more closely to my heart than
anything else.”
“Deoradhan, I thought…”
Aine trailed off, but Meghyn could finish the thought for her, though she knew
that Deoradhan could not begin to guess it.
She thought she was
his single treasure, the apple of his eye. Meghyn smiled sympathetically.
Surely, Aine had been idolized, but her value in his eyes held weight only
momentarily until another god replaced her, another golden calf that Deoradhan
hoped would lead him to the Promised Land.
Meghyn peered around the
doorway. The main door stood open, silhouetting Deoradhan and Aine.
“Deoradhan, I don’t
understand,” Aine’s voice carried the tone of feminine hurt and fretfulness so
disliked by men. “I thought—”
Meghyn saw their shadows
join as Deoradhan kissed the maid in order to hush her, to stop the questions
he did not want to answer.
When they parted, he
kept his eyes averted to avoid Aine’s beseeching gaze. “Trust me,” Meghyn’s
foster-son stated. “I’ll return soon.”
“When?” she begged,
clinging to his forearms.
He gently freed
himself. “I don’t know,” he said simply and moved into the night, leaving her
in the empty doorway.
Moving back to her bed,
Meghyn pitied the maid. She knew too well what rejection, however temporary,
felt like. Yet, ‘twas her concern for Deoradhan that kept her eyes open deep
into the night.
Why did he not tell
me that he must journey to Camelot? He no longer places his confidence in me. Tears
rolled down the sides of Meghyn’s cheeks. So wounded, yet he didn’t come to
you to be healed, Lord. Now, his heart, ‘tis as calloused as his hands. He
shuts out my voice. Can he even hear You now?
From the guard-tower,
Calum watched his longtime friend lead his mount toward the gate. He frowned.
‘Twas nearly midnight. Only in times of distress would Deoradhan leave with a
message at such a late hour. Furrowing his brow, Calum moved from his place at
the window.
“Take my place a moment,
Seisyll,” he instructed his companion.
“Aye, Calum.” The young
man rose from his stool, yawning. His red hair caught the moonlight as he
replaced his commander at the northern window post.
“Put your tiredness
behind you now, Seisyll. You’re on duty,” Calum reminded the subordinate, his
voice holding his trademark quiet authority. The young man straightened with
alertness. Satisfied, Calum moved toward the stone stair leading down to the
yard. He found his footing as well as any night creature, despite the lack of
light, and soon stood waiting for Deoradhan’s approach at the foot of the
tower. The night lay calm around him, the chilly autumn breeze striking his
scarred cheeks, the owls’ hoots intermitting with the advancing clip-clop of
Deoradhan’s horse.
He stepped out of the
heavy shadows into the torchlight. “Deoradhan, is something wrong?”
The younger man’s face
hardened in unnatural determination. “Aye.” He paused, stroking the gelding’s
dappled neck. “But I go to right it.”
Silently, Calum studied
his friend, his eyes searching the other man’s countenance for signs of
goodness. Never before had he failed to find that glimmer of the Image, yet
tonight he was hard-pressed to see it in Deoradhan’s scowling face. Fear
plucked at Calum’s heart.
“Deoradhan, do not do
anything you will regret,” Calum murmured, clasping his friend’s forearm in
fidelity.
Deoradhan’s jaw set. “I
won’t. I never do anything. That’s the cause of my trouble.” He mounted his
horse. “Don’t worry about me, Calum. I’ll return or you’ll hear from me
within a fortnight, if all goes well.”
“‘If all goes well?’
What are—?” Calum’s concern increased.
“Don’t fear for me,”
Deoradhan directed, smiling a little. “What do I have to lose? My life is
worthless here anyway. A stale perpetual survival. Farewell.”
“Where
anything else.”
“Deoradhan, I thought…”
Aine trailed off, but Meghyn could finish the thought for her, though she knew
that Deoradhan could not begin to guess it.
She thought she was
his single treasure, the apple of his eye. Meghyn smiled sympathetically.
Surely, Aine had been idolized, but her value in his eyes held weight only
momentarily until another god replaced her, another golden calf that Deoradhan
hoped would lead him to the Promised Land.
Meghyn peered around the
doorway. The main door stood open, silhouetting Deoradhan and Aine.
“Deoradhan, I don’t
understand,” Aine’s voice carried the tone of feminine hurt and fretfulness so
disliked by men. “I thought—”
Meghyn saw their shadows
join as Deoradhan kissed the maid in order to hush her, to stop the questions
he did not want to answer.
When they parted, he
kept his eyes averted to avoid Aine’s beseeching gaze. “Trust me,” Meghyn’s
foster-son stated. “I’ll return soon.”
“When?” she begged,
clinging to his forearms.
He gently freed
himself. “I don’t know,” he said simply and moved into the night, leaving her
in the empty doorway.
Moving back to her bed,
Meghyn pitied the maid. She knew too well what rejection, however temporary,
felt like. Yet, ‘twas her concern for Deoradhan that kept her eyes open deep
into the night.
Why did he not tell
me that he must journey to Camelot? He no longer places his confidence in me. Tears
rolled down the sides of Meghyn’s cheeks. So wounded, yet he didn’t come to
you to be healed, Lord. Now, his heart, ‘tis as calloused as his hands. He
shuts out my voice. Can he even hear You now?
From the guard-tower,
Calum watched his longtime friend lead his mount toward the gate. He frowned.
‘Twas nearly midnight. Only in times of distress would Deoradhan leave with a
message at such a late hour. Furrowing his brow, Calum moved from his place at
the window.
“Take my place a moment,
Seisyll,” he instructed his companion.
“Aye, Calum.” The young
man rose from his stool, yawning. His red hair caught the moonlight as he
replaced his commander at the northern window post.
“Put your tiredness
behind you now, Seisyll. You’re on duty,” Calum reminded the subordinate, his
voice holding his trademark quiet authority. The young man straightened with
alertness. Satisfied, Calum moved toward the stone stair leading down to the
yard. He found his footing as well as any night creature, despite the lack of
light, and soon stood waiting for Deoradhan’s approach at the foot of the
tower. The night lay calm around him, the chilly autumn breeze striking his
scarred cheeks, the owls’ hoots intermitting with the advancing clip-clop of
Deoradhan’s horse.
He stepped out of the
heavy shadows into the torchlight. “Deoradhan, is something wrong?”
The younger man’s face
hardened in unnatural determination. “Aye.” He paused, stroking the gelding’s
dappled neck. “But I go to right it.”
Silently, Calum studied
his friend, his eyes searching the other man’s countenance for signs of
goodness. Never before had he failed to find that glimmer of the Image, yet
tonight he was hard-pressed to see it in Deoradhan’s scowling face. Fear
plucked at Calum’s heart.
“Deoradhan, do not do
anything you will regret,” Calum murmured, clasping his friend’s forearm in
fidelity.
Deoradhan’s jaw set. “I
won’t. I never do anything. That’s the cause of my trouble.” He mounted his
horse. “Don’t worry about me, Calum. I’ll return or you’ll hear from me
within a fortnight, if all goes well.”
“‘If all goes well?’
What are—?” Calum’s concern increased.
“Don’t fear for me,”
Deoradhan directed, smiling a little. “What do I have to lose? My life is
worthless here anyway. A stale perpetual survival. Farewell.”
“Where
Similar Books
