,” he said at last, raising his chin. “The Circle's decision must be immediate and unanimous. So, if anyone still believes Alexander's life is forfeit according to the sacred scrolls, you must take up the sword and finish him now. No one will stand in your way.”
Ice-cold shock chilled Emma's skin as she stepped forward. “Oh, nay, Seanair. You cannot –”
“Be silent, child, or I shall have you removed from the chamber,” Francis snapped, glaring at her with such ferocity that she shrank back to stand at Alex's side.
For a few moments, no one moved. Emma's breathing slowed, as did the rapid thud of her heart. Then she saw a hand reach across the black granite, grasp the hilt of the sword, and lift it from the table. The Guardian raised the blade in front of him and looked over at Alex.
Finn.
No one spoke as the Irish knight made his way around the table, his expression determined, his dark eyes glittering. Emma shivered and felt Stephen tense at her side.
“Easy, young knight,” Alex muttered. “Do nothing.”
Finn stopped an arm's length away, the sword resting in his right hand. Emma saw the hilt glowing beneath his fingers.
“Not you, Finn,” she whispered. “Please. Don't hurt him.”
Finn pressed his lips to the glowing silver hilt and ran a fingertip along the blade. Then his gaze locked with hers. “'Twill be painless, mo chailín, I promise.”
“Jesus Christ, Finn,” Stephen muttered, wrapping an arm around Emma. “Think about this.”
“I've thought of naught else for four days,” he said, flipping the sword over and presenting the hilt to Alex. “I believe this belongs to you, my Lord Mathanach.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Snow was falling on Black Combe, large feather-like flakes that swirled and danced in the wind as they tumbled from fat winter clouds. The ancient stones challenged the ghostly deluge like a circle of dark sentinels, guarding their secrets as they had for several millennia.
Emma filled her lungs with brisk morning air, blinked snow from her lashes and set heels to her horse, keeping stride with the three other riders.
Soon the giant monoliths disappeared behind a curtain of white. Above the riders, a crow cut a determined path through the air, silent and watchful, following their trail across the bleak countryside.
“Are you warm enough, little one?”
Emma glanced at Stephen and nodded. “The cold cannot touch me today. I'm protected by a warm shield of happiness.”
Stephen laughed. “Aye, I see it reflected in your smile.”
“Thank God for my grandfather.”
“And Finn. What a gesture. I was sure he meant to strike Alex down where he stood.”
“So was I.” Emma smothered a sigh and twisted her fingers through the coarse mane of her horse. Stephen had unwittingly found a weak spot in her shield of happiness.
Despite his noble salute to Alex, Finn continued to maintain a level of aloofness toward Emma and it saddened her.
“Why does he behave so?” she'd asked Keir as she was preparing to leave. “Does he still resent me?”
“Far from it.” Keir smiled. “He has much to say, but will only come to you when the time is right. You'll see. In the meantime, go with God, my lady.”
They left the magical realm different to the way they found it. As a result of Francis's argument, the Circle had agreed to revisit some of the ancient laws. They acknowledged the stone's power was far-reaching and often unpredictable. It was not only the stone which merited protection, but the welfare of the Guardians themselves.
The Guardians.
Emma looked ahead to where Alex and Francis rode side-by-side, tears of pride stinging her eyes. To think she was descended from these men and carried their blood in her veins. A prickle ran across her scalp at the thought of such a heritage. There was still so much to learn, so much to discover. The stone that sat at her father's side held more than the mysteries of the stars; it held the key to her very life, her existence. Even now she felt the tangible connection, knowing it had always been there, cloaked in familiarity.
A child, after all, had no cause to question its fingers and toes. Such was Emma's bond with the strange jewel in the sword. Only recently had she recognized the miracle of it.
She remained immersed in similar thoughts until they reached the quiet of the forest. Here, where bare branches cut the wind, snow floated down unmolested. Only the soft fall of horses' hooves disturbed the peace, a disparity that pulled her from the depths of thought. Content to be almost home, she held out her hand and watched snowflakes settle on her fingers.
“Beautiful,” she murmured as the delicate shapes melted against the warmth of her skin.
“Aye.” Stephen reached across, wrapped his fingers around hers and brought the palm of her hand to his mouth. “Beautiful indeed.”
“'Twas just over there where I found you.” She gestured through the trees. “It seems so long ago now.”
“Much has happened since.” Stephen sighed. “But not a day goes by that I don't thank God for sending you to me. When I saw you standing there, my little forest faerie, I knew I was both found and lost at the same time.”
