The bell continued its resonant clang, summoning the sisters to the first service of the day. Nauseated by sheer disappointment, Lora stared at the shuttered window, seeing only Gareth’s face in her mind, unable and unwilling to accept it had all been a dream. She had touched his face, listened to his words, smelled the dankness of the well on his shirt. She had kissed him. No. He had kissed her. It had been a profound experience that, even now, felt more real than the blanket against her skin. How could something so palpable possibly be false? The sharp keenness of loss sliced into her soul.
She sniffed and blinked tears away, deciding she didn’t feel well enough to drag her body into church. She’d claim illness, and not without a good measure of honesty, for she felt sick to her core.
Then, an odd gleam in the shadows drew her gaze. It seemed to emanate from atop the little table beside the window. It appeared golden, akin to the soft light that she’d seen in Gareth’s eyes.
As she stared at it, a memory pushed its way to the front of her mind, and her heart gave an extra little skip. The memory had been gleaned on another night, when she’d stood alone by Rothwyn’s well as the clouds peeled away from the moon. By grace of that silver light, she’d seen something dangling partway down the well’s wall, glimmering, tempting her with its mysterious allure.
The medallion.
She’d reached into the darkness, coming close to death in her effort to retrieve it. If Gareth hadn’t been there to save her…
‘Celtic,’ he’d said. ‘a rare and valuable trinket, but not worth dying for.’ And she’d given it to him as a token of her love.
Had he worn it the night he died? If so, it would have been returned, in tragic fashion, to the well. So, what then gleamed in the shadows of her room, reminding her of that time?
You’ll know of my purpose come morning.
Lora gave a choked cry, stumbled from her bed, and reached into the darkness once more, praying her fingers would touch…
Gold!
Her fist closed around the medallion and she brought it to her heart, sobbing in silent gratitude as she felt the metal warm beneath her touch.
Not a dream, then. Not a dream.
Chapter 16
“Thank you for coming so promptly, Master William.” The abbess directed him to the chair facing hers. “I should probably have sent for Lora’s father, but I suspect the bond between them is tenuous at best and I’m not convinced he would have acknowledged my concern. In his stead, I’m hoping she’ll respond to you in some fashion.”
“Respond? Why, pray tell, would she not?” Necessity, rather than compliance, pushed William into the chair. His hurried journey afoot combined with anxiety about his summons had taken its toll. “With respect, Reverend Mother, your missive did not provide much detail. Is Lora sick?”
“Not precisely.” The abbess frowned, apparently pondering her answer. “’Tis more a deep melancholy that afflicts her, I fear. She eats little, speaks even less, and while not disobedient or contradictory, shows no interest in abbey life. All attempts to engage her have failed, which is why I sent for you. I recall how delighted she was to see you on your previous visit.”
William gripped the arms of the chair, his mind wrestling with the images the abbess had presented. He’d known Lora would never find true happiness at the convent, but this disturbing withdrawal was not something he’d considered. Guilt, warranted or not, threw a shadow across his thoughts.
He swallowed over the dryness in his throat. “I appreciate your decision to summon me. I’ll do what I can for Lora, of course. How long has she been like this?”
“Nigh on a fortnight. At first I paid it little mind, believing it to be, perhaps, a cyclical mood. But no. This is something else.”
He nodded. “When can I see her?”
“Right away.” The abbess stood, prompting William to do likewise. She tilted her head and regarded him, her expression softening. “The last time we met, you told me your presence nearby was a fortunate coincidence. I now have to wonder if it was, perhaps, orchestrated by a higher power.”
A mild flush of heat brushed across William’s neck. If you only knew the truth of it, Reverend Mother. “Perhaps it was,” he replied.
The abbess smiled. “Please wait here.”
William sat again and allowed his gaze to wander, absent of focus. His attention was turned inward, where uncertainty mocked and apprehension nibbled. Taking a slow breath, he closed his eyes and tried to gather his wits. He had not quite done so when the latch on the door lifted. The sound pulled him to his feet.
