When Fate Dictates

  “Open your eyes woman!” he demanded, tugging harder on the ties of my shirt. Ignoring him, I held them shut and thinned my lips in defiance.

  He slapped me hard across the face and my eyes watered with the stinging of the pain but still I refused to open them. I gasped in agony and my eyes flew open as I felt the full force of his fist in my stomach. I crumpled, held upright only by the arm around my neck. My head fell limply forwards on the blade and I felt the trickle of blood from my throat as the alley swam around me. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back. My shirt front hung heavily, soaked with my life blood as I fought to stay conscious. But darkness closed around me as I prayed that Simon had escaped.

  I heard the murmur of a voice somewhere in the distant echo of a dream. I tugged at my mind, desperate to drag myself from sleep. My arm reached out in the direction of the voice, my fingers stretching to touch its source. I clawed at a tiny hole of light; desperate to break through the darkness and as I did I saw the great highland stag with its silver antlers bending toward me. With the grace of an angel it dropped on its front legs and knelt in front of me. I crawled toward it and pulled myself onto its back and it rose. I held onto its fur as it flew through the air toward the tiny hole of light. I held out my hand to touch the light and the stag burst through the darkness and into the shining brightness of life.

  I gasped two short quick breaths as my lungs sprang back to life. My eyelids flickered and I fought to keep them open. My mouth filled with the bitter taste of blood and I knew what had happened. Reaching for my throat I felt the sticky substance of the wound. I lifted my head from the puddle of blood and stared into Simon’s face.

  “Dear God! Corran, don’t move,” he said, ripping his shirt from his body and pushing it hard across my throat.

  “Simon,” I gurgled as blood filled my mouth.

  “Hush, don’t try and talk.”

  “Simon,” I tried again, turning my head to the side so that the blood could run out of my mouth. “Simon, it’s... alright,” I stammered, “I...don’t know how I know...” I gasped again, fighting for breath. “But I won’t die... not today.” I choked, coughing up some blood to clear my throat.

  I was right; I did not die that day.

  He lifted me silently into his arms and carried me back to the inn, where he laid me gently upon the bed.

  For several hours I drifted in and out of consciousness but eventually my eyes opened and I knew it was over. I reached up to feel the cut in my throat and found nothing but the knot of a long scar. I opened my mouth to speak but Simon held his fingers to my lips.

  “You were right,” he said, his face wearing an expression somewhere between terror and indescribable relief. “I don’t know what happened to you Corran, but the wound has healed and you have lived.” His words were slurred and I realized, as he tilted a flask to his mouth, that he was drunk. “What are you lass?” he asked.

  I sat up slowly and tried to meet his eyes but he turned his head from me.

  “I don’t know what I am Simon,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders and shaking my head.

  “Are you a witch?” he demanded bluntly.

  “I told you, I don’t know what I am but I am no witch.”

  “What just happened to you Corran? That is not natural. You should have died.” He rubbed his forehead as if to dismiss a thought. “Feel the scar Corran,” he ordered.

  I had already felt it and knew the gash had healed. I also knew, as he did, that no man or woman could heal so quickly and that by rights I should have bled to death.

  “I know I should have died, Simon, I know.” My eyes filled with tears as I shook with my own terror and fear of who I was. I reached out for him but he snapped his hand away. “Simon, please don’t be like this. I haven’t done anything. I know no more than you do about what I am or why I didn’t die today,” I pleaded, desperate for him to take me in his arms and tell me that it would all be alright; that nothing had changed and that he still loved me.

  He reached for his coat and made for the door. Fleeing, he slammed it behind him. I sat on the grand bedding of the four poster bed, tears of grief and terror soaking my cheeks. My hands ran over the cool cotton of the sheets, as my mind recalled that only a few hours ago we had made love on them, and my heart broke with the loss of the only man I had ever loved.

  Hours passed and I lay unmoved on the bed, hugging a pillow to my chest. Eventually, when my head ached so much from crying that I thought I would die from the pain, I closed my eyes and slept.

  The moon was high in the sky when I finally awoke. My eyes scanned the darkness of the room, looking for Simon. They found him, slumped on a chair beside the fire. I got up to cover him with a quilt from the bed. His eyes sprang wildly open like a mad man’s as I moved toward him, his hand darting for the dirk. I froze in horror as he stared at me with the eyes of a stranger, the dirk in his hand, the point toward me.

  “If I put this through your heart will you live?” he demanded, his voice slow and slurred.

  I stared back at him, shaking my head.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “I can’t hear you. Answer me, Corran? Will you die?”

  “Simon, please, you are frightening me.”

  “Then answer me, Corran. Tell me. If I stab you with this dirk, will you die?” he said, pushing himself up out of the chair.

  I took a step backwards and he moved toward me. “Why do you want to run from me?” he asked, his teeth clenched in anger. I took another step backwards and felt the wall hard against my back. I could do nothing but watch as Simon moved to tower over me. He lifted his hand and positioned the tip of the blade below my breast bone. I stared at him, frozen with terror. “Answer me, Corran,” he said, his eyes wild and threatening, “or by God I will push this knife through your heart and we shall find out.”

