“Then my prayers have been heard, for I have begged for something or someone to bring me comfort. Although,” she dug into her pocket, pulled out a small pouch, and tipped the contents into William’s hand, “these have done so, in some measure, thanks to you. I place them beneath my pillow each night.”
He frowned as he examined them. “Pebbles?”
“Yes. The ones you threw at me from the forest. They serve to remind me that someone…” she took a breath and managed a smile, “someone still cares.”
“You kept them?” William sighed. “Ah, Lora, of course someone cares. ’Tis why I’m here, to be assured of your well-being. Your mother asked me to do this and I agreed willingly. I needed a reason, of course, to leave Rothwyn permanently and without suspicion, so I orchestrated my own dismissal by admitting I knew about you and Gareth.”
“I know. Mama told me.” Lora took the pebbles and returned them to the pouch. “That you made such a sacrifice means more than I can say.”
“A small price to pay.” He fidgeted in the chair. “I have always cared deeply for both of you.”
Lora fidgeted, too. Perhaps it was a good time to confess what she knew. Or what she presumed to know. “Master William, there’s—”
“There’s something I have to tell you,” William said, stealing the words from the tip of Lora’s tongue, “about myself and your mother. I’m not quite sure, though, how you might—”
“Don’t worry, I already know about you and Mama,” Lora smiled. “I was just about to tell you.”
“You do? You were?” The color drained from his face as he sat back. “But…how? Your mother told you?”
Lora shook her head. “Not precisely. She spoke of you the day I left Rothwyn, told me you’d been dismissed. There was something in her voice, her eyes, when she said your name. It went beyond simple concern. And then I remembered your confession the night of the banquet, when you said you loved someone who could never be yours. And I suddenly knew, without any doubt, who the lady was. I’m heartily sorry, Master William, for you both. I fully understand how difficult it must have been.”
William remained silent, his face still pale, his eyes locked on hers. Was he waiting for something more?
“Have I offended you speaking so plainly?” she asked, unsure what to make of his reaction.
“Not at all, although I lament how you came by your empathy.” He leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. “But what of the earl, Lora? What of him in all this?”
“My father?” She shrugged away a twinge of regret. “To me, he has made his feelings plain. As for you, he obviously doesn’t know the way of things, or you wouldn’t be here.”
William grunted, seeming to contemplate her response for a moment. “Aye, well, I can’t comment with any certainty on how he feels about you. For myself, though, I’ll not argue with your logic.”
Again, Lora had the feeling William anticipated more from her, that she’d missed something. Of course, things remained to be said, sad things, terrible things. Up to that point, the conversation had flowed with relative ease. In the ensuing moments of silence, however, those formidable unspoken words rose up like a barrier. Fear of what they would affirm—of what she would hear—tightened like a noose around Lora’s throat. And yet…
“I need to know,” she whispered, “what happened to Gareth.”
William heaved a sigh and took both her hands in his. “Aye, and I expected you to ask, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. Only Edward and his men were witness to what happened that night. Rumors about Gareth’s fate wandered around Rothwyn for a while, and likely still do. But no one, except perhaps the earl, can be certain about what actually took place. You must surely be aware, though, that the unfortunate lad would not have been shown mercy.”
Lora closed her eyes and allowed reality to wash away any remnants of denial. She had always known, deep down in a guarded place, Gareth had not survived that night. As guilt settled its burden upon her shoulders, she felt the gentle squeeze of William’s hand and met his gaze again.
“I’m sadly aware of that,” she said, a sob catching in her throat, “but I want to know where they took him after they left the armoury, what they did to him.”
William grimaced. “Why? I told you, no one knows for certain. Stop torturing yourself, child. It serves no purpose. It’s over.”
“But if he’d been taken to the dungeon as my father commanded, the guards at Rothwyn would have seen him, would they not?”
