‘Don’t!’ called Rowan. ‘Jacob, please.’
And that was all it took for Morrick to understand. Perhaps it was the use of his first name or just her inflection.
‘Rowan,’ he breathed, barely audible as he lay on his side next to her in the sand. She stared back into his eyes, the shimmering sea behind her. They were closer than they had been in months and further apart than it was possible for two humans to be.
‘I fought for you through a dozen battles.’
‘I know,’ she whispered.
His voice rose to a tearful scream as he replied, ‘I’ve killed for you, I’ve been wounded and branded, travelled half the world in the company of strangers, chased you through the Forest all the way from the Hinterland. You’ve been in my every thought; the face I see every time I blink; the name on my lips. You were all that gave me courage to stand when those around me were quailing!’
‘I know,’ she said, louder and defiant.
‘The baby?’ he asked.
Her face contorted and she twisted as she lay.
She muttered something.
‘What?’
She said nothing.
‘What?’ he said.
‘YOU MURDERED HER!’ she roared. ‘YOU LEFT US! YOU ABANDONED US! YOU WEREN’T THERE, AND THEY CAME, AND SHE DIED! IT’S ALL BURNED AWAY!’
And then Captain Lynch reached down and scooped her up in his arms.
‘The lady’s made herself clear and so have I,’ said the captain, stern but calm.
‘She’s my wife,’ Morrick repeated. He was caught in disbelief, still cradling his fractured ribs. Lynch turned away and began to walk back down the beach.
Morrick cried out as he shifted onto all fours then, giving everything in him, he sprinted forward.
‘ROWAN.’
The cry split the morning air and those back in the camp stopped going about their business at the sound. The wading birds took to the skies as one.
He thundered towards Rowan, pain rippling across his ribcage and sand flying out behind him, hearing only the crashing of the waves to his left.
Lynch dropped Rowan on to her feet and stood to meet him, drawing his sword. Morrick hooked out his axe and raised it high, charging with his eyes wide and a scream issuing from his mouth.
Their weapons met and he swung down, hooking Lynch’s sword out of his hand. He was about to deal a blow to his neck when Rowan, screaming, smashed into him with her shoulder and drove him down into the sand, scratching at his face and pummelling him.
And yet still Morrick tried to stand. Still he tried to speak kind words to her.
In Morrick, she saw the man she loved, but she was overwhelmed by her pain and knew that to accept she still loved him was to become open once more to all that she was denying. Here beside her, in Jacob Lynch, was a man who had taken her away from the pain and was offering her a new life.
What was this thing that cowered before her whispering lies and false promises? A shadow of a former hope? She ripped at its skin and tried to silence it. Yet it was too strong and tried to regain its feet.
Captain Lynch kicked Morrick in the ribs once more.
‘Stay down!’ he roared, retrieving his sword from the sand. ‘Stay down.’
Morrick could not hear anything except Rowan’s shrieks and the pounding of his blood as it pulsed through his veins. He cried out as once more the boot smashed into the fragile bones in his side and then there was heat and stabbing pain in his right shoulder blade. His right arm gave beneath him. Warm blood coursed over his back and down his arm.
Rowan screamed and tore away from him then, almost as an afterthought, she shouted in defiance, her cheeks wet with salt water, ‘You are dead to me, servant of Awgren! Traitor! Not a man, not a father, not a husband. Murderer of babes!’ She spat the words and her spittle drained into his wide eyes and gaping mouth as he fought for each painful breath. Then she ran back towards the camp.
Lynch paused for a moment and sheathed his sword, shaking his head.
‘Stay down.’ he said before going after his woman.
Morrick lay in the blood-soaked sand, pained and weeping. He lay there even as the waves lapped within inches of his face. He watched her go. He watched as her hair blew to the west while her screams faded from his hearing.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Folly’s courtrooms were large and decorated with many ornate carvings of wood and stone. Lord Aldwyn had once presided over trials there until he had departed on his expedition into the far south. Now, so many years later, Aldwyn once more held sway over a trial, but in a cold campaign tent.
