Page 69

CHAPTER TWELVE

T resta wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake, staring at the ceiling.

It was dusk, the sun laying low in the sky and the seabirds screaming in the distance. She looked around the chamber, slowly, realizing that she was quite alone. The fire in the hearth was banked and her satchel was set neatly on the nearby table. As she moved to sit up, she realized that her shoes were also on the table.

Someone had taken them off her feet.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Tresta sat for a moment, reliving the last memories she had before she found herself staring at the ceiling. Tarran had gone into a livery and had come out with a tale of Teague’s horse. If the horse was in the livery, and Teague was nowhere to be found, then clearly that only meant one thing.

Her husband had died at sea.

As the shock of that realization began to wear off, the tears came. Copious amounts of tears accompanied by painful sobs, quiet and deep. Tresta ended up laying back down, weeping as grief filled every vein in her body. It was black and thick, clinging to her, spilling from her pores and filling up the entire chamber until she was drowning in it in an endless cycle of pain. Grief was everything she felt or saw or heard. Grief that her handsome, sweet, and powerful husband was indeed gone.

Her worst nightmare had come to life.

She began to think about that night before Teague left Snow Hill, when they’d been in their chamber and she had begged him not to go. Pleaded with him to stay. His words rang clearly in her head, as if he had only just said them.

If I do not return, then you will swear to me that you will live a life that honors me. You will not be weak. You will not do anything foolish. You will be strong, as I know you can be. And if you have the opportunity for happiness again, you will take it. I want you to be happy again.

Her first instinct was to hate him for saying such things. She denied them. She refused them. She would be as weak and cowardly as she wanted to be. It was her right. That horrible storm had ripped her heart and soul from her body and cast it out to sea, drowning right along with Teague. She hated him for not allowing her to come with him because she would have preferred to die alongside him. He had been the selfish one for not allowing her that right. Instead, he left her alive and hollow, facing a life without him.

She hated him for it.

She would love him until the end of all things.

Her sobs had drawn Tarran. He had poked his head into her chamber only to find her curled up like a cat. She was in a ball, on the bed, moaning and sobbing. His heart sank. Now, the grief was beginning and he truly had no idea when, or if, it would ever stop. It was the worst possible outcome, something she had feared from the beginning, and something that had come far too soon. Perhaps it would have been better had he never told her what he’d heard and they had returned to Snow Hill in blissful ignorance.

But even as he spared that thought, he knew that it was foolish.

He’d made the right choice to tell her.

So, he shut the door softly and left her alone. There wasn’t anything he could say to ease her pain. At least, not anything she would want to hear. Nothing gave him the right to give her comfort, so he didn’t.

This night belonged to her and Teague.

But he wasn’t going to leave her entirely. He couldn’t, in good conscience. His chamber was directly next to hers so he sat out on the landing, listening and watching and waiting.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Tarran ate a late supper sitting against the wall in front of her door. He didn’t even bother knocking to ask if she wanted anything, because he knew she wouldn’t. Near midnight, Simon brought him a blanket and he draped it around his shoulders as he sat in the dark, watching the door of a lady who was being torn to shreds by the claws of grief.

He sat there all night, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He’d earned the right to grieve, too.

Alone.

*

Tarran must have been dozing when he heard a creak, like a hinge opening. Having no idea what time it was, he lifted his head off the wall only to see Tresta standing beside him. There was some light coming in from the common room below, signaling that it was at least daybreak. Instantly awake, he rubbed his eyes and tossed off the blanket.

“My lady,” he said, sounding groggy. “Do you require anything?”

Tresta crouched down next to him. “Did you stay here all night?”

He nodded, looking closely at her for any signs of cracking. “If you needed something, I did not want to be far away,” he said. “May… may I get you something?”

Her lovely face was pale, her eyes swollen. She looked as if she had been weeping all night, which she had. But even with that pale face, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Nothing could mar that. But she shook her head to his question.

“I was wondering something,” she said. “You said that we would go to the priests to ask about the bodies that had been washed up on shore. May we do that this morning?”

As he became more lucid, he eyed her in the early morning light and thought that he should assess her mental state before he committed to anything. He didn’t want to take her over to the church only to have her fall into hysterics again.

“Let us go back into your chamber,” he said. “Our conversation will be more private there.”

She agreed without a word, heading back into her chamber as he stood up wearily and followed. The fire inside was nearly out and he crouched down, stirring up the embers and coaxing forth a small amount of flames against the damp, chill room. When he was satisfied with the little blaze, he stood up and faced her.

“With my discovery yesterday, the situation has changed,” he said as kindly as he could. “My lady, when Teague departed, he made you my responsibility. We have discussed this before, but it has never been more obvious to me now. Part of that responsibility is protecting you. You have suffered a terrible shock and I do not think I would be wrong if I guessed that you did not sleep last night.”

Tresta was standing near the hearth, her arms wrapped around her body in the chill of the room and her hair messy and hanging. But she shook her head to his statement.

“You would not be wrong,” she said. “Tarran, while I appreciate that you want to protect me, I think the time for that is long gone. There is nothing left to protect me from .”

