Return to Alastair Read online

  © 2006 by L. A. Kelly

  Published by Fleming H. Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kelly, L. A.

  Return to Alastair : a novel / L. A. Kelly.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 0-8007-3116-6 (pbk.)

  1. Good and evil—Fiction. 2. Middle Ages—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3611.E4496R48 2006

  813’.6—dc22 2005024257

  With love to

  Anne,

  Debby,

  Ramona,

  Stephen,

  Miriam,

  Ephraim,

  And Roddy (wherever you are).

  God bless.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  1

  Onath

  Tahn Dorn jerked awake with a groan. A bird flittered by his open window, and he sat up slowly, thinking it strange to find himself in this room. It was home, of course, but in the hazy light it almost seemed he was still the little boy of his dream, searching desperately for someone on a dismal street. He took a deep breath, and it calmed the thunder in his heart. The nightmare had ended as abruptly as always, with a baby’s cry in his ears and an old woman suddenly standing in his path, her long fingers pointing at him and her face twisted by an accusing frown.

  He brushed the hair back from his face and shook his head. The dream was recurring almost nightly now. And he still wasn’t sure what the place was or even who he was always looking for. But the throbbing hurt wouldn’t go away.

  He rose and dressed, pushing his mind toward the business of the day. Three new men awaited training. He’d promised to give the children his time for a lesson too. And he’d be checking the wall with the dawnlight, as he always did.

  He walked outside to the spring-fed stream that flowed in a half moon around the Trilett estate. It was a chilly autumn morning, but that didn’t stop him from dunking his head into the cool depths of the water. He came up shaking his long wavy hair behind him and let its cold wetness trickle down his back. It was a strange habit that had followed him from childhood, and he couldn’t quite let go of it. The water had once cooled the burning pain of a terrible memory, and the long hair had helped to cover the scars. Even now when he didn’t need it anymore, the habit persisted. Like that dream.

  He walked outward to the wall that surrounded the estate and followed it westward. There’d been men at watch in the night, at each of the four corners and the gate. There were always men at watch. But still he checked the perimeter inside and out twice daily. There would never be another slaughter of Benn Trilett’s family. The children would never have to fear again. Not so long as he had any power in the matter.

  He walked on, thinking of Netta Trilett’s soft hand in his. Last night they had strolled together beneath the stars. But he had excused himself from her as he usually did, still feeling uncertain in the face of the lady’s affection.

  He walked the wall with careful scrutiny and stopped to update his orders for the next guard shift. Then he started toward the big house at the center of the estate.

  The call to breakfast came with a clanging bell and the clamor of children. With eight youngsters, the peace here was never very quiet through the day, but it was joyous just the same, and Tahn loved to watch them all. They did everything with excitement, as though the newness of this place would never fade away. He could hear them laughing together as they washed in the pewter basin on the porch. Soon they would be racing in to surround the dining room table. They were so at home. And only a year ago, they had been frightened orphans who didn’t even know how to be children.

  As he crossed the wide yard, he saw Lady Netta standing on the porch, waiting for him. Not so long ago she had feared him. So much had changed. Now she seemed to trust him with the depth of her heart and expect the same in return.

  She looked so regal standing there in the streaming light of the sun. He could imagine her mother standing on that porch, or her grandmother before that, waiting for loved ones to come and eat. What a wonder it must be to feel so connected, so a part of your own family and past.

  He climbed the steps with a sigh and took her into his arms. This was the only thing he could feel connected to. This lady and the children who were so much a part of him now. He’d brought them together in a cave when all he could think of was their survival. Now they were his heart.

  He smiled as he held her and breathed in the scent of her fair perfume. But when she touched his hair and then his cheek, something tensed within him. There’d been another touch, so long ago he could scarcely remember it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever remembered it before. A woman had held him once, calming his tears with her gentle hand when he was just a tiny boy. But there was pain in the memory that he didn’t understand, and he pulled away, shaken.

  “What’s wrong, Tahn?” Netta’s soft eyes drew him back to her, but a sadness still held him, as though the distant pain had reached out and taken hold.

  He didn’t try to answer her question. He wasn’t sure he could. He was struggling to reclaim the fleeting memory and comprehend the ache it had carried with it. But it was too far away again, in another world.

  Netta was so quiet. He held her in his arms again, knowing he should say something to her. She could be so patient, so incredibly kind. But she must be wondering why he was acting so strangely.

  “I love you,” she finally whispered.

  And at that moment, Duncan, barely six and the youngest of the children, came running at them.

  “Netta!” the little boy cried. “Netta, please, I have to tell you something!”

  Tahn broke away with a nod, and the lady knelt to give the boy her attention. Tahn watched their brief exchange—the whisper, the grin, the loving embrace. So much like a mother Netta was to this child who had never had one.

