Chapter 34
One Best Friend
The sun kissed the horizon. Bronwyn watched it melt into the distant hill. He scanned the valley below, and the meandering river cutting through it. Besides the wildlife, the area looked deserted. He placed his hand over his belly. It grumbled. The thin soups, bread and vegetables they ate might sustain Alaura, but he needed food with more substance. He already felt the loss of mass by eating the sparse meals, and the constant movement only added to his weight loss. He had become lean, but hoped he hadn’t lost muscle.
A tingling sensation made him look at his hand. The red bog berry stain glowed as bright as if it had been just squished into his palm. His skin warmed. He wondered if the burning sensation he had felt the evening before returned. To his surprise, an oatmeal raisin cookie appeared.
He spun around and looked at Alaura. She put away the cooking utensils they had cleaned and didn’t look at him. Watching her, he noticed she tried to hide a smile. He bit into the cookie; his mum had made it. Alaura had held out on him; he didn’t know she had cookies.
He looked back out over the valley and ate the treat. To know Alaura could send him anything at any time, regardless of his location, intrigued him. She could send him a note, a dagger, a book…a cookie. He wondered if she could send other things like water, a breath of air or a kiss. Could she tickle her hand and send the feeling to him? What if she slapped her hand or bit it? Could she stab her hand with a dagger and send the wound to him? The tingling sensation appeared again along with another cookie.
Bronwyn brought his hand up to his face and spoke directly to his palm. “Thank you great hand for delivering me these wonderful treats.” He heard Alaura chuckle. He glanced back at her. In the glow of the setting sun, she looked more beautiful than he could imagine. The diffused reds and oranges created soft tones on her face, and when she smiled, her eyes glistened. As he ate the cookie, he thought of the day in his office, of her hands caressing his skin and being lost in a long kiss. She had been in a weak state and still dealing with the emotional turmoil of Lord Val’s assault.
Her strength and confidence had since returned, and Alaura didn’t seem to want him to help with anything. He did anyway. It gave him things to do with her, and he wanted to do everything with her.
He watched her struggle to break a piece of the firewood that had half burnt and threatened to fall to the side. He stepped up and put his hand next to hers. “I’ll get it.”
“I’m quite capable.”
“I know.” Bronwyn smiled. “I’m also quite capable of helping.” He snapped the wood and threw the end piece into the fire. “I’ll get a few more sticks to last the night.” He held out a hand to help her to her feet. He pulled her up, directly into his arms. He felt her catch her breath. Pulling her nearer, he caressed her chin and wondered how the Be-still Spell worked again. He leant forward, but she pushed him away. She slipped from his grip and went to the opposite side of the campfire. “Alaura?”
“Yes?” She poked at the red hot embers, sending sparks into the air.
“Why won’t you kiss me?” He had never spoken so bluntly, but his frustration left him no alternative.
“I don’t want to kiss. Can’t you respect my wishes?” She released the poker and pulled her rucksack near.
“Why not?” He put his hands on his hips. “If your blood burns for me, why don’t you want to?”
“I never told you my blood burns for you.”
“Yes, you did. In my office after I had you released from the dungeon.”
“You’re mistaken. I never spoke those words.”
“You might as well have. The smile on your face when I told you how I felt said it all! You kissed me as if you did!” Confusion and embarrassment clouded his mind. He had confessed his feelings for her only because he knew she felt the same way. A woman had fooled him again, but this time it burnt him as if she’d tossed him into a raging forest fire. “You told me I was dear to you and that I shouldn’t forget it. Damn it! What did you mean?”
“I did say that, and I said you were special.” She pulled a water flask from the rucksack. “And you are.”
“Special!” The word rolled off his tongue as if he had licked boot wax by mistake. “That’s it?” His voice cracked. “I’m special…like your pony but not your lover?”
“You’re my best friend, Bronwyn. Isn’t it good enough for you?”
“Friend?” He slapped his forehead and stepped away. “I’m a friend to you? A stupid, foolish, see-you-later friend?”
“No.” She rose and stared at him. “You’re not just a friend. I said you are my best friend.”
“Whoohoo!” His finger drew circles above his head. “A best friend. Doesn’t that make me feel special? I’m junked together with all your other best friends. I’m as important as Beathas, Catriona, my sisters. This makes me feel great!” The sarcasm rolled off his tongue. It protected his senses from the increasing ache in his heart.
“No, you’re not!”
Bronwyn looked at her as she struggled to find the right words to make him feel special amongst the hundreds of people she knew. “You could make me a badge. I can stick it right here.” He patted his chest. “Alaura’s Special Friend. It’ll make me stand out. Maybe we can make a flag. Hang it on the damn turret!” He tried to sidestep the flying water flask but failed, and it struck him in the shoulder. “Well, like aged manure, I feel special now! I bet you don’t throw flasks at anyone but me!”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so unreasonable. I don’t know why I argue with you. You simply make me angry!”
