* * *
Bronwyn consulted the map after several miles. He determined they had travelled about thirty-six miles from the keep. If Isla proved correct, along this area horse tracks would reveal Keiron’s route. A few minutes later, Alaura tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. Hoof prints made by three horses lead to a partially-hidden trail.
Bronwyn guided Clover off the road and onto the path. If they hadn’t looked for it, they might have missed it. He stopped for a moment and marked it on the map. It would serve as a reference point for their return trip. Adding the extra time for their stop, he guessed Keiron travelled about eight hours ahead of them. His plan for catching the bastard today wouldn’t see fruit.
Extra time meant he had more of it to think about the events of yesterday. Though he didn’t want to, the scene by the brook replayed in his mind. The look of pleasure on the man’s face as he defiled Alaura left a stinging reminder of her vulnerability. He had brought those monsters to her with his careless talk and actions. Flashes of his sword striking the men again and again made his arms twitch. Clover grew uneasy. He patted the mare’s shoulder and realised his hand trembled.
Pulling his tell-tale hand back and resting it against his chest did nothing to ebb his regret and torment. He felt Alaura’s arms tighten around his waist, and he looked down at her hands. Her long, slender fingers crossed his stomach as if trying to hold goodness in…or keep evil out. He wished he could share his regrets with her, but if he did, she might never look upon him with the same innocent ideals she once held.
The ache in Bronwyn’s heart grew painful. It pushed into his throat, and his jaw became rigid. The pressure extended to his ears and sounds faded away. Beads of sweat formed on his hands, making his grip on the reins to the hackamore bridal slippery. As images flared before his eyes of Alaura lying still in the forest and of the men he butchered, the pressure increased. If he didn’t confide in her his chest might explode. His hand fumbled to find hers, and he pressed the palms together.
After initiating the Transfer Spell, he instantly regretted it. He attempted to break free, but she held him firm. His spit burned in his throat as he struggled to find the right words. I…I’m sorry. Again he tried to escape her grasp, but she only tightened her grip. Let me go! “Please, let go!”
Bronwyn, you can tell me anything.
“No! I can’t!” I’m afraid you won’t…He felt a snap in his gut, and found he couldn’t take a breath without a sharp cramp exploding in his ribs.
Goodness! Bronwyn, you have to tell me! She pressed herself against his back. You are inflicting this torture on yourself. I feel it!
“I’m fine. Just let me go!”
“You’re not fine. You’re suffering.”
It didn’t matter how hard he tugged on his hand, she wouldn’t let go. Doesn’t she know I’m the reason those men attacked her? I don’t deserve to be her best friend.
It’s not your fault. You don’t control the actions of other men.
He glared at her for reading his thoughts. “Stay out of my head!”
“If you’d simply share this with me, we can work it out. I don’t blame you.”
“But I blame me. If I hadn’t acted like an idiot, they wouldn’t have followed.”
“Or they still might have. You don’t know.”
“I wasn’t there to protect you.” I shouldn’t have left her alone.
“You can’t be with me every minute of the day.”
“I know better though.” And to know what I did to those men makes it worse.
What did you do?
He glanced back at her and gazed into her innocent eyes. I can’t tell her. It would change forever how she thought of me. She appeared confused. Don’t think. Simply turn around, he told himself. She can hear everything. He tried to clear his mind and focus on the trail ahead. If she wouldn’t release his hand, he’d fill his mind with emptiness. Think of the drizzle, the smell of the wet trees. Anything but that. He drew a deep breath and cringed from the discomfort growing in his gut.
You can’t keep it inside forever. Alaura hugged him tightly.
The horrible images of the slaughtered men returned, and he heard her gasp. Damn it! Stop looking! “Alaura, let me go!” His attempts at blocking the visions only brought them into sharper focus. The raw flesh glistened in the sun and blood splattered the forest floor. The terror in his gut forced him to throw his body from the saddle. She didn’t release him until they crashed against the wet road.
Bronwyn jumped to his feet and ran. From a safe distance, he watched her rise, brushing the mud from her clothes and feeling the tenderness of her elbow that bore most of the impact. When she looked up, he gulped. He only caused her more pain.