‘Give an account of yourself, Captain Lynch,’ he said.
‘Your Grace,’ Lynch stood with his hands clasped together at his waist and bowed his head in deference. ‘As you are aware, I have guided the survivors from the Hinterland to this camp in order that they may remain safe and as such, I have taken them under my protection. In particular, earlier today, I was escorting Rowan along the beach when we were approached by a man bearing the mark of Awgren across his face. I judged from the lady’s reaction that he was her husband, returned from the war. She made it abundantly clear that she wished to be left in peace.’
‘She did, Your Grace, go so far as to run from him, but he pursued her and assaulted her at two separate junctures whilst she attempted to make her escape. He also assaulted me.’
‘The conflict escalated so that I feared for the lady’s safety as he was displaying considerable aggression and was armed. As such, I engaged him and pierced his shoulder with my blade in an attempt to end the assault.’
‘You maintain then, that you were defending the lady?’ said Aldwyn.
‘I do, sir. I could have ended him upon the sand had I wished to do so, but dealt him only such a wound as would render him incapable of continuing his assault.’
Lynch bowed once more, deeper this time from the waist as though to signify the end of his account.
Lord Aldwyn scrutinised his face, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. He considered all that he knew of Morrick, of his family and his desperation to reach them; of how he had left his own service in pursuit of them.
‘Tell me, Captain. How came you to be upon the beach with the lady, Rowan?’
Lynch stared back unblinking.
‘I was escorting the lady on her walk.’
‘Pure chivalry then?’ Aldwyn asked. The corner of his mouth hitched into a wry smile.
Lynch coughed and cleared his throat.
‘There has been a developing attachment between myself and the lady over the past weeks, Your Grace. We believed her husband to be dead and in any case, the lady has no desire to remain married to a traitor.’
‘I must say, Captain, that my impression of the man is that he is intelligent, devoted to his family and his people, regardless of personal cost. Indeed, you were not to know before meeting his lady wife that I had, whilst in the south, pardoned those from the Hinterland and accepted them as my own folk.’
There was silence in the tent between the two men.
‘No, Your Grace and I, of course, acknowledge your decree. The matter at hand concerned only the safety of the lady, and she is resolved on the matter. In truth, our attachment now runs deep and we had hoped to sail for the Isles to make a life there.’
‘She will not speak to her husband?’
Aldwyn sighed and held up his hand before Lynch could answer.
‘No, do not go on. It is not my place to meddle in the personal affairs of the people in my charge. It is however within my remit to judge them on their crimes. You strike me as an honest man. Those amongst your crew and those who know of you of old, speak well of you. You appear to have sustained injury yourself and I believe that this was no attempt at murder or wounding out of malice, that instead you deemed the action necessary.’
He stood and Lynch straightened up.
‘As such, I will not be pursuing this matter further. But I advise you that before we
sail in the morning, you and your crew and anyone else that wishes to come with you, should present themselves aboard my ship, the Nightingale. You may also report the findings of your failed exploratory mission.’
‘The men of the Hinterland will remain posted here with the appointed garrison until such time that I release them. I will see that Morrick remains here also.’
‘You will not approach Morrick, nor send others to do so. And I advise that Rowan speaks with him ere any final decision is made.’
Lynch bowed once more.
‘My thanks, Your Grace. I will do your bidding and make the case to the lady, though I cannot guarantee she will acquiesce.’
‘Very well, you are dismissed, Captain. And well done on your efforts to cross these lands with so many at your heels.’
Captain Lynch bowed low once more, turned on his praised heels and departed, leaving Aldwyn to muse on the situation. At length, he decided to find the woodcutter and so threw a fur cloak about him and set off into the camp, bidding his guard to stay behind.
