Chapter Four: The Price of a Life
Veronica woke slowly. I didn't know a body could hurt this much. Everything throbbed, and her head felt as if it had shattered into a million pieces. She tried to move her hand and found she couldn't. Something--or someone--held it, and the pins-and-needles feeling was suppressed by a warmth she somehow felt to the depths of her soul. "Ned?" she croaked weakly.
A flurry of movement beside her confirmed the identity of her sentinel. "Veronica?" he asked incredulously. He met her gaze and Veronica was startled, pained, and deeply touched to see his red-rimmed eyes brimming with joyful tears. "Veronica! Thank God!" Ned's brilliant smile greeted her warmly. I would wake up to this every morning, if it didn't hurt so much! "How do you feel?"
"Like a pack of raptors ran over me." Veronica managed a weak smile for him, before memory hit her like a blow. "Oh God! Roxton!" She surged forward, only to be restrained by Ned's gentle hands.
"Easy, Veronica. He's just fine. Beat you up by a full two days. He's with Marguerite--and Elaine."
The jungle girl missed his last comment. "Two days? How long have I been out?" she demanded.
"It's been four days since your hunting trip, Veronica. You gave m--us quite a scare. We thought we'd lost you," he told her, his voice breaking at the last. She turned to look him full in the face, noticing for the first time his unkempt and haggard appearance. The blue eyes of his she loved so much held shadows even in his relief and joy, and there were dark circles beneath them. Oh, Ned! I'm so sorry.
"Well, everything's better now, isn't it?" At his hesitation, she looked at him in surprise. "Isn't it?"
"Yes, of course it is. Everything's fine, now that you are." Veronica fixed him with a calm gaze, knowing he could never lie convincingly. It was one of the many things she loved about him and it was both a blessing and a burden. As predicted, Ned looked away first.
"Tell me," she commanded gently.
"It's Elaine," he confessed.
"Elaine?"
"The girl," he told her distractedly. "We don't know what's wrong with her. I...Marguerite found her in here, on the floor, unconscious. She hasn't woken yet, and Challenger's tried everything. Marguerite simply traded one bedside for another, and Roxton...he hasn't left either of them, now that he's on his feet."
A thousand thoughts raced through Veronica's mind, but only one question popped to mind. "In here? Marguerite found her in here?"
To her surprise, Ned's face crumpled. His eyes met hers, and the guilt and self-loathing she saw in his blue eyes pained her. "Yes!" he practically shouted. "She found her in here, not three feet from me! The morning after, Marguerite went to get more salve for Roxton and stopped to check on you. And Elaine was there, lying on the floor, as she must've been all night! She was hurting while I slept on, oblivious! She could've been crying out for help, and did I hear? Did I help? No, I slept! Slept!" His self-condemnation brought tears to her eyes and she reached for his hand. He flinched at her touch, turning away.
"Ned, look at me." When he refused, she reached out for him, but she had overestimated her own strength. Her hand fell limply to her side and Veronica cursed her weakness. She had only her words to convince him of his worth. "Ned, please."
"How could I have been so careless? We should've come after you. But I stayed, chatting over dinner while you were fighting for your life! If it had been Roxton in the tree house and Marguerite out hunting, he would've been out searching the moment dusk fell. But no, a simple reporter's no substitute for the great white hunter. Roxton would have caught Elaine as she fell, but me? I didn't even notice her, until Marguerite screamed. I never should have come on this expedition. Even three years on the plateau can't make me into even half an adventurer." The words spilled out of him like water from a tipped glass, bitter and cutting.
His haunted eyes met hers and Veronica looked at him in stunned amazement. After all this time, how could he think that they didn't appreciate him, need him? How can he say that coming to the plateau—meeting me—was a mistake? Though Veronica knew his words were likely meaningless, a blind strike at the world, they still pained her. "Can you really say that, Ned? That you shouldn't have come, shouldn't have met me, shouldn't have saved our lives time after time?"
"You'd all have been better off without me. Especially you, Veronica. You...you deserve better." Ned's voice, though shaky, was sincere.
