Claire Delacroix (81 page)

But Alys dressed, attended the second Mass, and returned to the bailey with her uncle and Brigid to find Burke awaiting with his saddled steed. The others were apparently still asleep.

Burke’s arms were folded across his chest, his dark fur-lined cloak flowing behind him. Alys’s heart leapt at the sight of him, no less at the certainty that he waited for her.

“And where are you going?” Uncle demanded.

“Burke takes me to visit Heloise.”

“Is this not a day early?”

“Aye.” Alys lifted her chin, daring her uncle to deny her.

But Uncle dropped his voice, his gaze flicking nervously to the hall. “This knight speaks aright in one thing—Heloise should not be so far from the hall. God speaks through her, and I would have His counsel closer to hand. Bring her back with you this day.”

“But Aunt …”

“Will bend to my will in this” Uncle insisted with a certainty Alys was far from feeling. “Go! Hasten yourselves before Deirdre awakens.”

Alys was not about to ask twice. She fled toward Burke, who tersely confirmed that he had heard Uncle’s command. Certainly Burke’s sweet manner had abandoned him this morn, and he looked as tired as Alys felt. Indeed, their poor parting of the night before seemed to yet linger between them.

“Did you sleep?” he asked, and Alys cursed his perceptiveness.

“The wind kept me awake.”

Burke snorted. “ ’Twas thoughts of a beguiling woman that haunted me.” He offered her his hand and Alys knew she would have to ride the beast once more. The steed flared its nostrils as if it thought as little of that as she.

“No kisses,” she decreed, and Burke smiled so abruptly that her breath was stolen away.

“Of course not,” he agreed, too easily to soothe Alys’s pride.

That was that, she decided sourly as they rode from the bailey. She had declined the man’s offer in no uncertain terms, and this time Burke had accepted her at her word. There was no reason to be troubled by his choice, not in the least.

Alys lifted her chin to the wind, ignoring how much easier ’twas to match the steed’s gait now that she knew to relax. She also ignored the solid weight of Burke’s arm around her waist, at least as well as she could.

’Twas a marvel how quickly they reached Heloise’s abode and, just in time, for the wind was whipping ominously at the dark sea. Alys strained for some sight of Heloise, but the woman was not to be found.

“Where can she be?” she murmured, surprised when Burke’s arm tightened around her waist.

“You will learn to dismount properly this day,” he muttered.
“Not leap from a running steed and break your leg.” Burke pulled the destrier to a halt, then swung out of the saddle with ease. He reached for Alys, his expression grim, and lifted her to the ground. There was a moment when they stood toe to toe that Alys thought he might speak, but she ducked beneath his arm and ran for Heloise’s hut.

“Heloise!” Alys called, her fear rising when only the sounds of the wind and the sea carried to her ears. She scrambled down the rocky slope, slipped, and found Burke’s hand beneath her elbow.

“Haste will win you naught but a dip in the sea,” he declared. “Have you no care for your own welfare, Alys?” She did not answer, and he did not release her elbow until they were on the level ground before the hut.

Yet still there was not a sound from the hut. The first heavy drops of rain splattered against the stony ground. Alys hurried forward, still calling. The fire was out, which she should have expected, though the wind was biting. Alys ducked through the portal, hoping against hope that Heloise was not too chilled.

Her heart stopped when she saw the elderly woman curled upon the ground as if she had fallen.

“Heloise!” Alys dropped to her knees beside the anchorite, her hands skimming Heloise’s face, her hands, her brow. Heloise was warm, though her breathing was faint and uneven. “Heloise, what has happened?” Alys tried to gather the woman into her arms but could not move her weight.

To her immense relief, Burke stepped into the hut and readily brought the older woman to a sitting position. Heloise choked and gasped as she stirred. Burke gently thumped her back.

“Water,” he commanded with a sharp glance to Alys. She ran to fetch the ladle from the bucket left to catch the rainwater. By the time she returned, Burke had Heloise’s back braced against the wall and was rubbing the older woman’s
hands within his. Her eyes were open, but her features seemed more contorted than usual. She frowned at Burke as if uncertain who he was. Alys knelt before Heloise with the ladle and the older woman’s expression brightened.

