The Circle Of A Promise

by Helen A Rosburg

  He smiled at Ranulf without effort. He liked the man. He was sorry Ranulf’s daughter would not now, or possibly ever, receive his full attention.

  The Lord of Ullswater smiled back. “There are many matters we must needs discuss, Stephen. But the night is long, my ale is good, and your curiosity-I hope-is whetted. What say you we make the introductions without further ado?”

  Stephen nodded. “I’d say you are a man of action like myself. Please. I look forward to meeting your lovely daughter.”

  Ranulf rose.

  As if on cue, Lady Beatrice came through the door from their apartments. Mara trailed in her mother’s wake, head bowed and eyes downcast. Her newly acquired rose-colored kerchief concealed her shining hair, and her hands were folded demurely at her narrow waist, clasped tightly by a silver girdle. She approached her father’s chair without looking up, heart in her throat.

  “Baron Stephen,” Ranulf began, “I take great pleasure in introducing my daughter, Amarantha. Mara, meet your bridegroom, the baron, Lord Stephen of Bellingham.”

  Mara felt as if a great weight pressed upon her back and shoulders. It was an effort to lift her head, but slowly, slowly, she raised her eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  Beatrice unconsciously held her breath as her daughter raised her gaze to the man who would be her husband. She remembered clearly the moment she had first looked into the eyes of her own husband-to-be. There had been magic between them at once, a rare and wondrous connection. She dared not even hope for such a miracle to be visited upon her family twice in one lifetime, merely prayed the couple would find each other pleasant, at the least. A good first impression was so much easier to build upon than an unfortunate one.

  The moment stretched, and Beatrice found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable. Why did neither of diem speak? She watched her daughter’s eyes widen, as if with shock, then glanced at Stephen to see his jaw drop. What was the matter with the two of them? Totally bewildered, she looked to her husband. Ranulf appeared equally perplexed.

  “Mara?” Beatrice tentatively touched her daughter’s arm. “Mara, are you all right?”

  The sound of her mother’s voice came as if from a great distance. Mara was unable to understand the words; she could only stare at the man who stood before her. The man she had thought never to see again. The one she knew she could never have, yet wanted so much.

  The man who stood before her now, miraculously the one she was going to wed.

  Here was the man with whom she had just shared the single most intimate moment of her life: The two of them as naked as the day they’d been born, nearly touching, eye-to-eye, breast to breast What was she going to say to her parents? How was she going to explain how they’d met?

  Mara was not the fainting kind. She had never done so and would have scoffed at anyone who suggested the possibility. Yet she suddenly found herself short of breath, dizzy. So dizzy she felt herself sway.

  “Mara!” Beatrice cried. Her daughter had gone from a crimson flush to a waxen pallor in mere seconds. Now the girl appeared unsteady on her feet, as if she might faint. “Ranulf, help me. Take Mara’s arm.”

  Ranulf reacted quickly, having watched his child with the same growing alarm. He caught his daughter in his arms and wondered, with guilt and dismay, if the stress of the betrothal had indeed caused in her some sudden illness.

  Stephen watched with increasing unease. The shock of seeing her again-his goddess, his vision from the lake- nearly overwhelmed him. When she had raised her head at last and he had looked once more into her incredibly blue eyes, when he recognized her, he had been so stunned it seemed his heart would halt in his breast.

  It was clear her reaction was similar. But was it from the simple shock of recognition, or was she horrified? Had their intimate encounter so frightened and embarrassed this woman that she would never be able to look on him as a wife must a husband?

  Both Ranulf and Beatrice turned when they heard him groan.

  “Good God,” the lord of Ullswater rumbled, still supporting his daughter. “Now there’s something wrong with the both of them. Help me, Beatrice!”

  His wife found herself again with Mara as her husband turned to their guest.

  “Sit down, lad,” he ordered. “Sit. Bridget!” he called to the wide-eyed serving girl. “Fetch some ale. And be sharp about it!”

