Alicia Roque Ruggieri

by The House of Mercy

  The brown-haired girl smiled. “Hello, Deoradhan. Welcome.” She glanced at her companion, and they moved ahead of Deirdre and Deoradhan into the main room.

  He followed Deirdre over to the hearth, noting that Meghyn was nowhere to be found. “Have a seat, Deoradhan,” Deirdre invited, her long fingers motioning to a chair.

  “Tell me at once, Deirdre,” Deoradhan ordered, sitting on the edge of his chair.

  The young woman sighed. “She’s dead, Deoradhan. She died months ago. I thought you might already know.”

  A blow, indeed. Meghyn was no more than forty-five. And so dear to him. Dear as a mother to me. Tears came to his eyes, and he found he couldn’t speak.

  “She wanted me to tell you, Deoradhan, that she loved you no matter what has happened. And that she will meet you in the kingdom that never ends.” Deirdre raised her eyes to meet Deoradhan’s. “She loved you dearly, you know.”

  “I know.” Everyone I have loved has been taken from me. Except for one. “Where is Aine?” he asked, rising to his feet and blinking away his tears with a shaky breath.

  “She is resting in the next chamber.”

  “Resting?” Deoradhan had never known the lively girl to nap. “Is she ill?”

  Deirdre gave him a quizzical look. “Women do rest when they are like this, Deoradhan.” She rose. “I will go get her.”

  Aine must be ill. Deoradhan stopped Deirdre with a hand to her arm. “Nay. I will go.” Heart pounding, he stepped toward the archway separating the rooms.

  He did not need to enter. Apparently, the one for whom he longed had already risen from her sleep. She came to the doorway as he approached. He had never felt such shock as he did in that moment.

  The girl who stood before him was not the Aine he remembered, the one whom he had dearly held in his waking dreams. Who is this? His mind blanked, and he thought he would be sick.

  She stood there, stringy hair hanging around her thin white face, the only familiar part being her huge dark eyes, begging him, pleading with him.

  Pleading with him to do what? Accept… that? That swollen belly that could give testimony to only one thing?

  Treachery.

  Deoradhan stumbled back, head spinning

  Aine—for he must call her something—heaved her way toward him, hands outstretched. He drew back as if from an asp. “Don’t touch me,” he gasped, feeling as if her leprosy would spread to him. “Get away from me.”

  Aine’s dry lips fell open. “Please, Deoradhan. Please, let me explain.”

  He blinked. “Explain?” he said, staring at her, his eyes avoiding that burden at her waist.

  She looked around, obviously uncomfortable that others were in the room. “I…I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  He snorted. He couldn’t help it.

  Tears rose in Aine’s eyes. “Please, Deoradhan, forgive me. ‘Twas sin, but—”

  “But what?”

  Silence. He waited, bitterness quickly turning any love he had for her into hatred. “Cannot you forgive me, Deoradhan? ‘Twas not all my fault. If you knew…”

  “I don’t care how it happened,” he finally burst out. “It happened.”

  He saw that his words broke her and was glad, feeling the hatred saturate his spirit. “Can you change it, Aine?” he demanded. “Well, can you?”

  She shook her head.

  “’Tis over, Aine,” the words poured out of his mouth like poison. “I never loved you. I only thought I did. I will not be a cuckold nor a husband to a woman who thinks so little of her promises.”

  Aine stared at him, then glanced at those around them. A sob burst up from her, as Deoradhan had never heard from her before. She rushed past him, past them all, out into the courtyard.

  Woodenly, he moved to sit back down before the hearth again.

  “Deoradhan,” Deirdre spoke after a long time of silence. “We thought ‘twas your child she carried.”

  He shook his head. I have nothing left. Nothing but sorrow, pain, and my own hatred.

  Camelot

  “’Tis the last of it, my lady.”

  Nia’s voice cut through Tarian’s thoughts. “Thank you, Nia.” All is ready to go with me. If I had given into Drustan’s wishes, life would have been simpler. I would be packing to go home to Oxfield, not to Cantia. She forced a smile. “I appreciate all that you’ve done to help me.”