“Is that so?” Emma wrinkled her nose at him. “As I recall, you alluded to not having enough blood left for an arousal. Such insolence. You're fortunate I didn't leave you to your fate.”
“I can't believe I said that.” He grinned. “I was obviously delirious. I only have to look at you to –”
“We can hear every word you say.” Francis twisted around in his saddle and gave them a stern look. “And we have heard enough.”
Stephen grimaced. “Apologies, my lord.”
“Aye, well, the sooner you two marry, the better, I think.” He turn
ed back, but not before Emma saw the smile tugging at his lips.
“I agree,” Stephen replied, his eyes on Emma. “Wholeheartedly.”
They reined in their horses at the edge of the clearing and looked down at the house. It was a peaceful scene, belying any indication of the drama that had so recently unfolded there. Smoke spiralled up from the chimney, the smell of wood smoke pungent in the air. Around the clearing, chickens fluffed their feathers against the cold and scratched for meagre pickings in the snow-covered earth. The crow, which had stayed with them the entire journey, settled itself on the roof of the barn and gave a loud caw. Its raucous announcement was followed by a familiar whinny from the barn and the loud bang of a hoof against wood.
“Welcome to our home, my lord Father,” said Alex. “This is where I raised Emma.”
“Hmm. 'Tis very...quaint,” Francis replied, arching a brow. “And I can't believe you still have that damn horse.”
Alex chuckled. “A wondrous beast he is, impervious even to the Devil's malice.”
In an apparent response to Bart's clamour, the cottage door flew open and Althena stepped out, tossing back her long dark hair and pulling a shawl around her shoulders. She looked over at them, hands flying to her face as she dropped to her knees, her cry of relief echoing through the trees.
“Ach, my poor wee lass,” Alex murmured and urged his horse forward.
Emma started to follow, but Francis reached over and grabbed her reins.
“Nay,” he said. “Not yet.”
Alex rode to where Althena knelt, slid from the saddle and lifted her from the ground. He wrapped his cloak around her, drawing her close. Although they could not hear his words, the soothing inflection of his voice was quite plain. She clung to him, her sobs carrying through the bitter air.
“God forgive me,” said Emma, swallowing against the thickness in her throat. “I forgot how she must have suffered these past days all alone, wondering if he still lived.”
“I'm sure she's been on Alexander's mind too,” Francis observed. “He loves her very much.”
“I pray he'll find some peace now,” said Stephen.
Emma exchanged a knowing glance with Francis, who smiled.
“I believe that day is coming, lad,” he said, spurring his horse forward. “And right soon.”
* * *
It was a night of quiet celebration beneath the cozy thatched roof. Candles burned, logs crackled, ale flowed and stew bubbled in a pot over the fire.
Alex sat at the table, his arm around Althena. Occasionally, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. She had lost weight, and her face, though lit with obvious relief, bore shadows of fatigue. Alex had all but spoon-fed her two bowls of stew until she protested, laughing, that she would burst if she ate one more mouthful.
Francis sat across from them, leaning back in his chair, thumbs hooked through his belt, a contented flush upon his cheeks. Emma sat on a warm sheepskin next to the fire, enfolded in Stephen's arms.
“I'm so happy to be home,” she said, savouring the warmth and security of Stephen's embrace.
“As am I,” he murmured, trailing kisses across her hair.
“I'll admit the place has charm.” Francis glanced around the room. “But you need more space, Alexander. Perhaps this arrangement worked for you and Emma, but your little family has grown.”
Emma sat up. “Well, I love it here and would not want to live elsewhere.”
“Then I suppose I shall have to consider enlarging our little cottage.” Alex pressed a kiss to Althena's cheek. “Would you approve of such a plan, my lady?”
Althena nodded, her eyes bright. “As long as I'm at your side, Alexander. 'Tis all I need.”
“'Tis a blessing to have you there, bonny lass. I'm a fortunate man. And what of you, Father? Will you stay be staying with us as well?”
“I should like to, at least for a while. Riderch asked for my help re-writing some of our laws and I was happy to accept.” He winked at Emma. “I wish to spend time with my great-grandchildren when they arrive. 'Tis a new beginning for us all, I feel.”
Alex sat back, his expression hardening. “Aye, and that said, I intend to tear down the old keep. I've no desire to live in its evil shadow.”
Francis frowned. “It doesn't belong to you.”
“It sits on crown land, so I'll need permission from Henry.” Alex grinned. “I'll get Finn to persuade him.”
“'Tis a fitting tomb for Argante.” Stephen pulled Emma back against his chest. “I hope the rats have feasted well.”
Emma shivered. “How did he become so evil?”