"How can you say that, Ned? After all the times you've saved us? Roxton may be our 'protector,' but it's you who keep our spirits up. Your stories, your jokes, your cooking--they help us survive just as much as Roxton's shooting. We're a team, Ned, a family. Why do you think Marguerite's still here? The others could no more imagine life here without you than I can." Suddenly realizing the implications of her words, Veronica fell silent. Suddenly she could feel Ned's eyes upon her, burning in their intensity. He's waiting for my answer to a question he hasn't asked.
Veronica steeled herself. He needed this. She needed this. It had come to a head, over three years, and the words could no longer go unsaid. "I...I don't ever want you to leave, Ned." There was so much more to say, to tell, but somehow the words wouldn't come out. And yet everything had been said. So, heart pounding, she looked up to meet Ned's gaze.
And saw her future in his eyes. "Then I won't be going anywhere," he said simply. Veronica didn't have time to think of the promise in his voice, nor the joy in his eyes, for suddenly his lips were on hers, gentle and sweet, and all thoughts fled her mind as her pain gave way to joy.
The watcher dropped the cloth door to Veronica's room and stepped back silently. Spying wasn't his intent, but he thought discretion preferable to interrupting the mood. All was well in the east wing of the tree house--if only it could be so for the west. Little Elaine lay comatose in Marguerite's bedroom, where a strangely reticent and protective Marguerite hovered.
Since he'd woken two days ago, Roxton had been stiff and sore, but whole. The same could not be said for Marguerite, who looked like a pale wraith of her once vibrant self. She had to be reminded to eat and forced to sleep. Even after he'd first woken, groggy and pained, Roxton had seen the relief and distress warring in her eyes. He'd pressed her for a reason, but Florence Nightingale that she was Marguerite had denied it and ordered him to bed. It was the haunted, pleading look in her eyes that prompted his obedience, rather than her words.
He was on his feet the next morning, though Challenger's briefing on the situation knocked the wind out of him again. Veronica gravely wounded, the girl unconscious, Ned and Marguerite sick with worry. At least Veronica is safe now. The jungle girl's plight had shaken him. If she had died because of me... but Veronica hadn't. She was going to be fine, and she was finally in Ned's arms. Looks like Neddy-boy finally got around to getting it straight.
The scene upon entering Marguerite's room pained him. His lady sat on her bed, gently holding the girl's hand, immobile. It was like a picture of a death room, still and dark. Roxton gently placed the tray on the bedside table. "Veronica's woken up, Marguerite. She's going to be all right."
Marguerite turned at his news, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. "Thank God," she said fervently.
"I've brought you lunch. You should eat something. You've not eaten yet today."
"Thank you, John, but I'm not feeling very hungry right now. Perhaps later," she replied softly, turning back to face Elaine.
They stayed like that for some time, Marguerite hovering over Elaine's bedside, Roxton standing protectively behind them both, before Challenger's call broke into the silence. "Roxton! I need your help."
Roxton squeezed Marguerite's shoulder gently and turned to leave. "Call me if you need anything, all right?"
But Marguerite, sitting still as a statue, didn't respond.
"Marguerite?"
"We'll be fine. Help Challenger."
Knowing there was naught he could do to help his love, Roxton did as directed.
Marguerite knew Challenger could do nothing; he was as mystified as the others as to Elaine's condition. Her heart ached. Veronica's health cheered her, but Elaine's plight plagued her every thought. The child had captured her heart. It was both amusing and terrifying that this wisp of a child could win her affections in under a week when it had taken Roxton three long years, and she still was somewhat hesitant with him. And to have little Elaine, so bright, so vibrantly full of life, dying on her bed of some unknown affliction because of her own incompetence as a guardian was worse than the guilt of all the deaths she'd caused in the Great War.
Elaine's little breaths seemed to grow shallower by the minute, her pulse weaker. The child gave one last little sigh, and then went still. For a moment, Marguerite froze; neither breath nor heartbeat escaped her. Then, at first one, then another silver droplet slid slowly down her cheek, wetting Elaine's cooling hand. Suddenly, it was a torrent Marguerite couldn't stop.
