Chapter Five: In the Dark of Night

“Merimac!” Saradoc growled the name into the darkness. The grey figure that had walked up and down the road halted and turned. Saradoc could see the light of the moon reflected in the eyes as they watched him before the figure heaved a heavy sigh, trotted to his side and plopped to the ground.

“Are you not nervous?” Merimac asked and Saradoc looked at the sky. It was the hour after sunset and the moon was not yet high. If the Breelander was true to his word the donkey should be here any moment. He turned eastwards, but the road was empty and still. Night brought a brooding silence to all of Buckland. Doors had ever been locked east of the Brandywine, but this year brought another shadow, a fear that was stronger than that of the Old Forest.

“How do we know he will come?” Merimac wondered when Saradoc made no reply.

“We don’t.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Merimac continued and shifted uneasily.

“We don’t,” Saradoc repeated and leaned back against the tree. Immediately, Merimac got up, brushed the dust from his trousers and started off to the other side of the road. Saradoc closed his eyes and sighed. “Please, Mac, stop fretting.”

Merimac turned, a barely noticeable figure in the dark, and – Saradoc furrowed his brow and tilted his head – was he actually smiling? “I’m not, but unlike you I can’t laze about. My feet are restless and so is everything else within me.”

Saradoc chuckled involuntarily. “And you really wonder where Bluebell got it from?”

“I never did,” Merimac said, but the smile vanished from his face. “I just wish she’d take more after Mantha. It would be so much easier. Berilac and Nel distract her well enough, but don’t think I don’t know she regards me as the root of all evil.”

“She’s a tween, or going to be one soon,” Saradoc consoled. “You regarded our father the same way when you were that age.”

“Not with that much contempt,” Merimac replied and chuckled as he shook his head. “If she came face to face with a ruffian she wouldn’t hesitate to hand me over.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Saradoc said and was suddenly glad they were out here tonight. A pint of ale and a pipe were all that were missing now and he would almost feel as if he were back in the old days, when an evening out was all that was needed to be at ease with himself and the world.

“Perhaps I am,” Merimac said and stretched his back. “Perhaps I’m just too exhausted to even care. I just wish I could allow her more freedom. It would quench that fire and would do me a world of good as well.”

“A break would be nice,” Saradoc agreed, “and perhaps tonight is the first step into the right direction.”

“If he shows up,” Merimac nodded and as if in answer to his words they heard the soft clapping of hooves on the road.

They straightened and their hands moved reflexively towards the hilts of their knives. Saradoc squinted into the darkness, silently regretting that he had not brought a lantern. He only spotted the lone beast when it was almost on them, a small but well-fed donkey, walking at a leisurely pace and looking rather lethargic. Saradoc smiled at his brother. “Luck has not yet abandoned us.”

Merimac beamed at him and together they hastened to unload the animal and take home the prize for their patience and strain.

~*~*~

The Bucklanders were as busy as ever they had been at the beginning of Halimath. The sun burned down from the sky as they laboured, some scything the meadows around Brandy Hall, some harvesting in the expanded kitchen gardens and others cutting firewood for the winter. Saradoc wiped the sweat from his brows and stretched his aching back. He had helped to turn over the drying grass in the north of Brandy Hall even though they had more helpers than land to work on. He needed to keep himself occupied.

Saradoc took his water skin from the shadow of a tree and had his fill as he slowly walked towards the pony paddock. Berilac stood inside the paddock with a brush and a small bucket. His nephew had recovered well although he was thinner than he used to be and would bear a scar until the end of his days. Bluebell sat in the lush grass, her legs hidden under a crimson skirt. Her long dark hair was braided in two pigtails and a straw-hat with an overly broad rim protected her from the heat. Saradoc first gaped, then chuckled at the sight of the hat. He had thought the ugly headdress long gone. After all, in his tweens, he had threatened his brother often enough to burn it. Unbelievable that Merimac should have kept it all these long years only for Bluebell to find it.

“Nice hat!” he greeted his niece and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

“I found it in the very back of mother’s wardrobe only yesterday,” she informed him, shining eyes looking up at him from under the rim. “I never saw her wear it. It’s not her style at all.”

“Not quite,” Saradoc agreed with a smile that turned into a full-grown grin as he pictured Adamanta with the hat. Beside him, seated on a wooden box and looking across the paddock Merimac shook with silent laughter.

