Jimmy the Hand (25 page)

Elaine’s
father had agreed with shocking alacrity. A baron sought the hand of
his daughter, and moreover, one unconcerned with his inability to
provide even a token dowry. He had agreed to every one of Bernarr’s
suggestions, including a modest annual allowance to provide for the
squire’s apartment in Rillanon. Bernarr was not being generous;
he wished the man as far from them as possible. Had he agreed,
Bernarr would have found him an apartment in Roldem or the one of the
eastern kingdoms. The squire promised Bernarr that his daughter would
be in the royal maze the next day at one, to receive Bernarr’s
proposal. The old man had been positively beside himself with joy as
Bernarr left the seedy inn where he had negotiated the hand of the
woman he loved.

Bernarr found
her on one of the benches at the centre of the maze, looking pale and
as nervous as a startled fawn. Instantly he went down on one knee and
took one of her hands in his. Today his fingers were clean and the
slight tan of his skin made a pleasing contrast to the delicate white
of hers. ‘I have spoken to your father and he has consented to
our marriage,’ he said, his heart virtually leaping into his
throat as he watched her reaction.

‘You do
not know me,’ she said, her voice soft and breathless. ‘How
could you possibly love me?’

With a smile he
kissed her fingers. ‘To see you is to love you,’ he
assured her. ‘I know you better than you think. But, you do not
know me, which is my fault.’ Bernarr bowed his head over her
hand and stroked her fingers with his thumb, lost for a moment in the
wonder of her touch. Then he looked up at her. ‘I do love you,
my lady. I promise to be a good and gentle husband to you. I beg you
to make me the happiest man alive by honouring me with your hand. My
love will awaken your heart and you will come to know what I do, that
I could not love you so deeply, so passionately, without your loving
me in equal measure. We will be happy, I promise you.’

She was staring
at him as if in wonder, then she closed her eyes and caught her
breath, catching her lower lip in her teeth. After a moment she let
out her breath in a gasp and lowered her head. ‘Of course I
will marry you, my lord. I could never refuse such an honour.’

He reached out
and lifted her chin, waiting until her eyes met his. ‘You would
marry me of your own free will?’ he asked. ‘Because you
love me?’

A single tear
traced a path down her pale cheek. ‘Of course I do,’ she
said, her voice choked. ‘Of course.’ Then she leapt to
her feet and said, ‘Forgive me, my lord, I am overwhelmed and
must collect myself.’ So saying, she fled, leaving him puzzled
by the behaviour of women, but thrilled and delighted, his blood
dancing with joy.

She loved him!

The next time he
saw her, Elaine insisted that the ceremony be held as quickly as
possible. Her boldness had taken his breath away and sent his heart’s
blood rushing. For a moment it was hard for him to think and this
time he took her in his arms in wonder and delight. When he lifted
her head and looked down into her lovely face he thought he would
melt with the heat of his passion. He realized at that moment, she
would give herself to him without hesitation. Pushing aside his
passion, he whispered, ‘I would not so dishonour you.’
Elaine blinked, looking up at him in astonishment. ‘But we will
be married as soon as it can be arranged.’

The wedding was
an intimate affair in the chapel of Ruthia—the Goddess of
Luck—at the palace, witnessed by more of Bernarr’s
friends than Elaine’s.

‘It is
nothing,’ she said, making light of it. ‘It’s the
way of things here. I have moved on and so have they.’

He thought that
she was hurt by their desertion for all she dismissed their peculiar
absence so carelessly. He tried to make it up to her by being extra
attentive through their small but elegant wedding feast. Later, when
they were alone, he presented her with his personal wedding gift, a
magnificent emerald necklace. ‘To match your eyes,’ he
told her.

Elaine was
enchanted and stared into the mirror for a full minute without saying
a word. She touched each stone, then looked up, and into his eyes in
the mirror. Her lips parted and she pulled at the bow that held her
nightgown closed. With a shrug the fine gown dropped to her feet and
she turned, smiling, and went to him, naked save for the emeralds.

That night, that
passionate, wonderful night, had been the happiest of his life.

