PERIL IN DARKNESS
The night was even darker, or so it seemed. Joanna clung to the saddle, swaying with weariness. They kept a brisk trot and she had her eyes shut, relying on her horse to follow the paths.
I will reach home. I must not stop. I must not sleep. I must keep riding.
She said the words to herself, a firm refrain. A chant that kept her in wakefulness when all she wanted was to drop into oblivion of sleep. The energy that followed from her terror had evaporated, leaving her cold, tired, and aching.
I will reach home. I must not stop. I must keep going.
She said it to herself again, feeling her horse, too, start to slow. She was tiring, too. She knew they had to keep the pace, as Mr. Langtry had rightly stated. Nevertheless, she could not ask that of her mount.
She felt her pace slow, her head swam, and she closed her eyes.
I will reach home.
She came sharply awake. She had drifted into sleep, sitting up, her fingers curled loosely on her reins. She stirred. Why had she woken? She listened.
She heard the sound of feet on flagstones, a grate of chains on sandstone. She heard torches in the wind, distant calls. Her horse's hoofs on cobbled road making steady, slow progress, going uphill.
They had slowed, she realized gradually, because they were riding uphill. The sounds were the sentry post, the wind higher as she left the cover of the tree line, snatching fitfully at flames of burning torches.
She was there.
“Oh...” she slumped forward suddenly, too tired to stay seated. Her horse snorted. A man looked up at her, frowning even as he drew a deep breath.
“Who is...Lady Joanna?”
He paused. Squinted up at her. Several things happened very quickly after that.
“Open the gates!” the man shouted. The sound of chains on sandstone filled the air again. They were lifting the gate afresh.
“Fetch the master,” someone else shouted.
“Fetch someone to the kitchens!” someone else called. “Lady Joanna is home! In need of tending. She's unwell...”
Joanna tried to protest at the last statement. She was, she was sure, quite well. She was just tired. And cold. And weary...
“No...” she said faintly. Someone was reaching up towards her.
“Joanna!”
Someone shouted it. She knew that voice. It was a woman, and it sounded shocked and determined, and commanding, all at once.
Alina. She thought it even as she slumped forward into the arms of their old armorer, Alec, who lifted her up as if she weighed nothing.
She breathed in the scent of leather and grease, and then the sharper, clearer scent of herbs that told her Alina was near to her.
Then she was fast asleep.
She woke next morning in a warm bed.
“Joanna,” a voice said. It seemed to come from far overhead. She twisted her head, and then opened her eyes.
She found herself looking into the red-cheeked, green-eyed countenance of her mother.
She smiled. A relief that was beyond words shuddered through her, and a deep, peaceful elation.
“Mother,” she said.
Her mother enfolded her in her arms. She smelled of spices and the citrus smell of the lemon balm she used to scent her hair. Joanna felt tears in her eyes. She clung to her wordlessly. Her mother hugged her fiercely back. There was a world of comfort in her presence, the sweet familiar strength of a mother's indescribable love.
“Joanna,” she said.
When they sat back and looked at one another, they both had tears proud on their cheeks. Neither wiped them away.
“Daughter,” Amabel said clearly. “I am so pleased to see you. But what brought you back? We had no word of you. I was afraid.”
Joanna sighed. She took her mother's hand, feeling its slender, bone-hard strength.
“I was worried, too,” she said. “You were so ill. I feared...” she let out a long, shaky breath. She would cry again if she thought about it now. How the worry for her mother had lurked there, gnawing at her mind, draining her peacefulness away.
“Alina made me well,” her mother said softly. A look of sadness crossed her face, making Joanna's throat close in sudden fright.
“And Amice?” she asked, already feeling herself panic. “What of her? Is she too...” Her mind was full of her little sister's face, rose-cheeked, naughty, and crinkled with a smile as her brown eyes shone like buttons with her mischief. If something had happened to her, then...
“Amice is well, yes,” her mother said, smiling warmly. “I'd bring her in to see you now, if you like, except that I thought her excitement would wear on you. She hasn't stopped bouncing about with wonder since she heard you were back,” she chuckled, running a hand down her face in a weary gesture. Their eyes met. They laughed.
“I was so worried,” Joanna breathed. “I am so, so glad to see you. You have no idea.” She sighed.
Joanna smiled. She squeezed her hand.
“Well, I should let you rest. Shall I send for some broth? Anything you might like to eat? You should keep up your strength.”
Joanna smiled placidly. That was so like her mother. She chuckled.
“I could manage an egg, perhaps, beaten in some milk? With honey?” It was a cure-all from when she was young, a standard prescription for anything from a cold to a sore stomach. Her mother grinned.
“I am sure Mrs. Watts could manage that,” she smiled. “I will go and find out.”
Joanna lay back on the bed when she had gone, the unreality of things slowly working through her exhausted thoughts. She was here, in her own bed, in Dunkeld. Her mother was with her, cured and as well as if nothing ailed her. Amice was well. Alina was tending to the ill, as always. Mrs. Watts still made the same remedies. The beam above the fireplace still had a hole in it.
She sighed.
Nothing has changed.
Yet, she knew, everything had changed. She had stayed at Lochlann, where her uncle Brien, that unchangeable force, had passed on. She had met the dark man of her dreams. She had learned to love him.
She had changed. She also had a mystery to solve.
While her mother was downstairs, her voice drifting up through the hallways as she exhorted the maidservants to prepare a bath for her, she tried to piece together her suspicions, and to make a plan.
The first thing she would do, when she was recovered again, was to speak to her aunt Alina. She was sure she could help her understand the thoughts that were slowly forming sense out of the confused mass of facts. She needed her help to find her way through this morass and to the solution.
Then, perhaps, she could find the future that she dreamed of, but feared she would never attain, the freedom to realize her dreams of love.
Yes, she had changed.
She sat in bed, hearing a childish voice fill the hallway. Amice burst in, launching herself like a sling-stone straight at her chest. She laughed as her small arms wrapped her chest, her sister's laugh echoing as she covered her face with kisses.
“Joanna! You're here! You're back.”
Joanna laughed and wrestled with her sister, tickling her as she shrieked and giggled, calling out for mercy. She grinned at Brodgar, who stood at the end of the bed, a quiet smile on his face. Smiled at her mother. Yet, she was cold inside. Yes, she had changed. Her heart had altered, broadened, changed to hold another presence. Dougal.
As she embraced her family, laughing and joking, playing with her siblings, smiling at her mother and Alina, who appeared behind them after a minute, face lit with a gentle smile, she missed him.
Her heart would be colder until she saw him once again.