“Gavan,” he began softly. “There is simply no easy way to broach this subject, so you will forgive me if I seem insensitive or careless in manner; certainly, I am neither of those things.”
Gavan’s brow furrowed. Richmond almost seemed ill at ease and he smiled encouragingly, slapping his friend on the arm. “I am well aware of your unpolished characteristics. Come out with it, man, and say your peace.”
Richmond gazed into the brown eyes of the man he had known over half his life. He remembered a very young page by the name of Gavan Hage from a very old and powerful Saxon family, a big boy with a good deal of intelligence and grace. Even as he squired, being several years older than the young Hage lad, he remembered an eager boy more than willing to learn fromthose older and more experienced. He remembered requesting Gavan as his squire when he first became a knight, and how they worked together until Gavan was knighted eight years later.
Gavan had been the best squire England had ever seen as far as Richmond was concerned. And he had been his best friend for seventeen years. Staring into Gavan’s trusting eyes, he struggled against his natural instinct to protect the man from pain both physical and spiritual.
He sighed heavily. “A missive came today from London, Gavan.”
Gavan looked perplexed. “I know. I was there when you read it.”
Richmond shook his head. “Nay, not that missive. Another one,” when Gavan scratched his head in confusion, Richmond sought to clarify the mystery. “There were two missives in the pouch, if you recall. The second one was meant for my eyes only.”
Gavan’s confusion cleared and Richmond observed a glimmer of apprehension ignite in the depths of the rich brown eyes. He crossed his big arms.
“What did it say?” he asked.
Richmond swallowed, an unconscious gesture. He could tell by the countenance in Gavan’s eyes that he already possessed an inkling of what was coming and Richmond struggled to soften the blow as best he could. But there was simply no delicate way to phrase the unmerciful truth.
“It’s Kathryn, Gavan,” he said softly. “She went into labor on the third of December and struggled to bring forth your son for three days. In spite of the best efforts of the physics, the child was unable to come forth. Your wife passed away on the sixth of December and your son died with her.”
Gavan stared at him as if he hadn’t understood what he had been told. Richmond met his gaze as steadily as he could,attempting to anticipate his reaction and wondering if he would be able to control him in the midst of his agonized rage. But after several long, brutally painful moments, Gavan’s only reaction was to swallow.
“My Kathryn is dead?”
“Aye.”
“My son is dead?”
“Aye, Gavan. Your son, too.”
Gavan blinked as if digesting the information. “She died with the child still inside her?”
Richmond nodded slowly and Gavan uncrossed his arms. Before Richmond could say anything further, words of comfort or sympathy or encouragement, Gavan abruptly turned for the trees and disappeared into the darkened bramble. Richmond watched him go with tears in his eyes.
There was nothing left to say. Blinking back the moisture flooding his eyes, Richmond decided not to follow Gavan into the forest to allow the man to sort through his grief alone. As much as he wanted to offer what condolences he could, there were times when even well-meaning intrusions were unwanted. Gavan had lost his wife and child to a common enough occurrence and he alone would have to come to grips with his tragedy.
Richmond’s job as the Messenger of Death was complete and he took a deep breath to compose himself as he turned for the bonfires burning brightly into the cloudy night sky. Struggling to refocus his attention on something other than Gavan’s shattering grief, he caught sight of Arissa as the great fire silhouetted her exquisite figure, watching as she danced a lively folkdance with a young boy in her arms. As she bounced and twirled gaily, his thoughts shifted from Gavan to Arissa.
Hearing the echo of Mossy’s warning in his head, Richmond couldn’t escape the apprehension. Arissa had refused to use thepessaries and Richmond, naturally, had given in to her refusal. Watching her frolic about the bonfire, he cursed himself for being so weak-willed; clearly, he needed to be more firm where her health was concerned and he pledged at that moment that he would never again allow her to persuade him differently when her very life was at stake. If the same thing happened to Arissa that had happened to Kathryn, he knew for a fact he would not survive it. The mere thought made him sick.
He continued to watch her as he approached, focused on her flowing hair and fabulous figure. Richmond was half-way to the campfire when a piercing howl filled the air. Loud and mournful and completely horrifying, he came to an unsteady halt, returning his attention to the direction from whence he had come. It took him little time to deduce that Gavan was expending his grief.
The entire festive camp came to a grinding halt at the sound of the sorrowful groan. The harrowing cry echoed off the trees, filling the December sky with sounds of pain. Upon the heels of the first shout was another, and still another. In rapid succession, cries of pure agony filled the air until they slowly died away.
As the bonfires died during the progression of the night, Gavan’s grief maintained its searing intensity, hot enough to ignite a hundred bonfires. On his knees in the midst of the damp, moldering forest, he wondered if a man could survive the torrents of grief and sorrow that threatened to drown him. He wondered if there was a life after Kathryn. He wondered if he was at all interested in living it.
*
Arissa was sobbingwhen Richmond directed her into the tent he had pitched for them both. Gavan was still in the trees,dealing with his consuming grief and Richmond found himself comforting two very distraught young ladies. Since it was only natural that the women be concerned for Gavan’s mental state, as he had taken to howling like a wolf, Richmond had taken it upon himself to inform them of Kathryn’s demise. Sorrow-stricken, Arissa and Emma had sobbed into each other’s arms before Richmond separated them, gently demanding they retire for the night.
But it was a grief not easily forgotten. Although Arissa wept for the lovely woman with light brown hair and beautiful blue-green eyes, Emma wept for an entirely different reason; she had wished this misery upon Gavan with her shameless pursuit and wicked thoughts. How often had she prayed for Kathryn’s non-existence, as if being rid of the woman would allow the reality of her dreams. As if the dashingly handsome knight would pay her any mind without the hindrance of his beautiful wife.
She had brought his misery upon him, of that she was certain. Her stomach churned and her head swam to think that he would blame her for his wife’s death, wishing her away with evil prayers. Surely, he would never love her now. Not when he realized what she had done.
Emma continued to weep pitifully for the pain she had caused her dearest love even as Richmond gently directed her to her small tent. Practically forcing her down on the furs and tucking the covers about her, Emma could do naught to thank Richmond for his kindness. Her heart, her soul, her spirit, was lodged with the great man on his knees in the middle of the forest, vomiting emotions so strong they threatened to tear him apart.
After settling Emma for the night, Richmond retired to his own tent to find Arissa still weeping with sorrow. Forcing her to drink a large cup of wine, he managed to calm her somewhat with a combination of tender manner and relaxing alcohol.Stripping off her garments as she stood unsteadily in the center of their tent, he swept her into the warm furs of their bed.
