"I know," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head.
His hair was soft against her lips, his arms tight around her, needful.
"Serena..."
Her name was an apology that rasped past his lips, his voice thick but steady, warm against her breast.
She quietly hushed him, for there was no need for pardon. She understood now, his flares of unprovoked anger, his abrupt dismissal of her that afternoon. She understood now his need to push her away from him while the door to his past was, at last, beginning to close. She could not bear to feel his regret heaped atop the grief that was just now, finally, breaking.
Sweet Mary. He had held it for so long, the hurt of loss in his heart, fiercely reined. Denied. But no longer. Serena held him, demanding nothing, wishing only that the ache she shared through Knowing could somehow lessen his pain.
But it could not. Her gift was not that strong. No magic could absorb so deep a wound.
"I know," Serena murmured, holding him closer, pressing her lips into the windblown silk of his hair. She would hold him thus all night if he needed. She would share his grief until it was fully spent. "I know, Rand. It's all right, you don't have to say anything."
Chapter 16
They did not speak of that night in the day and a half that had passed. Rand's demeanor, while far from lighthearted, had grown less burdened. Serena was glad for that, but there was yet a reticence in him, a distance she seemed unable to bridge.
His wounds were all but healed. He built his strength swimming in the cascade pool and training with a length of heavy wood in absence of a sword. He prepared for battle, and Serena knew in the pit of her heavy heart that soon he would be leaving.
She stood gazing out the window of the cottage, her fingers toying with the little wooden dove that perched on the sill, her thoughts trailing back over the precious moments she and Rand had shared.
She wished they had more time. She wished, just once, they could share a few hours together where she was not Serena of the grove, and he was not Randwulf, the avenging lord of Greycliff. She wanted to see the world he belonged to, and know if she might ever be a part of it.
Just once, she yearned to see him look upon her in wonder and see her as the woman she felt she was inside, not the sheltered cottage maiden in drab homespun. For him, she yearned to be a princess, exotic and dazzling, like the ones in her mother's fairy stories.
She wished, recklessly and foolishly, that he would forget his dangerous plans and stay with her always.
Her gaze strayed to one of the clothing chests near her pallet. She went to it, and knelt on the floor before the old wardrobe chest. The lid creaked open as she lifted it, then began to remove the first few layers of folded garments. The simple homespun gowns had been wrought by her own hand, none of them beautiful, despite their careful weave and occasional, modest embroidery. She had been proud of each one when she'd made them, but now they all seemed drab and unremarkable. Serena set them aside. There was another gown in the chest, and it was this special one she sought now.
It rested at the bottom of the wooden coffer, hidden like a precious relic, for that it was.
She removed the last of the homespun, revealing the exquisite sheen of cerulean silk shot with gold thread. Delicate gemstone beading circled the fitted sleeves and heart-shaped cut of the bodice, sparkling like stars. Very carefully, marveling at its rare quality, Serena lifted the gown and brought it into the light. She rose, letting the long skirts unfurl before her, smiling as they danced in the small breeze from the cottage window.
The fabric was as light as air in her hands, its color shifting from pale blue to green to pearl. It was all the shades of the ocean and the sky together, a fantasy that spoke of magical times, and of the elegant lady who had once worn it--whomever that ancient relative might have been.
Serena had often asked her mother about the gown's owner, but the lady's name was long forgotten. Calandra knew only a few generations-old stories of her life among a royal court ages ago. A princess, so Calandra had told her, who lived an enchanted life in a faraway land. Love had called her away from her kingdom home, but soon proved a mistake she could not reclaim. Heartbreak followed not long after, and it was here in these remote woods that the princess had begun a new life. A simpler life, as Serena and Calandra led themselves.
Although the gown was astonishingly beautiful, Serena had never worn it. She had never felt worthy of it, never felt it right to risk sullying such finery merely to sate her own vanity.
Entranced by the gossamer perfection of the garment, she hardly noticed the cottage door opening across the room. Inexplicably, a pang of guilt washed over her when she turned her head and met her mother's look of displeasure.
"What are you doing with that?" Calandra asked, stepping inside and slowly closing the door behind her.
Serena shrugged. "I just...I suppose I just wanted to look at it."
Calandra edged toward her, something wistful in her voice. "It's hardly aged in all this time. Not even a single pearl out of place. Remarkable, considering how old it truly is."
"Do you ever wonder what her life might have been like before she settled here?" Serena held the gown to her waist with one arm and swayed, so very tempted to don it herself, if only to indulge in its splendor for just a moment. "Do you imagine she lived in a large castle?"
"Yes. I suppose it was," Calandra answered. "Her brother was king of a great realm. I expect the castle she lived in was immense, with tall battlements to overlook the vastness of the land."
Serena nodded, picturing soaring white towers and endless green hills. And within the glittering walls of the fortress was the lady who once wore the exquisite cerulean bliaut. "How incredible she must have been, so beautiful in this gown. No wonder the man fell in love with her on sight."
"His love was false," Calandra said, a flatness creeping into her tone. She came closer and gently withdrew the precious silk from Serena's hands. "And she was careless. If this gown is good for anything, it should be a reminder that her foolish mistakes must not be repeated. Would that any of the women of our line might take that lesson to heart."