  The servant woman shook her head. “Nay, my lady, ‘tis the least I can do.” Impetuously, it seemed, she picked up Tarian’s hand and kissed it. “May the Lord bless you for keeping His ways, my lady. May His goodness and mercy follow you all the days of your life.”

  Tarian stared at her. “Thank you, Nia,” she stammered, pulling the maid toward her in a fierce embrace.

  It was the will of the Lord to crush me…

  33

  Aine fled through the forest, tripping over roots, falling on her face in the mud. Finally, she stumbled against a huge oak, its trunk rippling brown in the slanted afternoon sunlight. Her mind aware only of pain, she huddled against the tree, shaking with tears.

  I never loved you.

  “What value do I have, then?” she moaned.

  I never loved you.

  Where could she go? Never back to Oxfield. Aine could not face her accuser again. I would die of grief. Deoradhan’s angry face had told her that she would never receive forgiveness from him.

  And if she would not receive it from him who had said he loved her so much, how would she receive it from anyone?

  “Who will welcome a harlot?” she mumbled, scratching her face against the bark. At least the physical pain drew her concentration away from the emotional agony.

  Though he seduced me. Forced me, really. ‘Twas not all my fault. If Deoradhan knew…

  No, even if he knew, he would reject her now. Yet again, after the brief respite of Deoradhan’s worshipful love, Aine knew her own inadequacy.

  I cannot measure up. I cannot, no matter how I try. The sobs poured out. All I want is to be loved. But I’m not worthy to be loved.

  Groveling at the tree’s roots, she remembered the words of the village priest…

  And sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.

  “Help me.” The whisper came to her lips, directed to whom she knew not. Perhaps to the God whose voice her mother heard in the song of the robin. After a time, Aine stood upright again, wobbling under the weight of her too-heavy burden, shivering in the cold April wind. She directed her feet west. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she could not return to the house of her judgment.

  ~ ~ ~

  The shavings dropped one by one around Bricius’ feet, curling into little heaps. The cottage trembled a bit in the blowing gusts, but here by his fire ‘twas warm and cozy. He glanced up from his whittling and caught a smile from Lydia, who sat across from him, sewing patches on a pair of trousers. Their old dog lay panting at her feet.

  An impatient knock interrupted the comfortable silence between them. Bricius rose, groaning a little. “I’ll get it, my dear.” He limped over to the door.

  He knew his surprise must have shown when he opened it. “Deoradhan, isn’t it?”

  The young man smiled politely, but Bricius sensed the worry underpinning his expression. “Aye, you remember me.”

  “Please, come in.” Bricius held the door open wide. Deoradhan hesitated and then entered, knocking the mud from his boots on the doorframe.

  “I don’t wish to intrude,” he said. “I’m looking for Calum. No one seems to know where he went. I didn’t know if you…”

  Tenderness flooded into Bricius’ heart at hearing Calum’s name. “Aye, he’s left Oxfield, lad.”

  “Do you know where he’s gone?”

  Bricius frowned. “Nay. He had some things to sort out, to pray over. ‘Tis all I know. But God knows where he is. And that’s enough for me.”

  Deoradhan snorted. It took Bricius by surprise. “I’m sorry,” the young man said when he saw the sta
rtled look on Bricius’ face. “It’s just that everything seems to go back to this unrelenting, unfathomable God. No matter how I try to escape, He always comes back to dog my steps.” He turned away, facing the fire.

  Bricius sat down to ease his bones. Lord God, give me the words to say to this young man, so bewildered, so angry. He glanced over at Lydia, who continued sewing, her eyes lowered. Praying. Finally, he said, “I don’t know what’s at the root of your troubles, lad. I can only say that whatever ‘tis, God will help you, if you ask Him.”

  “I don’t want to ask Him. I don’t need His help!” the visitor burst out, turning wild eyes to Bricius. “All I want is what is mine by right of birth.”

