DEPARTURES AND FAREWELL
The day dawned cold as ice, despite the autumn not yet being done. A forerunner of winter, with the sky dark beyond the arched windows, gray with cloud.
Alina walked down the steps to the great hall. She felt as if winter had visited her heart: frozen and numb. She reached the great front door.
“Duncan.”
He was on the step. No great send-off, no assembly of the men-at-arms and servants to see him off. Dressed in a padded jerkin and hose, he waited on the doorstep, flaxen hair tousled in the chilled breeze. Alina closed her eyes. He looked for all the world like a knight from the tales. Some ancient hero, setting off on a quest. She opened her eyes again, trying to smile. Her face was frozen with sadness, eyes wide.
“Alina.” He smiled at her, his eyes kindled with warmth tinged with sadness. “Farewell?”
Alina bit her lip. He made the word a question, a request. “I will try to fare well,” she said, swallowing hard. “I wish you blessings, Duncan.”
She leaned in towards him and he wrapped his arms around her. His lips met hers, a chaste promise that wrung her heart. Alina looked into his eyes.
“You will return, Duncan MacConnoway.”
He smiled wistfully. “I consider that an order.”
“I consider that a promise.”
He laughed. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good.”
She squeezed his shoulder and looked into his eyes. Then all attempt at banter or humor failed her. She closed her own eyes, feeling tears well up.
“Take care?”
“I shall. You, too.”
“Yes.”
They embraced again. She could smell the scent of him – the musk and sweetness of his skin, the scent of rosemary on his cloak from storage.
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
He stood in the doorway, hand raised in salutation. Then he turned. Blaine was behind him in the doorway and he looked up at him, eyes wide.
“Are we off?”
“Yes.”
Duncan turned to her once more, eyes level. He nodded once and she bit her lip, nodding in return. Then she turned and walked, straight-backed, up the hallway and to the stairs. She took the stairs two at a time, walking briskly to her bedchamber, opening the door. She shut it quietly behind her, and then collapsed on the bed.
She sobbed.
After a moment, she rolled over. Lying on her back, the arched ceiling above her, she could not quite believe it was only yesterday she had lain here with Duncan beside her. She sighed. She could still feel his body beside hers.
I want him so much.
The thought surprised her. She was not sure what it was she wanted – not exactly. Vague accounts of what men and women did under the sheets left her with precious little idea of it in truth. She knew the mechanism of conception, having read medical texts, but little more besides. Somehow her body knew more and ached to discover it first-hand.
Please, she thought then, closing her eyes. Make him return. Make him come back to me, for I do not think I can live without him.
Alina sighed. She sat up, blowing her nose on a square of linen. She could not sit about here all day. There were things she had to do. Duties she needed to perform. She stood and went over to the mirror. A long, pale, tear-streaked face looked back at her, black hair falling from where Blaire had arranged it that morning, blue gown emphasizing the grayish sadness that seemed to emanate from her. She sighed and splashed her face in the ewer on the dressing table.
“There,” she said aloud to her reflection. “Better.”
She didn't feel much better. She pinched her cheeks to at least get some color into them, and reached for a stray hairpin to adjust her hair. When she was done, she tilted her head on one side, assessing her reflection. Not too bad, she decided thoughtfully. She still looked sad and downcast.
What you need is a visit from Amabel, she told herself. Her black eyes warmed at the thought. Or, failing that, perhaps you could be spared from duties for a few days to visit her at Dunwray?
The thought was a good one and Alina decided to ask her uncle. At the thought of Uncle Brien she felt her stomach turn, a sour, bilious anger unsettling her. Alina was almost never unsettled by anything, but her anger towards her uncle was something she could not overcome. How dare he risk Duncan's life, sending him on some foolish errand designed to benefit his ambitious claims?
Sometimes I wish I could really make that man miserable. She shook her head. Uncle Brien was not a wicked man – simply an unthinking one. Unable to show sympathy to others. She turned away from the mirror, smoothing her skirts flat.
