The Trees They Do Grow High (part 4/4)
Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 4:36 pm
4xD, AU
Last chapter finally up! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, and I hope all you who read this enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
This chapter takes rather a turn for the angsty, because the song does. Sorry. (Insert noncommital shrug here.) But enjoy anyway.
PS I don?t know Mr. Winner?s (Quatre?s father) first name, so I called him Michael, which is his English voice actor?s name. Also, the advice Quatre gives Dorothy comes from Jane Eyre.
Final disclaimer: see previous chapters. (I?m all disclaimer-ed out.)
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At the age of fourteen he was a married man
At the age of fifteen he was the father of a son
At the age of sixteen upon his grave the grass grew green
For cruel death had put an end to his growin?
The morning sunlight crept over the hills and up the side of the old castle, illuminating the ancient stones and worn battlements. As the sky lightened, the servants began to move about in the lower levels of the manor, preparing for the day. In the upper levels, though, all was still and quiet, although the sunlight was pouring in and filling the corridors and rooms. The early morning sun washed into the master bedroom, but the two figures in the bed slumbered on., and it was not until the sun was well above the horizon that the mistress of the house stirred.
Dorothy awoke with a sigh and stretched luxuriously, reveling in the feeling of having slept late in a comfortable bed. The sun was warm, her parents? old bed was soft, and she had nothing she had to do today- in short, she would be fairly content to stay in bed forever.
There was a sleepy sigh from the space next to her on the bed, and she looked over to see Quatre was still fast asleep, one arm thrown over her stomach, his face so close to her neck that she could feel his breath. The blankets over him had slipped down so she could see most of his bare back, and she blushed a little. Even after everything that had passed between them, she felt slightly embarrassed at being in bed with someone in such a state of undress.
As though he could feel her gaze, Quatre awoke and yawned, then smiled at her sleepily. ?Good morning,? he said quietly, and reached up to kiss her. Dorothy kissed him back, then grinned as he pulled away. ?Good morning to you,? she smiled. Quatre yawned again and lay back down, his head leaning against Dorothy?s shoulder, the hand he still had over her stomach tracing lazy patterns on her side. Dorothy sighed in contentment, feeling a happiness she hadn?t felt in all the years of her childhood.
Her husband suddenly lifted his head to look at her, the hand he had on her stomach apparently reminding him of a question he?d had. ?I forgot to ask you yesterday- did you end up visiting the midwife?? Dorothy grinned and put a hand to her stomach, lacing her fingers with his. There, under their joined hands, was a barely discernible swelling. It was hard to see, but the thickness she felt around her middle was real enough. ?Yes. It?s fairly early to say,? she said happily, ?but she says I seem to be riding high, so it will likely be a boy.?
Quatre?s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely and kissed her again. ?A son,? he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow. ?Our first son.?
Dorothy nodded.. ?He?ll be blonde-? she looked up and down the length of her husband?s body- ?and short.? Quatre made a noise of protest, but Dorothy, grinning, pressed on. ?And you?ll teach him how to ride, but I?ll have to teach him how to use a sword if we ever want him to be any good.?
Her husband cocked an eyebrow at her. ?You think you?re that good, do you??
She grinned in reply. ?I?ll wager he can beat you by the end of his first week.?
?We?ll just see about that,? he told her, returning her smile. He lay back with a contented sigh. ?So what are we going to name him?? he asked. She shrugged, then said jokingly, ?What about Colegrim, after your handsome cous- I mean . . .? Immediately, Quatre?s face appeared in her line of vision, his brows slightly furrowed. Even after so much had passed between them, he was still uncertain about her feelings sometimes, as though he was afraid that she would change her mind about him. Dorothy grinned in fond exasperation and placed her hands on either side of his worried face. ?I?m kidding, you daft thing,? she said, and kissed his nose.
The concern immediately vanished from his face, and he settled back down into the bed, his arms around her and his face laid against her shoulder. ?How about Michael?? he asked, and Dorothy wrinkled her nose. ?That?s a little dull, don?t you think? Why that?? she asked, and felt his arms tighten around her. ?It was my father?s name,? he said softly, and immediately she felt sorry for her words. His father had died when he was eight, and he cherished the man?s memory. Dorothy rubbed Quatre?s back soothingly. ?We?ve still got time to decide on a name.?
