Thirty-three
“Must you go Dristan?” Amiria questioned wearily as the wind whipped up a stray tendril of her hair. She waved her hand in front of her face as one lone lock misbehaved and flitted out of her reach. She gave up in her attempts to tame it into order. Raising her eyes to her husband, she hated to admit it, but she already missed him.
They had not slept long afore Dristan had woken and told her of his morning departure. In her haste to dress, she was only too glad to have at least managed to place her boots on the right feet. As an afterthought, she had grabbed a tartan to wrap around her shoulders when she fled their chamber.
Standing upon the battlements, the sounds of activities reached her ears. ’Twould not be long afore the group below would be ready to begin their journey to London. With thoughts of Dristan’s impending departure, Amiria needed to be in the one place she always went when she was troubled. The knowledge that he would leave the very day after they wed had sent her scurrying up the tower stairs to breathe in the air from the sea to calm her frayed nerves.
“I know the timing is not at its best, Amiria, but I can hardly ignore a summons from the king,” he declared. He reached for her to bring her close and captured her lips with his own. “You knew there would come a time when I must travel about his business.”
She snuggled up against his warmth and breathed in the very scent of him, inhaling deeply the hint of spice lingering in his clothes, so she might remember the very essence of him. Looking up into his face from the protection of his arms, she smiled shyly.
“What?” he asked, espying her curious behavior.
“You will think me a silly child to ask this of you,” she replied hesitantly. She continued staring up into his handsome visage, trying to form the words, but only blushed in embarrassment of her unspoken thoughts.
Dristan gave a brief laugh at her expression, and she pressed her lips firmly shut, refusing to now give voice to her question. “Come now,” he continued, “I am but humored at your countenance, ma cherie. What is it you wish to ask of me?”
Amiria stepped away from him and grabbed the plaid that almost escaped from her shoulders. Tying a knot in the fabric to keep it firmly in place, she went to a nearby wall and picked up a basket. Bringing it to his side, she showed him the contents. ’Twas mostly coal and some rags, but she held them as if they were something to be treasured.
“My father used to tell me the stones here would screech in protest one day from all the scratching I did upon them in my youth. ’Twas just a release for me to draw now and then, plus I adore being up on the battlements,” she said and looked at him quietly standing there, waiting for her to carry on.
“And . . . ” He let the word linger whilst he waited patiently for her to continue as if he had nothing better to do with his time other than to linger at her side.
Amiria rushed on. “I was but wondering if perchance, since we have obviously not had time to hire a painter to come and do our portraits, if ’twas permissible for me to sketch your shadow upon the stones? I would then at least have a semblance of a reminder of you to gaze upon whilst you are gone and, of course, the sun is at least cooperating today.”
She lowered her gaze and blushed in astonishment that she would give voice to such a sentimental request. He must think her such a fool, and yet he surprised her once again by reaching out to cup her chin. There was no teasing that she could see shining from the depth of his eyes and she was glad of it. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss upon her lips and gave her a devilish grin.
“Where would you like me to stand, my dear wife?” he asked quietly. Her whole demeanor radiated her happiness, for his words more than pleased her.
Amiria led him to one of the tower walls that had somehow escaped any markings or drawings from her past. She took his hand and positioned him just so. The sunlight lit upon him, casting the perfect shadow of his silhouette upon the weather worn stones. Taking coal in hand, she carefully traced his reflection whilst her hands became as black as the coal she held.
“Just hold still one more moment, my lord,” she said, concentrating on making the etching just right to her eyes. “There! ’Tis perfect!”
At her words, Dristan hesitated no longer and gathered her in his arms. “I am glad you are pleased, but kiss me so I, too, may have something to remember ’til my return.”
Dristan leaned down and captured her lips, and Amiria felt the heady sensation of their mouths joining whilst he breathed life into her very soul. He always affected her so ’til she lost all semblance of sanity. He made her forget aught else but the feelings he brought out in her. He deepened their kiss, and she moaned in pleasure. If they had more time, she would have begged him to return to their chamber so they might continue what he started. But, ’twas over all too soon, and she at last felt him reluctantly pull away. She placed her hands upon his arms to steady herself and felt herself sway as her knees all but buckled beneath her.
His amused chuckle brought her attention to the satisfied grin he had devilishly placed upon his fetching but arrogant features. Even his smug visage told her, in no uncertain words, he was fully aware of how he affected her. She raised her brow at him and realized she only mimicked his own expression he sometimes gave her. He laughed all the louder to her annoyance.
“Aye, I was right to wed you Amiria. We shall never be bored with one another,” Dristan proclaimed knowingly.
“Be gone with you!” Amiria huffed with a haughty look. “I care not if you return.”
“Oh, but I will return, my lady, of that you can be assured!”
With no more thought of jesting with him further, she rose on her toes to place a kiss upon his lips. “Then go, so you may return to me all the faster,” she said sharply. “I will not add to the conceit you already have by watching you leave and spouting words on how I shall miss you!”
Dristan took her chin and raised her face to meet him. “I will remember last eve most fondly, my sweet wife. Besides, I, too, will carry a part of you with me,” he said, showing her the prints of her coal covered hands, left upon his tunic from her embrace.
She gasped. “Let me get a rag and quickly clean the mess I made, Dristan, afore you go to the king!” she proclaimed with horror at the thought of his arriving at the king’s palace thusly.