  “I’m. I’m all right,” Stephen managed. But he took the seat his host indicated.

  “As I am,” Mara echoed, extricating herself from her mother’s embrace. “I-I just felt a bit dizzy for a moment.”

  “Perhaps you should come and lie down, rest awhile,” Beatrice suggested in an undertone. “I know this is most stressful for-”

  “No!” Mara shook her head. If she left them alone, what might Stephen say? Would he confess to their lakeside meeting? “No, I. I’ll stay. I’m fine. In truth.”

  “Well, then sit and have a cup of ale,” her father directed gruffly, still worried that the introduction was a terrible failure.

  Mara sank gratefully into a seat near Stephen. When Bridget handed her a goblet, she raised it to her lips.

  Stephen did likewise. And seeing her beautiful eyes over the rim of her cup, staring at him, importuning him, pleading silently, his own eyes widened in response. He didn’t understand.

  Mara set her cup on the table and, seeing her parents distracted, looked Stephen straight in the eye. She gave a swift but firm shake of her head.

  Comprehension was instantaneous, and the flood of relief that washed through him was a tangible warmth in Stephen’s veins. It was not him she feared, but the exposure of their secret.

  He understood; she knew it. Their secret was safe. Her parents would never have to know. It would be between them, only them, forever.

  It was also a bond, a beginning. A start with the man who would be at her side for the rest of her life, this most incredible man she had ever laid eyes upon.

  The smile started in her eyes. Stephen saw the sparkle. Mara lifted her cup again, but the motion could not disguise the curve of her lips. When she returned the goblet to the table, the smile effervesced into laughter. She raised a hand to her mouth, but the young woman couldn’t hide it, was unable to stifle it.

  He was infected instantly. She was so lovely, so breathtakingly gorgeous. He had thought he might have to spend the rest of his life yearning for an ethereal vision he could never have-yet here she was, the woman he was to marry. And the incident by the water was not, after all, cause for fear and humiliation, but a secret bond between them. He responded to her mirth with a sudden and hearty laugh of his own.

  “Look,” Ranulf muttered to his wife. “What’s the matter with them? One minute they’re gaping at each other, Mara’s in a swoon, and now.” He gestured helplessly at the couple seated before the hearth, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Now they’re laughing? I don’t understand, Beatrice.” The old baron’s arms fell back to his sides. “I don’t understand at all.”

  Neither did Beatrice. Not completely. But she had a good idea, and it filled her heart so full her eyes brimmed. “Come, husband,” she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. “Let us leave them alone for a while to talk and get to know one another.”

  “Do you really think that’s a wise idea, wife?” he asked. “Mara might be ill. You saw her. I’m not sure about this any longer. I-”

  “Ssshhh, husband.” Beatrice put a finger to his lips. “Mara will be fine, I promise you. Now, come. Come and sit with me for a while. Talk to me about the day we first met. Do you remember?”

  “Of course I remember.”

  “Good.” Beatrice took her husband’s arm and guided him from the hall. “Then we’ll talk about the past. And the future.” She glanced once over her shoulder at her daughter and the man who would be her husband.

  Yes, she sighed to herself. The future.

  Mara waited until she was certain her parents had departed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The soun
d of her voice was so soft, so low, so enticing. Stephen leaned nearer and caught her scent, the faintest fragrance of dried rose petals. She obviously did not disdain the habit of personal cleanliness, as did many of their time. It reminded Stephen that his own bath that morning had been aborted. He was probably as rank as a ram in rut. Afraid to offend, he sank back in his chair.

  Had she said something wrong? Mara’s smile faded.

  Stephen noted her expression, recalled her words, and found his tongue at last. “You’re. you’re welcome,” he stammered. “If you mean for keeping our. secret. But I must apologize. I- After I saw you, I didn’t. I mean, I know I must stink to high heaven,” he finished lamely.