Quatre smiled again at her before climbing out of bed and walking over to get dressed, a smile still playing on his lips. Watching him, Dorothy burrowed down farther under the covers to hide her own smile. Life had been idyllic over the last few months. Quatre had always been good natured and kind, but ever since their conversation under the tree, his affection and attention to her had grown by leaps and bounds. She?d thought no one could possibly be happier than he had been the first time she?d said ?I love you,? but he?d soon surpassed his own record. Dorothy was sure she?d never seen anyone more pleased when she?d told him the week before that she was pregnant.
There were a few minutes of silence in the room as Quatre finished dressing. Then, hesitantly, he turned back toward her. ?I received a letter from my uncle,? he said, and Dorothy smiled. ?How is he?? Baron Richard had come to visit them a few weeks previous, and Dorothy felt very close to the old man. He was the only person besides Quatre who knew that she was pregnant, as she was waiting until she was farther along to tell her own family.
Quatre shrugged. ?He is well.? He paused, as though choosing his next words carefully, and Dorothy wondered what it was that he was so afraid to say. Finally, he continued. ?He is worried about the threat of war with your family.? Dorothy stood, surprised, and walked over to grab a dressing gown. ?Why?? she asked, tying the sash around herself. ?What has happened??
?Just the same as always,? Quatre replied. ?The disputes over lands and gold. Someone has been attacking my family?s buildings and men by night, and my uncle fears they may be under Dermail?s hire.?
?My grandfather would never do such a thing,? Dorothy said indignantly. Quatre immediately began to apologize, but she turned away and began to get dressed. In her mind, though, she doubted her own words. She was finally beginning to gain perspective on the state of the real world, and over the last few months had realized that her grandfather was not the saint she sometimes made him out to be. His lies about Quatre over Easter were proof of that.
?It?s all right,? she said to Quatre, who was still apologizing. ?I- I just don?t know anymore.? Quatre kissed her cheek, then took her hand. ?Shall we go down to breakfast??
At that moment, a knock came at the door. ?Yes?? Quatre called.
?It?s Eliza, master,? came the voice of their old housekeeper. ?Begging your pardon, sir, but there?s a group of horsemen approaching. The livery looks like my lady?s family.? Quatre turned to look at Dorothy in surprise; she shrugged to show that she expected no visitors. ?We?ll be right down, Eliza,? Quatre said. He nodded to Dorothy to finish dressing, his face calm, but she saw that he was fastening a scabbard and sword to his belt. Feeling a sudden sense of unease, Dorothy quickly finished dressing, then followed her husband downstairs.
They had scarcely entered the dining hall, where they received all visitors even if it wasn?t mealtime, when the whinnying of horses sounded outside. Then the front door was thrown open and heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. The door to the dining hall opened, and Falkirk, duke of Dermail, entered the room. He spoke no words, but motioned at someone behind him.
The next few moments seemed to pass before Dorothy?s eyes like a vision- slow, surreal, as though time had slowed down. Three armed soldiers bearing the Dermail crest entered the room, swords drawn. Dorothy moved to speak, but before the sound could escape her mouth the soldiers strode purposefully toward Quatre. Her husband moved to draw his weapon, but he was too late, and the tallest of the three soldiers stepped forward and ran him through with his broadsword.
Dorothy watched all this in open-mouthed horror, unable to speak or move. It was like a bad dream, but no matter how she tried she could not wake. Her grandfather saw the look on her face and sighed. ?Casualties are necessary in war,? he told her in a long-suffering voice. ?And war with the Raberbas is imminent. We had to make a statement. This was necessary for the good of-?
?Quatre!? Dorothy gasped, suddenly finding her voice. She ran toward her fallen husband, pushing the soldiers still standing around him out of her way. Quatre lay on the cold stone, his fine clothes growing steadily more soaked with the crimson blood pouring out of the wound in his side. Having grown up around battle wounds, Dorothy didn?t even have to lift the fabric of his tunic out of the way to know that the wound was fatal, and Quatre was going to die.
Falling to her knees next to him, Dorothy grabbed one of his cold hands in both of hers and held it to her face. Quatre stirred and looked up at her tear-stained eyes. ?You can?t leave me,? she whispered, not trusting her voice enough to speak. ?This isn?t fair.?