“Alys! The stones said you would come.” Heloise sipped of the water, then turned her head away from it. She looked at Burke, then eyed his hands rubbing hers. “All cold,” she pronounced.

“You cannot feel your hands?” Alys demanded.

Heloise shook her head. “All dead.”

“Nay, not dead, Heloise. Chilled. You should not have let the fire die. ’Tis too cold to be without it in these days.”

But Alys noted that when Burke set one of Heloise’s hands aside to take the other, the first did not move. It lay unnaturally twisted, as did Heloise’s legs, and Alys caught her breath in sudden understanding.

She met Heloise’s eyes and saw that the older woman knew fully what had happened to her. “The fit came again,” she whispered.

“In the night, the dark rider comes.” Heloise gasped as if she could not catch her breath, and Alys distrusted the unhealthy pallor of her skin. “The stones, they knew.”

“Nay, Heloise,
nay.
No dark rider comes for you.” Alys would not permit any such nonsense. Burke slipped away and Alys heard him gathering the tinder for the fire. “Perhaps you heard the horse we rode, naught more than that. We shall make a fire and heat the broth I brought for you. And then you will come back to the keep, Uncle insists, and you will be warm and …”

But Heloise frowned. “Nay, Alys. I will never leave here.”

“Of course you will! That is why we have come. Burke and I will aid you …”

“None can aid me, not even the stones,” Heloise said flatly, her gaze keenly bright. “I am dying, Alys.”

Tears blurred Alys’s vision. “Nay, Heloise, not that.” She took Heloise’s hand within hers, its chill confirming the unwelcome tale. “Not now, not when all is coming aright.”

“I have no choice, child.” Heloise wheezed, then labored to take a breath and winced. “The pain will come again, I can feel its portent even now. I have not long, Alys.”

The fire flared to life beneath Burke’s hands and Heloise started as always she did, the golden light painting her features unnaturally bright. She caught her breath shakily and Alys held fast to her hands, unable to do anything when the color faded from Heloise’s cheeks.

“It comes,” Heloise declared, her voice uneven. “And quickly. Take the pendant from my neck, Alys.”

“Nay, Heloise, ’tis yours. I could never take it.”

“ ’Tis yours, Alys, your legacy.”

“Nay, Heloise, ’tis yours!”

Heloise’s features worked and Alys feared the pain rose within her once more. Her hand shook within Alys’s grip, but still she forced out the words. “Your father had it cast for your mother as a token of his love.”

Heloise gulped a breath and whimpered. Alys clutched her hands, not knowing what else she could do, wishing she could endure the pain in Heloise’s stead. She felt Burke hovering watchfully behind her and had only felt so helpless once before.

But Heloise caught her breath. “Isibeal entrusted it to me, that I would grant it to you.”

Alys shook her head. “Nay, Heloise. You continue to wear it …”

“So some thief will pluck it from my grave?” Heloise demanded sharply. “ ’Tis yours, Alys, yours by right.” The older woman’s voice softened. “If naught else, take it as a reminder of me.”

Alys parted her lips to protest anew, but Heloise gave a cry
of pain. Her entire body shuddered and her fingers gripped Alys’s with painful intensity. Her eyes rolled back and she made a choking sound, even as Burke stepped forward to lend his aid.

There was naught to be done and Alys knew it well, though it still was not easy to watch. The fit subsided, fading to shudders as Alys held fast to Heloise’s hand and Burke braced her back.

“Alys, I beg of you,” the elderly woman whispered shakily when she could draw a breath. “Let me die knowing I fulfilled Isibeal’s trust. Take the token.”

Alys’s hands were shaking as she reached for the pendant. Without Burke’s aid, she would never have managed the deed. He lifted Heloise’s head with a care and compassion that wrenched Alys’s heart, extricating the chain from the older woman’s veil when Alys could never have succeeded.