In his sleep,
the tormented old man cried, tears emerging from closed eyelids.
No!
he shouted in his mind, knowing that he had once again visited and
left behind the single most joyous night he had known, and knowing
what pain and suffering was to come.

The trip home
had been as comfortable as he could make it, but Elaine was not a
good traveller. His relief as they came into the harbour of Land’s
End was enormous, for he had begun to fear for her health. She had
been sick at almost every stage of their journey and he was resolved
that she should see a chirurgeon as soon as possible.

As he stood
beside her at the ship’s rail, his arm curled protectively
around her slender shoulders, Bernarr could sense the disappointment
that her smile hid. For the first time in his life he saw Land’s
End in comparison with Rillanon, Salador, and Krondor, and it did not
compare well. It was a small, work-a-day place, shabby, plain and
ordinary.

‘You will
make it beautiful just by being here. My people will love you,’
he promised.

Elaine smiled
dazzlingly and embraced him and his heart lifted. She was wonderful,
everything he had thought she would be and more. If only she were not
so often ill.

He took her to
his estate in the country, thinking the air would be more pure there.
Elaine seemed bored and listless, but her colour was better and he
thought she seemed stronger.

They had been
home less than three weeks when a ship came to port carrying a number
of Elaine’s friends. And they came carrying evil tidings. Her
father had been murdered in a tavern brawl. To his horror, Elaine
fainted dead away. Bernarr ordered the servants to carry her to her
room and then turned his fury on her friends.

Zakry, the
squire’s third son of whom Elaine was once so fond, seemed
overcome with astonishment. His handsome features slowly turned from
amazement to anger under the Baron’s blistering attack. ‘I
would never try to hurt the Lady Elaine!’ he exploded. ‘She
is very dear to me.’ For a moment Bernarr was certain the boy
would draw his sword, and found himself anticipating the
confrontation with pleasure. Then, Zakry seemed to come to himself
and gestured behind him to where his friends stood. ‘To all of
us. I apologize for being insensitive to your lady’s delicate
nature. We should have anticipated what a shock the news would be.’

They all nodded
and curtsyed and murmured their agreement.

Bernarr looked
at them, his nostrils pinched with disapproval and his face white
with rage. ‘Because my wife has such regard for you, and
because you meant well by coming here I will, of course, extend to
you the hospitality of my house. But I warn you, at the slightest
hint that you are upsetting her, I will order you to leave.’
With that, Bernarr spun on his heel and followed the servants to his
lady’s quarters, to sit by her bed until she woke.

Indeed, it
seemed to Bernarr that Zakry’s estimation of Elaine’s
feelings for her father was correct. For, although she should have
been in deep mourning, after recovering from her faint, she showed no
signs of distress: rather, she spent all of her time with her old
friends, laughing and gossiping and even dancing and singing. Bernarr
didn’t approve; it was unseemly. And yet, he could deny her
nothing. Especially since he’d met her wretched father and
could well understand her lack of concern. It must have been a horror
being raised alone by such as he. Still, after several social galas
Elaine organized and many forays into the city to shop, the local
squires and rich merchants could barely hide their disapproval of her
frivolous manner. He felt embarrassed. Yet he forgave her everything,
accounting her actions to her youth and the influence of her callow
friends.

He wanted to
stay by her side every moment, but the duties he’d left behind
had piled up over the months he’d been away and there was
always work to be done. Often he was called away to the city, or away
at nearby villages, conducting the business of the barony, and was
gone for two or three days. The old castle overlooking the city was
garrisoned, but it was otherwise empty, lacking even a pretence of
occupation. Other than soldiers and his personal secretary and the
city officials who visited, Bernarr was alone. On those occasions, he
burned with jealousy and hated himself for it.

He knew her
friends were leading her into unseemly behaviour. Elaine meant well,
but she was so innocent that she truly saw no harm in their silly
play that in this time of mourning bordered on the debauched. Not in
Rillanon, perhaps, but certainly in Land’s End.

He must do
something! At the very least he must do something about Zakry. He was
the instigator, the one who led them all astray. Get rid of him and
the problem was all but solved.

Yes, something
must be done, and soon.