Quatre smiled at her and spoke in a failing voice. ?Life may not always be fair. We must accept this, or forever live in torment.? He gave her a warm, wise smile she had seen many times before, when he was dispensing words of wisdom. She marveled at him- he lay dying on the ground, and yet his greatest worry was to comfort her. Then his smile softened into a loving look. ?Besides, I?ll never leave you. Not really.?
He raised his free hand, bloodstained and shaking, to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. She smiled shakily at him. ?I love you,? she whispered. ?I love you,? he replied, equally quietly. Then the hand that was brushing her hair out of her face stilled, then fell to his side. Quatre smiled at Dorothy, and then his gaze fell away from her and stared into the distance, fixed on something she could not see. One last breath escaped his lips, and then he moved no more. Dorothy stared in disbelief at his still face, then collapsed on the ground next to him and began to cry in earnest.
Oh the trees they grow high and the leaves they grow green
Many is the time that my own true love I?ve seen
Many is the hour that I?ve watched him all alone
For he?s young but he?s daily growin?
Quatre was buried late that afternoon at the kirk on the hill. Eliza, the old housekeeper, would have waited a bit longer, to invite some relatives and have a proper wake, but Dorothy had her own reasons for wanting it done quickly. The service was quiet and traditional- just what Quatre would have wanted. It was performed by the old priest at the kirk; the same man who both married and buried Dorothy?s parents would now bury her husband.
The kirk was nearly empty- the only people in attendance were Dorothy, the servants from Catalonia House, and all of the locals who could be found at such short notice. All were perfectly willing to attend- in his short time as master of Catalonia House, Quatre had proved himself a kind and generous employer and landlord.
No relatives were invited because the ones who lived closest were all from her side of the family and she suddenly hated them, hated every last smirking arrogant member of the house of Dermail. The duke, of course, didn?t stay long at the castle at all after Quatre died. He tried to talk to Dorothy, who he?d obviously thought still hated her husband and so wouldn?t have minded his death. He followed her around the house for a few minutes, talking incessantly, as she went to get the servants and send for the priest, to prepare Quatre?s body for burial.
Dorothy, of course, didn?t answer, and was very glad when he left. If he?d stayed much longer, she felt sure she would have snapped and tried to kill him with his own broadsword, and then he surely would have killed her. She felt as though she wouldn?t have minded such a death, but she was responsible for another life now. The child she carried was all she had left of Quatre, and she would do anything to keep it safe.
And so she had ignored the duke entirely, feeling that silence was her best defense. To defy the duke was to invite retaliation, but to remain in his good affections was criminal, an unforgivable slight to Quatre?s memory. Until the duke had left, she?d simply carried on, preparing for the burial, not saying a word or shedding a tear. Finally, after what seemed to Dorothy like several years, he finally left, taking his soldiers with him. Dorothy was glad to see him go, and as she watched him and his men disappear over the horizon, she laid a hand on her stomach and whispered, ?He is no longer my grandfather.?
Quatre?s body was laid to rest under the tree in the corner of the graveyard, surrounded by the bodies of Dorothy?s relatives long since dead. It was raining when the stablemen buried him, the clouds obscuring the slanting afternoon sun, for which Dorothy was glad. It seemed fitting that he should be laid to rest in the rain, in the same place where he had finally received what he?d wanted so long- her love. The thought that he had loved her so much made her, for the first time since the duke had left that morning, begin to cry.
The other people around the grave- the priest, the servants, the local farmers- all watched her uneasily, unsure of how to react to the crying woman who had been so hard-hearted and cold just a few months before. There were a few minutes of silence, Dorothy standing alone and crying in the warm rain, and then Eliza approached her tentatively. The old woman placed a gnarled hand on Dorothy?s shoulder, and the proud mistress of Catalonia House promptly threw her arms around the aged servant and began to sob. That broke the ice, and soon all the mourners were surrounding her, embracing her and patting her shoulders and murmuring their condolences.
Nearly an hour later, almost everyone had gone home. Only three figures remained standing at the grave: Dorothy, tears still in her eyes; the old priest, laying a fatherly hand on her shoulder; and Eliza?s husband Hill, the head groomsman, who had stayed up there to make sure the mistress got home safely.