“Don it,” Heloise insisted, her voice rasping. “I would see it on you.” Her gaze was bright as she watched Alys do her bidding.

The golden oval was heavy and it hung between Alys’s breasts, the metal still warm from Heloise’s flesh. Alys took Heloise’s hands again as Burke eased the older woman into comfortable repose. He slipped into the shadows, though Alys knew he lingered near.

His very presence gave her unexpected strength.

Heloise breathed laboriously for a few moments, her pain clearly easing. “Isibeal had but one regret,” she finally confided.

“Placing her trust too readily?”

“Nay, child! She loved you nigh as much as she loved her knight. Never believe anything else that witch says of the matter. What does
she
know of love? You were wrought in love.”

“Heloise, you should not stir yourself so.”

But Heloise would not be swayed. “I saw them together,
Alys, I saw their love and ’twas humbling in its vigor.” Heloise licked her lips and Alys offered the ladle once more, only to have the older woman shake her head. “Nay, the only thing Isibeal regretted was that she waited.”

Alys frowned. “Waited?”

“She waited for her knight to come, because he had pledged to do as much. When she died, she said she wished she had not been so proud, that she had pursued love herself.” Heloise fixed Alys with her bright gaze. “The stones want your promise, Alys.”

Alys’s nape prickled at Heloise’s odd insistence. “What promise?”

“Your promise that you will pursue love as your mother did not.”

“Heloise—”

“Promise, Alys!”

“Aye, Heloise, I will, of course I will.”

No sooner had she uttered the words than Heloise caught her breath. The older woman arched her back as a spasm of pain obviously rolled through her and her lips pulled back from her teeth.

“Burke!” The knight was there already, holding Heloise as she cried out, murmuring to her, but the older woman emitted a heart-wrenching cry. She gasped, she shook her head, she trembled violently. She might have said something, but then suddenly she sagged against Burke.

And an eerie silence fell in the hut.

Alys waited for Heloise to take another breath. She was certain the spasm would pass, but naught happened. Alys leaned closer, touching Heloise’s throat, seeking a sign of her pulse.

There was naught. Panic rose within her. She stroked Heloise’s face, called to her. But Alys knew the truth even before Burke eased Heloise down and lifted her hands away.

He looked straight into Alys’s eyes. “There is naught more to be done.”

“Nay! There must be something we can do. We must aid her, we must make her breathe again, we must—”

Burke shook her hands. “Alys, she is gone.”

“Nay!”

“Aye.”

At his conviction, the tears Alys had been fighting broke loose in a torrent. She wept like a child, burying her face in her hands. She shuddered to her toes, and once she had begun to cry, Alys could not stop. She gulped great gasping sobs, rocking on her heels, and touched Heloise’s hand repeatedly. Alys could not believe that the woman who was as close as a mother to her was gone for all time.

She was grateful that Burke left her to her tears, though she did not immediately guess what he did. When Alys eventually looked up, she realized that the older woman now looked to be in repose, a marked contrast to the agitation in which she had died.

To her astonishment, Alys watched Burke slide his hands across Heloise’s aged face. The contortion of her dying spasm faded beneath the deft touch of his fingers and thumbs. In the twinkling of an eye, Heloise’s features were at ease, as they had been three years past. She looked as if she slept.

Burke glanced up and must have seen the surprise in Alys’s expression. “War teaches a man many unwelcome skills,” he said softly, then stood. “ ’Tis easier if your last sight of her is a peaceful one.” He inclined his head slightly, then headed for the door. “I will be outside while you say farewell.”

And he left Alys to her mourning.

Cedric was alone in the hall when Talbot strode impatiently across the floor. “Is there any morsel worthy of breaking my
fast?” that knight demanded. “Or shall I have to wait until Killarney to eat decent fare?”

Killarney? Surely the man did not intend to leave? Cedric bounded to his feet, knowing his request to Alys would already cost him dear in his wife’s eyes. If this knight left before Deirdre arose, there would be hell to pay in this hall.