Calandra gathered up the diaphanous skirts and neatly folded the gown. "Mayhap that is too much to hope for," she remarked, replacing the lovely garment in the coffer.
Serena watched her sober movements with a knot of sympathy, aware that her mother bore a private pain. Calandra had loved and lost, too. She would not discuss it, save to say that her heart had been broken and she abandoned by a man who claimed to care for her. Understanding the fear Calandra must harbor for her only remaining child, Serena felt a twitch of guilt. "I am careful, Mother."
"Are you?"
Calandra viewed her askance, her blue gaze serious, almost sad. The casket lid closed with a hollow thump.
"I am," Serena insisted.
Calandra said nothing, merely withdrew to the other side of the cottage, her back to Serena. She retrieved a broom from its corner resting place and began a vigorous sweep of the cottage floor.
"What is it?" Serena asked. Uncomfortable with the gap that was spreading between them, she approached her mother. "You have been acting strangely for days. Longer than that, I think. Since Rand arrived here."
More silence. Her mother's mouth was tight as she worked, raking the broom over the floor with a fervor that edged toward violence. When it seemed she was intent on ignoring her, Serena reached out, stilling her mother's hand with her own.
"Tell me. What troubles you? Is it something I have done? Is it Rand?"
Finally, Calandra spoke. "What are you doing with him, Serena? Have you any idea?"
"We are friends, that's all."
Calandra gave a slow, sad shake of her head. "I was awake the other night, when you crept out into the dark like a wraith. To look for him, of course. You were gone nearly till dawn, doing what, I fear to guess."
"I did go to find Rand, but we merely talked--"
"You have ne
ver lied to me, in all your life, Serena."
"I do not lie to you now."
Calandra withdrew her hand from Serena's loose grasp. She stood up, brushing at the pressed folds of her plain skirts. "You don't know what you're doing, child."
Serena heard the note of disapproval in her mother's tone, the way she did not ask the question so much as issue an accusation. "Nothing happened."
Calandra grunted. "Do you think me blind to such things? I see how flustered you become around him. I see it now, in the high color of your cheeks. I realize you are young, and you likely think me an old fool, but mark me, Serena. I was young once, too. I have made your mistakes...and lived to regret them."
"I have done naught to regret, Mother."
"You are taking overmuch interest in this man," Calandra argued. "You are showing him too much kindness when he does not deserve it."
"You know nothing about him, save your own baseless suspicions. Rand did not ask to be marooned here," Serena said, coming to his defense. "He's offered us his protection for the time being. He has given me his friendship, and his trust. Is it wrong to show him a bit of kindness in return?"
"We don't need his brand of protection. We don't need anything he has to offer. You remember that, child."
"I'm not a child." Serena said it softly, but when her mother glanced up at her in reproach, Serena held her gaze. "Next spring I shall be twenty. I am not a child."
"No," Calandra replied, almost sadly. "You're not. That makes this situation all the more worrisome to me. I don't like how he looks at you, Serena. Nor you him. He is a danger in ways you cannot fathom. Every day that he stays here, he puts us in greater risk."
"Greater risk of what? He is but one man."
"He will bring others. If he does not invite them, his business here will bring them sniffing around like so many hounds. Something must be done."
Serena considered the hunters' snares she had been finding in the woods the past couple of months. She had not told her mother for fear it would alarm her unnecessarily. The truth was, the townsfolk were already becoming curious, venturing farther outside Egremont's borders. The sanctuary she and her mother enjoyed could not last. Their secluded haven was already shrinking, and it had nothing at all to do with the arrival of Randwulf of Greycliff.
"Something must be done," Calandra repeated. She looked squarely at Serena, utter gravity in her expression. "About him, Serena. Before 'tis too late."
A twinge of confusion--of disbelief--crept into Serena's chest. "What are you saying?"
"I thought I could leave you to make your own decisions, but I cannot. I will not stand by and watch another man destroy all I love. I was a fool once--I will not be so blind again. Nor will I watch you make the same mistakes I made."
"Mother." Serena took Calandra's hand between her fingers and felt the dull throb of fear, of rising desperation. "Dearest Mama," she said, hoping to soothe her. "I know you worry. You want to protect me--you always have. But you must remember, I have seen into his heart. There is good in him. The Knowing never lies."
"Aye, the Knowing." Calandra withdrew from her light hold. "He has seen it work, he has felt its power. How long do you think it will take him before he decides to use your gift for his own gain?"
"Use it in what way? What can the Knowing do for him?"
"If he sees a means, he will not hesitate. And then what will he do with you once he's done and you prove inconvenient to him?"
Serena shook her head, dismissing the worry altogether. "Rand is not a peaceful man, but he will not harm us. I trust him--"
"Trust?" Calandra fairly choked on the word, throwing up her hands. "Little fool! You are too naive to understand what you are saying."
"He is not what you think. I would stake my life on it."
"Do not be stupid, Serena!"
The chiding tone jolted her, scraped her heart. Her mother had never been so harsh with her, not even when Serena was a careless, curious child, always finding one manner of trouble or another. This depth of anger was wholly new. Serena had never seen this side of her mother. It bespoke desperation, and that frightened her more than anything.