“I’m sorry, but you wouldn’t let go…I didn’t want…” He hung his head. It didn’t matter what he said. He could see from her expression she no longer considered him a friend.
“You hurt me more by not sharing your feelings.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “If you believe I hate you for what you’ve done to those men, you’re wrong. I’m not as innocent as you think.”
He looked up, lost for words. The fall had displaced her cloak, and he saw the dagger strapped to her calf and the one worn on the opposite side of the light sword. If he didn’t know her, he might think her to be a thief wearing clothes of The Trail, but looks were deceiving. She was Alaura of Niamh, a student of magic, the meeme of Isla and the seamstress who worked alongside his sisters. This woman was as innocent as Rhiannon. She wasn’t a thief, a sneak in the night, fearless in the face of danger.
“You killed two despicable men who aimed to violate me in the worst way,” she said. “If you hadn’t killed them, I would have if given the chance! How they died is irrelevant!”
The confession stunned him. Her anger and fear made her say those words, just as his rage had made him kill without mercy.
“And as for your boorish comments, you were being a jerk, but they didn’t make those men attack me.” She came nearer. “Men like them hunt women for pleasure.”
“But I was—”
“A jerk! If you think you’re the first man to reach that status, you’re wrong. I forgive you for being an oaf.”
“But it’s not that easy for me. I’ll always feel as if I’m to blame. And…”—he placed a hand over his stomach—“deep down I feel a growing ache for the wrong I’ve done. I’m not…I’m not an honourable man. I’m no longer worthy of you, and in many ways, it’s you who matters most.”
When she laid her hand on his, he jumped. “Bronwyn, you have proven time and time again that you’re not only worthy, but honourable.” She caught his chin as he shook his head in disagreement. “I will never think of you otherwise.”
“Alaura, the images haunt my dreams. Every time I close my eyes, they’re there. What I’ve done makes me no different than any other murderer.”
“The simple fact this is eating at you like a troglodyte on a fresh kill means you are different. Your conscience is hardest on you. Can’t you see that?”
Did she speak the truth? Or did she say these things only to make him feel better. “The scars my actions created on my heart can never be erased.”
She reached up and brushed a tear from his cheek. “A life without scars is a life unlived.”
He closed his eyes and let the warmth of her hand permeate to his inner being. If she could forgive him for his deeds then he was not completely lost. “Will you help me chase the demons from my head?” His gaze swept across her face, hoping she had the ability to ease his suffering.
“I could never refuse my best friend.” She drew him into her arms, kissing the side of his head.
For the rest of the day they ambled, following Keiron’s trail and sharing the events which had brought them to this point. By the time they made camp for the night, they had come to an understanding that Bronwyn had acted out of necessity, nothing more. Raw emotions were a force to be reckoned with and more powerful th
an most individuals understood.
Darkness eased its way upon the land, and the fire sent sizzling sparkles into the air. Bronwyn lay in his bedroll watching Alaura slip off her boots. She slid beneath her blanket and turned to face him.
After a few minutes of silence, she spoke. “Are you afraid to sleep?”
“The nightmares seemed real, as if made of flesh.”
“They’ll pass with time.”
He watched the fire light shimmer against his shirt that she wore, and he reached out to touch it. The reddish glow found her eyes, and they sparkled with life. He had done the right thing. He had protected a person more worthy of living than him. He sighed. She couldn’t be more worthy if she tried, and he felt honoured to be her best friend. “Alaura, of the many friendships I’ve enjoyed through the years, I value yours the most. Without you, I’m afraid to think of where I might be.”
Her eyes watered, revealing strong emotions stirring inside. She smiled and caressed his cheek. “Without you, I wonder the same about my fate.”
She guided his hand to her back and drew him to her breast. He pulled his body nearer and rested his head beneath her chin. His hand slipped beneath her shirt, slid over the grape-sized birthmark and pressed against her bare back. He drew in a full breath. Her fingers entangled in his hair as if she’d never let him go. In all of Ath-o’lea where Bronwyn had felt pleasure over the years, nothing compared to this. He kissed the skin above the shirt button then surrendered to the essence of her purity. Her goodness washed over him, flushing his veins of the evil spore that had tried to take root. His peaceful sleep restored his faith in himself and all he treasured.
Shadows in the Stone Page 71