  “Simon, I love you,” I stammered in stunned helplessness. “Without you I don’t care if I live or die.”

  I slid my hand between us and sought the point of the dirk. Slowly, I moved up the metal to cover his hand on the wood of the handle with my hand.

  “If I must go on without you then give me the dirk and I will do the job myself.”

  I felt his hand tense beneath mine, the muscle on the side of his jaw twitched and his eyes finally sought mine again. I met them and held their look.

  “As God is my witness I have no idea why I didn’t die today, or on the mountain or on the moor but if you want me dead, give me the dirk and I will save you the trouble.”

  I released his hand and he stepped back from me, dropping the knife to his side. He sank to the floor and wept like a baby. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, not knowing whether to go to him or leave him be. Eventually, I moved cautiously toward him and knelt beside him, resting my hand lightly on his shoulder.

  “I am sorry Simon, please forgive me?” I whispered.

  He lifted his head slowly to meet my eyes. His face was pale and shallow and dark lines circled his bloodshot eyes. “It is not you that should be sorry. It is me that should be asking your forgiveness.” He stared at me, the wild terror gone from his eyes, replaced by a deep shadow of despair. “Can you ever forgive me?” he asked his voice thin and weak. I leant my head against him, gently stroking the long black curls of his hair.

  “Simon, there is nothing to forgive.”

  “Corran I love you more than life itself.” He straightened and drew me between his legs. I could feel the rhythm of his breath against my back as he wound his arms around my shoulders, folding them across my breasts. “Whatever happened to you today we will face together.”

  I raised my hand subconsciously to the knotted scar on the side of my neck.

  “I meant it, Simon; I really don’t know what I am.”

  “I know.” He kissed the top of my head lightly. “I am sorry for the gambling too. If I had not done it, all this would not have happened today,” he sighed deeply and I felt his lungs expand against me. “Y
ou see I have only ever had myself to look out for and I am sorry for putting you in such danger.” I turned my head to face him.

  “Just what did happen to those men that attacked us?” I asked, suddenly realizing that I actually had no idea what had happened to end it all.

  “Well, let’s just say they were not as fortunate as you when it came to a slash from a knife,” he said.

  There was a brief silence and then I had to ask. “Simon, are they dead?”

  “Do you really want to know Corran?”

  I nodded. “Aye, I do. I need to know Simon. Are we safe now?”

  “Aye, they are dead and for now we are safe,” he paused, lifting one hand to play absently with my hair. “But we must leave at dawn.”

  “Why Simon, what is wrong?” He did not answer me immediately but continued to fiddle with random strands of my hair. “Please Simon, I must know. What’s wrong?”

  “We must leave Corran because it won’t be long before someone comes looking for me. Either for the murder of the men that attacked us or for the gold and money we have.”

  I nodded, bending my head to kiss the arm that was still draped over my shoulder.

  “It will be alright Simon,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze.

  “In fact, why don’t we pack up and leave now? We could be well clear of the city by dawn.”

  His body shook with laughter. I shot round to see what was so funny.

  “What?” I snapped impatiently. “What do you find so funny?” I repeated, through his laughter.

  “We can’t leave now Corran because I am too drunk to sit on a horse.”

  ******

  CHAPTER 11

  I swallowed dryly, attempting to clear the dust of travel from my throat, shading my eyes with my hand against the blinding morning sun; I squinted to clear my view. It returned to focus on an enormous building rising up from within high city walls. Towering, silhouetted against the early morning sun, tarnished and blackened by age, foreboding and intimidating, it shadowed the city with its sheer size and magnificence.

  “Simon, what is that?” I asked, pointing toward the imposing building.

  “At a guess, I would say that’s York Minster.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, staring in amazement at its grandeur. “I don’t think I have ever seen anything like it.”

  “I don’t suppose you have.”

  An expectant buzz of activity and excitement formed around us as we approached York’s city walls. People, animals, carts and cabs bustled, pushed and herded their way toward the arched entrance.

  “Don’t look up,” Simon warned as we got closer to the arch.

  “Why Simon, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong Corran I just don’t want you to see what’s up there.”

  “What’s up where?” I asked, raising my head, just as I had been told not do. “Oh dear God!” I exclaimed as my eyes came to rest on the severed head of a man; speared on a pole, protruding from the roof of the gate to the city. Crows and magpies circled the pole, scavenging off what decaying flesh had not already been pecked at. I felt Simon’s arm tighten around my waist as I swayed slightly in the saddle.

  “Are you alright lass?” he asked gently.

  I nodded, breathing deeply.

  “I told you not to look. Why do you always have to do the exact opposite of what I tell you?” he said, planting a light affectionate kiss on the top of my head.

  “What is it doing there?” I asked, still shaken.

  “I guess someone wasn’t too happy with him,” he replied flippantly.

  “No Simon, seriously, I want to know. Why was that man’s head up there?”

  “Honestly Corran, I don’t know exactly why his head is up there, but if I were to guess though, I’d say he was probably a traitor to the King,” he paused thoughtfully, “Off with his head and set it on York gates, so York may overlook the town of York,” he boomed, theatrically.