“You are wrong,” he said quietly. “Now that we know what has happened, there is a good deal of work to do.”

“I know. And I shall help you.”

He shook his head. “It would be faster if I did it alone,” he said, watching her brow furrow. “My lady, if you try to help, then my attention will be divided because I will be worrying about you and how you are reacting, if you are safe and if you are handling the stress of the situation. You wanted to come to Le Touquet and you did. You wanted to discover what you could about your husband and you have. Now you must let me do my work to ensure we have all of the answers we need before we return to Snow Hill. Please.”

She was still frowning, but at least she wasn’t arguing. For her, that was a change, indeed. All the woman did was argue and fight to get her way, but not now. Somehow, she knew that this was not an issue to push.

Things were changing.

“But I cannot simply sit here and wait for you,” she said after a moment. “I must do something. If I sit here, I will only think about what has happened and how I… don’t you understand, du Reims? I must keep my mind busy.”

She was starting to tear up and he immediately softened. He understood her need to keep busy because he had that need, too. Focusing on what needed to be done kept thoughts of his drowning comrades at bay, so he sympathized.

But he still didn’t want her out and about.

He had to find something for her to do.

“And you shall,” he said. “I will need your help on a great many things. Do you feel up to it?”

She sniffled, wiping at her eyes and trying desperately to compose herself. “At the moment, I do,” she said. “I cannot guarantee how I will feel in the next hour, but at the moment, I can help. What can I do?”

Tarran thought quickly. “Did you bring anything to write with?”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I have nothing like that.”

“Then the first thing we shall do is find a vellum merchant, if we can,” he said, sounding serious and decisive. “The tanner will do if we cannot find a merchant. I will find quill and ink, and I want you to write down everything you remember Teague bringing with him. Everything he packed away, from boots to weapons and anything you can remember. Can you do this?”

She nodded seriously. “I can,” she said. “But why?”

He sighed heavily. “Because so much was scavenged, or so we have heard,” he said. “I need to know what Teague brought so I can look for it. I do not want some villager having something of his when it rightfully belongs to you.”

Tresta nodded, realizing he was right. She appreciated his foresight. “I will try to think of everything I can.”

“And your brother, too,” he said. “Even Sheen, if you know. We have to make a list of everything they brought with them so that I can find them, if possible. I will go out into the village and hunt things down and bring them to you, and you will create an inventory. It makes me sick to think of these French peasants stealing from the dead. Oh… I am sorry, my lady. I should not have said that. That was thoughtless.”

He was genuinely remorseful that he’d been so blunt, but Tresta shook her head. “You did not offend me,” she said. “I… I suppose I am going to have to become used to it where Teague is concerned, but… it does not seem real. It feels like a bad dream from which I hope to awaken.”

She trailed off, her features strained with sorrow. Tarran watched her for any breakdown, but so far she was remaining strong. Trying to, anyway. It was then that he realized there was a huge part of him that wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, and he was disgusted at himself for it. She looked like she was so badly in need of comfort and he wanted to give it. But he couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

He wondered how long he’d be able to fight off old feelings that were struggling to be known again.

“Then let me send for some food,” he said, trying to distract himself. “We will break our fast and find a vellum merchant so we can begin the list. I’ll send the men-at-arms around, too, to help us track any possessions down. We’ll find what we can, my lady, I promise.”

Tresta nodded, but the most obvious question was on her lips. “And Teague?” she asked softly. “Will you go to the priests and see… see if they have buried him?”

Tarran felt as if he were taking body blows as she spoke the words. Like Tresta, he felt like he was in the midst of a nightmare. He still couldn’t grasp what had happened, but it wasn’t his right to show any emotion, any weakness. He had a job to do and he would do it.

“I’ll go this morning,” he said quietly. Then, he paused as he looked at her. “And… and just so you know, you are not alone in your grief. Lord Teague was not only my liege, but he was my friend. William, Gilbert, Hallam… they were all my friends. I grieve the loss right along with you, my lady.”

As Tresta looked at him, her eyes filled with tears as she lost the battle against her composure. “I know,” she whispered tightly. “Teague was very fond of you, Tarran. He loved you like a brother. He loved you more than his own brother, in fact.”

Tarran wasn’t sure what to say to that. Hearing that made him feel worse, so he simply nodded his head and quit the chamber, leaving Tresta standing next to the weak fire.

She may have been grieving, but she wasn’t dull. She’d seen the anguish in Tarran’s eyes as he left the room and it brought back tears of her own. Tarran, who had been with Teague for so many years, who had fought and laughed and killed alongside Teague. He really had been as close as a brother and considering the terrible brother Teague had been cursed with, the relationship he shared with Tarran had been unique. Even though Tarran was trying to hide it, she knew that he was hurting.

She could see it in his face.