Dorothy stared at the freshly turned mound of earth and the wooden cross at its head, which would be replaced by a proper tombstone as soon as it could be made. The order was already in to the local stone mason. Dorothy had turned in the order and written the inscription herself; although Hill had offered to do it, Dorothy had wanted to do as much as she could for Quatre?s burial.
After quite some time of this, the priest spoke up. ?My dear, I think it is time you went home. We don?t want you catching ill.? Dorothy nodded and curtsied to him. ?Thank you for everything,? she whispered, and he smiled and patted her shoulder. ?That?s what I?m here for, dear.? After he had disappeared into the little house behind the church, her lips twisted into a rueful smile. He hadn?t understood her message; when she?d said ?thank you for everything,? she really meant everything. That was her goodbye.
Back down at the house, Dorothy hurried up to her room, where the bundle she?d packed earlier was waiting on her and Quatre?s bed. It contained, among other things, all the money she possessed, as well as a few sentimental items she?d taken from the house. Also on the bed was a set of peasant?s clothing she?d gotten from the scullery maid. The girl had been willing to give them to her for free, but Dorothy insisted on paying well for them, warning the girl to keep the money hidden from the duke. Dorothy changed into the clothes and grabbed the bundle, then looked once more around the room. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Quatre there, hear his voice, smell him. ?Goodbye,? she whispered, then hurried out of the room.
Only Hill, Eliza, and the scullery maid knew of Dorothy?s plan, and they were all waiting in the kitchen to bid her farewell. They all had a story to feed the duke, about Dorothy?s grief driving her to run away and enter a convent. The duke would be annoyed, but he wouldn?t presume to try to pull her away from a house of God, and so he wouldn?t follow her at all. Dorothy, one hand on her stomach, was glad again that she hadn?t told the duke of her pregnancy. She was not sure he would give up a half-Raberba child so easily.
Hill had readied Hecate, and Eliza and the scullery maid were busily filling her saddle bags with food. When all was prepared, the servants all hugged Dorothy, and Eliza gave her a family broach for luck. Her eyes filled with tears, Dorothy hugged Eliza again, then ran outside and rode Hecate out of the yard, never looking back.
She?d been thinking about where to go and had decided almost immediately on Sandrock Hall, the home of the Raberbas. Baron Richard would take her in. She?d only met the man a few times, but she felt certain that he would not turn her away, especially since he knew she carried Quatre?s child.
She had to hurry if she was to reach Hill?s sister?s home across the border before it became too dark to ride, but there was one thing she had to do first. Urging Hecate out into the darkening, rainy grass, Dorothy pointed the horse toward the kirk. Once there, she tied Hecate to the gate and pulled the item she?d packed especially for this out of a saddlebag, then knelt to lay it across Quatre?s grave. The wooden practice sword looked very odd, laying there on the mound of dirt, but Dorothy could almost hear Quatre laughing in delight at such an offering. ?You were right,? she whispered to the wooden cross, tears beginning to fall again. ?War and hatred can only lead to sorrow.?
As she knelt there, staring at the sword with which she had so often sparred with Quatre, she felt nearly overwhelmed by the maddening senselessness of it all. She was tempted to fall onto the dirt next to him and never rise again, but Quatre?s final words came back to her. ?Life may not always be fair. We must accept this, or forever live in torment.? He was right; she couldn?t live the rest of her life in torment. As she knelt there, she suddenly felt sure she felt his hand against her cheek, and his voice sounded in her ears. ?Besides, I?ll never leave you. Not really.?
With a shaky smile, Dorothy pulled herself to her feet, her tears changing from ones of sorrow to ones of gratitude. She had changed so much, because he had loved her. She hoped he knew that up in heaven. Wiping away her tears, she placed one hand on her stomach. ?It?s time to leave, Michael. Say goodbye to your father.? She stood there a moment longer, then walked back to the gate and mounted Hecate.
She took one last look back at Quatre?s grave, its wooden marker silhouetted against the drizzly sky, and then Dorothy urged Hecate out of the graveyard and vanished into the deepening shadows.
Oh the trees they grow high and the leaves they grow green
Many is the time that my own true love I?ve seen
Many is the hour that I?ve watched him all alone
For he?s young but he?s daily growin?
fin
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Please review, if you feel so inclined.