  “By right of birth?” At Deoradhan’s nod, Bricius raised his eyebrows. “You ken what is yours by right of birth, lad? Death, that’s all. Judgment. A pretty inheritance, aye? Yours by right of birth as Adam’s son.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Deoradhan turned his eyes back to the fire. “If I had what was stolen from me, I could have peace, at least, instead of this unending knowledge that someone else has what is mine.”

  Bricius rose to his feet and placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You want peace, lad, but you’ll never get it by holding onto things, whether it be the past or the future. We must lay all that down at Jesus’ feet and follow Him if we would have peace.”

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “I’m sure you don’t, because it goes beyond understanding.” Bricius gazed into Deoradhan’s face. “I see in you the marks of the Creator, lad. But if you go on rejecting Him, I fear what will become of you.”

  Bricius was sure that the young man’s eyes glinted with troubled tears. Yet after a moment, Deoradhan pulled away from Bricius’ gentle touch. “I must go,” he stated.

  “Alright.” Bricius paused with a sudden thought. “If you still seek Calum, you may find him in Summer Country.”

  “Summer Country?”

  “Aye, he grew up there.”

  ~ ~ ~

  From her seat behind Enid, Bethan surveyed the small group travelling with them. Five men, mostly in their thirties and forties, and a few older women. She and Enid were the youngest members of the band, and what Garan lacked in years, he made up for in fervor. They had been traveling for a few days now together, but Bethan still felt like an outsider. Her father had not spoken of unbelievers as these people did, as if they were some kind of mysterious wild animal that needed to be tricked into a trap.

  Yet they are sincere, she admitted. And kind, especially among themselves. Bethan glanced toward Garan riding to her right, and he met her eyes with a smile. Everything he does is done purposely, she realized. Even that smile. I believe he thought it through before he allowed me to have it. But he is a good man, and I am blessed to have him.

  Her thoughts turned to Deoradhan and Aine. Aloud, she mused, “Deoradhan could have been gentler with poor Aine.”

  Garan’s head swiveled toward her. “What do you mean? He was right.”

  His voice allowed for no question on the matter. But Bethan felt she could not agree, at least not completely. “But, Garan,” she began softly, not wishing to seem contrary, “Deoradhan didn’t know the whole of the story. To be honest, none of us did. We only assumed.”

  Garan frowned, as if she were a disagreeable little girl. “Bethan, the facts are these: an unwed lass is with child. Her promised husband doesn’t acknowledge the child. Therefore, she has been unfaithful to him.”

  “But, Garan, others have not been unfaithful but have gotten in the same way as Aine. The Virgin herself—”

  “As far as I am aware, there is only one virgin birth promised to the human race, Bethan. Or do you contradict the Scriptures now?”

  Bethan blushed. “Nay. I didn’t mean that Aine…I meant only that we don’t know all the circumstances, Garan. She may have been forced.”

  His face softened the tiniest bit. “Perhaps. If so, I pity the girl. But the child is still the child of sin.”

  Bethan could not believe he had said that. “What did you say?”

  “The child is one of sin. Deoradhan is right to reject it.”

  Bethan felt such indignation that it overcame her awe of Garan. “But the child did not sin, Garan. Surely, the Lord has compassion—”

  “‘Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.’” He glanced over at her. “I think that should answer your questions, Bethan. God, not man, always has the final word.”

  But you are not God, her heart rebelled as she looked at him in silence.

  34

  Summer Country

  In the nearby fields, Calum could hear the sheep bleating. ‘Twas lambing season, and his brother owned dozens of sheep, many of them about to lamb. Their soft murmuring usually soothed him to sleep, but tonight he found that rest eluded him.

  I’ll walk the fields awhile. He sat up, throwing back the light wool blanket. How different this life was from all those years as a guard! How restful this country existence was. Each day, his soul healed from within, the sores closing up as with ointment.

  His feet took him outside, where the stars sprinkled the sky like jewels across a peerless dark queen’s brow. How beautiful. Lord, You have set them in place. A light wind rustled the grass, silvery with moonlight. Calum strode toward the oak on the hill, outlined black against the late night sky. Someday, all the stars will sing together again, as they did at Creation.

