Page 76

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“T he bones in his face are broken from what I can tell.” The old physic who had diagnosed Tresta’s chest ailment was speaking grimly. “The right eye socket, the cheek are both broken. I can feel the broken pieces of bone beneath the skin. If I could hazard a guess, I would say that his skull is fractured, too. It was a very hard hit, my lady. There is damage.”

Tresta was listening to the diagnosis with increasing horror. She was absolutely sick about it, feeling more apprehension and shock than she could adequately express. Seeing Tarran’s unconscious, battered form as soldiers carried it into the keep of Snow Hill was one of the more horrific experiences of her life.

She was still reeling from it.

“But what can you do for him?” she demanded. “What will you do for him?”

The physic sighed. “There is nothing I can do about his face,” he said. “It will heal and more than likely, you will not be able to tell that there was ever any damage. But the head… that is what I am concerned with. He has not awoken and he does not react when I pinch him. Putting the snow on his head to ease the swelling when he was injured was a very wise thing to do. We must keep putting the snow on his head to keep down the swelling. Hopefully, it will help him.”

Tresta was expecting more of an answer. “And what else?” she said. “What else will you do?”

The physic lifted his shoulders. “As I said, there is not much I can do for him,” he said. “Time will tell. Keep applying the cold compresses to his head. Keep him comfortable. Watch for any changes in his breathing. If it becomes unsteady, then he is near death. We must watch carefully for that.”

Tresta’s eyes widened at the suggestion that Tarran might end up dead. The man had been perfectly healthy not a few hours earlier. Strong, solid, skilled, immortal Tarran. He had avoided death once by not being on Somerset’s fleet, but now… now, perhaps it had caught up with him. Perhaps he was not to escape it, after all. Distraught, she simply nodded her head and turned away as Hector engaged the physic in questions about the continued care of Tarran. But Tresta left the chamber, a solar that Teague had once used, and headed up the stairs to the first level.

There were three chambers here, one occupied by Hector and another by Hallam. Snow Hill’s keep was four stories, with Tresta’s chamber on the top floor and her sons on the floor below. The first level was sometimes where they housed important visitors in that third, usually empty chamber, a chamber that now held Tarran.

She went inside.

Hallam had been sitting with him while Tresta and Hector spoke with the physic. When he saw his sister enter, he stood up from the chair next to the bed.

“Well?” he said anxiously. “What does the physic say?”

Tresta shook her head, her gaze on Tarran’s swollen head. The right side was bruised and swollen, but the left side was normal enough. “He said that we must watch him,” she said softly. “He has broken bones in his face and possibly a cracked skull. He says we must continue to put snow on his head to help the swelling.”

Hallam watched his sister’s face as she sat down in the chair he had vacated, putting a gentle hand to Tarran’s forehead. He felt just as bad as he possibly could.

“This is my fault,” he said. “I should have waited for him to take Arion outside before I touched Muet. We know the two of them do not get along, but I was foolish. I should have waited.”

Tresta’s hand remained on Tarran’s head, a gentle and comforting touch. “It was not your fault,” she said softly. “You cannot control what the horses do. It was just an accident.”

Hallam was miserable with guilt, putting both hands on his head and turning away. Tresta could see him in her periphery, finally turning to look at him as he stood next to one of the lancet windows looking over the bailey. Icy air blew on his face, lifting his hair.

“Bring me more snow,” she said. “Have the servants help you. Have them store it in the vault so it will stay cold in case the weather warms. Have the boys help you, too. They will want to help Tarran.”

Giving Hallam something to do was the best therapy for him so he wouldn’t stand around and lament his role in Tarran’s injury. Ever since it had happened, the man had been wracked with remorse. No one blamed him, but he clearly blamed himself and Tresta felt badly for him. She would never forget the panicked look on his face when he told her what had happened.

And she would never forget the panic she felt, as well.

It had taken several men to lift Tarran and bring him into the keep where the physic from the village could tend him. The same man who had, indeed, told Tresta that her cough was a harbinger of something worse. Tarran hadn’t moved since the accident happened that morning and, now, it was nearing the evening meal. The sun was beginning to set and the servants were lighting the tapers and sconces throughout the keep, bringing illumination into a dark, wintery world.

Tresta was trying not to feel doom right along with it.

As Hallam left to carry out her instructions, a servant entered the chamber and lit the iron bank of candles that were in the corner by the bed. Seven fat tapers were lit, bringing a warm glow into the darkened room. The servant also brought two oil lamps, oil made from melted fat, and they would burn all night with enough fuel. Tresta took one to put on the table next to her and the other one was put on a table near the hearth, which was being stoked for the night.