"This is not about him," Serena said, wanting to understand. "Tell me. What are you really afraid of, Mother?"
Calandra was still fuming, shaking with emotion. "His kind knows only conquest and greed. He will use you, Serena. And when he has taken all he can of you, he will toss you away like yesterday's rubbish."
"Like Father did to you?"
The slap Calandra delivered was well deserved, but Serena still stood in shock. Calandra herself looked stunned at her outburst. She let out a broken gasp, her hand yet hovering beside Serena's face.
"You see what he is doing to us already?" she cried. "He is tearing us apart!"
Serena's cheek burned with the heat of her mother's anger. She tasted blood in her mouth. She'd cut her lip on her teeth, but the pain of it paled next to the hurt of knowing that a chasm had suddenly opened between her and her mother. Perhaps an unbreachable one.
She did not know this woman before her now. The shrillness of her voice was so foreign, the violence of her hand that of a sudden stranger. They had never argued--not like this. Her mother had never lashed out at her; Serena never would have dreamed her capable. Astonished, horrified, she brought her fingers up to the stinging bite of her mother's blow.
"Serena," Calandra gasped. "Oh, my child!"
Hot tears welled in Serena's eyes, blurring Calandra's pale features into watery obscurity.
"Serena, please--forgive me! I did not mean to hurt you!"
She did not wait to hear more.
Pivoting on her heel, Serena fled for the sanctuary of the woods.
* * *
Serena wiped at the moisture dampening her cheeks, bewildered and stricken. Her skirts snagged on twigs and rough bramble, but she ran heedless, heading deep into the grove.
In that moment, she wished that she could simply run forever.
She sought out the ruined chapel at the heart of the forest, craving its peace and solitude like never before. She saw it ahead of her through the trees. The little stone structure drew her like a beacon. Breath hitching, Serena swallowed a final sob and pushed her hair back from her face as she ran toward the one place that was hers alone.
Before she could reach it, a large figure stepped from the cover of the trees and into her path. Booted feet stood braced apart in the bracken, leather cross-straps wrapped about strong calves encased in light tan hose. Broad shoulders blocked all light, but Serena knew their familiar line. She knew the ruggedly handsome face, and the deep, rough voice that hissed an oath of concern.
Rand.
Serena drew to an abrupt halt, her breast heaving from emotion and her teary flight into the woods.
"Serena--God's love," he said, frowning as he stared at her through the shadows of the forest. "Are you all right?"
She nodded her head, but did not trust herself to speak.
"You're sure?" He came forward, peering at her as if he feared she was injured. His gaze settled on hers and his jaw went visibly tighter. "You've been crying. What has happened?"
"Nothing," she said, her whispered reply choked by the tears she had shed. "'Tis nothing. I am fine."
He advanced closer to where she stood, stopping just short of reaching out to her. She craved his embrace, but he held his hands fisted at his sides as if to keep from touching her. "Did someone hurt you? By the Rood, if someone from the village has come here--"
"No, nothing like that." Serena felt foolish, allowing him to see her so distressed, but it was too late to hide it from him even if she had wanted to. She glanced down, avoiding his keen gaze. "My mother and I...we had an argument just now."
"Ah, I see." She could feel some of the tension in him ease at once. "I wager it happens between mothers and daughters sometimes."
"Not us. We have never fought before, not like this." Serena looked up at him. "We quarreled about you."
He pivoted away and stalked toward the ruined chapel behind him. Serena hesitated, watching his deliberate stride, then she was following him, her footsteps careful, uncertain.
"She says you are only using me--that you will discard me without a care, if it serves you to do so. But I don't believe her."
He turned around, a flinty look in his eyes. "She is only trying to do what is best for you. She is your mother, she loves you."
"What about you, Rand?" She felt the true question, the one that had been burning in her mind for days, dance its way to the tip of her tongue. She gazed up at him, refusing to let his hard, stubborn stare drive her off. "What is it you feel about me?"
When he did not answer immediately, Serena reached out for him. She stroked the backs of her fingers along his shaven cheek, feeling his rumble of warning curl up from his throat. His hazel eyes were fierce in that instant, but not with anger. She caressed his face, then let her hand glide down to rest above his heart.
"You care for me," she said, even as he grasped her wrist and took her Knowing touch away. "I know you do. Why won't you say it?"
"Because there is no point in it, Serena."
"No point in feeling, or in admitting that you can?"
"There is no point in either," he said, more gently now. He let his hands drift down to her shoulders, then he firmly set her away from him. "Not when I am leaving for Egremont on the morrow."
Although she had suspected as much, Serena's soaring heart plummeted to her feet on collapsed wings. "Tomorrow--so soon."
"I cannot delay any longer. My plans await, and I only give my enemy the advantage if I do not act now that I am able."
"You are hardly strong enough for travel," she pointed out, feeling a terrible desperation at the idea he was actually leaving. "Egremont is a half day's walk at least, over difficult terrain. Why, from the grove line looking north there is naught but steep hills and sharp ravines--"
Heart of the Dove Page 18