Chapter 25
Peter followed far behind the rest of the party as they made their way to the formation of rock that rose up near the cliff’s edge. He tried his damnedest to keep his gaze from Lenora and Redburn, but thus far had been an abysmal failure. Which was doing absolutely nothing to improve his mood.
Thank goodness he hadn’t been relegated to pack mule again. No, Redburn, gallant fellow that he was, had been more than happy to take on the carrying of Lenora’s supplies. With Quincy helping Margery, Peter was left to his own devices.
Which was as he liked it. He wouldn’t even consider how his lack of a task left him with too much time to think about Lenora and her fiancé.
The night before had been utter torture. Lenora had appeared content, happy even, guiding Redburn around the room to introduce him to the other guests with a natural ease that spoke volumes of where she belonged. Was that what she was like in London, a glittering diamond, in her element? That was the Lenora he didn’t know, the one who had a place in the world that he could never be a part of.
But Redburn was a part of that world. He would give her all she deserved and more. And Peter had been the greatest fool in creation to think he could have made her happy.
They came to the formation then. From the road, it had appeared to be solid stone. But upon closer inspection, there was a wide opening tucked in the rock. They slipped through, one by one. A short walk through a tunnel into a wide, open-ended cave, and suddenly the whole of the ocean was before them in all its splendor.
Beyond the cave a sturdy shelf jutted out over the sea, and it was here they stopped and took in the view. As with the Elven Pools, Peter stood for a moment in wonder. He had looked out over the sea during his time here, of course, had stood at the cliff’s edge and studied the churning waves. But there was something different here, dredging up an inscrutable kind of recognition that Peter felt to the very depths of his soul.
He frowned, studying the surrounding scenery, trying to make sense of the emotions awakening in his breast. The wind caught in the bowl of rocks, whipping the sparse vegetation, twisting it into fanciful shapes, a hollow lowing moving through the protected grotto. It sounded eerily like distant sobbing, bridging the distance of a millennium. He shivered, though the air was so warm today as to be nearly uncomfortable, his wonder transforming to a keen sorrow as that recognition became clear: it was grief calling to grief, of a loss so profound, he felt it in his very bones.
Quincy spoke then, pulling Peter from the dark depths of his musings. “This is quite the place,” he said, moving tentatively toward the edge to peer down. Peter couldn’t blame him his caution. The wind tugged at his hair and his clothing, so that he felt as if it were trying to drag him over the edge.
“It’s disconcerting, I know,” Margery said. “But quite important to Synne and Ivar’s story. I do hope it’s not too much for you gentlemen.”
Redburn let loose a weak chuckle. “Certainly not,” he said with false bravado.
“Of course not,” Quincy echoed. Despite his brave words, however, he was quick to step far back from the edge.
“And you, cousin?”
“I assure you,” Peter said, “I cannot be frightened away.”
She gave him a long, considering look before turning to Lenora. “Shall we begin?”
Lenora nodded and took a seat on a flat rock close to the wall, adjusting her skirts. Redburn was at her side in a trice, handing over her sketch pad, asking her if she needed her pencil sharpened. When she murmured her thanks, the man immediately went to work, using a small knife to trim the tip.
Peter fought the urge to gag. Did she truly like that fawning attention? She was certainly welcoming it readily enough.
As disgusted as he was, however, he couldn’t fail to recognize the desire deep in him to be the one beside Lenora, trimming her pencils and seeing to her comfort, the one receiving her smiles.
Margery spoke then. “You remember, of course, that Synne and Ivar fell in love at the Elven Pools,” she began, settling beside Lenora and accepting her own sketch supplies from Quincy with a smile. “They lived happily for a short time. Synne even gave Ivar a son.”
She looked out over the water. “Ivar was often at sea. Every time he left, Synne would keep vigil here during the day, waiting for his return.” Her fingers drifted over the rock wall between her and Lenora. “It’s said she carved this symbol into the rock to protect him while he was away.”
Despite his determination to remain aloof, Peter found himself transfixed. The carving was rough, a circle made up of what looked to be runes, surrounding a figure that branched into eight spokes. He stepped closer, the better to see it.
Lenora, who was bent over her blank page, tensed. Too late he realized he had stepped too close. A breeze blew into the alcove, stirring the tendrils of hair that curled against her cheek, and he was assailed by her sweet scent of berries. It wrapped around him, making him remember things he shouldn’t. Of a dim room, pale limbs against white sheets. The taste of her on his tongue. Her moans of pleasure filling his ears.
He jerked back as if burned. Even so, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. She wouldn’t return his gaze, instead staring at her blank paper. But her beautiful green eyes were wide, her face pale. Was she remembering as well? He longed to reach out for her, to skim his fingers over her cheek, to see if she turned her face into his palm in silent plea, or if she pulled away. Her lush lips parted as if she heard his thoughts. His hand twitched, and he felt himself leaning toward her…
“A symbol of protection,” Redburn said in his jovial tone, breaking Peter from the spell he’d been under. “That’s quite romantic, wouldn’t you say?” He smiled down at Lenora.
Peter recoiled, striding to the far side of the alcove. The more distance he placed between him and Lenora, the better.
“I’m afraid,” Margery murmured, “it doesn’t have a happy ending. You’ll recall, Ivar never meant to make this island his home. He had ambitions that went far beyond a mere outpost. And so, when he was offered a position in one of the Five Boroughs, he took it. And left Synne and their child behind.”
There was a stunned beat of silence. And then a voice, ringing through the grotto: “You cannot be serious.”
Every eye turned his way, all save Lenora’s. And Peter realized thathehad been the one to speak.
His face heated. “That is,” he continued, “I’m surprised it ended in such a way.”
