From the back cover:
A lover's heartbreaking search and the astonishing restoration. The Chataine's guardian, Roman, sees his dreams fulfilled beyond his wildest hopes when the armies invading Lystra are felled by disease and Roman's Commander, Galapos, assumes rulership of the country. Moreover, Roman is reunited with his bride, Chataine Deirdre, who is pregnant with their first child.

But while Galapos is consumed with the task of rebuilding war-torn Lystra, Deirdre allows herself to be lured away from Roman's protection. Immediately after giving birth in a cave, she is sold into slavery and taken to another province. Upon her mysterious disappearance, Roman undertakes a futile search for her, not knowing that her redemption has already been ordained, nor the terrible price that must be paid to free her.


CHAPTER ONE

Oh, sweet freedom! The Chataine Deirdre drank in clear sky and open air as Corneus' palace faded from her sight and mind. After months of confinement within stone walls, she saw the world as a greener, vaster place. And suddenly the wideness of the sky astounded her.

She sighed, stroking her mare's mane. In impulsive gratitude, she bent to hug Lady Grey's neck. "Wherever did you find her, Roman?" she asked, looking up to her right.

Her husband, riding so close to her that their horses frequently bumped, answered, "She was loose in the pasture, grazing. Waiting for us." He reached over for her hand and she gave it to him. After four months of separation, she soaked in his familiar, beloved presence--tall and solid, black-haired and brown-skinned, riding habitually straight-backed even as he gazed at her.

She smiled, stroking his bristly face, and he pressed his lips to her fingers. He caressed as well the delicate face and golden hair that he had dreamed of every night these four months. Insatiable, he leaned on her saddle to kiss her and she let go of the reins to hold his neck. But his mount, evidently not caring for intimacy, shied sideways out from under him, and he slid down rudely beneath Lady Grey's legs.

Deirdre choked back a laugh. "Are you hurt?" she demanded.

Commander Galapos, riding in front of them, turned around to shake his head, chuckling, "Can you never learn to control yourself around the Chataine, boy?" His large frame shifted so he could observe Roman remount smartly, then the Commander delivered a swift wink to Deirdre.

Smiling, she returned it. "Come ride beside us," she urged, holding out her hand to him. He obliged by dropping back to her left. "How long before we reach the outpost?"

"Hours, I fear, as you can't run." He cocked a bushy grey eyebrow at her unwieldy midriff. "We'd 'a' made better time with a carriage," he added.

"Oh, no," Deirdre said. "It always made me ill to ride in them before, so how could I possibly now? I'll be patient, and I won't complain," she promised earnestly.

At least the slow pace enabled her to ponder the stunning revelations of the past hour. Her father . . . her real father. . . . She looked over to Galapos. If she could have chosen anyone she wanted to be her father, it would have been he. "Galapos," she murmured. When he turned his bright blue eyes toward her, she saw in them the shape of her own. "How did you meet my mother?"

He unconsciously gave a little sigh. "After Commander Fortunado was killed, I was named Commander, and one of my first responsibilities was to accompany Karel on a diplomatic visit to Ooster. There, we met with Corneus to discuss mutual protection of trade routes. And there, at dinner the first evening, I met his lovely, intriguing sister, Regina. After dinner she drew me aside into the garden to ask me numberless questions about Lystra, Westford, the army, and myself. The more I told her, the more she wanted to know!" he said in exasperation.

"Her curiosity lives," Roman said dryly, with a glance at Deirdre. But the look which he intended to be teasing was so full of love that she was not offended.

"Yes, well, as we talked, I saw--what?--interest, or desire, form in her eyes. At first I dismissed it as a girl's admiration for an older man. I could not allow myself to think otherwise, because it had been arranged long ago that she would marry Karel. That night, though, I could hardly sleep for thinking of her." Galapos paused, dropping his eyes. Deirdre and Roman listened silently as the horses plodded on.

