As Good as Gold Read online

  “But she did that,” interrupted Daywen. Her gaze rose to Bel, then back to Bel’s mother. “Does that mean...?”

  Bel’s mother nodded. “Who was it, lass?”

  One glance from Daywen in Bel’s direction answered that question.

  Bel’s mother put her hands on her chair’s arms and pushed herself to standing with much effort. Bel hastened to help his mother.

  “You are unwise to go against the fates, Belenus Doran Eamonn MacEuros. You would never ha’ known about the gift if it hadn’t worked on ye.” She shook a finger at him. “Aye, I know it did, by the look on ye face. Is gold more important than happiness?”

  Bel sighed. Yes, gold was important. Money was important. Most of all, comfort was important. “I don’t want to be poor.”

  “Well, you are,” said his mother. “You’re the best-dressed, best-fed, poorest man I know, Belenus. I am sorry that I gave ye the gift.” Her scowl softened. “I am also sorry that I impoverished myself, for I see it affected ye more than I thought.

  “I was a fool to think that our love was enough for ye, as it was for ye father and me. Perhaps we loved ye too much, and, not wanting for it, ye fail to realize just how valuable love is.”

  Bel’s mother shook her head. “But I made my choice, and for that I am not sorry. But it pains me to see ye make a worse choice than I by not choosing at all.”

  “Mother...” Bel did not like the place she was putting him in. Why did his heart have to ache?

  “But I don’t even know her!” he complained, gesturing towards Daywen with an open hand. “I only met her today.”

  “Ye cannot love someone until after you’ve met them.” She lowered herself back into her rocking chair by the fire. “Now ye have met her -- what are you going to do next?”

  Bel folded his arms. “I’m not going to do anything.” He frowned at his mother.

  They both turned to the sound of a slammed door. Daywen had fled.

  “Go after her, ye great dolt!” his mother insisted.

  Bel shook his head, trying to dislodge the aroused itch. “Why should I?”

  “Oh, ye are a fool, my son, to risk the wrath of a woman.”

  ****

  Daywen couldn’t make it to the garden gate before she collapsed to the ground amid her shattered dreams. “How stupid am I?” she berated herself. Why did she ever put her trust in Alishandra? She was a gypsy and gypsies were outcasts for a reason. She had made a fool of herself at least twice today, three times, if one counted Widow MacEuros.

  She curled herself around her broken heart and gave herself over to grief. When night came, the day would not be over. It would never be over, because Lachlan would no doubt blather about her foolishness in the pub over a pint, and the name of Daywen Athalia would be penned down next to the name of her sister Lannyn as a woman driven bitter and mad, and the whole family would have to hang their heads in shame.

  “Daywen.” Bel’s voice sent a shard of glass through her heart--as if it wasn’t broken enough already. Her hand closed around a nearby rock and she pushed herself to her feet, wiping her tears away with her other hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She threw the rock anyway. It flew through the air, straight and true, and would have struck him had he not caught it.

  “Sorry? Sorry?” she shrieked. “Do you have any idea what it is like to be rejected before ye even get a chance to ask?” Her eyes searched for another rock to throw. “Not that I was planning on asking, because I wasn’t. I’d already made a fool of myself in front of one man today. I certainly wasn’t going to do it again in front of another.”

  Her words came tumbling out so fast her tongue tripped over them. “And if I was, I didn’t get an opportunity.” She pointed at him, her finger drawing a bead between his eyes. “Ye chased me down. Ye dragged--no, ye carried me to the smithy. Ye stole my faerie, embarrassed me twice in front of Lachlan, kissed me and blamed it on your mother’s blessing, set a gnome on me--”

  “I didn’t set the gnome on ye,” he interrupted. “He doesn’t care about ye, nor me. All he cares about is the gold--”

  “Just like ye. Ye and your gold. Through your selfishness, ye’ve ruined the rest of my life.

  “I hate you, Belenus MacEuros.”

  “Please don’t say that,” he replied, his voice pleading. “It hurts.”

  Hurts. Hurts? “Oh, I will show you what hurts!” she screamed as she launched herself at him.

  He tried to sidestep her, but Daywen’s tackle struck true. Down they went, Daywen jarring her shoulder against his ribs. Oh, she wanted to drive her fists into his face! She tried to push herself up, but Bel wrapped his arms about her. “Daywen, stop!”

  “No!” Must he hold her so tight? She wriggled against his stronger grip.

  “I’m sorry,” he said into her ear. “Please believe me.”

