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"Then why are you here?"
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"I wanted to make sure we are still friends."
"Friends..." Stryder laughed, and it was then Simon realized the man was drunk.
Extremely drunk, judging by the way Stryder wobbled as he tossed the flagon aside and reached for the
second one that
was set down by his foot.
Stryder righted himself and returned to staring out at the yard. "You get me betrothed to a woman I
don't know and now
I am told I have to fight to marry her on the morrow even though I want no wife, especially not one who
ls in love with
someone else. If we weren't friends, you'd be dead now, Simon."
"I didn't mean for this to happen."
Stryder looked up at that, his eyes haunted. 'Just as I never meant to get you and Edward captured."
Pain swept through Simon at the reminder. Stryder had barely earned his spurs when they lad followed
Simon's father down
to Outremer. Still a squire, Simon had thought it a grand adventure, until they'd met up with the small
band of Crusaders.
Simon's father had scoffed at the fools, but Stryder had been young and intent on proving limself.
Stryder had wanted to follow after the Crusaders so that he could win glory and fame.
Simon had chosen friendship and gone with Stryder, never knowing what would come of his decision.
Three years of their
lives had been sacrificed to that fateful day. Three years of living in filth and squalor. Of fighting rats and
serpents for every scrap of food.
Simon's flesh still bore the scars of that time, but unlike Stryder, he had chosen to bury the internal scars.
To try his best
to forget every degradation and horror they had experienced.
"I never blamed you."
"And I've never understood why you didn't."
"We are brothers, Stryder." Just as he was brother to Sin and Draven. He'd had to align himself to all of
them to survive.
Their shared tragedies had bonded them.
Stryder took a deep breath. "Do you love her?"
"Aye."
"Then how can you stand here so casually when you know that on the morrow she will belong to me?"
"Because she never really belonged to me." The truth stung him deep, but both he and Stryder knew it.
"I am truly the Wraith." He laughed bitterly at the irony of that. "She didn't see me until it was too late to
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do anything
about it." His heart aching, he forced himself to add,"I know you will honor her."
"And if she dies because of the curse of my family?"
Simon rolled his eyes at the lunacy of that question. "You're not cursed, Stryder."
"Aye, but I am. Why else would I be forced to marry my best friend's love?" Stryder rubbed lis hand
over his head.
"Why are you here with me anyway? You should be with her this night. God knows the two of you may
never have
another one."
Simon frowned at his words. "You're being remarkably understanding about all this."
"I'm being remarkably drunk, Simon. I plan to drink so much that this night will be nothing but an
unremembered blur.
Come the morrow, you and I shall have to fight." Stryder looked up at him. "I don't want to fight you,
Simon, you are one
of the few people I consider family, ind family is something I have very little of. Now go. I want to be
alone in my misery."
Simon nodded. He well understood that sentiment, though tonight, for the first time, he had to wish to be
alone.
He wanted Kenna.
And yet he dare not seek her out.
If he did, he would spend this night with her, and he couldn't do that to Stryder.
He appreciated Kenna's confidence in his abilities, but he knew the limits of his prowess. He could never
defeat Stryder.
Damn the Fates for it.
Clenching his teeth, he left Stryder to his ale and went to seek whatever comfort he could in his tent.
It was a calm, quiet night. Most of the knights were still in the hall, boasting of how well they intended to
do on the morrow.
A sennight ago, Simon would have been headed back to his tent to write to Kenna, to tell her all about
his day and to
speculate on what the morrow might bring.
But he couldn't even take comfort in that anymore. Their days of writing letters to one another were
over. It would be
unseemly of him to continue to correspond with the countess of Blackmoor while he rode with her
husband.
The pain of the thought was almost enough to send him to his knees.
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Heartsick, Simon entered his tent and moved to disrobe. He had stripped down to his tunic and hose
when he heard a
light noise behind the curtain that separated his dressing area from the bed.
Suspicious of an intruder, he reached for his sword.
With it held at the ready, he pulled back the curtain, then froze.
There in his bed was the one woman he would sell his soul to possess.
Kenna.
Her thick, wavy hair was down around her face. She wore a gauzy white chemise that was so sheer he
could easily see
the bright pink tips of her breasts.
He'd never seen a more beautiful sight than her waiting for him.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, lowering his sword.
"This is the one place where I do belong. I don't want to be without you, Simon."
He was humbled by her words. By the fact that she would risk so much to be with him tonight when he
needed her so desperately.
He should send her on her way. It would be the noble thing to do.
But having lived his life for others, he found himself selfish tonight.
For once, he wanted something for himself.
He wanted her.
He dropped his sword and made his way toward the bed where she lay waiting. How he wished he
could have her with
him like this always.
Kenna held her breath, half expecting Simon to send her away. He had a look about him that warned her
he was divided
in his intentions.
But there was no division in hers. She was concentrated on him and him alone.
She shivered as he drew near her and pulled back the covers.
"I know not what brought you here tonight, my lady. I am only glad that you came."
Kenna smiled at him. "I would always come for you, my knight. No matter where you go."
He pulled his tunic off and gathered her into his arms. Kenna sighed at the sensation of his skin under her
hands. He was so steely and warm. She loved the way his muscles rippled beneath her hands. The way
he stared at her as if she were some
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tasty morsel he longed to devour.
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| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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