“Argante was always evil,” said Alex. “Though at the end he was utterly deranged. I don't know what devilish power possessed him.”
“He was filled with hate,” said Francis. “The stone responds to strong emotion, good or bad. I suspect it affected Argante somehow.”
“Yet I wonder if we should not hold some measure of pity for him,” said Emma. “His was such a desolate soul.”
“Pity?” Stephen spat in the fire. “After what he did? Never. Hell is too good for the likes of that bastard.”
“I agree with you, young knight.” Alex sighed. “I've no regrets about killing Argante. I only wish I'd acted sooner. Things would have been very different.”
“You have more than made restitution for anything you did or did not do.” Francis leaned forward. “Stop torturing yourself. The past has been met and dealt with.”
Not entirely.
Emma saw the skin tighten around her father's eyes. Francis saw it too, and exchanged glances with her.
“Well, I feel like some fresh air,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I wonder if my granddaughter might give me a tour of my son's extensive property. I should go and pat Bart on the nose as well.”
Emma giggled and rose to her feet. “It would be my great honour, Seanair. Since the property is so extensive, I should warn you the tour might take some time.”
He grinned. “Will we need horses?”
Alex laughed. “Enough of your mockery. Don't stay out there too long. 'Tis a bitter night.”
“The next full moon?” Francis asked as the cottage door closed behind them.
Emma looked up at the clouds. “Aye. About seven days, I should think.”
“I pray for a clear night,” he said, following her gaze.
“As do I, although it matters not. Rain, snow or storm, that was the night agreed upon. I doubt there'll be another chance.”
* * *
Francis's prayer was answered. Seven days later saw a night cold and clear. A full moon hung overhead, carpeting the frozen earth with silver light. The ground crunched beneath their feet and their breath clouded around their heads. Emma's stomach fluttered with anticipation.
“You said you wished to discuss something with me, daughter,” said Alex, “yet you've said little since we left the house. What's on your mind?”
She sighed, nudged by a sense of guilt for misleading him. “You are, Athair.”
“Me? Why? Is something wrong?”
“Nay, nothing is wrong. There's something I want to show you.”
“What is it?”
“You'll have to wait and see.”
“Hmm. A mystery.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Do I merit a clue perhaps?”
She shook her head. “Nay. No clues. We'll be there soon enough.”
He fell silent, but Emma sensed his eyes on her. Finally, he spoke,
“You're as skittish as a spring hare. Tell me why. What is it you fear?”
“I don't fear anything,” she replied, steering Alex onto a darker, more narrow track, trying desperately to cover the tremble of emotion in her voice.
“This trail leads to the sacred oak.” Alex squinted into the woods ahead of them. “Is that our destination?”
“Your destination.” She stopped at the edge of the path. “Not mine. I shall wait here until you return.”
“What?�
�� He tilted his head, moonlight reflecting in the silver flecks of his eyes. “I don't understand. What's going on? Why can't you come with me?”
“Because I haven't been invited.” Emma looked up through the leafless trees to where the stars shimmered. “You must go alone.”
He shook his head and glanced around him. “And leave you here unprotected? I think not, little one.”
“I'm not unprotected.” She smiled and patted her sword. “I swear to you, I'm in no danger.”
“Then tell me what this is about.” His jaw firmed. “Or we'll still be standing here when the sun rises.”
Emma ran her fingers over the stubble on his chin. “This is about you, my precious Cùra, my beloved father. It is about your past and your future. I cannot...nay, I will not say more than that. We'll have much to discuss on the way home. For now, please don't fear for me. I'll be quite safe, I promise. There's magic at work in the forest tonight. Do you not feel it?”
Eyes narrowing, Alex studied her for a moment. “What awaits me in that quiet glade? Will you tell me that?”
Not what, but who.
“I will not.”
“As I thought.” He looked to the moonlit trail ahead. “Very well, against my better judgement, I shall play along with this mysterious venture of yours. But, daughter, if you're not here when I return...”
Emma smiled, stood on tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Trust me, Athair.”
With a mumbled curse and a soft shake of his head, he stepped into the night's dark cloak, leaving her alone. Nothing disturbed the crisp, cold air save the pale clouds of her breath. The wild creatures were still, the woods silent, yet behind the peaceful facade Emma felt the stirring of an unearthly realm.
A perfect night for miracles.
As if to sustain her thought, a voice she had longed to hear carried from the shadows.
“What does await him in that quiet glade?”
A sudden rush of relief forced a sob into Emma's throat. “Peace of mind, I hope.”
“Then I pray he finds it.”
The Cast Of A Stone Page 37