Black Pearls - Louise Hawes [71]
Hand over hand, caring not for the cuts the wood gave me or for the tears that streamed down my face, I worked my way along the beam to shore. I dragged myself up the steep bank, then sat with my head in my hands and wept. I grieved for my lost horse and for my long-dead daughter. I repented, too, the rashness with which I had flouted my husband's will.
Though I could do nothing to bring back the dead, it was not too late, I realized with a swelling, hopeful heart, to undo the hurt I had caused the living. I resolved, wet and shivering in the shade of the forest that bordered the flood, to beg forgiveness from Leofric, to tell him how the lost babe came between us each time he sought my love. Perhaps, I thought, remembering his face in the stables, God would yet send us a healthy child. Hadn't He blessed Rebekah with twins after twenty years of barrenness? Hadn't Rachel given birth to Joseph? And Sarah to Isaac? I was not, of course, an ancient worthy like Sarah or Rachel. I was immoderate and hot-tempered, but Our Savior had died for just such as me. I rose up, my tears dried, and followed the road home.
I suppose I looked like some giant butterfly, flapping the old cloak as I walked. The steady rhythm and the relief of the sun on my skin soon restored my spirits. As I drew closer to the castle, I continued to make babes, not in the usual manner, of course, but in my head. They gamboled sweetly there, already grown old enough to romp and play with their glad parents. In my visions, Leofric and I joined hands to race with our little ones through meadows like the very fields I passed. When my imaginary infants tired, or when Leofric threatened to break our chain with his giant strides, we all fell to the ground laughing.
My cloak was dry by the time I spied the western tower and came to the road from the stables. A lone figure on horseback approached me, and I stopped to see who it might be. As the rider drew near, I heard a long, keening wail, a howl that set my teeth on edge and sucked the warmth from my bones. I shivered in the dark of that sound only a moment. For what I saw as the rider drew nearer still is a memory that has lodged itself in my grateful heart and which I hope to take to heaven when I die.
It was my husband, my Leofric, who came toward me, riding a horse I never thought to see again. Felicity whinnied as she spied me and tossed her head. Her master, though, did not glance up but rode with his eyes closed, tears coursing down his face. Without a saddle, his long legs hung limp, he sported neither boots nor cap. The Earl of Mercia, moaning as he rode, wore no tunic or leggings, no cloak or vest. He was naked as he was born.
"Sweet Godiva," he cried aloud, though he addressed the air, not me. "Forgive my sins. Forgive my grievous sins."
Before we lost Nayla, I had lain beside my lord. I had even found the battle scars on his shoulder and waist, had run my fingers over their toughened edges, and, yes, placed my lips there once to heal old wounds. But never had I met his body in the sunlight, seen how small and vulnerable it was against the great sky.
I ran to him and took his hands in mine. "I forgive you, my dear," I told him. "And ask only that you do the same for me."
Leofric trembled at my touch. Through his tears, he studied me as if I were a queen, an angel, Mary Herself. "I thought you drowned," he said. He slipped from the horse and knelt before me, his arms around my knees. "I thought you lost."
The sight of my husband at my feet, his pale shoulders and the small, tender bone at the base of his neck, overwhelmed me. All the fine speeches I had practiced on the way home flew out of my head.
"Do not go," he said. His voice was a whisper like