He coughed a bit, smoothing his bushy grey moustache. "Well, over the next few days, we seemed to chance upon each other every idle moment I had. Our little conversations began to run deeper . . . our walks in the garden longer. I began to fear that Karel or Corneus would notice my undue attention toward her, but somehow I could not keep away from her. 'I'll be leaving soon,' I told myself. 'Enjoying her company while I'm here is harmless enough.' Madness! I ignored the certainty that she would be coming to Westford in a year as Surchataine.

"And so, our business in Ooster went on and on--we were there weeks longer than I had anticipated. Then came the night in the garden that Regina cried on my neck, saying she loved me, that she wanted only me! I should have leapt over the garden wall and run the length back to Westford. Instead, fool that I was, I kissed her to comfort her, and sent her to her chambers. Late that very evening, I awakened to see her standing over my bed." He stopped and coughed again. Roman glanced away.

"In truth," Galapos resumed determinedly, "the following morning I actually persuaded myself that her visit was a dream. But that same day Karel decided we would leave for Westford, and moreover that Regina would immediately become his wife. We had hardly set foot in the palace when he directed me to assume command from Outpost One. I was not granted leave to return for over a year. Not even to see her funeral barge cast to sea."

Deirdre listened in a mist of tears. After a silence, Galapos added, "As it was, Karel did her a great kindness to take her at once to Westford. For her untimely pregnancy to have become known would have meant terrible humiliation and debasement. But I will never know how he knew. Nor how a young, strong girl could die weeks following childbirth with the care she was given."

"She did not die from childbirth," sniffled Deirdre. "She fell down the stairs."

Roman and Galapos stared at her. "You are sure?" Galapos asked.

"Yes," she said. "Nanna had always told me she died in childbirth. But the night I ran away, she let the truth slip out. It shook her terribly."

"As it should have," muttered Galapos. "The official statement was that Regina died of stress from a hard birth. Why the lie . . . ?" He did not finish the thought and none of them spoke what passed through their minds.

"And when did you come to the palace?" Deirdre asked Roman.

"In relation to all this, I'm not sure." He inhaled. "I never saw the Surchataine."

"It was when I returned on leave that I picked up this urchin and made him my errand boy," Galapos answered gruffly, a smile returning. "You were just a baby, sweetheart--some months old." She nodded and they rode further in silence. Paved with brick, Corneus's road was flat and easy riding. The summer sun was full but not burning, with the sweetness of a fat land stretching around them.

Galapos will be proclaimed Surchatain when we reach Westford, she considered. A thought complained, That should be my title. I should rule.

She shook her head in reply and both men glanced her way. I cannot rule yet. I have no experience, no wisdom. They're right--he should be Surchatain. She shifted her belly, sighing at the discomfort, then laughed out loud. "Roman," she gasped, laughing, "remember when you disguised me to look pregnant for our trip to Corona?"

He grinned. "Yes. We were traveling as husband and wife. If I had only known--!"

"If you had only known how absurd it is for a pregnant woman to gallop!" she cried. "Anyone who saw us riding that way must have thought we were mad!"

His eyebrows lowered. "That was something I didn't consider. My experience is limited in such matters as that."

Galapos chuckled, "You're in for a lesson or two, my boy."

"I shall be an attentive student," he promised, smiling.

She sighed again, musing on. What a remarkable deliverance they had experienced at the outpost. The villagers' disease! Who would have thought that would be the weapon to turn back Tremaine's army? Yet Roman and Galapos were living proof of God's intervention. And to think she had almost thrown her life away on account of a lie!

Then she recalled something Roman had mentioned. "Roman--" she stretched a hand to him, which he kissed again. He kissed any part of her that came within reach. "You said that when you prayed for deliverance from Tremaine, you prayed for me, also." He nodded. "What did you say?"

"I asked God to protect you, as I had failed you."

"Then it follows," she struggled, "that He would protect me from myself . . . ?"

He frowned. "No, Deirdre. We are free creatures. Free even to destroy ourselves, though that would grieve Him deeply."