  He walked up the incline slowly with the step of one who does not hurry anymore. He was just a little way from the wooden cross and decided to brush his fingers and eyes over the carven words once more. Moving toward it, he saw some kind of large object at the cross’ foot.

  A stray sheep. He approached it quietly, not wanting to startle it into fleeing. A few feet away, however, Calum realized with surprise that a small woman, not a sheep, lay facedown and curled up on the ground. Kneeling in the sparse grass, he reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Twas warm, so she still lived. But she didn’t respond to his hand.

  “Hello,” he spoke aloud. “Lass.” The person didn’t turn over or show any sign of having heard him.

  Calum gently rolled her over. What in the world? She’s heavy with child, Calum thought with alarm. He brushed back the snarled mass of dark hair from her face and was so startled that he fell back on his heels.

  Aine.

  So many thoughts rushed into his mind. Where was Deoradhan? How did Aine come to be in Summer Country? He shook her shoulder again, but she still wouldn’t wake. With the tenderness of a herd with a broken-legged lamb, Calum took her crumpled body into his arms and rose. O Lord, show me what to do. Show me how I may care for her.

  ~ ~ ~

  He laid her on his bed. Aine’s body shook with cold, and Calum covered her with as many blankets as he could find in the little shepherd’s cottage. Still she trembled convulsively. Calum threw his eyes around for something to add to her warmth.

  The heavy fur rug. He snatched it up and placed it on top of all the other layers. Turning to the hearth, he added more fuel to the dying fire and water to the pot hanging above it.

  Lord, what has happened here? How did this come to be? he questioned, sitting by the young woman’s side as he waited for the water to boil. Looking at her, Calum saw that her lips scaled with dryness. He jumped up from his stool and fetched a cup of water. Raising her up a little, he put the rim to her lips. He breathed when she swallowed. And swallowed again. Without opening her eyes, she reached out her small, soiled hands limply toward the cup. After a few gulps, she fell back, unresponsive again.

  Should I go for someone? But for whom would I go? Not Kieve or his wife, two miles away, surely asleep at this hour. Not to the village, nearly four miles distant. And Calum had nursed many a sick man after battles. He could nurse a woman just as well for tonight.

  His gaze rested on the girl’s scratched, hollow face and then her swollen stomach. Her soul needs healing a
s much as her body, I would guess. O Lord, help me.

  35

  Dunpeledyr

  “Welcome. ‘Tis not often that we receive messengers from our Lord Arthur,” greeted Lady Seonaid, trying to appear calm. Two stern men backed by several armed guards had arrived without warning, bearing the Pendragon’s banner. She had received them, as Weylin had taken a horse up to an estate farther north.

  “My lady, we come with ill news for you.”

  “Whatever word the king sends, I am ready to hear.”

  “I’m glad of it, my lady. We’ve come to take your husband into custody.”

  ‘Twas utterly unexpected. “What do you mean?” she questioned, sure that she had misunderstood these solemn strangers.

  “Just that, my lady. Your husband has been accused of treason.”

  Seonaid drew in her breath. “By whom? Who has accused him?”

  “The king, my lady.”

  Summer Country

  Deoradhan pushed his mount to move faster. The road over the hills flew under them, but he still could not shake the feeling that something—Someone—tracked his soul. He felt a Presence like some great red sun, born from the foundations of the world. ‘Twas burning, beating, unrelenting in its effort to win him over, to force his acknowledgement.

  He resisted, cowardly, willfully. Tears sometimes rose to his eyes, but he blinked them away. He drove his horse faster, determined to get away. I own myself at least, do I not? Was he not at any rate the ruler of his own heart, though a kingdom of darkness it might prove to be?

  Summer Country

  Aine woke fully on the second day. When her eyelids trembled open, Calum sat very still, anxious that she stay quiet. She stared up at the ceiling for long moments, blinking slowly as if it caused her pain, before turning her head to look at him.