He’d hoped to see Lora’s smile but expected her tears. Never, under all the glories of heaven, had he thought to see disappointment. Yet there it was, written on her face, fleeting perhaps, yet sadly unmistakable. The shock of it dulled the brightness of his greeting. “I… ah, it’s good to see you, Lora.”
She smiled then, but with little enthusiasm, her eyes softening as she approached. “Forgive me, Master William. When the abbess said I had a visitor, I hoped…I thought it was… I mean, it’s good to see you, too, of course.”
He frowned, accepting her embrace before setting her back from him, noting her hollow cheeks and dark-ringed eyes. Dear God.
“Thought it was who, child?”
She glanced over her shoulder as if frightened of being overheard. “My father,” she whispered. “He’s coming to take me home.”
An outlandish claim that all but stopped his heart. If she’d slapped him, he might have been less stunned. “The earl? Whatever makes you say that?”
Her face brightened. “Although, now I think on it, ’tis a blessing you’re here. I have much to tell you. But first we need to go outside, because I also have something to show you. It must be our secret though. Promise?”
Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door.
Moments later, they stepped out beneath solemn gray skies. Lora, still holding William’s hand, led him at a pace a shade less than frantic. Despite his growing fears about her sanity, he remained silent. Whatever delusion had taken root in her mind, William felt compelled to let it materialize, to show itself in full. He couldn’t challenge what he didn’t understand, nor could he even begin to address it.
“Good, there’s no one around,” she said, breathing hard and pointing to a small covered area by the abbey wall. “Right there. That’s where I saw him.”
A chill crawled up William’s spine, but he continued his silence until they reached the spot. “The well,” he said, as the lingering chill wandered over his scalp. “This is the abbey’s well.”
“Yes.” Lora stooped to pick up a small stone and examined it with something akin to reverence. “I still have the pebbles you threw at me, Master William. Anyway, it’ll be a fortnight tomorrow since I saw him. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here for a walk. The middle of the night it was, and bitter cold, but with a bright, full moon. Of course, I thought of Gareth when I got to the well. On a foolish whim, I threw a stone into it and made a wish to see him again.”
A flush came to her pale cheeks as she tossed the pebble into the void and turned to face him.
“Not a moment later, he came to me, with his skin aglow and a light in his eyes. He stood before me just as you do now, real and solid to the touch. He told me my father loved me and would come to me and explain everything. That’s why, this morning, I thought you were…” Her lip quivered. “He kissed me, and then I don’t remember anything else until I awoke in my bed. At first I thought I’d dreamed it all, but now I know I didn’t. Gareth was real, his words were real, and I think on it constantly. I haven’t told anyone about it, because I know they wouldn’t understand.”
Christ help us. William glanced away, fearful she might see the dismay behind his benign mask. It’s all been too much for her. I should have foreseen this.
“Master William?” Like a small child seeking attention, she tugged on his cloak. “You do believe me, don’t you? Say you
do.”
“I…” He smiled and stroked her hair, allowing his hand to linger against the dark curls reminiscent of his own. “I think we should go inside before you catch cold. You’re shivering.”
Frowning, she pushed his hand away. “Please say you believe me, Master William.”
The need in her voice tore at his conscience. It would be easy to acquiesce, to appease her, but surely wrong. She undoubtedly needed guidance, but he didn’t know which direction to take. He likened it to wading in murky water, feeling his way, unsure of where to tread.
“I believe you speak the truth as you see it.” He took a breath. “But I fear the roots of it live only in your mind.”
Her frown vanished. To his surprise, she shrugged and tucked her arm through his. “Hmm. I hoped you might believe my words alone, but I realize it’s asking a lot. Walk with me again, then, will you?”