"Not from myself, then, but from the consequences of believing a lie . . . ?"

"I don't understand you," he said gently.

"I don't understand it either," she returned, perplexed. "All I know is, I should be dead now, but am alive. You should be dead, but you are alive! And Tremaine, Corneus, and all those who fought against you are dead. I don't understand any of it."

"When we return to Westford, I'll find Tychus' Scriptures and read to you something about the mercy of God toward those who believe Him," he said, that lesson vivid on his mind.

"I shall eavesdrop through the crack of the door," promised Galapos, and they laughed--Deirdre too, though she reddened to be reminded of her own habit of doing that. "Ho--look there," Galapos said, drawing back on the reins. Roman slid from his horse to the underbrush where Galapos pointed.

Deirdre strained to see. "What is it?"

"A Lystran uniform, I believe," Galapos said.

Roman emerged from the brush dragging a body. "That question is answered now," he said grimly. "It's the messenger I sent to Deirdre."

"Jason is responsible," she asserted. "He discovered the truth, but lied to me to drive me to despair. If I knew where he was now, I would--I would--"

"No need, my child. I'm sure Jason has suffered a greater vengeance that you could exact," Galapos said thoughtfully.

"Do you know where he is?" she asked.

"No, not precisely. But I'll wager his deception to you was a parting blow."

Deirdre nodded sagely as she watched Roman secure the body onto his horse, behind the saddle. She did not admit that she had not exactly understood Galapos' meaning.

Suddenly noting that Roman's mount was black, she exclaimed, "Roman, where is the Bay Hunter?"

"I don't know," he said wistfully. "I've surely lost him. I couldn't take him with me to the outpost--his disappearance after my 'hanging' would have aroused too many suspicions." He broke off to mount, then murmured, "I pray the Lord to find him a decent place of service and feed. He was a good horse. . . ." he trailed off dismally, and Deirdre was touched at his feelings for his lost horse, although she wondered at the propriety of bothering God about it.

At that moment a zinging arrow tore the air between Roman and Deirdre. Galapos exclaimed, "That came from the brush behind you! Run!"

"She can't run!" Roman shouted. "We have to stand and fight!"

"Oh, no! You'll not be sitting pigeons because of me!" And she planted her heels in Lady Grey's sides. The old mare sprang forward with remarkable agility, Roman and Galapos racing after her.

After her confinement, it felt good to gallop again, to feel the wind rush through her hair--for a minute. When they had reached a point of safety, Deirdre eased back on the mare's reins. Roman pulled up beside her, aggrieved. "Deirdre!"

She gave him a cocky smile, though feeling a little green. "I'm all right. You would be surprised at what I can do."

"Don't do that again," he said sternly.

"I won't, Roman. I promise." She patted his hand unsteadily while Galapos scanned the area around them.

"Must have been one loose from Corneus' army," he muttered. "Keep an eye out, my boy, at least until we're well into Lystra."

They rode on unmolested. Once they had passed the border, they gradually eased into their own silent considerations. Deirdre placed her hand on her abdomen and felt a determined little kick. She bowed her head from the weight of gratitude for the new life in her body and new hope in her future, for Roman and Galapos, who loved her. . . .

The men beside her let her weep quietly in peace.

Much later, as the three came within sight of the outpost, a retinue galloped up to meet them. "Hail, Commander! You've recovered the Chataine!" a soldier in front called. He was one Deirdre had seen in front before--a natural leader with a fiery spirit and curly black hair and beard.

"Yes, Kam. She is well and whole, and then some. How goes it here?" Galapos asked.

Four soldiers pulled abreast of them and turned to escort them to the outpost. While Roman gave them instructions about the body, Kam was answering, "Commander, we've salvaged many thousands of arms, equipment, and pieces of armor. Also, nearly two thousand horses, though many more escaped. We have far more horses and arms than we have men to use them. They're loading up the spare animals now to carry the spoils to Westford."

"Good," Galapos nodded, then demanded, "Kam--you are surely not using their water bags--?"