“Milady?”
“Yes, Blaire?” she asked.
“Patrice in the kitchens was asking for you. Says her old mum's poorly.”
“Oh.” Alina felt her mind switch instantly to the concerns of a healer. Patrice, the assistant to the cook, had an elderly mother who repeatedly came down with an infection of the lungs. Alina was running through the list of herbs that would assist her as she walked to the door. “I'll go down directly,” she said over her shoulder to Blaire. She walked into Chrissie in the doorway.
“Oh. Hello,” she smiled at the girl.
“Alina!” Chrissie stared up at her hopefully. “I was just coming to find you! I had to talk.”
“Yes?”
“Blaine said farewell to me this morning,” Chrissie said as they walked down the spiral stairs towards the ground floor. “He made me a promise to return. I don't understand what possesses him, Alina! Why is he always so attentive to me? I wish sometimes he'd just leave me alone.” She sounded wretched.
Alina stared at her. She tried to conceal the grin on her face but it was hopeless. She was utterly surprised: how could the girl not have noticed how affected Blaine was by her, and why?
“What?” Chrissie said, sounding slightly offended.
“I meant no offense, dear,” Alina said, touching her shoulder. “I just cannot quite believe you are unaware of why.”
“Why, Alina? I am! Please tell me?” she asked, plaintive.
“Chrissie, dear. The man adores you. I'm sorry to put it plainly, but I must.”
Chrissie stared at her. “Alina? Really?” She looked horrified.
Alina chuckled. She turned to face her, both standing halfway down the stairs. “I thought you knew that,” Alina said gently. “I would have mentioned it a year ago, had I known you were oblivious.”
Chrissie was looking up at her, pale blue eyes wide, mouth half open. “I just...I never noticed.”
Alina laughed delightedly. “That's because you're too sweet for your own good,” she said affectionately. “Now,” she added, seeing Chrissie frowning. “I am considering a journey to Dunkeld. Care to join?”
Chrisse looked up at her. She seemed to not quite believe what Alina had said. “Alina? You...Truly?”
“Yes. I have to ask Uncle, of course. But I'm almost certain he would agree. I am sure he can spare us for a few days. We would not stay too long.”
“Alina! That would be lovely!” Chrissie squeezed her in a hug.
Alina laughed. “Don't choke me, dear,” she said kindly. “Now. I need to find some parsley plants. Are there any left in the kitchen garden now?”
“I think so,” Chrissie said, bounding down the steps behind her, light-footed in her soft satin slippers. “Or you could look in the orchard. I think I saw some there when I took Blue for a ride...”
Blue was her new horse, a small jennet horse – light and fast – gifted to her by Connolly relatives. She loved her and rode often, gaining in her skills. Alina was sure that her young friend would insist on riding to the place, but she would prefer to take the carriage. She would have to insist.
“I'll look there, thank you,” she replied to Chrissie's words.
Chrissie followed her down past the great hall, and then caught sight of Heath in the doorway. He walked across, bowing to both ladies.
“Lady Alina. Lady Chrissie.”
“Heath. There you are!” Chrissie said impulsively. “I was looking for you yesterday! I wanted to ask you about something Friar Bronn said yesterday in lessons.”
Alina smiled to herself as she listened to Chrissie and Heath talking earnestly behind her. She headed out to the kitchen gardens to harvest parsley for the cook's ailing mother.
After twenty minutes in the kitchen, explaining the dose and advising Patrice on what to do were her mother's condition not to improve quickly, she headed up the stairs to Uncle Brien's office. She felt herself grow tense as she ascended the stairs – having to ask Uncle Brien anything at all was unpleasant, especially now.
“Uncle?” She knocked, calling through the door. The door was shut, but it always was.
“Alina? Come in, niece.” A voice called from within.