Last chapter finally up! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, and I hope all you who read this enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
This chapter takes rather a turn for the angsty, because the song does. Sorry. (Insert noncommital shrug here.) But enjoy anyway.
PS I don?t know Mr. Winner?s (Quatre?s father) first name, so I called him Michael, which is his English voice actor?s name. Also, the advice Quatre gives Dorothy comes from Jane Eyre.
Final disclaimer: see previous chapters. (I?m all disclaimer-ed out.)
---
At the age of fourteen he was a married man
At the age of fifteen he was the father of a son
At the age of sixteen upon his grave the grass grew green
For cruel death had put an end to his growin?
The morning sunlight crept over the hills and up the side of the old castle, illuminating the ancient stones and worn battlements. As the sky lightened, the servants began to move about in the lower levels of the manor, preparing for the day. In the upper levels, though, all was still and quiet, although the sunlight was pouring in and filling the corridors and rooms. The early morning sun washed into the master bedroom, but the two figures in the bed slumbered on., and it was not until the sun was well above the horizon that the mistress of the house stirred.
Dorothy awoke with a sigh and stretched luxuriously, reveling in the feeling of having slept late in a comfortable bed. The sun was warm, her parents? old bed was soft, and she had nothing she had to do today- in short, she would be fairly content to stay in bed forever.
There was a sleepy sigh from the space next to her on the bed, and she looked over to see Quatre was still fast asleep, one arm thrown over her stomach, his face so close to her neck that she could feel his breath. The blankets over him had slipped down so she could see most of his bare back, and she blushed a little. Even after everything that had passed between them, she felt slightly embarrassed at being in bed with someone in such a state of undress.
As though he could feel her gaze, Quatre awoke and yawned, then smiled at her sleepily. ?Good morning,? he said quietly, and reached up to kiss her. Dorothy kissed him back, then grinned as he pulled away. ?Good morning to you,? she smiled. Quatre yawned again and lay back down, his head leaning against Dorothy?s shoulder, the hand he still had over her stomach tracing lazy patterns on her side. Dorothy sighed in contentment, feeling a happiness she hadn?t felt in all the years of her childhood.
Her husband suddenly lifted his head to look at her, the hand he had on her stomach apparently reminding him of a question he?d had. ?I forgot to ask you yesterday- did you end up visiting the midwife?? Dorothy grinned and put a hand to her stomach, lacing her fingers with his. There, under their joined hands, was a barely discernible swelling. It was hard to see, but the thickness she felt around her middle was real enough. ?Yes. It?s fairly early to say,? she said happily, ?but she says I seem to be riding high, so it will likely be a boy.?
Quatre?s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely and kissed her again. ?A son,? he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow. ?Our first son.?
Dorothy nodded.. ?He?ll be blonde-? she looked up and down the length of her husband?s body- ?and short.? Quatre made a noise of protest, but Dorothy, grinning, pressed on. ?And you?ll teach him how to ride, but I?ll have to teach him how to use a sword if we ever want him to be any good.?
Her husband cocked an eyebrow at her. ?You think you?re that good, do you??
She grinned in reply. ?I?ll wager he can beat you by the end of his first week.?
?We?ll just see about that,? he told her, returning her smile. He lay back with a contented sigh. ?So what are we going to name him?? he asked. She shrugged, then said jokingly, ?What about Colegrim, after your handsome cous- I mean . . .? Immediately, Quatre?s face appeared in her line of vision, his brows slightly furrowed. Even after so much had passed between them, he was still uncertain about her feelings sometimes, as though he was afraid that she would change her mind about him. Dorothy grinned in fond exasperation and placed her hands on either side of his worried face. ?I?m kidding, you daft thing,? she said, and kissed his nose.
The concern immediately vanished from his face, and he settled back down into the bed, his arms around her and his face laid against her shoulder. ?How about Michael?? he asked, and Dorothy wrinkled her nose. ?That?s a little dull, don?t you think? Why that?? she asked, and felt his arms tighten around her. ?It was my father?s name,? he said softly, and immediately she felt sorry for her words. His father had died when he was eight, and he cherished the man?s memory. Dorothy rubbed Quatre?s back soothingly. ?We?ve still got time to decide on a name.?