"No, Commander. All the pots we broke, and the skins we emptied on the ground and threw on the pyre."

"Well done," Galapos said, relieved. For the water Tremaine's army had been drinking is what had poisoned them all.

Weary now, Deirdre looked toward a huge, hotly burning bonfire. So that was the peculiar smell. As they approached the northern face of the outpost, she stared at the massive battering ram jutting through the broken gates. The men working around it paused to salute or call greetings to them. Some even came forward to bow formally in welcome to Deirdre. She flushed, feeling how nice it was to be treated with honor again.

Kam was pointing out a problem to Galapos: "We've discovered that Tremaine's battering ram was built with a number of baffles and locks, to prevent its being taken apart on the sly. Our best machinists are looking at it now, but all they can say with surety is that figuring out how to disassemble and move it will require some time."

"Time I don't wish to take," said Galapos. "We'll leave it for now, and send a unit to work on it later. We must hie ourselves to Westford. Instruct the men to be ready to leave at dawn."

Roman dismounted and reached up to lift Deirdre down. "You must rest tonight for the return ride. . . . I wish there were a way to make it easier for you." He held her gently as she stretched, then leaned forward to kiss her, unconscious of the surrounding winks and grins. Embarrassed, she murmured a complaint he did not hear.

Kam, watching them, muttered to Galapos, "The Chataine . . . is she . . . ?"

"She will bear my first grandchild in the winter," Galapos stated proudly. Kam's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "We'll celebrate upon our return to the city," Galapos added, almost as an order.

Deirdre stared in wonder at the shattered gates as Roman led her past them into the heart of the fortress. There, a kitchen squad had completed preparing a feast from the best of the outpost's supplies. A soldier clanged a noisy bell, bringing the men into the hall in a tidal rush.

As they plowed through the mess line, grabbing plates and mugs and bread, Galapos walked to the front where they could all see him and raised his hands. The soldiers stopped excitedly, some settling on the benches to eat.

Galapos said, "Before we eat, we are going to offer a prayer of thanks to God for the very fact of being here to eat." The men looked at him dumbfounded, and he barked, "On your feet!" They jumped up and stood at attention. "Good," Galapos muttered, then, after an uncertain hesitation, inquired, "Roman, will you say it for us?"

Roman lowered his head and said, "Lord God Almighty, we thank you for your mighty deliverance of us today. We thank you for giving life, and bread, and health. God, grant your blessing on us all! Amen."

Some voices said, "Hear, hear!" and they crowded into the line again. Then the soldiers had for themselves a hearty, backslapping dinner, recalling to each other every incident of the battle and siege.

The head table, however, at which sat Galapos, Deirdre, and Roman, was quiet. Galapos watched the men as he ate, pondering the monstrous task that lay before him of rebuilding the province in the wake of Tremaine's invasion. He feared what they might find remaining of Westford upon their return. Those townspeople who had survived had certainly been stripped of their possessions and livelihoods. Or worse--Galapos had seen whole cities razed to the ground by Tremaine on a whim. And there were certainly soldiers on the loose who had defected from one army or the other, turning renegade and preying on the scattered villagers. How would he ever rebuild a stable population from the dispossessed?

From deep within himself rose the conviction that he was unequal to the work before him. After all, he was only a soldier. His cunning had already failed him at the most critical point of their defense--he had misjudged Tremaine's strength and Corneus' loyalty. How could he then perform more ably in a harder task? He could not. . . . He required a wisdom greater than his own. . . .

Roman ate without tasting or seeing the beef and lentils. Why? he marveled. Why had God been so good to him? To answer his prayer and spare his life and the lives of his men was enough, but--he felt Deirdre's presence beside him without looking to her--to reach into the depths of his heart and grant him his most secret, most treasured dream . . . it was too extravagant. Too undeserved. He remembered his conviction after Deirdre's illness that God had both their lives in His hands, that He would resolve matters in His way. But he had never dreamed that God's way would entail such happiness, such fulfillment of desire. It was an uncalled-for kindness to grant a prayer Roman had never dared to pray.