He tramped through the mud towards that part of the camp which lay closest to the beach. The main path was guarded by two of the branded soldiers. They stood to attention as he passed by and he nodded to them in due course, mindful that he wished them to feel as though they belonged in his army. Walking the paths of the camp was heartening and the cause of despondence all at once; reunited families in their reveries could not restrain their happiness, which rankled the despondent women and children who sat alone by their fires, mourning those that they finally knew had died in the intervening months.
‘Your Grace,’ called Garrick. Aldwyn turned and saw the older man emerge from a tent and beckon him over.
The woodcutter lay on a cot, covered by a blanket. His shoulder was bandaged but the cuts inflicted upon his face and arms by Rowan were exposed and raw. He was staring up at the inside of the tent, but shifted his gaze to Lord Aldwyn when he heard him enter.
The duke moved to the foot of the cot and folded his arms across his chest. Morrick met his stare, but he said nothing, breathing hard. After a moment, the woodcutter rolled on to his side.
Garrick excused himself and the two men were left alone.
Aldwyn ran his eyes across the man’s form and saw before him not the woodcutter, but himself, long ago injured in battle, in the days before it became apparent to Cathryn that he could no longer father children and was thus no longer a suitor. He remembered unsuccessfully attempting to shield himself from that certainty as he was stretched on a cot not dissimilar to the one on which Morrick now lay. He too had lain on his side and stared at the canvas, seeing the distant future, spurned and alone.
He felt for the man, and he thought that in some small measure he understood his pain. He too had gone to great lengths for his lady and found that it all had come to naught but heartbreak. He still went to great lengths for his lady.
The wind picked up and the canvas on the seaward side pressed in towards them.
Without saying a thing, Aldwyn moved behind Morrick and rested a hand on his shoulder, then departed with never a word exchanged between them.
Morrick lay in silence, his arm draped over his eyes to shut out the light that shone through the tent. He thought of the days of his earlier life in the Hinterland with his wife and children. He thought of the long, terrible, forced march on an empty stomach, of the deeds he had felt compelled to do and for whom? The Dark Lord he had never met and of whom he heard only rumour? He had killed his own kind and rallied his people to perpetrate that killing in the most brutal and efficient way possible. He and his men had stood resolute, spearing down the horses of the Combined People, ever watchful of the Devised creatures at their back.
And when finally the darkness was overthrown and his greatest hopes were achieved? All had disintegrated before his eyes. The Hinterland as he knew it was all but gone, and it was clear that his pardon was nothing but words on parchment. There could be no life for the branded men, and how would their families be treated if they returned with them to the Isles or the Folly? Surely then the soldiers of the Hinterland would need to live apart as an unclean people, or they would, by necessity, be forced to abandon their families and serve once more against their will in an army, again with little allegiance. All his old dreams of shining saviours hidden behind the tall Maw Gate or off on the Isles in the west were gone.
Where can I go now? Who will have me?
He supposed he could travel to the Isles and start a small life on some isolated scrap of land, if the lords of the Combined People would allow it. And yet the idea filled him with apathy. What would be the point? The point without his sons and without Rowan?
Rowan.
The memory of her was ever with him, laughing with him as he took her in his arms, her face contorted with rage as though she was an animal, kissing his neck as they made love, clawing at his flesh as she called him a monster. Morrick could not reconcile the two women.
What had she gone through while he was away and was he, in truth, responsible? He did not know and the question plagued him as he lay prone, unwilling to move, nor eat nor drink, though Garrick and others attended him regularly. He drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, ensuring that when he woke, he did not stir, as though by doing so he was protected from the hurt, much like a man who had drank too much ale the night before might shelter in his bed to avoid the worst of the morning’s hangover.
The night passed, and preparations were made for the fleets to set sail for the invasion of Stragglers’ Drift. It had been decided that only a small flotilla was to bear away to the Isles with the wounded and the refugees, before heading to the Drift with reinforcements as well as supplies.