“Who’s next?” Berilac asked and greeted Saradoc with a nod of his head. Bluebell immediately turned her attention back to the task at hand. On her lap was a wooden board on which she kept a list of the current steeds in the stables. She read out one of the numbers, along with the pony’s details and Berilac nodded. “Tick that one off. I’ll go and find him.”

With that he disappeared among the ponies while Bluebell carefully dipped a feather in a tiny ink-bottle and added a cross in front of the pony’s details.

“It’s not the same,” Merimac informed him quietly. A leather case lay on his lap, equipped with several knives of various lengths. Merimac studied them intensely, watched their glistening blades in the sunlight and carefully separated sharp from blunt ones. “The one I had started to smell after a couple of years so I threw it away. This must be the one I got myself when I visited Adamanta for the first time. She must have kept it.”

“I wonder why,” Saradoc said and shook his head. “I can’t believe you actually paid to have another of these…” he made a vague movement with his hand and smiled when Bluebell looked up at him.

Merimac chuckled as he took the knife grinder and set it to work on his butchering tools. “It’s not that bad.”

“Well…” Saradoc started but he never got to finish his sentence. Cousin Marmadoc came running towards him from Brandy Hall and called his name in breathless gasps. Saradoc’s heart skipped a beat as he straightened himself and prepared for the worst. Merimac, too, stiffened and looked anxiously at their cousin, but Marmadoc only smiled.

“You keep yourself well hidden,” he said breathlessly. “Esmeralda wants you. You have a guest and,” his grin broadened, “from the looks of her I think the girl brings better news than we had in months.”

******

Only moments later Saradoc hurried into his study. Esmeralda already awaited him at the door, a wide smile on her face. Saradoc furrowed his brow in confusion but did not get a chance to wonder what made her so happy for he noticed that there was indeed a guest waiting for him. A young girl, no older than twenty-five, jumped up from her seat and curtsied the moment she saw him enter.

Saradoc smiled. “Please, there is no need for that. Make yourself comfortable. Can I offer you anything?”

“No, sir,” the girl replied in a timid voice and blushed to the tip of her ears. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“How may I help you?” Saradoc wondered as he walked to his own chair. Only then did the girl dare to sit down as well, though she fidgeted nervously.

“My name’s Poppy, sir,” she said and lifted her head shyly to look into his face. “Poppy Tunnelly. My father sent me here because he thinks we have news that has not yet reached you.”

She smiled then and it seemed to lighten her entire freckled face. Her green eyes sparkled like grass on a dewy morning and her red curls glistened like flames. “He asked me to bring you this.”

To Saradoc’s amazement the girl lifted a huge straw basket onto his desk. It was filled with the finest potatoes, maize, some beans and peas, carrots and celery. Saradoc’s jaw dropped. That was what they had sown on the southern fields! He brought his hand to his mouth in utter disbelief. He stared at the girl who seemed torn between amusement and abashment. “My da has a secret storage cellar where he keeps most of what we harvest, so that the Big Folk can’t find it when they come a-gathering. ‘Tis not ours, though. By right it’s yours.”

“You got this from the southern fields?” Saradoc asked astounded, although he already knew the answer. He reached out his hand, slowly, as if afraid the roots and vegetables might vanish the moment he touched them.

Poppy nodded. “My da and brothers work there all day and though ‘tis not allowed they manage to sneak some stuff away in the evenings when the ruffians get too tired to watch over them. My ma and I work in our own gardens and that’s enough to keep us going, so my da says I should come and bring some here where it is needed.”

“I am very grateful your father thought of us,” Saradoc said and looked at the girl with a mixture of admiration and concern. “However, I am not sure whether to call him brave or foolish to send his girl on such a dangerous journey.”

“It was not easy, but that’s why my da sent me not only with food but also with a message.”

Saradoc smiled and pushed the basket from him. In his excitement he had forgotten that the girl meant to bring him news as well. He sat back in his chair and tilted his head eager to hear what she had come to say.

“My da says that the fields are only watched from the north,” she told him. “He said they are expecting you to come from Brandy Hall if you do come, but if you’d manage to come from the south or from the riverside they wouldn’t even notice.”