The tears in her eyes spilled over and she wiped them away, thinking about the coming day and the things she needed to accomplish. When she was alone like this, her grief seemed to weigh more heavily on her, so she turned to her satchel in an attempt to distract herself. She was weary, that was true, from a night of no sleep, but that didn’t matter. Teague was gone and she was simply going to have to accept it, as much as she didn’t want to. Everything they had spoken of, all of the fears she had relayed to him, had all come to pass. So much of her was still consumed with denial, but the larger part of her was forced to accept it.

A new life.

A new future.

She didn’t think she was brave enough to face it.

*

Tarran had sent Simon and Channing to find a vellum merchant and implements for writing while he sat with Tresta and broke his fast.

Somehow, he didn’t want to leave her alone.

The tavernkeeper’s wife had brought a meal of cooked grains with cream and honey, thick slices of bread that had been toasted over a flame and buttered, and stewed fruit, all of which was devoured by Tarran. Tresta tried but her stomach was in knots, so she ate as much as she could, which had only been a few bites at most. Tarran tried to coax her into finishing it, but no amount of coercion could force her to eat anything more.

She simply couldn’t do it.

Tarran ended up eating the rest of her food and when the empty bowls were taken away, he had the tavernkeeper’s wife bring some hot water for Tresta to wash in. At least the woman could wash her face, but she didn’t much feel like doing even that. The tavernkeeper’s wife, a woman named Eilish, sensed the melancholy but didn’t ask why. She simply offered to help Tresta dress and Tarran was grateful. He didn’t think he was doing her much good, trying to be kind to her without crossing any boundaries, which had been very difficult for him. He was still fighting off the urge to pull her into his arms and give her comfort, so when Eilish offered to help her, he was more than happy to vacate the chamber.

Maybe the comfort of another woman, even a stranger, might help her.

With Tarran gone, Tresta simply sat there as a very kind old woman helped her bathe and dress. The dark red traveling dress had seen days of wear and hadn’t been cleaned or even aired out, so the old woman pulled it off of Tresta, leaving her in her shift. The old woman then used a rag and soap that smelled of lavender and proceeded to wash Tresta’s arms and underarms, her neck and face, and any other piece of flesh she could find that the shift didn’t cover. She even washed Tresta’s hair, using the stale, watered ale from the morning meal to rinse it with in the basin she’d brought.

By the time the old woman was finished, Tresta had very nearly been scrubbed within an inch of her life and she’d never had to lift a finger. She’d simply sat there, dazed and depressed, as Eilish happily tended to her. The old woman used a bone comb to brush Tresta’s copper tresses, drying them in the heat of the fire, until her long hair was hardly damp at all. Then, she braided it into a thick, single braid and coiled that on the back of her head. Big, iron pins held it in place.

As Tresta sat and stared off into space, Eilish dug through the satchel that contained so many wonderful things that Teague had purchased for her, things she couldn’t even look at. When Eilish pulled forth a simply constructed but gorgeous gown the color of dark amber, Tresta had to look away. The last time she saw someone holding that dress had been Teague when he’d taken it from the hands of a seamstress who had been selling pre-basted gowns that were finished to the size and shape of the purchaser. He’d liked the color, so the woman had hemmed up the gown and fixed the sleeves while Teague put his arms around Tresta and told her how beautiful she would look in the color.

In fact, as Eilish pulled it over her head and fastened the ties, Tresta wanted to weep because the only reason Teague had purchased the garment for her was because she’d made him feel guilty. It was a guilt dress. Knowing that, she wanted to rip it off her body and burn it, but the joyful smile on Teague’s face when he’d purchased it was seared into her memory, so that brought her pause. Even if she had guilted him into buying it, it was the last thing he’d ever bought for her.

She wasn’t going to cast it aside.

But it was a burden to wear it. There was no denying that. Her hands moved over the bodice, seeing how it clung to her torso and then flared at her hips. The garment came with a woven belt that had several dark colors in it, including the dark amber, and Eilish tied it around her waist so that it hung low to her hips. It was a simple dress, but such a beautiful one.

Tresta felt beautiful wearing it.

If I do not return, then you will swear to me that you will live a life that honors me. You will not be weak.

As she looked at that wonderful dress, she was starting to see what he meant. Perhaps she’d known it all along, but fear and denial had caused her to feign ignorance. But she couldn’t pretend any longer. Teague deserved a wife he could be proud of, one who could show bravery.

She wondered if she was truly capable.

When Eilish was finished dressing Tresta, she stepped back to look at her handiwork, praising the lady’s beauty as Tresta smiled weakly. That was all she was capable of given the pain in her heart. Eilish collected her things, including the wash basin, and headed out of the chamber as Tresta followed behind. She was wandering, really, waiting for the vellum and quill to begin her list, but she didn’t see Tarran in the common room. She saw a few of Teague’s men-at-arms, but Tarran and Simon and Channing were nowhere to be found and she wondered where they had gone.

Someone opened the entry door to the tavern off to her right and bright sunlight streamed in. She could smell the sea and hear the birds. There were people out there, life going on in spite of the fact that for Tresta, her life was in limbo. Was it even possible there was a world that continued when hers had stopped? The sunlight and seagulls were like the call of the siren and without really thinking, she wandered out into the street beyond.