  “That’s what you were doing down by the lake!” Mara realized. Her smile returned. So, they had that in common, too. “You’d gone to swim, as I had.”

  Stephen nodded. “After I saw you, I must confess, I forgot all about it. I simply got on my horse again and rode here-thinking all the while that no matter what my future bride looked like, she would never be.”

  He shut his mouth, appalled by what he had been about to say. But Mara’s smile widened.

  “I, too,” she confessed quietly. “I ran all the way home thinking the very same thing. That my husband-to-be would never look as you. He might be ugly-”

  “Oh, yes!” Stephen interrupted with a chuckle. “I feared that also. That you might have a.”

  He stopped again, but this time they both laughed. They laughed until they noticed they had caught the servants’ attention. Mara put a hand over her mouth, and Stephen cleared his throat.

  “I. Your father’s castle is most impressive,” he said at length, his tone sober for eavesdropping ears. “My own was built by a Norman lord and differs greatly. I would be pleased if you’d show me the grounds.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Mara replied. She longed to be away from this hall, to walk with this man and talk with him where others might not hear. “Come.”

  He followed her, newly amazed by her grace. For such a tall woman, she moved as gracefully as a doe.

  Mara blinked in the bright sunlight outside. Arm in arm, they walked down the manor steps.

  “So your castle is Norman,” she began hesitantly. “I’ve seen only English manors.”

  “The architecture differs, of course. Also, the French style does not encompass all these outbuildings.” Stephen stopped to gesture around him. “But my mother loved our home. She was Norman, and the land passed to her through her father. My name, in fact-the one she gave me-was Stefan.” He used the foreign pronunciation. “It was my father who preferred the English version.”

  “Truly? My mother also is of Norman blood. Her name was Beatrix,” Mara explained, herself using the French inflection. “But my father preferred to Anglicize it.”

  “It seems we have much in common.”

  Mara hated the blush that rose to stain her cheeks, but she could not prevent it-just as she could not stop the trembling in her knees. He was so close, and his nearness was nearly overpowering. He was so tall, broad, and masculine. The way his hair lifted off those muscular shoulders in a passing breeze-Mara had to move away.

  “We. we have other things in common, I’ll warrant,” she said in a desperate attempt to hide her nervousness.

  “For instance?”

  “Like.” Mara bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to tell him, to perhaps alter his good opinion of her, but she found herself trapped. They were passing the mews, and she indicated the low stone building. “Like hawking, for instance,” she blurted. “My father has many fine birds, and I-”

  “You like to hawk?” He hadn’t meant to interrupt, but Stephen was amazed.

  “Yes, I-I must admit.” Mara halted, arms hanging limply at her sides. Her gaze was downcast.

  She had shocked him, she knew. He had discovered she was not the lady wife he had undoubtedly envisioned. “I confess I love to hawk. And hunt,” she added honestly. She might as well get it all over with at once. “And I love to ride.”

  She lifted her eyes, her expression almost defiant. If he was going to be done with her, she might as well give him as many good reasons as possible. “My only quarrel with riding is that my father insists I ride a palfrey when I would much prefer a stallion. I should ride a charger, like a man. A stallion is a true mount.”

  Stephen felt his jaw drop. Could it be true? Was it possible? Was this actually the woman he had dreamed of but had known could never exist? Was this unbelievably gorgeous creature also, possibly, the soul mate who had previously lived only in his fantasies?

  It was true, Mara thought miserably. She had done it. The heat of her unguarded tongue had scalded her once again. What must he think?

  Sadly, she turned away. Stephen caught her arm.

  “Wait! I. Is something wrong?”

  She boldly looked Stephen in the eye. There was nothing more to lose. “I fear I should ask of you the same. I know none of these pursuits are ladylike. I have offended you. I doubt it not, that I have changed your good opinion of me. If you had one to begin with, that is.”

  Stephen shook his head slowly, with wonder. “Oh, my lady.” He sighed. “You have no idea the opinion I hold of you. We have only just met, yet.” Could he say it? Dared he speak what already he felt in his heart?