Not what he’d expected at all. Indeed, Lora’s odd reaction only rattled his confidence further. “Lora, I don’t think you understand—”
“With respect, Master William, I understand completely.” She steered him to the north side of the well, a sheltered area, out of sight. “It’s you who doesn’t understand. I have proof, you see. Gareth didn’t just speak to me. He gave me something.”
“Proof,” William repeated, trying to collect his chaotic thoughts. “What proof? What did he give you?”
A conspiratorial gleam came to Lora’s eyes. “Do you remember the night I injured my arm? The night Gareth saved my life?”
Something stirred deep in William’s gut, an odd sense of expectation, as if he already knew what Lora was about to say.
“Aye,” he said, “I remember it right enough.”
“Then do you also recall what prompted my foolishness?” She slid a hand down the front of her robe as if searching for something. “The object I pulled from the well that night?”
William’s heart stopped mid-beat. He felt the blood leave his head and looked to one of the posts supporting the shelter. “A moment, little ’un,” he muttered, stumbling toward it. Echoes of the past resonated in his mind, every desperate prayer, every bitter curse, every futile wish. He fell against the wooden support and grasped it like a drowning man, Iorwerth’s prophetic words rising from recent memory.
…your days of waiting are drawing to a close.
“Please, forgive me.” Lora’s hand rested on his arm. “I don’t mean to upset you, but I swear I haven’t lost my mind. I’m telling you the—”
“Show me,” he said, holding out a shaky hand.
Perhaps it was coincidence that the clouds parted at the exact moment Lora dropped the medallion into his palm. The gold disc captured the sun, reflecting it back into William’s eyes, blinding him.
Yet, for the first time in many years, he saw everything with absolute clarity.
“Now do you believe me?” Lora’s voice drifted into his ear.
William fought an urge to laugh and an even stronger urge to weep. He gave a slow nod, blinked sunspots from his eyes, and ran his thumb over the raised symbols on the medallion. “Tell me again what he said to you.”
Lora glanced away for a moment as if summoning her thoughts. “He said my father would explain why none of this is as it should be, that there were truths I had yet to learn. He said my father loved me very much.” She shook her head. “But if that is so, why has he abandoned me to this place? And what truths? I confess much of what was said puzzles me. But…to see Gareth again. To touch him. It was…was…”
William smiled. “A miracle, right enough.” And after today, you will understand his words. I have so much to tell you. So much to explain.
Lora’s gaze settled on the medallion resting in William’s palm. “He also said the purpose for his visit would be made clear come morning, which is when I found that in my room. I find it hard to believe he returned it simply to prove his appearance. I think it’s meant for a higher purpose. Something to do with the well, perhaps.”
William squinted up at the cross adorning the church roof, a symbol of his chosen faith and a beacon offering hope and peace to others who believed. Many years before, he’d placed his faith in a far more ancient creed, one rooted in magic and legend. It had failed him, or so he’d concluded at the time. His fingers tightened around the medallion, a pagan artifact returned from earthly depths by the spirit of a man so cruelly murdered. An artifact whose higher purpose has yet to be fulfilled.
“None of this is right,” he murmured, echoing Iorwerth’s words.
Lora fidgeted at his side. “None of what? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that you are correct, little ’un.” He held the medallion aloft, the links of its golden chain seeping through his fingers. “You see, I know what this is. I know what it’s for. And I know how it came to be in Rothwyn’s well.”
“Y-you do?” Lora took a small step back, her eyes widening like a startled fawn. “But how can that be?”
William noted her suppressed shiver and gave her a grim smile. “Is there somewhere we might talk in private and out of the cold?”
“Um, y-yes,” she stammered, hugging herself. “There’s an antechamber off the library that is seldom used. I doubt we’ll be disturbed there. But, Master William, how can you possibly—?”
“Lead the way, then, lass.”
The brief flash of impatience in Lora’s eyes granted William some unexpected comfort, as did the sudden smudge of color on her cheeks. Despite his earlier fears, the bright child he knew and loved obviously still existed somewhere beneath those drab vestments of piety. A good thing, since her fortitude, and his, was about to be tested further.