For the second time this afternoon Saradoc’s heart skipped a beat and he was left speechless. Often enough he had watched the fields from a distance and had felt the ruffians’ watchful eyes on him. He had thought the fields lost to him, but to learn that there were unguarded paths, that there was a way to reach what he so desperately needed was more than he had dared to hope for. His heartbeat droned in his ears and his mind was in tumult. Different ideas flew at him from every corner of his mind and, unable to stop himself, he grasped at them and mulled them over, even as he stared open-mouthed at Poppy.

“Don’t fight,” his mind told him. “Don’t make them aware of you. Only take what you need and what is yours, but never too much. Don’t make them suspicious.”

“I hope I could help you,” Poppy said when Saradoc kept his silence, and shifted uneasily.

It took him some effort to pull his mind from this new information. His tongue was dry and felt swollen in his mouth. He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the red-haired girl before him. His face, for a moment grim with new determination, softened and the creases in his brow vanished.

“You did more than that, Poppy,” he replied and his voice trembled with emotion. A gush of gratefulness for this young girl and her brave family washed over him. There was courage yet in Buckland, though it lay hidden even to his watchful eyes. He, as their Master, should have known better than to doubt his people. Never again would he allow his heart to discredit them, not if valour could be found in so young a girl. “I’m deeply indebted to you and your family,” he said.

“Not at all, sir,” Poppy quickly shook her head. “My Da says we hobbit kind must stick together, especially in times like these, and that’s true.”

Saradoc smiled and tears glistened in the corner of his eyes. “It is, indeed, and today you have given me more than just news and food, my dear Poppy. You have brought back hope and returned my belief in my kindred and for that I am grateful.”

Poppy did not reply but blushed once again and Saradoc could have embraced her then, so great was his joy and relief.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked unwilling to let her go empty-handed.

She shook her head. “No, sir, just let me go now. It’s getting late and if the Big Folk come gathering and see I’m not home they’ll suspect me.”

“You can’t go alone!” Saradoc interjected.

“I’m not alone,” she said and smiled that sparkling smile of hers. “My brother awaits me at the border to Hall-land and until then I am as safe as can be.”

“I will give you an escort anyway,” Saradoc said and smiled in return. In only one short conversation he had grown to love this girl and he would not see her in danger. He got up and she followed him outside. Saradoc put an arm on her shoulder as if afraid she might be harmed the moment she left his study. To his surprise he found Esmeralda and Merimas already awaiting him. His wife, apparently, had had the same idea and would not see Poppy alone on the road.

They watched her depart from Brandy Hall waving whenever she turned back to look at them. To Saradoc Poppy Tunnelly seemed like a vision from another world, stepped into his to help him out of his gloom and return the hope he had lost weeks before. Beside him Esmeralda breathed lighter too and he did not doubt she already knew much of what Poppy had told him. Saradoc looked down at her, eyes still brimming with tears, and once Poppy and Merimas were out of earshot he flung his arms around her waist and spun her round. Esmeralda screamed in shock and clung to him, but he only stopped when he was dizzy. “Blessed be the Tunnellies!” he cried happily and kissed Esmeralda light-headedly. “May they prosper in Buckland and wherever their feet might carry them!”

Esmeralda tilted her head and kissed his nose. “Tell me everything.”

“Not now,” he said. “You must be comforted by knowing that it was the best news I have had in weeks. Tonight you will learn more. I need to call a moot. Bring them all: Mac, Marmadoc, Marmadas, Seredic… everyone. I need them all. We have important matters to discuss.”

~*~*~

Saradoc winced. The placing of spades, shovels and other gardening tools in the boats was deafening after the stiff silence of this night. “Hush,” he ordered and was answered with several murmured excuses.

It was the second hour after nightfall and the stars glittered above their heads. The moon was a pale white sickle in the eastern sky and for that Saradoc was grateful. He was jumpy enough as it was. Two nights ago he held a moot in the Hall’s largest festival room and this was the plan they had come up with: they had formed two groups of thirty hobbits willing to take the risk. Saradoc led one of these groups, Seredic the other. Every second night they would sneak to the southern fields, dressed in their most unobtrusive clothes and with only their eyes to guide them through the darkness. They would use the boats to float along the eastern bank and once they reached the poppy meadow, they would sneak ashore, walk through the small forest patch east of the meadow until they reached the south-western parts of their crop field. Ten hobbits would then part from the main group and stand watch around them. Should the ruffians draw near to them or should they encounter any other kind of trouble the imitated hooting of an owl was supposed to warn them. They would bring one bag for three workers which they would only fill up to half. The bags would be heavy enough to carry home even then, especially since they had to row upstream too.