Through it all, Tresta never took her eyes from Tarran’s face.

The long day became a long night.

Another snowstorm moved in about the time supper was set and the flurries began to dance. Snow Hill lived up to its name as, once again, frozen white fluff covered the ground and the buildings, making them look much like Jasper and Rhys’ snow castle from earlier in the day. Tresta sat next to Tarran, swapping out the packs on his head with fresh snow about every hour and diligently keeping the man as comfortable as she could.

It was very late when Tresta finally settled down, sending her maid for her sewing so she could pass the time while she sat with him. Hallam returned with food and warmed wine for her, but she wasn’t hungry. Her concern was only for Tarran and as the night progressed, so did the swelling on his face until the entire right side was bruised and puffy. The right eye was swollen shut.

Hallam sat with his sister as the night continued. He made sure the candles stayed lit and the fire remained stoked. Tresta was alternately sewing and checking the compresses on Tarran’s head, calm and attentive. That was when Hallam realized the truth of what Tarran had said earlier in the day– It’s as if Teague’s death forced her to grow up. She became the woman she was always meant to be .

If that was really true, then she was facing her first serious challenge in that observation. Truth be told, Hallam wondered how she was going to deal with the possibility that the man who literally carried her through Teague’s death might be facing his own. He watched her for any signs of a breakdown, but there weren’t any. She remained strong and dutiful, tending the wounded man efficiently.

Near midnight, however, the door to the chamber creaked open and Sebastian appeared. Tresta, who had been sitting next to Tarran’s head and sewing on a new tunic for Rhys, lifted her head and spied him in the darkness.

“Bas?” she said, concerned. “Why are you awake, sweetheart?”

Sebastian came into the chamber, closer to the bed, his focus on Tarran’s battered head. He looked so very serious as he came to stand next to his mother.

“I could not sleep,” he said. “I kept thinking of Tarran. Is he going to die, Mama?”

Tresta looked at Tarran, lying pale on the linens. “Nay,” she said after a moment. “He will awaken soon, I am sure. But he needs time to heal.”

Sebastian didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer to the bed, bending down to get a better look at Tarran and his bloodied face.

“I saw the blood on the stable wall,” he said. “When Tarran was taken away, Gabe and I washed the wall. We washed all of the blood away.”

Tresta reached out and took her son’s soft hand. “That was kind of you.”

Sebastian’s gaze never left Tarran’s face. “We wanted to help,” he said. “When I was very young, Tarran used to play games with me. Do you remember?”

Tresta nodded. “He was here the night you were born,” she said. “He has watched you grow up. He is very fond of you, Bas. He says you will make a fine lord.”

Sebastian didn’t reply. He pulled his hand from his mother’s grip and reached out, wrapping his fingers around Tarran’s enormous hand resting at his side.

“I grew up with great men all around me,” he said. “Papa and Uncle Sheen, Tarran, Gilbert and William. I miss my father, every single day, and I miss Gilbert and William, too. Gilbert would let me play with his sword and William would tell me that women liked a man who smelled strongly. Papa told me that is not true, but William swore that women like smelly men with beards. He told Gabe and me that we must never bathe and grow big beards, like he had.”

Tresta was torn between tears and laughter. Sebastian was never one to speak on his feelings, a lad who would rather bury his thoughts. An unguarded moment like this was rare and it broke her heart to hear how his father’s death, and the deaths of his knights, had affected him.

“He was wrong,” she said, a lump in her throat. “You will notice that William did not have a wife. There was a reason for that.”

Sebastian smiled weakly, looking very much like his father in that gesture. He had Teague’s profile. “He said that he had not yet found the right woman who would be attracted to his smell.”

“ No woman was attracted to that smell.”

Sebastian flashed his teeth. But soon, he sobered. “William did not return with Papa and Gilbert and Sheen.”

“Nay, sweetheart, he did not.”

“Where do you suppose he is?”

Tresta took a deep breath; she had to. It was difficult not to break down with Sebastian’s line of questions, bringing about the horror of that terrible event that changed their lives forever yet again.

All she could do was face them.

“Mayhap he finally found a woman who was attracted to his smell,” she said softly. “He has gone off with her and is so happy that he has not yet had time to send us word.”

Sebastian looked at her, then. “Do you believe that?”

She shrugged. “Until it is disproven, that is what I choose to believe.”