Quatre smiled again at her before climbing out of bed and walking over to get dressed, a smile still playing on his lips. Watching him, Dorothy burrowed down farther under the covers to hide her own smile. Life had been idyllic over the last few months. Quatre had always been good natured and kind, but ever since their conversation under the tree, his affection and attention to her had grown by leaps and bounds. She?d thought no one could possibly be happier than he had been the first time she?d said ?I love you,? but he?d soon surpassed his own record. Dorothy was sure she?d never seen anyone more pleased when she?d told him the week before that she was pregnant.
There were a few minutes of silence in the room as Quatre finished dressing. Then, hesitantly, he turned back toward her. ?I received a letter from my uncle,? he said, and Dorothy smiled. ?How is he?? Baron Richard had come to visit them a few weeks previous, and Dorothy felt very close to the old man. He was the only person besides Quatre who knew that she was pregnant, as she was waiting until she was farther along to tell her own family.
Quatre shrugged. ?He is well.? He paused, as though choosing his next words carefully, and Dorothy wondered what it was that he was so afraid to say. Finally, he continued. ?He is worried about the threat of war with your family.? Dorothy stood, surprised, and walked over to grab a dressing gown. ?Why?? she asked, tying the sash around herself. ?What has happened??
?Just the same as always,? Quatre replied. ?The disputes over lands and gold. Someone has been attacking my family?s buildings and men by night, and my uncle fears they may be under Dermail?s hire.?
?My grandfather would never do such a thing,? Dorothy said indignantly. Quatre immediately began to apologize, but she turned away and began to get dressed. In her mind, though, she doubted her own words. She was finally beginning to gain perspective on the state of the real world, and over the last few months had realized that her grandfather was not the saint she sometimes made him out to be. His lies about Quatre over Easter were proof of that.
?It?s all right,? she said to Quatre, who was still apologizing. ?I- I just don?t know anymore.? Quatre kissed her cheek, then took her hand. ?Shall we go down to breakfast??
At that moment, a knock came at the door. ?Yes?? Quatre called.
?It?s Eliza, master,? came the voice of their old housekeeper. ?Begging your pardon, sir, but there?s a group of horsemen approaching. The livery looks like my lady?s family.? Quatre turned to look at Dorothy in surprise; she shrugged to show that she expected no visitors. ?We?ll be right down, Eliza,? Quatre said. He nodded to Dorothy to finish dressing, his face calm, but she saw that he was fastening a scabbard and sword to his belt. Feeling a sudden sense of unease, Dorothy quickly finished dressing, then followed her husband downstairs.
They had scarcely entered the dining hall, where they received all visitors even if it wasn?t mealtime, when the whinnying of horses sounded outside. Then the front door was thrown open and heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. The door to the dining hall opened, and Falkirk, duke of Dermail, entered the room. He spoke no words, but motioned at someone behind him.
The next few moments seemed to pass before Dorothy?s eyes like a vision- slow, surreal, as though time had slowed down. Three armed soldiers bearing the Dermail crest entered the room, swords drawn. Dorothy moved to speak, but before the sound could escape her mouth the soldiers strode purposefully toward Quatre. Her husband moved to draw his weapon, but he was too late, and the tallest of the three soldiers stepped forward and ran him through with his broadsword.
Dorothy watched all this in open-mouthed horror, unable to speak or move. It was like a bad dream, but no matter how she tried she could not wake. Her grandfather saw the look on her face and sighed. ?Casualties are necessary in war,? he told her in a long-suffering voice. ?And war with the Raberbas is imminent. We had to make a statement. This was necessary for the good of-?
?Quatre!? Dorothy gasped, suddenly finding her voice. She ran toward her fallen husband, pushing the soldiers still standing around him out of her way. Quatre lay on the cold stone, his fine clothes growing steadily more soaked with the crimson blood pouring out of the wound in his side. Having grown up around battle wounds, Dorothy didn?t even have to lift the fabric of his tunic out of the way to know that the wound was fatal, and Quatre was going to die.
Falling to her knees next to him, Dorothy grabbed one of his cold hands in both of hers and held it to her face. Quatre stirred and looked up at her tear-stained eyes. ?You can?t leave me,? she whispered, not trusting her voice enough to speak. ?This isn?t fair.?