“What a song it will make!” Merimac announced as he stepped into one of the boats. “The Crop Raid of Brandy Hall.”

Saradoc stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. Merimac caught his glance and winked. He winked! Saradoc had half a mind to tell him what he thought of such fooleries in a situation like this, but the ripple of quiet laughter that went through his troop stopped him. The gay sound, though hushed, lifted from him a heavy blanket of apprehension he had not been aware of carrying. The oppressive tension that had weighed them down since they had left Brandy Hall loosened and in the gloom Saradoc saw several people straightening as if suddenly relieved from an invisible burden.

Milo clapped Merimac on the back as he climbed into the boat behind him. “I leave the singing to you, cousin-mine, whenever you feel in the right mood for it.”

“As long as you don’t start just yet,” Saradoc said with a sideways glance at his brother as he pushed the boat from the landing stage. “Now, be quiet, all of you. And don’t touch the water. It smells unhealthy.”

Their journey to the fields passed without any troubles. Merimac had put it onto himself to keep everyone’s spirits up and although he could not sing as he doubtlessly would have done under normal circumstances he tried to point out the humour in their situation. Saradoc certainly did not see anything fun, adventurous or even memorable in their doings but he was glad for Merimac’s light-hearted whisperings.

The hobbits knew their way well and though they could see little ahead there was no stumbling and they managed to make their way through the small patch of forest in silence. Saradoc stood at the edge of the forest when the scouts parted from the main group. His heart beat fast and his neck was damp with sweat. Before him the field seemed to stretch endlessly, each stalk of maize a dark shadow against the pale, silver moonlight. A light breeze came up and the long leaves fluttered. Saradoc shivered and took a deep breath. In the distance he could see the yellow lights of lamps moving eerily to and fro. Every now and again they halted and though it was impossible for them to be discovered, Saradoc held his breath. He was aware that all were waiting for his signal, yet he took his time and took in the scenery of his half harvested fields with gloomy eyes.

“I never thought I would ever raid my own field,” he whispered dolefully to no one in particular.

“Well,” Merimac smiled and put his arm around his shoulder. “I’d say the old pilferers are together again. Just imagine you’re after Maggot’s mushrooms.”

“Or Greenhill’s blueberries,” Milo agreed and the two of them earned another round of silent amusement.

“I’d say you stop talking and get to work,” Marmadas said and shoved a spade into Merimac’s hand. “Otherwise the night is over before we even began.”

To that Saradoc had no objection and though his heart already longed to cast aside the mantle of secrecy and declare himself as the Master he had been born to be he set to work in silence and plundered what by right was his.

~*~*~

Days dragged by and Adamanta watched her husband with concern. A new routine had replaced the old: sleep away the morning, get the usual chores done, slaughter ponies, and prepare for another night on the fields. Exhaustion lingered in the air like sickness and though their situation improved most folks’ spirits waned. Merimac, Adamanta noticed, withdrew more and more into his own thoughts again and although he smiled his laughter rarely reached his eyes. The Master’s breeding had been reduced to less than two thirds and Adamanta knew that it tore at his heart to be the one to destroy the work and joy of his lifetime himself. Yet he would not allow Berilac to help, and although he was spent by the time the sun set he went out to work on the fields every second night as well.

Only once had they faced a near discovery during their night raids and ever since they had become even more wary. Many women complained about their husbands being tense after a night out and alert to every sound. Sleep would not find them easily and if it did they tossed and turned and moaned as if facing what they feared every night in their dreams. To Adamanta it seemed that her husband aged a year every day and there was nothing she could do but watch. Her heart ached and her body longed for his warmth and the comfort that Merimac Brandybuck had always been to her from the first day she had come to Brandy Hall. And every night she sat at the window and waited for a new morning and a sunshine that would reach her freezing soul.

It was at one late evening when she was lost in her own thoughts that voices penetrated to her fleeting mind and her heart sank and she hung her head. “Not again,” she sighed and gazed helplessly at Esmeralda who sat next to her and had looked up at the now familiar sound.