Sebastian thought about that. “Then I will, too,” he said, returning his attention to Tarran. “I do not want to be Lord Dorstone, you know. I never wanted it. But Tarran has made me feel strong about it.”

“He has given you courage?”

“Aye.”

“That is because he believes you will make an excellent lord, like your father.”

Sebastian let go of Tarran’s hand and turned to his mother. “You must make Tarran well, Mama,” he said. “All of the great men we know are gone except Tarran and Uncle Hallam. You could not save my father, but you can save Tarran. Please , Mama.”

His lower lip was trembling and Tresta pulled her son into her arms, holding him close. There was so much pain that he was unable to articulate, a little boy who had lost his father and who saw the last vestiges of that father in Tarran du Reims. He was all Sebastian had left, next to Hallam.

It was tragic all around.

“I will do my very best, I promise,” she said, trying not to weep. “You can be assured of that.”

Sebastian’s tears were spilling over and he furiously wiped his eyes as he pushed himself out of his mother’s embrace.

“We need him,” he said. “ I need him. We have lost Papa and I do not think we could lose Tarran. What would we do without him?”

That question took Tresta’s breath away. She had no idea how to answer him. Not strangely, she had asked Teague the same question those months ago. She wanted to know how she was supposed to live without him, but she had. Comfort had come from the last person she expected it from in Tarran du Reims. The man she had disliked for so long, who had prevented her from going to The Levant with Teague, was now the man who held them all together. He was the mortar to their stone. Once, she’d questioned whether her feelings were borne from dependency, but the answer was coming clear.

Her feelings were borne from the heart.

“I will take care of him,” she assured her son. “Go back to bed, now. We shall see how Tarran is in the morning. Hallam, will you please return Sebastian to his bed?”

Hallam, who was half-asleep from sitting next to the warm fire and the late hour, took his nephew from the chamber, marching him back to his bed. But their departure left Tresta alone with Tarran and she stood up, changing out the ice pack on his head and inspecting the very large lump just behind the temple. Sebastian had renewed her determination that Tarran should live.

She couldn’t stomach the alternative.

How would they get on without him, indeed?

*

Tresta hadn’t slept in two nights.

Hallam had been watching his sister for three long days and two longer nights, watching her try to keep pace with tending Tarran, who had yet to awaken from his state of unconsciousness. But still, Tresta never left his side.

Sebastian, Gabriel, Rhys, and Jasper had come to visit every day, several times a day. Tarran had been something for them to cling to in the absence of their father, so they couldn’t seem to stay away from his sick room. Rhys and Jasper even brought in little toy soldiers and carts that Tarran had made for them for Christmas, settling them upon the floor near the hearth. Hallam tried to chase them out, but Tresta permitted them to stay as long as they were quiet about it. When Jasper rammed his cart through a line of Rhys’ soldiers and Rhys started to cry, Hallam packed them up and escorted them out.

Tresta could hear Rhys crying about it all the way upstairs.

Sebastian and Gabriel were little less combative. They came to help their mother, bringing more snow for the compresses and taking away the wet linens. They made good workers and Tresta had permitted them to remain. The physic also came every day, at least twice a day, and more than once he had to clean the dried blood from Tarran’s nostrils. He suspected there was damage to his sinuses, so he cleaned out the blood to make it easier for the man to breathe.

And still, they waited.

On the morning of the fourth day, Tresta finally passed out from sheer exhaustion. Her body was still in the chair next to the bed while her head and arms were next to Tarran’s torso. Hallam, who had slept in his own bed that night, came down to find her like that. He stoked the fire and kept the tapers lit, small duties he’d been doing since Tarran’s injury, but he let her sleep because she needed it so badly. The woman was determined not to leave Tarran’s side and Hallam suspected there was a reason for that.

Perhaps her feelings for the man were more pronounced than she realized.

He left her alone.

The physic came by shortly after sunrise to check Tarran again. He saw no change in the man, but he removed the wet compresses against his head, telling Hallam that he didn’t think they were necessary any longer. Tresta awoke with the conversation and jostling, forcing herself to stay awake as the physic explained what Tarran’s care would entail from now on. Mostly, it was keeping him clean and comfortable, and changing his position in bed once in a while so he wouldn’t develop sore spots. He didn’t seem particularly encouraging about Tarran’s state, or even when he would awaken, and Tresta had simply stopped asking. The man would awaken when he was ready, but she never doubted that he would awaken.

She was unable to fathom the alternative.