Captain Lynch jumped from a rowing boat into the cold surf, followed by the oarsmen. Together the sailors hauled the boat upon the sand. Lynch thanked them and was assured it was not a trouble. He set off up the beach and the sand coated his boots as he walked. The preparations had all been made and he felt reasonably content that he had done all that was possible. He was far from certain how Rowan would react with the news of his latest audience with Lord Aldwyn and had avoided returning to speak with her as long as he could.
He found her in a position not dissimilar to that of Morrick. Callum and Declan were nowhere to be seen and she was tucked up in a cot, wrapped in fur and cocooned in memories.
Lynch coughed to get her attention as he pushed into the tent. She looked back over her shoulder at him.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, turning back away from him.
‘I have had messages to run and preparations to make,’ he said. Relations between them had become cold since their encounter with Morrick on the beach. The lady’s mood, ever changeable, had darkened since that day, and the Captain felt as though he had fallen from favour.
‘Are you well, my love?’ he said quietly and came to sit by her. She grunted in reply.
‘Rowan?’
She made no reply yet again. He sighed and, resting his elbows on his knees, he bent forward and rubbed at his eyes.
‘Will you not speak to me, Rowan?’
Lynch did his best to disguise any annoyance or weariness in his voice, so that it came out as artificially light amid the heavy atmosphere in the tent. Rowan could hear the attempt and it enraged her further.
She was angry. She was hurt. She was guilty. She yearned for Morrick and hated him. She yearned for Lynch and blamed him. She blamed herself for so much and yet when this conclusion drew near, her mind would not allow it and instead, unbidden, her thoughts turned to anger. Instead of accepting her part in events, she wallowed deeper in the unquiet tomb of her pain.
Lynch sighed and moved off, but she rolled and caught his trailing hand. She frowned at him.
‘You want me to stay?’
The frown intensified.
‘Do you?’
She nodded once, and as he sat, she rolled away again, but kept hold of his hand so that it draped across her shoulder. She relea
sed it, and he stroked the downy hair at the nape of her neck where it was too fine to be bound tight into the band above it. She shifted slightly, enjoying the sensation.
They sat this way for many minutes.
‘I’ve been to speak to Lord Aldwyn aboard his flagship,’ said the captain, continuing to stroke her with the tips of his fingers.
She made no reply.
‘Are you awake?’
She nodded slightly.
‘I’ve been to speak with Lord Aldwyn about your people.’
‘And?’ she whispered, and Lynch could hear the sadness in the solitary word.
‘The pardon holds, but we’ve seen ourselves how well the commoners feel about it. There’ll be no home for you and yours in the settlements of the Isles or at the Folly. The Hinterland is being abandoned for the time being.’
‘I would not return there anyway,’ Rowan mumbled, thinking of the fast-flowing Whiteflow and her daughter’s face beneath it.
‘Aldwyn is instructed to keep the Hinterland men in his service until this war is done. The queen is reluctant to let them walk free in her other lands until loyalty is assured. As for the rest of you, you do have your freedom to go where you please.’
Rowan sat up and fixed Lynch’s gaze.
‘So our great and noble queen is happy to cast us outside to fend for ourselves as beggars and no doubt thieves when needs must? Perhaps Awgren was not so bad - at least we kept our homes. How long before your comrades start raping and murdering our girls?’ she snapped.
Now Lynch frowned and was less able to disguise his reaction. He barked back at her,
‘Are you always so ungrateful, woman? I begin to wonder now, when I see how you look at me so; one who is trying to aid you, whether you do not look at your husband with those same eyes and with similar injustice.’
She made to slap him, but he caught her wrist.
‘Restrain yourself, Rowan. I know you are hurting, but this will not do!’ She tugged to get her arm away and he released her.
‘I am bound to sail with Lord Aldwyn, and I cannot take you with me into battle,’ he said.
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