“You can’t just lock me up like this! You don’t own me!” It was Bluebell’s voice, shrill and full of frustration and fury.

“I am your father.” The words were pressed through clenched teeth.

“Then you should treat me as a daughter, not as some possession.” It was a challenge that paid no heed to the unmistakable ire in Merimac’s voice. “I need a life and if you don’t allow me to have it I need to take it myself.”

“I want many things as well,” was the hot retort, “an obedient daughter among them, but I don’t get what I want either. Yet, do see me throwing a tantrum?”

“I am not throwing a tantrum!” Bluebell almost spit her denial at her father.

The steps which had resounded through the hallway stopped. Adamanta could all but see Merimac turning around. He would pull Bluebell after him, of course, and no matter how much she stumbled or struggled her wrist was in his iron grip. “Then why have you been screaming loud enough to wake the dead out there?”

“Because you were hurting me and you shouted.” The voice was sullen, almost pained.

“I shouted because I couldn’t hear my voice over yours!” And he was definitely shouting now. Adamanta heaved a sigh and got up. It was time to stop this before it got really ugly.

“It’s not fair!” Bluebell cried out and Adamanta could hear the suppressed tears in her voice. “You get to go out every other night.”

“Oh, yes,” Merimac’s voice turned sarcastic, “and I’m enjoying myself so much while I’m away! Don’t be a fool, girl. I know you’ve got more wits than that, though you have me in doubt when you act like that.”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“Don’t twist my words,” Merimac rolled his eyes in resignation and for a moment, as she stood in the doorway watching the two of them forgetting everything around them in their row Adamanta pitied them both. There was a time when father and daughter had been one heart, one soul, and Adamanta could not even guess whose pain was greater after a fight like this.

Merimac sighed. “Do me a favour and don’t trouble me further. There’s enough on my mind already.”

But Bluebell had no mind for favours this evening. She stood, relentless like her father, gazing unflinching into his eyes. “I look forward to the day I marry,” she said gutturally. “I will move far away from you and live my own life.”

“Mind your tongue, lass,” Merimac answered angrily and the rebuke in his voice was almost as distinctive as his weariness. “It will run away with you and lead you on paths you don’t want to tread.”

“You’re hurting me!” Bluebell screamed and only now did Adamanta become aware that her husband’s grip around the girl’s wrist had tightened further. “Merimac!”

Cold fury flashed in Merimac’s eyes as he spun around and pulled Bluebell close to him. He bent down to her until their noses almost touched and Adamanta stiffened, knowing she should interrupt, but somehow not daring. Berilac’s hand suddenly rested on her shoulder but he, too, kept his silence.

“You don’t care what I think,” Merimac growled, but Adamanta noticed that he loosened his grasp anyway, “so why should I care whether I hurt you or not?”

For a moment Bluebell was taken aback. She frowned. “You’re my father.”

“Am I, indeed?” Merimac was back to shouting. “A moment ago I was just Merimac to you.”

Bluebell’s face was set in both anger and hurt. Her lips were pressed to a thin line, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. She was still face to face with her father and looked up at him with an expression Adamanta only later understood to be a mixture of regret, love and pain. Yet her words were carried by anger alone. “I wish you were. Life would be a lot more enjoyable.”

“Stop it!” Adamanta stepped into the hallway. “The both of you!”

Merimac and Bluebell turned to face her. Both breathed hard and trembled with emotion. Adamanta could also see that there was only a very thin, fibrous thread that kept Merimac from entirely losing his temper with their daughter. His right hand, the one not holding Bluebell’s wrist in a firm grip was half raised and trembled and Adamanta had no doubt that if she had not interfered, Merimac’s hand, for the first time in almost forty years with their children, would have slipped, and for once she would not have blamed him.

“What happened?” Adamanta asked and struggled to remain composed.

“Tobi brought her to me,” Merimac replied with forced calm. “She’s been saddling a pony on her way off, but why don’t you ask her for details?” With that Merimac all but shoved Bluebell from him. “Take her to her room and woe to her if I don’t find her there when I’m back.”

He turned on his heels only to run into Saradoc who had followed him from outside. “Don’t you think you should stay at home for a night?” his brother suggested helpfully, but Merimac only glared at him and shook his head.

“I’ll come with you,” he said and glanced coldly over his shoulder. “Unlike my daughter I know what is at stake.”