Quatre smiled at her and spoke in a failing voice. ?Life may not always be fair. We must accept this, or forever live in torment.? He gave her a warm, wise smile she had seen many times before, when he was dispensing words of wisdom. She marveled at him- he lay dying on the ground, and yet his greatest worry was to comfort her. Then his smile softened into a loving look. ?Besides, I?ll never leave you. Not really.?
He raised his free hand, bloodstained and shaking, to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. She smiled shakily at him. ?I love you,? she whispered. ?I love you,? he replied, equally quietly. Then the hand that was brushing her hair out of her face stilled, then fell to his side. Quatre smiled at Dorothy, and then his gaze fell away from her and stared into the distance, fixed on something she could not see. One last breath escaped his lips, and then he moved no more. Dorothy stared in disbelief at his still face, then collapsed on the ground next to him and began to cry in earnest.
Oh the trees they grow high and the leaves they grow green
Many is the time that my own true love I?ve seen
Many is the hour that I?ve watched him all alone
For he?s young but he?s daily growin?
Quatre was buried late that afternoon at the kirk on the hill. Eliza, the old housekeeper, would have waited a bit longer, to invite some relatives and have a proper wake, but Dorothy had her own reasons for wanting it done quickly. The service was quiet and traditional- just what Quatre would have wanted. It was performed by the old priest at the kirk; the same man who both married and buried Dorothy?s parents would now bury her husband.
The kirk was nearly empty- the only people in attendance were Dorothy, the servants from Catalonia House, and all of the locals who could be found at such short notice. All were perfectly willing to attend- in his short time as master of Catalonia House, Quatre had proved himself a kind and generous employer and landlord.
No relatives were invited because the ones who lived closest were all from her side of the family and she suddenly hated them, hated every last smirking arrogant member of the house of Dermail. The duke, of course, didn?t stay long at the castle at all after Quatre died. He tried to talk to Dorothy, who he?d obviously thought still hated her husband and so wouldn?t have minded his death. He followed her around the house for a few minutes, talking incessantly, as she went to get the servants and send for the priest, to prepare Quatre?s body for burial.
Dorothy, of course, didn?t answer, and was very glad when he left. If he?d stayed much longer, she felt sure she would have snapped and tried to kill him with his own broadsword, and then he surely would have killed her. She felt as though she wouldn?t have minded such a death, but she was responsible for another life now. The child she carried was all she had left of Quatre, and she would do anything to keep it safe.
And so she had ignored the duke entirely, feeling that silence was her best defense. To defy the duke was to invite retaliation, but to remain in his good affections was criminal, an unforgivable slight to Quatre?s memory. Until the duke had left, she?d simply carried on, preparing for the burial, not saying a word or shedding a tear. Finally, after what seemed to Dorothy like several years, he finally left, taking his soldiers with him. Dorothy was glad to see him go, and as she watched him and his men disappear over the horizon, she laid a hand on her stomach and whispered, ?He is no longer my grandfather.?
Quatre?s body was laid to rest under the tree in the corner of the graveyard, surrounded by the bodies of Dorothy?s relatives long since dead. It was raining when the stablemen buried him, the clouds obscuring the slanting afternoon sun, for which Dorothy was glad. It seemed fitting that he should be laid to rest in the rain, in the same place where he had finally received what he?d wanted so long- her love. The thought that he had loved her so much made her, for the first time since the duke had left that morning, begin to cry.
The other people around the grave- the priest, the servants, the local farmers- all watched her uneasily, unsure of how to react to the crying woman who had been so hard-hearted and cold just a few months before. There were a few minutes of silence, Dorothy standing alone and crying in the warm rain, and then Eliza approached her tentatively. The old woman placed a gnarled hand on Dorothy?s shoulder, and the proud mistress of Catalonia House promptly threw her arms around the aged servant and began to sob. That broke the ice, and soon all the mourners were surrounding her, embracing her and patting her shoulders and murmuring their condolences.
Nearly an hour later, almost everyone had gone home. Only three figures remained standing at the grave: Dorothy, tears still in her eyes; the old priest, laying a fatherly hand on her shoulder; and Eliza?s husband Hill, the head groomsman, who had stayed up there to make sure the mistress got home safely.