  Tahn started to turn away from them, but Netta reached for his hand as Duncan ran to join the other boys.

  “Are you all right?” Netta asked him.

  “I’m not sure.”

  She moved to meet his eyes, but he could offer her no explanation.

  “Do you want to talk?” she suggested. “And walk, perhaps?”

  He shook his head. “You should stay here. Eat with your father and the rest.” He pulled her hand gently to his lips and kissed it. “You are good to me, my lady, not to ridicule me in my foolishness.”

  “You’re not foolish. But I think you are looking past me this morning.”

  He nodded, wanting to hold her again. But not with his mind so occupied. It had always seemed futile to wonder about his earliest years. But now with one tender memory, questions stirred in him as though the past held a sec
ret demanding his notice. Who was he? Whose was he? And what had happened to separate him from that kind hand?

  In the dream, he was always searching. Maybe there was someone somewhere who could tell him why. It was a new thought. And not an easy one.

  Netta took his hands in hers. He looked into her hazel eyes and thanked God that she could give him her patience. He kissed her forehead softly.

  “I don’t understand what I’m feeling,” he said quietly. “But I think there was someone with me before Samis. Before the hanging in Alastair.”

  “You mean family?”

  “I don’t know. A woman. With a soft touch.”

  “Your mother?” Netta could not conceal a sudden excitement. “Tahn, are you remembering your mother?”

  He stared at her for a moment and almost pulled away. He shook his head. “It seems nearly impossible to think I could have had one.”

  “Oh, Tahn.”

  Netta hugged him. That he could scarcely imagine a loving hand in childhood made her hurt for him. He’d been bound so long under a brutal master. And before that was Alastair’s cruel horror.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her suddenly.

  “Sorry for what?” Netta’s heart pounded with a fierce compassion for him. “The devil assaulted you so! Perhaps it is time you knew God’s truth. You must have had a mother.

  Perhaps we could find out about her.”

  “My lady, I have no one to ask.”

  “Surely someone would know your name.”

  He bowed his head. “Many people know my name. But they may think only of my sword.”

  She started to tell him that the people of Onath thought of much more than that, but she saw his eyes turn quickly toward the gate, and she knew that he was listening now to something more distant.

  “A rider has come,” he told her.

  She sighed. “If they need any of us, the guards will summon.”

  But he shook his head. “I will go and see. Take your breakfast without me.” He started to turn.

  “Tahn—”

  “I don’t need Hildy’s fine meal this morning. I need to be alone with this a while if the Lord wills. I’ll be at the gate or the southwest corner if I am needed. Don’t worry for me.

  Only forgive me, please, for turning from your company again.”

  She took his hand with a sigh. “I’ll not worry. But don’t bear a burden alone, Tahn. We are here for you, should you need us.”

  “I will always need you, my lady.” He bowed to her, painfully aware of the longing in her face. But he could not respond to it. Not yet, with the churning inside him. So he turned and left her standing on the pillared porch alone.

  She watched him cross the wide yard, remembering the fiery and tormented Tahn who had walked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d come so far in such a short time. But there was still a weight on his heart.

  God be with him, Netta prayed. Heal every wound in his spirit and grant him all that he seeks.

  2

  Alastair

  Tiarra Loble pushed around the old broom like she had a quarrel with it. Her long hair fell in dark waves across her back and was dampened with perspiration near her face. Her bare feet stepped swiftly through the dust swirls. The work seemed endless. Every day she had to see to Martica’s wants and fetch water from the well for her and for this detestable tavern. Then she had to carry drinks and endure the vile sorts who came to order them. Why sweep? The place would be filthy again in a matter of hours.

  She shoved the broom against the wall and left it leaning there, though she knew the tavern master preferred it left out of sight. Let him yell at me when he gets back, she thought. At least he won’t be wearing that nauseating grin when he looks my way.

  She glanced out the front door, glad that no one was hurrying yet to bury themselves in their liquor. It left her free for a moment to daydream. She picked up a goblet and studied her hazy reflection. What might she look like in the fine dress of a lady, with jewels to match? Perhaps she should leave this place behind and present herself on Baron Trent’s doorstep.

  She couldn’t do it. She knew she wouldn’t. But it was a delicious temptation anyway. Wouldn’t Martica throw a fit! The old woman had forbidden her to tell anyone of the kinship. She insisted that Tiarra’s mother had wanted her raised common. But how painful it was to be dirt poor and shut out of the world in which her mother once had a part. And with little hope of better work than this loathsome tavern had to offer. It was so unfair!

  Martica had made her own work once, creating beautiful paintings on canvas, stone, or leather. She’d been quite a marvel, though it never made her much money. But now she was much too old and sick. And Tiarra, at seventeen, had to provide for them both with no special talent or trade.