The old man’s
pain did not lessen in his sleep, but the thin lips with their deep
vertical grooves pulled back from yellow teeth. There was little
strength left in his face, but for a moment an observer might have
seen him as he had been in youth and anger, a cold pale rage the
deadlier for coming from the mind as much as the heart.

But there was
nobody to see; no one at all. Outside the door stood two members of
the household guard. Hand-picked, they followed orders, and the
orders were the same tonight as they had been every night since they
had taken duty with the Baron: no matter what they heard or thought
they heard from within the Baron’s chamber after he retired for
the night, they were never to enter unless called for by name by the
Baron. Both men on duty were used to cries and moans and curses. Both
men ignored the piteous weeping they heard at that moment.

Images cascaded,
one on top of the next, and Bernarr gripped the sheets as a drowning
man would a lifeline.

He was hunting,
and Elaine’s friends were with him. An arrow flew, killing a
boar, and Bernarr turned in rage. The impudent whelp had robbed
Bernarr of his kill!

Suddenly he was
near the cliffs, the pounding surf on the rocks below, as he sat
listening to Zakry shout, ‘Sir! You will listen to me!’

But Bernarr
could hear nothing over the pounding of the waves on the rocks, and
while Zakry’s lips moved, Bernarr could not make out the
meaning of his words. Bernarr pulled up, waved his boar-spear in
rage, and Zakry’s horse shied, and suddenly Bernarr sat alone
on his horse.

A ride, and
suddenly he was back in the castle, his guests dismounting as a
chirurgeon hurried forward, glad tidings on his lips. He was to be a
father!

Then he was at
Elaine’s side, and she wept, her shoulders shaking and he
couldn’t remember why. Was it the news of Zakry’s
disappearance? Or tears of joy?

Then he saw
carriages as her friends from Rillanon left, eager to depart by ship
before the winter storms prevented them.

Now the old man
lay still, the only motion the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and
the movement of his eyes behind the closed lids.

For a brief
moment, he remembered peace. He remembered the quiet joy he felt in
anticipating fatherhood. Elaine was quiet in her confinement, saying
little to him or the maids who attended her. Occasionally a woman of
the barony, a squire’s wife or the wife of one of the more
prominent merchants, would visit and she would brighten for a bit in
the company of another woman while sipping tea or strolling through
the gardens, but mostly she seemed sad in a way he didn’t
understand.

Then came the
night Elaine went into labour. A storm had sprung up out of the sea:
hills and walls of purple-black cloud piled along the western
horizon, flickering with lightning but touched gold by the sun as it
set behind them. The surge came before the storm, mountain-high waves
that set fishermen dragging their craft higher and lashing them to
trees and boulders, and to praying as the thrust of air came
shrieking about their thatch. When the rain followed it came nearly
level, blown before the monster winds.

Whips of rain
lashed the manor too, and lightning forked the sky while thunder
rattled the windows. Bernarr had bribed the midwife to stay at the
manse the last two weeks and given the dreadful weather was glad he’d
done so.

The storm blew
in a traveller and his servants who begged shelter, which Bernarr
granted gladly—hospitality brought luck, and at this moment he
wanted his full share. The house was so still these days he welcomed
the company and was delighted to discover that his guest was a
scholar who cared far more for the books in his coach than for either
his horses, his servants or himself.

‘Lyman,’
the old man said in his sleep, his lips barely speaking the name.

Bernarr could
not see the man’s face. He stood in shadows and no matter how
hard Bernarr tried, the memory of the man’s face eluded him. In
his fever-dream, the old man remembered, he had shared wine with this
man, he had seen him in daylight, yet at this moment, reliving this
terrible night, he could not see the man’s face in the shadow.

Then the scream
came, and he could hear Lyman’s voice, as if coming to him from
a great distance, carried by the storm, ‘You should go to her,
my lord.’

Bernarr rushed
from the room even as another cry rent the air, terror lending wings
to his feet. Yet as he hurried, his feet refused to carry him. The
hall was impossibly long and each step was a struggle. He felt as if
his body was encased in armour, lead boots clasped around his feet,
and terror rose up within as he fought to reach his chambers. Then he
was at Elaine’s door in moments, throwing it open—