And more. He raised his eyes to scan the room full of men newly released from the pit of death. To place him over such loyal, faithful companions who would not give him up to Tremaine to save their own lives, and to give the rule of the province into the hand of brave Galapos, his father-in-law. . . . He looked to the Commander over Deirdre's golden head and saw Galapos eyeing him pensively in return.

Deirdre, for her part, was wondering how she would ever endure the ride returning to Westford.

Following the dinner, Roman led her up to his tiny room. Glancing about, she asked, "Roman, aren't you entitled to a larger room than this?"

He looked surprised. "There are no larger quarters than this, except for the Commander's, Deirdre."

"But how could the soldiers sleep in anything smaller?" asked the Chataine.

"I don't suppose they could, so theirs are much larger!" he laughed. She looked at him crossly and he explained, "They sleep in halls of forty to fifty each. I, at least, have the privacy of my own room. It's the best I have to give you tonight, Deirdre. I know you're weary," he said anxiously. She looked dismally at the small, hard cot. It was ironic that the accommodations of freedom were so much less comfortable than Corneus' palace prison.

"Wait here," he said, and left.

She sat gingerly on the cot, rubbing her aching back. Momentarily the door opened and a cot walked in. Roman appeared behind it and set it beside the other cot. He piled blankets on the one next to the wall, as a makeshift mattress. "I hope this will do for the night," he mumbled.

"Yes, certainly," she acquiesced, lying down. "Thank you, Roman. You are always so kind."

He took her hands and pressed them to his face. "I still cannot believe God's kindness. I am full to overflowing . . . I could stand no more happiness." He leaned over her to rest on his elbow and kiss her. She responded, but winced at his beard. "Let me get water to shave," he said, drawing up. But a knock sounded on the door. Roman opened it to Galapos.

The Commander coughed. "I'm sorry to disturb you, my boy," he apologized, glancing at Deirdre. "I had a question for you."

Roman motioned him in and they sat on the cot next to Deirdre's. "What is it, Galapos?"

"Roman . . ." he coughed again, seeming uncertain how to begin. "You know I have not spoken well of God in the past . . . it is not mannerly to call someone a delusion. Yet He has spared my life as well as yours. Would He help me now, as He has helped you?"

"You need only ask Him, Galapos," Roman smiled, leaning back.

"I do not know how, Roman," he said a little testily.

Roman inclined his head, sympathetic to his discomfort. Roman knew firsthand how difficult it was for a self-reliant man to relinquish control to anyone--even God. "First, Galapos, claim your redemption. You have heard Tychus tell of the Christ, haven't you?" Galapos nodded. "Well then, will you acknowledge that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, able to save those who call on His name?"

"If it's His name you called on to bring our deliverance, then yes," Galapos said.

"And you, Deirdre?" Roman shifted toward her.

"I already have, Roman," she said quietly.

He turned back to Galapos. "Then confess this fact to God. Ask His forgiveness for your unbelief, and give yourself up to His power. Then He will give you whatever you need--and more," he said, glancing toward his wife.

Galapos nodded slowly. "That is a simple thing for me to do. Having done that, will I receive wisdom from Him to rule Lystra?"

Roman eased back on his elbow. "Ask Him. Fill His ear with your requests and complaints. Search His Word for the wisdom He has already made known. Then cover your head for the torrent of answer He will pour down upon you."

Galapos grinned, "You yourself look drenched, my boy."

"I am. I am covered with streams of mercy. Which reminds me--you both must be baptized straightway. Deirdre?" They turned again to see her sleeping sweetly.

Galapos stood. "We will, tomorrow. And we'll talk further." They clasped hands and he left. Roman bent over Deirdre to kiss her on the forehead, then put out the candle and lay down on the cot beside hers, breathing in a yawn and out a sigh.


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© 1985, 1994, 2005 Robin Hardy

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