“Nay! I think I will keep them as a reminder of the beautiful woman who awaits my return.” He gave her another sly grin. He kissed her once more afore landing a playful soft slap upon her bottom. Then he began to make his way from the battlements.
Amiria sadly watched him leave her side whilst she rubbed her backside, muttering about men and their self-worth. She had to admit his impending departure did distress her, for he would be taking a piece of her heart with him. It seemingly sunk with his parting. I love him, she thought and the realization almost brought her to her knees.
She watched Dristan hesitate with his hand upon the handle of the door whilst he debated something within him. She did not have to wait long afore he turned and gave voice to her unasked question of why he delayed.
“You may wish to come below, Amiria, to say farewell to Ian. He rides with us this day.” Dristan gave her a jaunty salute and shut the door to the tower behind him.
Her emotions wreaking havoc with the thought of Ian leaving Berwyck, Amiria went up onto the parapet and peered down, listening to the noise that met her ears of those who gathered below. ’Twas seemingly only moments later when she saw Dristan join his men. His gaze swept the perimeters of the bailey and, from his nod of approval, apparently all was in ready for their departure.
Her decision made, she flew from the battlement walls and down the narrow winding steps of the tower. The sound of her boots on the stone stairs echoed with her haste to reach those who meant the world to her. She almost ran into a maid, who rapidly gathered the linen she was carrying in her arms to keep it from falling to the floor. With a hasty apology, Amiria continued her flight ’til she flung open the oaken portal of the keep’s door. It ricocheted with a loud bang against the wall and bounced back, almost hitting her, as it slammed shut behind her.
Her eyes quickly scanned those who were already seated upon their horses ’til she found one amongst the many knights dressed in Dristan’s colors. He, too, had been honored with clothing to match but ’twas the red of his hair that gave him away. He was in the process of leaning down to take one last look to inspect his saddle and trappings when she saw him halt his movements.
He must have felt her stare, since he gave a sudden upright jerk of his head. He stood proudly straight and turned, meeting her eyes directly, as if no others stood between them. Amiria slowly descended the steps with Ian coming to meet her half way. He bowed low and she held out her hand to him. He took it with no hesitation and placed a kiss upon its back.
“My lady,” Ian said hoarsely.
“Ian . . . ” She could not lessen the hint of sorrow ringing in her voice. She knew not what to say, knowing she may never see him again. “I had not realized you would leave us so soon.”
“I would not have thought ’twould come as much of a surprise to you, Amiria,” he drawled carelessly.
“I suppose,” she replied glumly.
“You are left in capable hands with Riorden here as captain now. Our Lord Dristan would not have left you otherwise.”
Amiria nodded, not trusting herself to speak and peeked upon her husband to ensure he was not offended she had speech with Ian, even though ’twas his suggestion. With a wink from him, she returned her attention to the man who had been her captain. Ian had been with her family longer than she could remember. Berwyck would not be the same without him and yet she understood his need to leave the only home he had known these many years.
“I know not what else to say, Ian.” Her voice cracked with emotion as she flung herself into his arms.
Ian held her close as her tears began to run down her cheek pressed against his neck. He gently held her at arm’s length and wiped the moisture from her eyes.
“No crying, my sweet lass. I would remember you with happiness shining in those beautiful eyes and not that of sorrow upon your face,” Ian said, forcing a smile upon his lips.
Amiria stifled a sniffle and wiped at her nose with the sleeve of her tunic. She tried to give him a smile, but it must have shown as more of a grimace, for both Ian and Dristan smothered their mirth.
“Well if that is the best you can do, I suppose ’twill suffice Amiria,” Ian said.
Her stubborn Scottish pride reared up as she managed a look of what she hoped was cool disinterest. She must have looked much like her usual self for Ian’s eyes began to twinkle with merriment.
“That is much better, my lady.” He took his gauntlets from his belt and began to don them when the keep door once more opened. Lynet came to stand at the head of the steps with Patrick, looking lost with his departure. He raised his hand to them and bowed once again.
“Godspeed, Ian,” she whispered to his ears alone.
“And to you, my lady,” he replied softly. “Be happy, Amiria, and well.”
He left her and made his way to his horse without another word spoken between them. With a nod from Dristan, the procession began making its way through the portcullis, leaving a trail of dust behind them as they rode from the castle and her sight. Ian never once looked back.
Amiria, however, stood there in stony silence, staring at the empty gate. ’Twas not ’til the dust at last settled that she came out of her trance like state. Ian’s leaving had affected her more than she thought was possible. Apparently, he, too, owned a small piece of her heart and with both men she cherished most gone from Berwyck, the castle now seemed like a hollow heap of stones with no warmth to bring her comfort.
But castle life moves on, for with the winter months fast approaching, there was much to do. The normal sounds of daily living once more reached her ears and yet she could not shake off the eerie feeling that something was not as it should be.
She automatically reached for the hilt of her sword and felt the familiar feel of the handle as it rested in the palm of her hand. Amiria made a quick scan of the bailey, but saw nothing amiss. Perchance ’twas just her imagination, she mused, and with a careless shrug and a toss of her head she ignored the sound of the small voice inside her head begging her to use caution.
Tucking her braid into her tunic and with the sounds from the lists calling to her, she strode with a purpose in mind to perfect her sword arm. There was nothing like a good day’s work in the lists to get her mind off her troubles. She should have listened instead to her instincts to be wary.