And lead him she did, dragging him in her wake as she hurried indoors.
“Plenty of disapproving looks from your hosts as we flew by them,” William said, his stretched nerves forcing him to use some defensive levity as he closed the antechamber door. “They must be wondering what in heaven’s name—”
“Since I’m not here by choice, Master William, I care little what they think. Especially at this moment.” Chest heaving, Lora faced him, her silhouette framed in the arch of a small lancet window at her back. Her impatience, it seemed, had not subsided. “Please tell me how you know about the medallion.”
“I have that and more to tell you,” he said, “but I confess to being concerned about how you’ll respond.”
Lora shifted on her feet. “I’m not afraid, if that’s what you mean. Gareth brought this about, remember? I trust his intention, whatever it might be.”
“Then the fear is entirely mine, I suppose.” William swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “To begin, the medallion belonged to a woman who lived in the forests surrounding Rothwyn. She was rumored to be a heretic, a non-believer. One who dabbled in forbidden practices.”
Lora raised a brow. “A witch?”
“Aye, a witch.” An image of the woman’s face drifted from the shadows of his mind, her visage normal to look upon, apart from her eyes with their black, unfathomable depths. Something about them tugged at his memory, but whatever it was remained unclear. He glanced down at the gold disc still clutched in his hand. “I asked her for help and she gave me this. I needed to make things right, Lora. I wanted things to be the way they were before.” And I still do. By all the gods, I still do.
“Before?”
“Before your mother became wife to Earl Godfrey FitzGilbert of Rothwyn.”
She drew a sharp breath. “You knew my mother before her marriage?”
“I’ve known your mother since she was but thirteen summers and myself not quite nineteen. Aye, and I loved her even then. Her father and mine were friends, and they agreed Beth and I could wed on her fifteenth birthday. ’Twas a verbal agreement between two merchants of reasonable standing, neither one of noble blood. Then, a month before the wedding, Beth’s father found himself playing host to the earl, who fell foul of a riding accident while returning to Rothwyn. He stayed beneath their roof for thr
ee days. Not long, but long enough to decide he wanted the girl who tended him.”
Lora drew another breath, slower this time. “Mama.”
He nodded. “Her father leapt on this new proposal, of course. The humble hand of a merchant’s son could never compete with the bejeweled hand of a nobleman. An earl, no less. Friendship and agreement be damned. My wedding day became his, and I lost her.” And you too, little ’un.
“Oh.” The word was uttered on a sigh as the expression on her face softened. “I’m sorry, Master William. I had no idea. So, you went to the witch for help?”
“Not at first. At first I paid homage to my goblet, and consequently recall little of those early days. ’Twas a friend, catching me between drunken stupors, who mentioned the well. I’d heard stories of its magic as a child, of course, but never paid them much mind.” He shrugged. “My friend said the witch might help. Madness? Aye, perhaps, but despair being my only possession, I figured I had naught else to lose.”
Lora reached for a nearby chair and sank onto its seat. “Forgive me, Master William. I’m trying to link the pieces you’re laying before me but I find some of it confusing.”
“There are many pieces to sort through.” William took the chair beside her. “But those aside, my final desperate action was a simple one. On a winter’s day, many years ago, I sneaked into Rothwyn, waited until dark, threw this pagan offering into the well, and made my wish. I believed in it, too. With all my heart.”
“But it never came true.”
William didn’t answer. He knew by Lora’s expression that her sharp young mind was hard at work. So, he waited.
“That explains it,” she murmured, moments later. “’Tis what you said the night I told you I’d found the medallion. That explains it.”
He smiled. “Aye.”
“It caught on the root.”
“Right, but I didn’t know at the time.”
“Which is why your wish failed.”
Again, he stayed silent, merely nodding as his fingers traced the symbols on the gold disc.
Lora stood and began to pace. “But how, then, did you become Rothwyn’s steward?”
The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1) Page 16