  She had been honest with him.

  “My opinion, my regard, is of the highest degree,” Stephen said finally. “I’ve never known anyone like you. Not only are you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but the most remarkable. I can tell you, truthfully, I never imagined someone like you might exist. A woman who could ride at a man’s side, share his interests, his life, his.”

  He had been about to say “passions,” but he was afraid he had said too much already. The heat he felt rise to his face was an unattractive blush. He had never blushed in his life!

  The smile on Mara’s face, however, reassured him.

  “I-I apologize,” Stephen stammered. “I didn’t mean to-”

  “No. Don’t.” Mara’s fingers longed to touch his lips, stay his words. But she knew to touch him would overwhelm her entirely. “Never apologize,” she whispered, and she cast her glance away from him, embarrassed by her sudden and incomprehensible tears. “My lord.”

  Neither noticed Jack and Trey, who had followed diem as far as the bottom of the manor steps. The little man now sat on the bottom stair, elbows on his knees, chin on his hands. The huge dog sat beside him and nudged his shoulder.

  Jack’s hand strayed to the animal’s massive head and idly scratched the shaggy ears. “Looks like you and I may have just lost our best friends, old boy,” he murmured.

  The dog whined, and the man patted him.

  On the other side of the courtyard, Stephen and Mara slowly resumed their walk.

  Chapter Ten

  It seemed it was going to be a rainy spring. For the third time that week, the afternoon sky opened with a rumble of thunder. The new-leafed trees and neatly manicured lawns were achingly green. Lightning flashed, and the air crackled with the peculiar smell of ozone. Stephen continued to stare out the living room window even when he heard his sister come into the room and walk up behind him. When she laid a hand on his shoulder, however, he covered it with one of his own.

  “How’s it going, Steve?” she inquired softly.

  “Good. Good, I think.”

  “You went to see Millie again today, didn’t you?”

  Stephen nodded. He listened to his sister sigh.

  “Is it. Is she helping?” she asked tentatively.

  It was Stephen’s turn to draw a deep breath. He let it out slowly and turned to face her. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Amanda,” he confessed.

  “I’m sorry, Steve,” she replied quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s not that. It’s not that at all.” Stephen stood and walked over to the window. He stood so close his breath fogged the glass. His brow furrowed, and his hands found his hips. “It’s just t
hat I don’t know how to explain what happens,” he continued thoughtfully. “It’s so strange. I go into a. a kind of trance, I guess.”

  “Do you remember anything? When you come out of it, I mean?”

  “Yes. And no.” Stephen’s vision blurred as he watched individual raindrops streaking the glass. “I. I remember certain things. I retain memory of scenery, for instance. Or what I was wearing.”

  “like what?” his sister asked impulsively.

  “Like chain mail,” Stephen said slowly.

  “Chain mail! As in armor?”

  “Yes. And I ride a huge horse.”

  “So, this. This really could be the same period as your dream? You could be visiting that lifetime?”

  “I don’t know, Mandy,” he replied, frustrated. He turned at last to face her. “I just don’t know. I don’t recall many details, people, things that happen when I’m. when I’m wherever I go. I only know that I feel. well, good, I guess you could say. It feels right somehow. Like I belong there. Like I really belong.”

  “Do you-I’m not quite sure how to ask this.” Amanda tapped a forefinger on her upper lip. “When you’re in the other time-in your trance or whatever-do you have any connection to this lifetime at all? I mean, do you have awareness of going there from here?”

  Stephen shook his head. “None at all. At least, I don’t think so. From what I do recall, everything seems completely natural. I’m living my life, going about my business.”

  “And you said you feel good?”

  “When I’m there, wherever `there‘ is, yes. Yes, I do feel good.”

  “Then maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.”

  Amanda said. She was gratified to see her brother smile.

  “No, Mandy. Maybe not.” He walked over to her and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”