Adamanta was surprised to find Bluebell not even trying to retort something. The girl simply turned around and ran down the hallway, past the crowd that had gathered at the various doors. Merimac, too, said no more and just like his daughter he stomped down the other end of the hall. Saradoc followed him with a sorrowful look on his face.

Adamanta wearily closed her eyes and once again found Berilac’s hand on her shoulder. “Shall I talk to her?” the boy asked and Adamanta took his hand and squeezed it gently.

“No,” she answered and met his concerned eyes. “I will do it.”

~*~*~

When Adamanta entered the room she found Bluebell sitting at the head of her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped about them. Long shadows danced on the walls behind her – dark, bent figures, cheerless and miserable. Bluebell’s face flushed and with the traces of tears still visible, shimmered golden in the light of several candles she so loved to light. She stared blankly at the wall unperturbed by her coming.

“Calmed down again?” Adamanta asked tentatively.

Silence; then, in a quiet voice full of surprise and fear: “He meant to slap me.”

Adamanta nodded and slowly advanced the bed. “He would have had every right to.” She shook her head and sighed. “You weren’t just rude, Bluebell. You hurt him more than you can probably imagine.”

The girl didn’t reply, but hugged her knees tighter. “He said he’d tie me to a chair!” The voice was sulky now and Adamanta thought she heard tears lurking at the bottom of it.

She smiled a little as she sat down next to her daughter. “I don’t doubt he would as long as he knew you were safe.” Her deliberately light comment stirred something within her and she frowned. When she spoke again she did so in a hushed voice which was intended mainly for herself. “He is so afraid. I have never seen him that frightened.”

Adamanta shivered unintentionally and wondered not for the first time what exactly happened on the fields and what else Merimac kept secret from her. She knew of occasional skirmishes in the north, but the wounded were few and according to Saradoc, who went there every day, the ruffians regarded those scuffles as an amusing pastime only, something to show the Shirefolk their place. What would happen if those pursuits became serious she did not even dare to wonder.

“I really did hurt him, didn’t I?” Bluebell enquired in a small voice.

Adamanta took a deep breath to clear her mind and faced Bluebell. The girl’s huge eyes – eyes like her father’s – glistened with unshed tears as she looked pleadingly up at her, her brow creased with worry and fear. Adamanta spread out her arms and kissed her daughter’s hair when Bluebell buried her face in her mother’s bosom and wept silently. The girl was so unsettled that the muscles on her shoulders trembled under Adamanta’s soothing fingers.

“I didn’t mean to, but I was so angry I couldn’t stop myself.”

“I know, love,” Adamanta whispered and rocked her gently, “but you have to understand him too. He is a father and fathers tend to be very protective of their daughters. They wish to protect them from anything at any time.”

Bluebell turned to look at her, brow a-frown. “And mothers don’t?”

“They do,” Adamanta assured her with a smile, “but mothers have been daughters once.”

“So you would let me go?”

“No,” Adamanta shook her head. “He might be overly protective at times, but I agree with your father on this. Buckland is no safe place these days and we must not challenge our luck.”

“So we just stay here and rot?” Bluebell’s temper rose again and she drew away to look at her with disbelief. Adamanta meant to interrupt her, but Bluebell went on before she got a chance. “You might be able to do that, but I can’t. And it’s not just me. Asphodel and Primula are getting bored too and it’s not like we would leave Hall-land.”

Adamanta could not help her smile as she watched the light and shadows play with the features of her young daughter’s face and the long, ebony curls that splayed around her shoulders. For a moment she felt she could see glimpses of the beautiful, strong willed girl she was going to be – the pride and worry of her father’s life.

“You are so much like your father, love, if only you could see it,” she said fondly and was rewarded with yet another confused frown. “He aches as much as you to leave those chains behind him again. Only this morning when he returned from the fields he fell asleep rambling on about the wind in his face when galloping at full speed across the hills and the lightness of heart and mind that come with it.” She shook her head and smiled. “He once said to me that there was nothing better in the world than this feeling of freedom. He even took me with him one time.”

“And?” The candle’s light reflected in her daughter’s curious eyes and made them sparkle like pools of water in the sunlight.

Adamanta ruffled her hair and slid back against the wall, lost in memory and a smile on her face. “It was amazing. I can fully appreciate his longing – and yours.”