  “Why should I?” she spat back. No matter how hard she pushed against him, she couldn’t free herself from his arms. She could feel him inhaling the scent of her hair. “Don’t you dare kiss me again, especially if ye don’t mean it.”

  He seemed to wilt beneath her. “It seems I cannot win. I cannot walk away, and I cannot stay. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Ye can let me go for a start, and then I am going to beat ye senseless and flay the skin from your bones. I am going to cut ye liver up into tiny pieces and feed it to the fish of the sea. Then I shall see if I can find ye tiny, shriveled heart and then...” What was she going to do with it? “...and then...”

  “And then you can put on a string and wear it around your neck always. I confess I have put it to poor use. Perhaps ye could do better with it?”

  Daywen didn’t know what to say. She wished he would let her up.

  “My mother is right. I have been a fool.” His voice fell right into her ear. “I’ve gotten meself into a right mess. I know me mother meant well, and as for ye...”

  “Go on,” she challenged. “Say it!”

  He hesitated. “No, I don’t think I will. Like you, I’ve made enough of a goose of meself for one day.”

  He released her and she pushed herself upright. Before she could gather herself together enough to carry through on her threats, he sat up and put his arms around her once more.

  Daywen, now that her anger had subsided somewhat, became aware of her surroundings and the compromising position she was in. Here she was, out in public, straddling the lap of a man she was not married to.

  “And so I find meself with a terrible fate,” he said. “I am doomed to follow a woman who haunts my thoughts--and who wears my cold, shriveled heart about her throat--but she hates me so much that she will pursue me to the ends of the earth just so she can be sure that my final moments are ones of great agony.

  “And every time she cries, my soul aches with the pain of it. I knew the joy of love, for I realize, far too late, that my parents loved me. I never thought it would have to hurt as well.”

  Widow MacEuros’ voice rang out from the doorway. “Of course it does, you daft boy. Every woman knows that. Right, Daywen?”

  Daywen looked up, surprised to be addressed by the widow. Then she frowned at Bel. If only she could get him to release her. “If this is how it’s supposed to be, I think I prefer to go back to the pinch of loneliness.”

  A wave of pain crossed Bel’s face. Did he really feel her agony?

  He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, then pulled her face in for a tender kiss. Daywen resisted and he didn’t insist. Instead, he laid his forehead against hers. “Don’t say that. Give me a chance. I’ll not be able to live otherwise.”

  Daywen had to mull this over. Then her realization that she had to mull it over bemused her. When she decided she needed the Enchanted Faerie, what did she think was going to happen? Did she think that the faerie would bloom in her many colors, and the man--whoever he was--would be suddenly smitten and sweep her off her feet to a happily ever after of bliss?

  What did she
expect?

  Now that she thought about it, a hundred gold could have kept her spinster self in a great deal of comfort for a very long time. Yet when it came down to it, she would never have stolen the gold for herself.

  But she did steal it for the sake of love.

  She wanted love. Her heart wanted Belenus MacEuros. She saw how he treated his mother, the little things, like how he had laid his hand on her arm when he spoke to her, the way he moved to help her up without a second thought. This was a good man. He loved his mother. But he didn’t love her.

  Daywen pushed herself to her feet and stepped back. She turned and walked to the gate. Bel scrambled to his feet and dragged at her arm.

  “Please,” he begged. “Don’t go away. What do ye want?”

  She looked back at him but didn’t pull her hand away. “I want...” She looked down at his hand clutching desperately to hers, but he didn’t let go. “If it wasn’t for the faerie, I’d walk away from ye and never look back.”

  Pain wrinkled his brow.

  “A woman doesn’t like to be rejected, and that is exactly what ye’ve done the whole time I’ve known ye.

  “But,” she continued. “I will trust that the faerie guided me true, and I will give ye one last chance.”

  She jerked her hand out of his grasp then offered it to him again. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Daywen Athalia. Nice to meet ye.”

  He took her hand in a warm clasp. “Hello. I’m Belenus MacEuros. It’s a pleasure to meet ye, lass.” He stepped closer and stroked her face again, cupping it gently in his hands.

  In his eyes, she read relief, a touch of guilt and a promise. His lips parted, and her heart thumped. Was he going to kiss her?

  But no. “Have ye met me mother?”

  His arm slipped about her waist and together they walked back towards the house.

  A word about the author…

  Heidi Wessman Kneale is an Australian author of moderate repute. By day she works computer miracles for the local library. The wrest of the time she writes books and wraises babies. Find her on LiveJournal:

  http://hkneale.livejournal.com

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

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