  She set the glass down. She had nothing really but a fair measure of looks and the stubborn will that so often got her into trouble. Hurry up and marry someone, Martica so often advised. Just find someone willing. Tiarra groaned at the thought.

  A horse stopped suddenly outside, and she frowned. Some drunkard had come to break in on the silence. She turned abruptly at the sound of the door, feeling angry already though the evening was young.

  “Where’s Vale?” the tall young man asked immediately. It was Mikal, the maddening son of an arrogant rich man who lived just down the dirt street.

  “He went for two more barrels,” Tiarra told him. “He won’t let Jak Thornton bring them anymore. He says they’re always leaky.”

  “Should have sent you,” Mikal said with a sly smile. “The owner of such a fine business should stay where he can keep his watch over things.”

  “He’ll not be thanking you to tell him how to run his affairs, Mikal Ovny,” Tiarra countered. “Go away and look for him again tomorrow.”

  Mikal laughed. “Shut up and kiss me, Ti! There’s no one here to see it.”

  She jerked the wiping cloth off her shoulder and hurled it at him. “Kiss you? You’ve promised yourself to Mary Stumping! If you wanted your paws about me, you’d not have sought for yourself some other miss.”

  Mikal stared at her, his eyes still laughing. “You know it was my father’s pleasure to choose Mary for my bride. Don’t hold it against me. I’ve always been your friend.”

  “You’re your own friend! And I’ve got no stomach for your company tonight. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You’ll not even ask me where I’ve been?”

  “No.” She turned from him and walked toward the back room.

  “I’ll trade you,” he said with a grin. “One of your sweet kisses for news of your brother.”

  She whirled around, her eyes suddenly aflame with emotion. “Tell me of him, Mikal!”

  He laughed again. “Where’s my kiss?”

  She took one quick step and grabbed for the broom. “Tell me what you know of the villain! Or I’ll beat it out of you the way I’ve seen your mother’s cook beat her dog!”

  He smiled. “Tiarra, you’re a pretty one all angry.”

  She took a swing at him, but he caught the broom and held it fast. “Ti—”

  “Tell me what you know!”

  “Will you calm down—”

  “No! I am not your plaything. You had your kisses when we were children, and I owe you none now. But you owe me! He’s my brother, and it’s my right to know what you’ve learned.” She let go of the broom and picked up a bowl from the nearest table.

  “Tiarra—”

  But he was too late to stop her throw. The heavy bowl hit him square in the chest, and she turned immediately to lift the nearest chair.

  “Wait a minute—” He backed up and tripped over the stool behind him. Before he could regain his footing, she shoved at him, and he fell full to the floor with her chair on top of him. From the doorway behind them, several new voices joined in laughter, but Tiarra ignored them.

  “Where’s Tahn Dorn?” she demanded. “What is he about now? Tell me, Mikal!”

&
nbsp; “Yes!” a man at the door echoed. “Tell the wench what she wants before she kills you, man!” A chorus of laughter followed.

  Tiarra drew the chair back, aware of the spectacle she’d created. And Mikal sat up slowly.

  “He’s at Onath. I’ve just been near there with business for my father. They say he lives within the rich walls of the Trilett estate. He courts the daughter of Lord Trilett as though he were a prince.”

  She let the chair fall from her hands and backed up from him. For all of Mikal’s aggravating ways, he wouldn’t lie about this. She knew it of him.

  “Do you know more?”

  “Only that he’s well thought of now in Onath and beyond. That’s all.”

  She turned from him and all the other watching eyes. “Go home, Mikal. Please.”

  He stood silently for a moment before answering her. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow, Ti.”

  She said nothing. She could only think of the brother she’d chosen to hate because of the things she’d been told, the things he had cost her. Her own flesh and blood—living now like a nobleman! But he was no better than she. Worse, indeed. A killer. That’s what everyone said. And most importantly, that’s what Martica said.

  She could hear Mikal behind her, setting a chair upright. And beyond him, the men at the doorway were now coming in, finding themselves places to sit and enjoy their drinking.

  “There’s thirsty men about!” someone yelled. “You gonna stand there into the night, girl?”

  “Maybe she only pays a heed to the ones who’ll let her fell them to the floor,” another man offered as Mikal left her in silence.

  “I’ll fight you, girl,” a third man declared. “And it won’t be me a-lying beneath, I’ll warrant.” He walked up behind her and grabbed at her side.

  Tiarra spun around and slapped him. Then she kicked the stunned man as hard as she could. There was laughter from the others, but she glared around the room at all of them. “Let another one of you try it!” she challenged. “I’ve got arm enough for such dogs as you.”