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“WE’RE RIDING FOR Itchendel!” Drake yelled at Stephen when he emerged from the castle.
Fighting their way back to the inn, the fitzAlan brothers came to an instant accord. That the prince was in possession of Jenna’s note—the missive stolen from Drake not an hour before yet paradoxically delivered into the hands of this very same man—was as damning as if that prince of thieves had confessed his sins in prostration before man, king, and God.
Drake’s initial reaction was disbelief. Followed by anger. And finally fear. Fear for Jenna and the desperate invitation her simple words belied: I’ll wait for you at the aerie.
They claimed their horses, and abandoning a burning city, took the south road. No words passed from brother to brother, only the occasional meeting of eyes, matched eyes of stormy green.
Night fell quickly. The wind whipped up. When the storm struck, rain fell in torrents. Lightning illuminated the landscape with visions of Hell while thunder chased the brothers into the breach.
They rode through the night. The storm passed, but the premonition stayed, that Jenna had somehow become a threat to the brother of the king.
At sunrise, Drake left Stephen behind to secure the horses. He scrambled up the craggy hill, the waterfall splashing behind him. Arriving at the mouth of the grotto, he hesitated, bereft of courage. He stepped forward and entered the aerie.
Jenna lay on the bed of grass. The blue kirtle adorning her was the one she wore when last they met in this peaceful sanctuary mere hours before Drake made a pact with the Devil and changed himself into the guise of his brother. At first it seemed as though she had fallen asleep waiting up for a secret lover. But the drained color of her face and the stillness of her pose spoke of a different circumstance.
A single spray of blood erupted from her breast. A massive pool, sanguine and glistening, had coagulated at her side. Her sky-blue eyes were fixed open in a stare of sheer bewilderment. Her mouth was slung open, a silent scream on her lips. Her hand was thrown above her head as a final gesture of lost hope. Clasped inside the curled fingers of her hand was a stolen dagger, slick with blood.
She was as beautiful as a summer’s eve. And she was dead.
Drake dropped weakly to his knees. Unable to speak or cry or think rationally or feel much of anything, he reached over and closed her eyes. Her skin was still moist to the touch. He bent his head and delivered a parting kiss. Her lips were warm, pliant, and sweet as dawn. He gently pulled her into his arms, and cradling her, rocked her as he spoke words of endearment, words of reassurance, words of farewell. Teardrops splashed onto her face and slid down the plains of her cheeks. Memories came unbidden. When first he laid eyes on her—child and woman at once and forever—and knew he would love her to the end of his days. When first they explored each other’s bodies in the innocence of youth. And when first he learned what it meant to love a woman and not just bed one.
Stephen rushed into the grotto, panting with exertion. Soon, he too grew as silent as the cave. By then, Drake had laid Jenna back on her moss-covered deathbed. He held her hand, cold in his warm palm and still adorned with his betrothal ring. He gazed up at his brother in the vain hope he might work a miracle, knowing in his heart of hearts there were no miracles. Not here, not now, and not for Jenna. The promising life of a lass who laughed in the rain and cried at a rainbow had been cruelly snuffed out at the age of seventeen.
Covering his face with clawed hands, Stephen cried silent tears. For his brother’s beloved. For his own beloved. For God’s beloved.
Gazing into the shadowed crevices of the grotto, Drake sensed a presence, a shade, an interloper. He had been here. He had met Jenna in this sanctuary. He had made love to her, given her empty promises, taken what was never his, defiled this bed of posies and incense, and left her with nothing but hope. And then, as his final act of betrayal, he had sent assassins to silence her tongue.
To bid adieu to Jenna now was to bid adieu to her for eternity. Drake didn’t think he had the strength. He held her hand until the last, smoothing it across her body, the fingers gently curved and smeared with blood. He could not bring himself to touch the other hand, yet flung out to her side, her unyielding fingers grasping the damascene that ended her short life. Tangled about her throat, the dragon amulet reflected the brightness of an early morning sun. Drake set it aright. And as a last rite, he removed his bejeweled pellice and shrouded her still form.
Her languid face, white as the moon, bid good-night to the sun.