  “What?” I asked, wondering if he had taken leave of his senses.

  “It’s the line of a play. Richard Duke of York once had the misfortune to grace Mickelgate Bar.”

  “What’s Micklegate Bar then?” I asked.

  Simon’s body shook with laughter behind me. “Micklegate Bar is the most important gateway into York but the one we are going through now is the grandest, so don’t be thinking that I have brought you in by the pauper’s gate.”

  Eventually we emerged from the arch of Monkgate Bar into a tight, narrow muddy lane, canopied by the overhanging eaves of plastered and limewashed, multistorey buildings, many of which had tiled roofs, chimneys and glass windows. Men, women and children traded from stalls randomly arranged on the side of the narrow road, making progress through the city slow and tedious. The narrow, dark street was overcrowded, noisy, foul smelling and heavily populated.

  “I think we might have an easier time of it without the horse,” I said, turning in the saddle to face Simon. He nodded his agreement, a frown furrowing his brow.

  “Only thing is, I have no idea what to do with the creature.” He pulled gently on the reins, bringing the horse to a halt. I felt him rise behind me as he swung himself off its back. “Come,” he said, holding his arms out for me. I swung my leg over the side of the horse and jumped into his arms. Leading the horse by the reins we picked our way through the streets of the city where the buildings, people and animals crowded in around us. It was a stark contrast to the open wilderness with which we were both familiar and I suddenly felt stifled and panicked. The air was heavy and wet. The smell of rancid waste filled my nostrils and hit the back of my throat. Cupping my mouth and nose with the palm of my hand, I lowered my eyes to the ground, anxious to avoid stepping in the sludge of filth that carpeted the street. Simon’s hand tightened around mine as an old man stumbled and fell heavily in front of us. I stepped forwards to help him, but Simon pulled me back.

  “Leave him be.”

  “We can’t just leave him there Simon.”

  “Corran, you will do as I say.” He tightened his hold on my hand and guided me and the horse around the crumpled form.

  Our progress remained painfully slow as we trudged deeper into the city.

  “Do you know where we are going Simon?” I asked eventually, having spent several minutes wondering silently if Simon had any more idea than I where we were.

  “The place has an address of Langton Lane, but more than that I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t we ask someone?”

  He nodded, smiling broadly. “Oddly enough I had not considered asking for help.”

  “You see asking for help as a weakness?” I asked.

  “I suppose I do. But you are right, we will have to ask where it is, or I think I shall go mad pushing my way through this crowded mess with a horse in tow. Will you wait here with the horse?” He handed me the reins and pointed to a posting house to the right of the street.

  “I’ll ask in there,” he said, striding off toward a large, open, black door.

  I turned and guided the horse off the main path of the street and onto the cobbled courtyard of the posting house. A triangle of daylight shone through a gap in the jumble of roofs overhead and I gaped in awe at the magnificence of the Minster that spiraled and towered through the tangled mess. I felt Percy tug on his reins as he shook his head restlessly.

  “I know you are tired wee one, and I bet you could do with a drink,” I said, noticing an open black gate in the courtyard that appeared to lead to some stables around the back of the posting house. Patting the horse affectionately on his head, I gave a gentle tug at the reins and lead him through the large black gates. A stable lad was busying himself with the grooming of a fine black stallion as we emerged into the stable yard. I smiled at him as he glanced across at us.

  “Any chance of a drink for my horse?” I asked, noticing a trough of water to the side of the yard. He nodded in the direction of the trough.

  The sight of a well in the yard surprised me, as it was
the first one I had seen in the city. Percy, grateful for the find, drank noisily from the trough. I ran my hand down the horse’s mane suddenly feeling deep gratitude to the creature for all he had done for us. Sadness swept over me as I realized that our journey together was at an end and wondered what Simon would do with him now that he had no further need of him. As if summoned by my thoughts, I glanced up to see Simon standing in the gates at the entrance to the yard holding a large jug, which I assumed was filled with local ale. I smiled knowingly across at him as he held the jug up in a feigned toast.

  “Do you know where the house is?” I asked, having managed to extract Percy from the water trough long enough to guide him toward the gates and out of the stable yard.

  Simon nodded, “Oh aye, Corran, that I do,” he said, his voice light and playful.

  “Well where is it then?” I said, impatiently.

  “Seems that we haven’t got far to go. It’s down a snickelway off Stonegate. I was told to keep a look out for a print shop and when I found it I would know where to go.”

  It was a narrow and very dark alley, daylight totally obscured by a ceiling of eaves. The alley opened up into a courtyard and then again narrowed to a longer dark alley. There was no hope of taking Percy as far as the door which was situated at an angle in the wall, midway down the second alley. Simon passed me the key for the door, the jug of ale and the saddlebags and nodded in the direction of the alley.

  “You take this lot and wait for me in the yard. I am going to see what I can do with this troublesome creature.”

  I shot him an accusing look. “Don’t talk about Percy like that,” I said, reaching up to pat the horse.

  “You are a daft woman,” he said, leading the animal away. “It’s a horse, Corran, just a horse.”

  He was not gone long and returned without the horse, sporting a triumphant broad smile.