Her heart had shattered into a million fragments, long after she had sworn to herself never to allow it to happen again. The pain was sheer torture, as if a thousand daggers of ice had stabbed her. Roxton got himself into scrapes, but Marguerite had faith that he'd always get himself out of them--with her help, of course. And however much he loved her John didn't--couldn't--belong to her. Lord John Roxton could never belong to a no-name orphan. But Elaine, little Elaine had been hers, body and soul. There had been no one else there for her, after all, but Marguerite knew instinctively that the girl did--no, had loved her.
It was unbearable. Within the confines of her mind, Marguerite screamed out her grief, and felt something inside her snap. Then, from somewhere deep within her it rose again...the ancient melody was no longer a protection against flames, but a bridge between souls. She sang on and on, lost in the melody, calling, beseeching, demanding, and pleading for the return of the child that a part of her had recognized the instant they had met. The room brightened with an unearthly glow, and Marguerite's hair began to blow in an unseen wind. Marguerite noticed none of this, lost in a storm of song and sorrow.
In the far recesses of her mind, she revelled in the power flowing through her. It was as if she were standing in the eye of a hurricane, bending the forces of nature to her will. Light exploded in her mind, and without warning Elaine appeared before her, dressed not in her blue gown, but in the beautiful costume Marguerite had seen her wear in a waking dream. Marguerite reached out one glowing hand to her, and the moment their fingers touched, she felt the power rushing out of her. Pain and exhaustion battered her, but she couldn't seem to draw her hand away. Suddenly, it was over, and Marguerite collapsed on the bed, barely conscious.
Roxton burst into Marguerite's room, fear making his heart race. He'd been helping Challenger and Malone tend to Veronica when he'd heard the first few notes of the song. Not truly knowing what he was doing, he rose as if in a trance, never noticing that neither Malone nor Challenger had moved at all. The haunting tune had seemed vaguely familiar, but the heart-wrenching pain in the song struck chords within his heart. He had been unable to deny its call, his body moving of its own volition until abruptly, the music stopped. Realizing instantly that he was but a few feet from Marguerite's room, a wild fear rose in him and he dashed for the door.
Marguerite lay limply next to Elaine, her dark curls spilling over the girl's blonde ones. Rushing over to the bedside, he gathered her into his arms, desperately trying to wake her. "Marguerite! Marguerite! Wake up, love! Marguerite!" Checking her pulse, he was utterly relieved to know she lived. "Marguerite!" Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. "Thank God!"
Malone and Challenger came barging in next, drawn by Roxton's shouts. "What's wrong? Roxton? Marguerite?" Challenger demanded.
As Malone and Challenger looked on in confusion, Marguerite abruptly freed herself from Roxton's grasp and turned to face the girl, shouting at her in a language they didn't recognize.
Roxton instantly understood what had happened and looked down at Marguerite in alarm. Worried by Marguerite's denial of the situation, he tried to draw her away from the bedside, but she fought him off in a frenzy. Gently shaking the girl's shoulder, she called to her again in a language the hunter found vaguely familiar.
His heart aching for her, Roxton gathered her into his arms again despite her struggles. "It's all right, Marguerite, it's all right."
"Let me go! I--" Marguerite's protestations were abruptly cut off at the sound of movement from the bed.
"Marguerite!" a young voice called. The lady whirled about and assisted the girl weakly trying to sit up. The men stood about, astonished and confused. Marguerite, overcome by emotion, kissed the child's forehead gently.
"Welcome back, little one," Marguerite said softly, trying to settle the girl back onto the bed.
But Elaine would not be deterred. The girl looked straight at Marguerite, and Roxton noted to his surprise that her eyes were now green. "Marguerite! I remember everything now. I am to ask you to come with me. We need you in Avalon, my lady," Elaine told Marguerite urgently, her voice no more than a whisper.
