They stood quietly in the silver light, the two men of the same blood. There was nothing to be said and Gaunt had offered his son all the comfort he had for him—the knowledge of his own agony. Radnor cleared his throat.
"Will you return before the spring?" No definite meaning could be attached to the words but the voice cried out not to be left alone at that time. Gaunt's hand trembled on his son's shoulder and was withdrawn.
"Before her time, if you desire it, yes, I will return to you." There was a pause and then the old man rushed into brisk speech as if to conceal what he had said. "I will leave in the dawn, Cain, and will not see you again. I will let you know where to reach me and how things progress as always." Another pause while each pair of eyes strained to read the message in the other pair. Gaunt's voice, uncertainly now, began again. "Write me word if you need me—I mean, if there is trouble at home—that is, in case of more rebellion I will come back."
"God speed you."
That was all he said, but with a gesture as natural as though it were not completely new, Cain kissed his father on one cheek and then on the other. Instinctively Gaunt's hands came up and pressed his son close, but only for a half-second. Then he grunted, pushed his child roughly away, mounted his horse, and rode off without a farewell.
The serene stars, tiny blue gems set on black velvet, sailed slowly across the heavens. Lord Radnor leaned against the quiet warmth of his horse and watched them. Whatever happened now, there was another human soul to which he was linked, for the wall between his father and himself had been breached. They would still fight bitter battles and say bitter words, still hurt each other and hate each other, the habit was too long ingrained to be broken, but it did not matter for at the bottom the blood bond was firm.
This too, Radnor realized, in some way he did not understand, Leah had given him. Quite suddenly he thought of the word with which he had left her. The memory brought from him a perfectly mirthless laugh. He was his father all over again. Because he loved Leah and was afraid for her and afraid of the pain she might bring him, he had said the cruelest thing he could think of to her.
The men who stood guard passed Radnor silently. Guided only by the last flickering of the fire and the dim nightlight, he picked his way through the sleeping men-at-arms and found the stairway to Leah's chamber. He felt along the walls by memory and opened the door.
"Leah?"
"Yes, my lord." There was neither surprise nor fear in her voice, only indifference.
"May I come in? I want to talk to you."
"You are master here. Do as you like."
He stood irresolute—maybe it would be better to leave his explanations until morning. Leah lay still, not caring what he did. She had passed through every stage of bitter resentment, trembling fear, and warm forgiving so many times that the emotions had destroyed each other. Now she felt nothing.
"May I light more candles?" Radnor asked finally.
"Flint and tinder are by the bed."
"May I sit down?"
"As it pleases you."
"What you told me, Leah, is it true?"
"Yes. I am with child and the child is yours. Whether you believe that or not, I no longer care."
Radnor lifted his hand as if to ward off a blow and then let it drop. "Nay, I know it is mine. I always knew it. I … Howhow long?"
"I have missed two fluxes."
"Why did you not tell me sooner?"
That was not easy to answer. The memory of her jealousy of other women, newly awakened fear of what he had been doing away from her, made her breath come a little faster and wakened her emotions. It was useless to say she did not care about him. She did, and she always would.
"I wished to be sure, not to disappoint you with false hope,"
she replied.
"I see. When is your time?"
"The end of March, perhaps, or mayhap sometime in April."
"So soon?"
The anguish of his tone made her turn to look at him for the first time since he came in. She sat up, distressed for him although she knew not why.
"What is wrong? It is the same for all." Then recalling his unjust treatment of her, she added coldly, "If the time is not convenient to you, my lord, I cannot help it. You need not be there. I will cling and complain no more, but bear my troubles as best I may."
"Did I say that too?" he asked in a stricken voice, but she made no reply. "I have just parted from my father," he added, seeking something to say.
"Did he fret you, my lord?" Leah asked dully. She did not care or want to know, but to be on bad terms with her husband was stupid and could only hurt her.
"Not at all. He was very kind, softer to me than ever in my life. He offered me what consolation he could."
"Have you suffered some disappointment?" Against her will there was concern in her voice. Political disappointment meant fighting to her.
"No, I—"
What was he about to say? Could he ask this timid girl to console him because he was afraid she would die? He was truly mad.
"It was nothing," he began again in what he hoped were more cheerful tones. "He gave me good news in return for mine. When the queen has fulfilled her promises, we can go to Painscastle, traveling at whatever speed will be comfortable and safe to you. For the present, at least, I have naught to do but see to my estates and rest. You need have no fear for me—" He turned his face from her suddenly and his voice dropped. "If you have left enough affection after what has passed between us to fear for me."
Leah's resentment had been melting steadily. Something very dreadful indeed must be preying on her lord's mind to make him sound so hopeless, to make him assume so dreadful and forced a manner of good cheer. He had done wrong to hurt her when she was struggling to help him, but he was a man of hot temper and his temper had been sorely tried.
Leah had thought over her behavior in the past few weeks and realized what a burden she had been to an already overburdened man. Her voice was soft and her hand went out to touch him tenderly.
"My love, why are you unhappy? You have told me that there will be peace in the land, at least for a time, and also that you are at peace with those nearest you in heart and blood. Indeed, I thought I had given you news to make you rejoice. Whence comes this sorrow? Unless you truly do not trust me—"
"Oh, Christ's Blood, Leah, no! I did but wish to give you pain and said the worst thing that came to my tongue." He lifted the hand that lay gently on his and kissed it. Leah could feel his lips tremble against her palm.
"Dear heart," she whispered, "let me help you if I can. At least speak out your trouble. Whatever it is, if two share it, the burden is not so heavy."
"Are you not afraid?" he burst out, clutching her hand so hard she winced. "You said you were, over and over, and I did not understand—would not understand—why. I should have known. It was hinted to me with smiles often enough but—but I would not believe it."
"Did you not desire it?" Leah was incredulous, her world suddenly upside down.
"Yes, yes, of course. You know how much I want—wanted a son. But when I thought—when I came to consider the price— A son might cost too high. Oh God, God, I am sick with fear."
There was one stunned moment of silence. Then Leah's laugh trilled out until it filled the room and filled the ears of her astonished husband. This was the end of her jealousy, the end of any fears she had ever had. The bud of love had burst into a perfect blossom. The flower of Leah's marriage could never die. More than the continuance of his name, more than his hope for posterity, not as a breeder but for herself alone, her husband loved her. With a cry of joy she came from the bed to his arms.
"No," Leah answered, her eyes alight, "no, I am not afraid. I was, but now I am not. My dear lord, there is nothing to fear. All will be well."
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