Bluebell sighed heavily and after a long moment of silent pondering she snuggled close to her once more and rested her head on her bosom. Adamanta put her arms around her relieved to find the trembling of the girl’s shoulders gone. A strange calm settled upon them, a peace Adamanta had not felt in weeks. It warmed her heart and nourished what hopes were left to her.

“Did you ever regret marrying him?”

The question surprised her yet the answer was quickly given. “My father had his doubts. I simply loved him, and I still do.”

Bluebell thought this over for a moment, then hugged her a little closer. “I love him too, but he does drive me mad at times.”

Adamanta chuckled and as she kissed her daughter’s brow she thought to herself: “So do you, my girl. So do you.”

~*~*~

Merimac woke to find he could not move. His body was pressed down by an invisible force that would have crushed him had he had the energy to worry about it. His limbs felt like lead and he was aching all over. He struggled to open his eyes but was unable to. He was tired beyond measure, even more so than last night – or had it been this morning? He could no longer remember. Time had ceased to exist and every day melted into another and with every troubled sleep a month might have passed or a year without his noticing.

Last night had been another close call. Merimac was sure the Men knew they were there but played with them like they played with the guards on the northern border of their refuge. Everyone was afraid and of the thirty that had started this mission in their group only nineteen remained. It did not matter. They could not take much anymore and before this week was over the field would be harvested bare. Between now and then something was going to happen. He sensed it and so did Saradoc. Every evening when they made ready to step into their boats they held brief council whether it was wise to go out again. And each night they went, not because they were not afraid, but because it was the only thing they could do. This was the Bucklander’s way of challenging the Men and before long the counter strike would fall and when it did it was going to be hard and ruinous. The ruffians had turned more aggressive over the past weeks and rumour had it that they would strike to kill when they attacked. Merimac used to silence those voices but he no longer knew what to believe. Weariness had robbed him of reason and common sense. The worst thing was that he knew it. He no longer recognised himself and, in a way, he was glad his daily routine was so entirely different from that of his family. They might not yet have noticed.

Merimac tried again to open his eyes and this time his lids fluttered just long enough for him to realise that he was not alone. His thoughts darted to Adamanta. How long had he been asleep for? Another struggle; and just as he thought he would lose the battle he managed to fight the heaviness of his lids.

Not his wife lay next to him, but Bluebell, curled into a little ball with her nose almost touching her hand on the pillow. Her hair lay in dark strands around her shoulders while her lashes provided an equally deep contrast to the tanned and slightly flushed skin of her cheeks. Merimac felt a painful sting as he watched the girl and listened to her deep and even breathing.

Saradoc’s words echoed in his mind, neither blaming nor supporting him, but with concern at their root. “Don’t you think you overreacted?”

“Overreacted?!” his voice had cut through the nightly stillness outside Brandy Hall like a knife. “What would you have done? What if she were your daughter? You’d overreact as well!”

And then there was Bluebell. “I wish you were. Life would be a lot more enjoyable.”

Merimac closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. His hand reached to gently caress her cheek. Bluebell stirred and mumbled in her sleep. “Can’t you see that I fear for you?” he whispered. “I don’t want to stand helplessly by a second time and lose you the way I almost lost Berilac. Locking you up at home is the only way to prevent that. I need to know you’re safe; you, your mother, your brother and Pimpernel.”

Merimac’s lids had dropped and when he forced them open once more he found Bluebell looking him straight in the eye. His hand froze in mid-movement. Time stood still and silence settled about them. Merimac tried to read her expression but could not bring his mind to focus. Bluebell, on the other hand, studied him with great interest and without difficulty, or so it seemed and Merimac wondered just how much of the tumult inside him she was able to distinguish and understand. He was grieved to see her expression become one of concern, although he could not tell whether it resulted from his lasting silence or from whatever she read in his eyes.

In the end, however, after what felt like hours later, Bluebell crept closer to him and laid her head next to his. He could feel her warm breath on his face when she finally broke the stillness between them. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“Nor did I mean to hurt you,” Merimac replied almost inaudibly.

“I know,” Bluebell nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Merimac managed a small smile and kissed her brow. His lids drooped and with one burden less to worry about he found he could not fight the urge to rest any longer. He drifted into a dreamless sleep even as Bluebell drew the blanket over his shoulder.