As the fourth day progressed into the afternoon, Tresta was unable to keep awake and ended up falling asleep beside him once again. It was snowing outside and Hallam and Hector had the boys down in the hall, trying to entertain children who were tired of being cooped up. That left Tresta alone with Tarran, with servants coming and going to make sure she had everything she needed. She was in a deep and dreamless sleep, the first one she’d had in days, when something shook her awake.

Groggy, she lifted her head, wondering why the bed was trembling. It wasn’t exactly shaking, but it was definitely quivering. It took her a moment to realize that Tarran’s breathing had grown strange. He was taking deep breaths followed by a few short ones, and then back again. His face was twitching, his eyeballs rolling behind closed lids. The words of the physic came back to her.

Watch for any changes in his breathing. If it becomes unsteady, then he is near death.

Terror filled her.

“Nay ,” she breathed, standing up and leaning over the bed. “Oh, God… please do not let this be the end. Please, God!”

She put her hands on Tarran’s shoulders because the man was twitching quite a bit. Realizing she was watching the man’s death throes, all of the pain and fear and grief she’d ever experienced in her life came roaring back tenfold and she put her arms around him as much as she was able, laying her head against his chest.

“God, nay ,” she wept as the tears flowed freely. “Please do not let this be your end, Tarran. I suffered through the death of Teague, but it is because you were there. Had you not been there, I would have gone mad. I would have destroyed myself with agony, but you held me steady. I never told you that and I am so sorry I did not, but please know how much you held me together. Were it not for you, I do not think I would have survived.”

More quivering and twitching from Tarran. His breathing was deep, unsteady at times. Tresta held on tightly to the man as if that action alone could keep death from claiming him. But it was a foolish hope. She knew, in the end, that death came for them all. She couldn’t stop it and that knowledge broke her into a thousand pieces of pain.

She wasn’t ready to give up, yet she knew there was little choice.

“Do you feel me?” she sobbed. “Do you feel me holding you, Tarran? I was not there when Teague passed and I have always regretted that. You know this. I was not there to give him comfort and he died alone, in that cold sea, but you… if this is your time, I will not let you go alone. I will be with you until you pass, but before you do, I must tell you what is in my heart. I did not even know myself until that day in the stables when you told me of your feelings. You were brave enough to speak of them and I was not. I am sorry that I was not, so hear me now. You are part of this family, as surely as the stars are part of the sky. You took a family broken by grief and you held us together, giving us something strong to cling to. I know that was not fair to you, but you are a selfless and loving man. You gave of yourself when you could have just as easily left us alone. I love Teague and I always will. He will always be part of my heart and soul, but my love for him is like a warm memory now. It is something to be reflected on and cherished. But you…”

She trailed off, listening to the fire in the hearth snap. His unsteady breathing had eased quite a bit, as had his twitching, and she held on as tightly as she could, thinking he was about to depart his mortal vessel and slip into the heavens. Closing her eyes, she could hear his slow, steady breathing in her ear.

“How could I not love you?” she whispered as tears streamed onto his chest. “How could I not love a man who would tolerate a grief-stricken woman and her devastated children? You gave yourself over to a family that was not your own, to a woman who was not your wife, and you did it with grace and kindness. My children were twice blessed– once with their father and once with you. They were fortunate enough to have two of the finest men in England as their mentors and guides, and I was fortunate enough to have your friendship, your camaraderie, and your affection. I never considered myself more fortunate than I do now. But if this is truly the end, know that you made a difference in my life and in the lives of my children. We love you and we are so sad to lose you, but we will not crumble. You showed us how to live through grief with dignity and if I had just one more day with you, I would ask you to marry me. I was told once that if I had the opportunity for happiness, I should take it. I am sorry that I took it too late.”

The sobs came then. His breathing was growing more and more quiet, but it was steady. Surprisingly steady. Tresta still held fast, waiting for that breathing to end, hating herself for never saying those things to Tarran while he was able to understand them. The man had been her rock and he never knew it. At least, she had never told him to his face.

And now, it was too late.

She wasn’t sure how she was going to ever overcome the guilt.

“I accept.”

Tresta’s eyes flew open. Her head lifted like a shot and she looked around the chamber to see if someone else had spoken those words, but her gaze fell on Tarran’s swollen features only to see that his left eye was open and looking at her.

He was awake.

She shrieked.

“Tarran!”

His enormous hands came up, grasping at her weakly as she leaned forward, taking a closer look at him.

“You have awakened!” she gasped. “The physic said that… oh, never mind what he said. You have awakened! How do you feel?”

He blinked his good eye. His other eye was still swollen, but the swelling had gone down significantly. “I’m not sure,” he said haltingly. “What happened?”