“Most likely, aye, but maybe—”
“So, obviously, they never took him there. If they had, then why the mystery? Why the rumors?” Lora pulled her hands free and wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “Why did they cover the well, Master William?”
He flinched visibly. “The well? Ah… I was told a goat fell in and—”
“I don’t believe that ridiculous story. Do you? No, of course you don’t. I can see it in your face.” An agonizing stab of certainty lifted Lora to her feet. “Edward pushed Gareth down the well, didn’t he? Tell me what your instincts say, Master William, for I suspect they echo my own. But also, tell me…please, please tell me he was already dead before he…before they… Oh, God help me, this is all my fault. I should not have pursued him. I should have listened to you. I should have listened.”
The walls tilted and a pair of strong arms caught and held her.
“It would have been swift,” William murmured, rocking her as she sobbed. “I promise you, Lora, Gareth would not have suffered long.”
Chapter 15
Lora awoke before the bell sounded for matins. She’d been dreaming again. Of what, she didn’t know, but the substance of it remained, teasing her with dissipating images and an odd sense of yearning. A faint odor, too, toyed with her senses for a moment before ebbing away. She recognized the dank, stale scent of the well. Had she imagined it? Could a dream produce such an illusion?
Shivering, she pulled the blanket up to her chin, blinking as her eyes adjusted to her surroundings. Moonlight pushed shards of light through gaps in the shutters. Startling in their brightness, they lifted the shadows from her consciousness.
Since Master William’s visit a week earlier, Lora had been haunted by such dreams, aware of their occurrence but blind to their significance. Still, William’s arrival had been a blessing beyond measure. No longer isolated in her grief, Lora at last found the courage to voice her terrible suspicions.
There had never been a clumsy goat. The cover on the well served one purpose only, that of being the seal on Gareth’s tomb.
Master William’s reaction seemed to have further corroborated the truth of Edward’s merciless cruelty. The unimaginable horror of Gareth’s final few moments touched Lora’s soul with a cold hand.
Stop torturing yourself, child. It serves no purpose.
Heeding Master William’s wisdom, she gathered her blanket around her shoulders, went to the window, and pulled the shutters open. Moonlight spilled in and Lora stepped forward to bathe in its brilliance. Leaning over the sill, she took several breaths of cool air and felt her heartache ease. The grounds of the abbey lay silent, outlines of buildings replicated in thick black shadows. From somewhere off in the distance came the haunting warble of a screech owl. Lora’s heart quickened. At one time, such a night would have compelled her to leave the confines of her room and wander beneath the stars. Never again. Such impulsive wanderings in her past had resulted in nothing but tragedy and this desolate future.
She shivered, withdrew to the sheltered confines of her room, and reached to close the shutters, but hesitated. Her actions struck her as symbolic somehow. Withdrawing from the cold. Retreating from the light. Capitulating to the inevitability of her life. Did these things not embody a desolate future?
Keep the faith, cariad. For me.
Gareth’s final words echoed in her head. He’d always had faith in her. He’d never laughed at her tales about the mysterious voice. Nor had he doubted the power of the well. Perhaps t
hat power embraced him now, in death. A blasphemous yet pacifying concept.
Nothing but tragedy? The shameful conclusion heated Lora’s cheeks. Her impulsive wanderings had led her to him, to incredible memories and a love beyond price. Some people lived their entire lives and never found such treasures. No doubt many failed to even search for them.
A dormant urge stirred as she gazed at the world outside her window. Moonlight turned stone to silver. Stars jostled for their place in the heavens. The air smelled of frost and winter fires. This rare and enchanting night never existed before, nor would it again. In a few hours, it would be gone forever. It was surely sinful, then, to close the shutters on such uniqueness and beyond tragic to not step outside and…feel it.
She had no fear of reprisal. Although confined within the abbey walls, Lora could wander the grounds as she pleased. To be seen about at such an odd hour, though, might raise a question or two.
