Chapter Four
The Tower
Aveta tried togo about her day as she usually would, though her ears pricked at every noise outside the cottage. She rolled her newest dress in a blanket and packed a basket with food and a skin of wine. Despite Alaunus’ assurances that his father would approve of the marriage when he learned of the child she carried, she was not about to hang her hopes on the belief that the chieftain would willingly marry them. If that were the case, they would need to do as Alaunus suggested the night before and walk to the next village to be married by the leader there.
She felt as though she were waiting for an eternity as the early morning hours stretched into afternoon. She spent time in her garden, preparing the plants for her time away. They had not discussed where they would live, but Aveta hoped that Alaunus would agree to reside in her cottage for a while, at least until the baby was born.
As the hours passed, the afternoon fading into early evening, her excitement and joy waned. The sun sank lower and lower into the sky until the meadow was shrouded in twilight.
Yet Alaunus did not come.
Finally, as the moon rose, Aveta reached out, using the link between them to feel if he was near. Just as he had been able to sense her distress the day before, she hoped she would feel if he was upset or in pain.
There was nothing. She could feel him breathing and sense his heartbeat, but divined nothing of his emotions. There were only two possibilities; he was detained or he did not intend to return.
Either way, she could not know what had happened until she spoke to him. Aveta did not want to assume the worst. She could not believe that Alaunus would be so fickle in his intentions. Though she desperately wanted to walk to the village and speak to him, she decided to wait until the next day. If he were still arguing with his father over breaking his betrothal with Rhiannon, Aveta’s arrival could very well worsen the situation.
Her heart heavy, Aveta prepared for bed. She wished that Alaunus were with her now, the warmth and weight of his body as comfort during the chilly autumn night. Wistful, she almost wished she had not insisted that he return to the village the night before.
Now that they were to be married, she was ready for the lonely nights to come to an end and to wake up to the face of her beloved each morning. Tomorrow, she would go into the village and find out why Alaunus had not arrived at dusk as he promised.
Aveta woke witha start. Unsure of what roused her, she sat up and listened to the night.
There. The sound of running feet. Someone was sprinting toward her door.
Hope filled her heart. Perhaps Alaunus had come for her after all. Quickly, she climbed out of her bed, not bothering to throw a blanket over her nightdress as she opened the door.
Although she recognized him, Alaunus was not the person coming down her path. It was a young boy, a servant in Alaunus’ household.
“You must come quickly,” he panted. “Master Alaunus is ill. Gravely so.”
Without hesitation, Aveta turned and snatched up her dress and cloak. She put them on over her nightgown. Once her shoes were on her feet, she picked up the basket that she used to carry her herbs and potions.
“What is his affliction?” she asked the servant boy.
His thin chest still heaving, the boy shook his head. “I am not sure. He will not wake up and his skin is pale and cold. His lips are blue though he is breathing. The village healer has tried for hours to revive him, but has been unable.” The servant swallowed hard. “He believes that there may be a curse involved.”
Focusing on the possible causes for Alaunus’ illness, Aveta chose pouches of dried herbs and small jars of tinctures. With careful hands, she gathered a small wooden box. This was old magic, rare, powerful, and not to be trifled with. She rarely used the mixtures her mother had taught her to make or the incantations that accompanied them, but when it came to Alaunus, she was willing to do anything to help him.
“I’m ready,” she told the boy.
Though fear gripped her, Aveta’s legs were strong and steady as she ran with the boy toward the village. She must remain outwardly calm in order to care for Alaunus. He needed her help and she would not fail him.
When they entered the house, Alaunus’ father, Bran, looked up from his study of the fire. At the expression on his face, Aveta faltered. The man appeared ravaged, aged several decades since she last glimpsed him a few weeks ago.
Caderyn hovered in the corner of the room, but did not speak. His face was pale and drawn, which told Aveta more about Alaunus’ condition than anything else.
Bran moved to stand in front of her. “Thank you for coming.” When his eyes dropped to her waist, Aveta knew that Alaunus had told his father about the child she carried. “While you may not be the woman I would have chosen for my son, he pointed out to me that it ishewho must live with his wife.” Bran drew in a deep breath. “And if you can save him from whatever ails him, then I will happily see the two of you wed and be proud to call you daughter.”
Aveta nodded. While she appreciated Bran’s offer to put aside his preferences, now was not the time to discuss them. “Where is he?”
“I will take you to him,” Caderyn offered.
As Aveta followed him toward the back of the house, leaving Bran and the servant boy by the hearth, the healer stopped her a few paces from the doorway.
“I do not have the touch of the god or goddess as you do,” he began. “But there is more than an illness here.” To Aveta’s shock, he continued, “I fear he has been poisoned or cursed. As soon as I realized, I told Bran to send for you. It took some persuasion.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Caderyn.”