Tresta put a soothing hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair back. “The horses spooked and Arion slammed you into the stable wall,” he said. “Do you remember any of it?”

He groaned softly, closing his eye for a moment. “I… I think so,” he said. “Muet is afraid of Arion. I was trying to get Arion out of the stable when… I do not remember more than that.”

Her gentle hand moved to his cheek. “You went in face-first,” she said, a dull twinkle in her eyes. “You are still a beauteous lad, but now half of your face is a lovely shade of blue and green.”

“My head is throbbing.”

“You have quite a lump. The physic thinks you have broken some bones in your face, but nothing that will not heal with time.”

“Tarran!”

Hallam had just entered the chamber to hear Tarran’s mumbled words and he rushed to the man’s bedside, his features alive with surprise.

“God’s bones, you’re awake!” he said with glee. “Praise Christ and his saints. ’Tis a miracle!”

Tresta smiled at Hallam’s enthusiasm. “My brother was very worried for you,” she told Tarran. “We were all worried for you.”

Tarran licked his lips. “I am thirsty,” he said hoarsely. “May I have something to drink?”

Hallam was off, shouting for the servants. They could hear the entire keep coming alive as Hallam shouted the fact that Tarran was awake. More people were shouting and, outside, they could hear the soldiers pick up the cry. However, somewhere in the keep, they heard Rhys scream and Tresta laughed softly.

“I will keep them off of you as best I can,” she said. “The boys were so worried for you, Bas most of all. He came in every night to talk to you.”

Tarran sighed faintly, reaching up a big hand to weakly cup her face. Tresta gripped it, holding it firmly against her cheek and trying not to weep at the sheer joy of it. His touch said a thousand words that his lips couldn’t seem to bring forth. At least, for the moment. There was a magic to his touch she couldn’t begin to describe, like the first touch of a future she never thought she would know.

A future with Tarran.

“Before the stampeding herd comes, we will settle something,” he mumbled. “Did you hear my answer?”

“What answer?”

“I told you that I accept your marriage proposal.”

“You heard that?”

“I did,” he said, caressing her cheek gently. “I heard a great deal. I was dreaming about… something. I’m not even sure what it was. I was in a church and I thought I saw Teague, but he waved to me and was quickly gone. Then, I heard you speaking. I followed the sound of your voice and I heard, very clearly, when you asked me to marry you. Do not deny it for it would be a lie.”

Tresta leaned over him, her hair brushing against him face as she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “I will not deny it, for it is true,” she said. “I am sorry I never told you everything that was in my heart. I was… confused. Confused because I still love Teague. I always will. But he is gone and I understand that. It does not mean there is not enough room in my heart for you. I would be lost without you, Tarran. Lost and shattered.”

He smiled faintly, as much as his bruised face would allow. “Not half as lost and shattered as I would be without you,” he murmured. “I love you, Tresta. I always have. Mayhap now… now is our time.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you still feel some doubt?”

She shrugged. “It is difficult to let go of Teague completely.”

“You do not have to until you are ready,” he said. “I do not want a ghost sharing our marital bed, so only when you are ready.”

She smiled, turning to kiss his palm. “I am ready to move on,” she said. “I am ready to bid a fond and loving farewell to Teague, but it may take a little time. And practice. Surely you can help me with it.”

“As much as you want me to,” he whispered. “They say that love heals all things. Let my love help heal you, Tresta. Let me show you that our life together will be something wonderful and true, something I believe Teague would want us both to have.”

Tresta nodded. “I believe that, too.”

His smile broadened as his other hand came up, cupping her face and pulling her down to his mouth for a very sweet, very careful kiss. He was so bruised that he couldn’t do much more than give her a simple kiss, but it was only a foretaste of what was to come. He would spend the rest of his life kissing her beautiful lips and he was looking forward to every single one of them.

Rhys and Jasper rushed into the chamber, breaking up their tender moment, but Tarran didn’t care. He loved the boys as if they were his own, so their presence only made things sweeter. Life itself was sweeter. The surly, aloof knight who had spent almost ten years of his life fighting his feelings for his liege’s wife had become the savior of the entire family. As Tresta said, he was family. He always had been and always would be.

In July of that same year, exactly one year after Teague and his men had departed Snow Hill Castle to follow King Richard on his quest, Tarran du Reims married Tresta d’Mearc and began a new life for them both.

In an age of gods and mortals, in this case, the mortals had won.

Tarran and Tresta was a love story for the ages.