As it happened, she saw no one. She kept to the shadows, leaving them only as she approached the gardens. Most of the vegetable beds lay fallow, the frosted earth well-turned and manured, awaiting the return of spring. Lora still bore the callouses acquired from doing such work.
She paused at the edge of the herb garden, where naked spindles of rosemary and lavender protruded from the ground. There, she pulled her cloak tight and gazed up at the full moon, squinting at its intense brightness. It was said to drive men mad and make barren women fertile. Lora felt a sudden, sharp pang of regret for the children she would never have, and turned her eyes away. She gave herself a mental shake, filled her lungs with crisp air, and focused on the beauty of the night.
The chill nipped at her nose and pinched her cheeks as she followed the perimeter of the gardens. Once in a while, she’d pause to gaze up at the stars, feeling both awed and humbled by the splendor. On the western perimeter, easily visible in the moonlight, stood the small wooden structure that housed the abbey’s well. Dug specifically for the abbey, the simple orifice served merely as a water source. It contained no pagan magic. No heathen trinkets.
No ghosts.
She wandered over to it, her breath catching as the screech owl shared his mournful cry once more. Otherwise, her surroundings remained silent. As she approached the well, she bent and picked up a pebble to serve as an offering. It was a symbolic gesture born from whimsy rather than hope. This false oracle promised nothing and demanded neither ritual nor token. Lora could wish for a star on a stick if she fancied such a thing. A unicorn. Wings, perhaps. I’ve always wanted wings.
She peered over the edge, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She didn’t want wings. Or a star on a stick. Or a unicorn. She wanted one thing only, and would for the rest of her life. With a sob of despair, she threw the pebble into the well and wished for that one thing with all her heart. A moment later, an odd tingle ran across her scalp.
“Come away, Lora.”
His voice.
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Christ have mercy. What torturous delusion is this? I must be truly mad.”
“As mad as a barrel of frogs. Turn around.”
“No, I will not,” she replied, on a sob. “’Tis the cursed intoxication of the moon. Or some cruel dream. You’re not really here. You can’t be.”
He chuckled. “Where am I, then?”
“You’re dead, Gareth.” It was an instant and harsh retort, intended to dispel whatever delirium had taken residence in her brain. There followed a moment of silence in which she thought she’d succeeded.
Then, “Not to you, cariad. Never to you.”
“But…” Unsure whether fear or elation tore through her veins, she pinched herself, hard. “This has to be a dream.”
She heard a soft sigh. “Turn around, lass.”
Lora shook her head. “No. No, I dare not. If you’re truly here, touch me.”
“Like this?” Cold fingers stroked the back of her neck. “Or maybe you’d rather I—”
With a choked cry, she spun round and faced a bewildering, impossible truth.
“Kiss you,” he finished, bending to brush his lips over hers.
“How…?” Trembling, she pulled back, struggling to believe in the vision before her. A glow, similar yet separate from the surrounding moonlight, appeared to emanate from him. He looked…ethereal. Mystical.
Ghostly.
She traced a tentative finger along the line of his jaw and his eyes narrowed. He felt real enough, though she half-expected him to vanish with her next breath. No doubt it was a dream, though the lingering pain where she pinched herself said otherwise. Maybe she had lost her mind or perhaps died and gone to Heaven. Dream, madness, or death, it didn’t matter. Gareth was here, talking to her, touching her. A miracle this extraordinary did not merit time wasted on examination. It merited participation.
With a whimper of pure gratitude, Lora snuggled into his chest. “I am truly blessed,” she whispered, ignoring the faint odor of stale water from his shirt. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
All the memories they shared flooded her mind with sudden and startling clarity. Not that she had forgotten them, but the pain of recall had previously been too much to bear. Now, though, Gareth’s presence seemed to shield her from the agony of looking back, of lamenting the loss of a future that could never be theirs. She also realized the folly of her previous hopes and dreams. Naivety was a dangerous thing.