Alina stiffened her spine and walked in, feeling the first stirrings of annoyance towards the man. At least if I am angry I am not afraid. The thought was, oddly, comforting. She walked across the threshold.
She found herself in almost darkness, the tapestry screens pushed before the window to keep out the drafts. A fire roared in the grate beside the desk, painting half of her uncle in livid colors. Alina walked to the center of the room and stood before him where he sat at the desk.
“I have a request to make,” she said quietly.
“Mm? You need more fabric for gowns, eh? Or something else.” he barely looked at her, busy with some writing.
Alina swallowed the bile that rose at being so patronized. “I want to request leave to visit my sister in Dunkeld.”
“Oh?” He still did not look up.
“I would like to be accompanied by my cousin Chrissie. And an escort of two men-at-arms.”
“Oh.” He looked up at her then. It was the first time since she entered. “Yes. By all means. I can spare you for a few days. And Fergal too, no doubt. He can choose two men to take with you. Chrissie? Now...there I am not certain.”
“Uncle,” Alina began, throwing caution to the wind. “The girl wishes to go. It is not fair to her to keep her so isolated here.”
Uncle Brien blinked at her. “I do not recall needing you to advise me, niece.”
Alina bit her lip. “No,” she said dryly. “I cannot claim a part in any of your decisions.”
He raised a brow at her. He looked as if he was a man trying not to look amused. “You are very like your father. The same Gaulish temper. Intolerable in him, but not too offensive on a woman. French women do have their appeal.”
Alina swallowed. The thought of her uncle being attracted to any woman was almost as disconcerting as if the household priest had winked at her. She shuddered, then recalled the tale Aili told.
“I take your word for it,” Alina said dryly.
“Yes,” her uncle said, with a strange, faraway look on his face. “They can be pearls without price.”
Alina swallowed, feeling vaguely nauseated by this new side of her uncle. She did not really want to consider her wily and distant uncle in that role, nor hear him talk of priceless pearls. She stopped. Returned to the thought afresh.
A pearl without price? A pearl. I wonder...
She did not want him to know she had noticed the statement, and so she cleared her throat. “If Chrissie can be spared from her lessons, I see no reason to disallow her from accompanying me. Besides, it is unseemly for me to travel without a companion, is it not?”
Her uncle was still smiling at her, hands clasped and supporting his chin. “Agreed, young lady. Go to Dunkeld. Take your cousin with you. Spend three, four days there. Return to me at the end of the week. You can take up your duties then.”
Alina stared at him. Even though she had entered intending to persuade him, she was still surprised he agreed so readily. She shook herself. Why is it he can disconcert me even by doing what I hoped he would? She could not help a wry smile at her own foolishness.
She inclined her head. “Thank you, uncle. We will return on Saturday morning.”
“Good. Do that,” her uncle said airily. “Send my regards to your sister. I doubt she wishes to hear of me, but proper form is necessary. And remind Broderick of his duties to me.”
Alina swallowed, feeling somewhat incredulous. Was her uncle completely self-interested? Or did he simply present that to the outside world? She sighed. She had achieved what she wanted. It did not matter what he thought of her, Amabel, or Broderick. She inclined her head again.
“I shall do, Uncle. Thank you.”
“Good. Shut the door, will you, as you go?” he called out. He was not looking at her, already turning to his books again.
Alina walked to the door and shut it carefully behind her. Then she headed down the stairs and out of the draft that blew from the turret.
She stopped around the bend. She breathed in, gathering her thoughts.
She had gone to ask for leave for a day or two. She had returned with information.
A pearl without price. A pearl. Might the pearl that was lost not be an object, after all, but a person?
The thought was promising and, heading downstairs to find Chrissie and plan departure, she could not help feeling satisfied. She would have to investigate this. Perhaps the next ordeal was more understandable than previously thought.
As she walked quietly down the flagstones of the downstairs hallway, she turned the thought over in her mind, wondering where to start asking questions to solve the next part of the mystery.