“It’s my special talent.”
She was exasperated. “Everyone has friends, Bronwyn, but you can only have one best friend! As the word decrees, there can only be one best! You can have good friends; you can have great friends, but only one best!” She took a deep breath to calm her voice. “Let me explain this in a way you’ll understand.”
“Better make it real simple, ‘cos I ain’t too bright. I mean, I think I’m your man, your lover, the only one you’d kiss that passionately, but really I’m just another friend. Apparently, you go around kissing all your male friends with that much vigour. How stupid can I be?” He shrugged, still clinging to the sarcasm for protection.
“Stupid is one thing you’re not.” She took a few steps towards him. “Let’s look at it like this. Think of yourself as a castle and you have an army which protects you, comforts you and whom you confide in.”
He folded his arms. She knew nothing about the workings of a castle or an army.
“Imagine all the people in the army. Everyone is a private. They are generally good people who work their shifts. Their many hands make life easy for you and as the years pass, you get to know them, but you don’t know them well.
“From these privates, there are about thirty who go out of their way to give you a hand when you need it. They think of you—the castle—as a person to spend time with. They spend long days seeing to your needs. We’ll call them corporals.
“Out of these men, there are eight who are more dedicated to serving the castle—you—and the castle enjoys their company and shares stories of their families and of years gone by. The castle knows they’ll stand strong to protect it. They are appointed sergeants.
“From these men, four stand out. They anticipate your needs, they sooth your pains and make you laugh. You know you can depend on their service for many years to come. They are your captains.” Alaura paused and came nearer.
Bronwyn had an idea where this was headed but remained quiet.
“From these four, one man’s dedication and commitment shines above the rest. The castle recognises this individual because it—the castle—is always first on his mind. Each day, he’s there without complaint. He patches the intricate part of the castle no one else sees crumbling. He sits with the castle when the storm winds blow and when it needs a shoulder to lean on. And when the birds sing, the man dances down its halls, bringing joy to
whatever he touches. He does all this without want or need for compensation or recognition. He does it for the simple joy it brings him. The castle knows without hesitation this man is his best, and he is appointed captain of the guard.” Her voice softened. “There can only be one captain of the guard, Bronwyn. And there can only be one best friend.”
He rubbed his short beard. “So I’m your captain of the guard?” When she nodded, he stared at the ground. Great. She regarded him as she would Sanderson, her servant but not her lover. What rank did her lover receive? Was he her lord? “I should be honoured.” Funny, he didn’t feel so endowed. He’d rather be a private and ravish those lips, but he had to face reality. She didn’t see him as a lover…only as a friend. All they had shared amounted to a platonic friendship, nothing more. He swallowed hard.
Bronwyn couldn’t look at her. He wanted to run and hide, but that would be childish, immature. Anyway, where would he go? He couldn’t walk away and leave her to fend for herself. Their chances fared better if they stuck together.
Walking to the edge of the ridge, he looked out over the valley. A lead weight filled his chest. He recalled a story his dad once told about a man whose blood burnt for a woman he could never have. Living in the same settlement, the man doted on her, opened doors, made her deliveries and helped without complaint whenever she called. But she didn’t feel the same way and united with another. The other man received her affection, and the man who loved her most, received her courtesy. They lived apart, yet together year after year. Eventually, the man died never satisfying his thirst for his love. Bronwyn’s dad had said, To see him watch her, knowing the fire burning within, was the saddest of sights. It was as a man holding in his hand all the riches of Ath-o’Lea and not the ability to escape the cavern which entombed him, but worse, for he beheld the treasures of the heart, yet could not indulge.
Bronwyn had become that man—the saddest of sights, living with a thirst he’d never quench. Of all the twists life offered, this had to be the cruellest. His eyes welled with tears. They were for him and the man his dad knew. He felt Alaura step behind him, and when she wrapped her arms around his waist, he shivered. She caused his pain, yet he didn’t hate her.
The warmth of her body pressed against his back reminded him of the intimacy they’d never share. He coughed to clear his throat and choked on his spit. She held him tighter. He looked down at her hands; he wanted to rip them from his body, but he hadn’t the strength. Seeing his own hand and the red bog berry stain, he wondered if he could get comfort from the Transfer Spell, this bit of magic she had instilled in him. Then he feared what feelings he might send to her. But she had said it: he was incapable of sending her anything. In the end, the ache released him of his cares. He pressed their palms together and entangled his fingers betwixt hers. He felt nothing at first; it seemed as if he groped in the dark, hoping to find a light. Then it happened. A stream of warm energy travelled through his blood relaxing his nerves and easing his pain. The ache in his heart subsided and calmness settled his body.
“Take what you need. I give it freely.”
Alaura’s voice sang on the breeze. He could never hate her. His blood burnt for her more than a hundred fires blazing in the night. Wherever she went, he’d go. Whatever she needed, he’d give.
Shadows in the Stone Page 62