Dorothy stared at the freshly turned mound of earth and the wooden cross at its head, which would be replaced by a proper tombstone as soon as it could be made. The order was already in to the local stone mason. Dorothy had turned in the order and written the inscription herself; although Hill had offered to do it, Dorothy had wanted to do as much as she could for Quatre?s burial.
After quite some time of this, the priest spoke up. ?My dear, I think it is time you went home. We don?t want you catching ill.? Dorothy nodded and curtsied to him. ?Thank you for everything,? she whispered, and he smiled and patted her shoulder. ?That?s what I?m here for, dear.? After he had disappeared into the little house behind the church, her lips twisted into a rueful smile. He hadn?t understood her message; when she?d said ?thank you for everything,? she really meant everything. That was her goodbye.
Back down at the house, Dorothy hurried up to her room, where the bundle she?d packed earlier was waiting on her and Quatre?s bed. It contained, among other things, all the money she possessed, as well as a few sentimental items she?d taken from the house. Also on the bed was a set of peasant?s clothing she?d gotten from the scullery maid. The girl had been willing to give them to her for free, but Dorothy insisted on paying well for them, warning the girl to keep the money hidden from the duke. Dorothy changed into the clothes and grabbed the bundle, then looked once more around the room. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Quatre there, hear his voice, smell him. ?Goodbye,? she whispered, then hurried out of the room.
Only Hill, Eliza, and the scullery maid knew of Dorothy?s plan, and they were all waiting in the kitchen to bid her farewell. They all had a story to feed the duke, about Dorothy?s grief driving her to run away and enter a convent. The duke would be annoyed, but he wouldn?t presume to try to pull her away from a house of God, and so he wouldn?t follow her at all. Dorothy, one hand on her stomach, was glad again that she hadn?t told the duke of her pregnancy. She was not sure he would give up a half-Raberba child so easily.
Hill had readied Hecate, and Eliza and the scullery maid were busily filling her saddle bags with food. When all was prepared, the servants all hugged Dorothy, and Eliza gave her a family broach for luck. Her eyes filled with tears, Dorothy hugged Eliza again, then ran outside and rode Hecate out of the yard, never looking back.
She?d been thinking about where to go and had decided almost immediately on Sandrock Hall, the home of the Raberbas. Baron Richard would take her in. She?d only met the man a few times, but she felt certain that he would not turn her away, especially since he knew she carried Quatre?s child.
She had to hurry if she was to reach Hill?s sister?s home across the border before it became too dark to ride, but there was one thing she had to do first. Urging Hecate out into the darkening, rainy grass, Dorothy pointed the horse toward the kirk. Once there, she tied Hecate to the gate and pulled the item she?d packed especially for this out of a saddlebag, then knelt to lay it across Quatre?s grave. The wooden practice sword looked very odd, laying there on the mound of dirt, but Dorothy could almost hear Quatre laughing in delight at such an offering. ?You were right,? she whispered to the wooden cross, tears beginning to fall again. ?War and hatred can only lead to sorrow.?
As she knelt there, staring at the sword with which she had so often sparred with Quatre, she felt nearly overwhelmed by the maddening senselessness of it all. She was tempted to fall onto the dirt next to him and never rise again, but Quatre?s final words came back to her. ?Life may not always be fair. We must accept this, or forever live in torment.? He was right; she couldn?t live the rest of her life in torment. As she knelt there, she suddenly felt sure she felt his hand against her cheek, and his voice sounded in her ears. ?Besides, I?ll never leave you. Not really.?
With a shaky smile, Dorothy pulled herself to her feet, her tears changing from ones of sorrow to ones of gratitude. She had changed so much, because he had loved her. She hoped he knew that up in heaven. Wiping away her tears, she placed one hand on her stomach. ?It?s time to leave, Michael. Say goodbye to your father.? She stood there a moment longer, then walked back to the gate and mounted Hecate.
She took one last look back at Quatre?s grave, its wooden marker silhouetted against the drizzly sky, and then Dorothy urged Hecate out of the graveyard and vanished into the deepening shadows.
Oh the trees they grow high and the leaves they grow green
Many is the time that my own true love I?ve seen
Many is the hour that I?ve watched him all alone
For he?s young but he?s daily growin?
fin
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