“You see me because you accept, at last, what is,” Gareth said, “but I cannot rest without speaking to you once more. There are things between us not yet resolved.”
Lora’s throat tightened. So, this would be a singular event, yet she could only acclaim the miracle of it. Yes, she had accepted the truth about Gareth’s fate in her mind, but now she felt it, too, physically. Despite the soft glow surrounding him, his embrace offered no tangible warmth. And, although she felt the rise and fall of his chest against her ear, his heart was as still as the night. Whatever he had become, he was no longer part of the mortal world.
She raised her head to look at him. Life, in some form at least, appeared to burn in the darkness of his eyes. The light of his spirit, she surmised, that most precious everlasting part of him, still bright and vital. It flickered like a distant candle flame, offering solace to a foolish girl who desperately needed it.
“Forgive me, Gareth,” she said. “I blame myself for everything.”
He gave her his gentle smile. “There is naught to forgive, so cease your fretting. The fault does not lie with you or me. None of this is how it should be.”
She pondered his response. “I’m not supposed to be here. Is that what you mean? ’Tis what the voice said to me, time and again, but I have yet to understand its significance.”
“Your father will explain.”
“My father?” She tensed in his arms. “Oh, no, Gareth. You’re surely mistaken. My father has abandoned me to this place.”
“I think not.”
“But he has. He…he left without saying goodbye and I doubt he’ll ever return.” She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “I doubt he even loves me anymore.”
He chuckled and bent to kiss her. “Silly lass. Your father loves you very much. There are merely some truths you have yet to learn.”
“What truths?” The distant peal of a church bell floated out of the night, snagging a thread of her attention. She glanced at the abbey church, which stood in silent reverence beneath the heavens. For a moment, she puzzled over the origin of the bell. There were no other churches for miles.
“’Tis not my place to speak of them,” Gareth said. “You’ll understand soon enough.”
She shook her head, which did little to unravel the tangle of questions within it. “Then what of these unresolved things you spoke of?”
He drew a sigh as deep and sober as one drawn by mortal lungs, although the chilled air gave no indication of expelled breath. The light surrounding him, though, seemed to fade a little. “’Tis not unspoken words that bring me to your side, c
ariad. I have another purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“Not unspoken words,” he repeated, his expression at once thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t speak.”
Again, the bell pealed. Louder this time, although still distant. Touched by a vague sense of panic, Lora shivered. “I don’t understand, Gareth.”
“Know that I love you, Lora FitzGilbert. I’ve loved you since the first time you stood before me, with your noble chin stuck in the air, throwing daggers with your eyes.” He touched her face. “And don’t frown. You’ll stay like that forever if the wind changes. Smile, lass. Think of me often and smile whenever you do.”
It sounded like a valediction. Not yet, surely.
“What are you saying? Not goodbye already. No!” She clutched at his shirt. “You can’t leave yet. You haven’t explained everything, and I still have much to say. We need more time. I need more time.”
Again, he sighed. “Our lives are but single heartbeats in time, my stubborn little moth. As to my purpose, you’ll know of it come morning.”
Before she could respond, he kissed her, his lips no longer cold against hers, but soft and warm. Lora whimpered and tightened her grip on his shirt, desperate to keep him there, yet knowing she couldn’t. She closed her eyes.
The peal of the bell made her flinch. It sounded so close. His lips parted from hers, although she still felt the fabric of his shirt grasped in her hands.
“I love you too, Gareth,” she murmured. “I wish you could stay.”
She opened her eyes to a sky seemingly empty of stars, her disoriented mind struggling to make sense of her surroundings. Why was she lying down? Had she fainted? The bell pealed again and she turned toward the sound to see moonlight threading its way through gaps in her shutters.
Shutters?
“No,” she whispered, releasing the handful of blanket she’d been clutching. Tears burned her eyes as she grappled with an unwanted reality. “Oh, no.”
The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1) Page 15