David Gemmell - The Last Guardian

Where is the talk of love, Parson?'

'Love is for those of the Chosen People, created in the image of Almighty God. He made Men and he made the beasts of the earth. Only Lucifer would have the brazen gall to mould beasts into men.'

'You are swift to judge. Perhaps you are swift to misjudge.'

The Parson rose. 'You may be right, for I appear to have misjudged you. I thought you a warrior for God — but there is a weakness in you, Shannow, a doubt.'

The door opened and Beth entered, carrying a tray on which was some sliced dark bread and cheese and a jug of water. The Parson eased his way past her with a friendly smile, but left without farewells. Beth set the tray down and sat at the bedside.

'Do I sense angry words?' she asked.

Shannow shrugged. 'He is a man touched by a dream I do not share.' He reached out and took her hand. 'You have been kind to me, Beth McAdam, and I am grateful. I understand it was you who went to the Parson and got him to form the Committee which came to my aid.'

'It was nothing, Shannow. The town needed cleaning, and men like Broome would have spent a year debating the ethics of direct action.'

'Yet he was there, I recall.'

'The man doesn't lack courage — just common sense. How's your head?'

'Better. There is little pain. Would you do something for me? Would you fetch me razor and soap?'

‘I’ll do better than that, Jerusalem Man. I'll shave you myself. I'm longing to see what kind of a face you have hidden under that beard.'

She returned with a stiff badger-fur brush and a razor, borrowed from Mason, plus a cake of soap and a bowl of hot water. Shannow lay back with his eyes closed as she softened his beard with lather. The razor was cool on his cheek as she expertly scraped away the bristle and hair. At last she wiped his face clean of soap and handed him a towel. He smiled at her.

'What do you see?'

'You are not unhandsome, Shannow, but you'll win no prizes. Now eat your lunch. I'll see you this evening.'

'Don't go, Beth. Not just yet.' His hand reached up and took her arm.

'I have to work, Shannow.'

'Yes. Yes, of course. Forgive me.'

She stood and backed away, forced a smile and left. Outside in the corridor she stopped and pictured again the look in his eyes as he asked her to stay.

'Don't be a fool, Beth,' she told herself.

Why not? There's an hour before you are expected back. Swinging on her heel, she opened the door once more and stepped inside. Her hand moved to the buttons of her blouse.

'Don't you read too much into this, Shannow,' she whispered as she dropped her skirt to the floor and slid into bed beside him.

For Beth McAdam it was a revelation. Afterwards she lay beside the sleeping Shannow, her body warm and wonderfully relaxed. Yet the surprise of his love-making had been in the inexperience he showed; in the passive, grateful manner in which he had received her. Beth was no stranger to the ways of men and she had enjoyed lovers long before she met and seduced Scan McAdam.

She had learned that there was a great similarity about the actions of the aroused male. He fumbled, he groped, and then he drove himself into a rhythmic frenzy. Not so with Shannow…

He had opened his arms to her and stroked her shoulders and back. It was she who had made all the moves. For all his awesome powers in dealing with situations of peril, the Jerusalem Man was untutored and surprisingly gentle in the arms of a woman.

Beth slid from the bed and Shannow awoke instantly.

'You are going?' he asked.

'Yes. Did you sleep well?'

'Wonderfully. Will you come back this evening?'

'No,' she said firmly. 'I must see to my children.'

'Thank you, Beth.'

'Don't thank me,' she snapped. She dressed swiftly and pushed her fingers through her blonde hair, roughly combing it. At the door she paused. 'How many women have you slept with, Shannow?'

'Two,' he answered, without trace of embarrassment.

She walked across the street to the Jolly Pilgrim where Broome was waiting, his face red with anger.

'You said an hour, Frey McAdam, and it has been two. I have lost customers — and you will lose coin.'

'Whatever you decide, Meneer,' she said, moving past him to where the dishes waited for cleaning. There were only two customers and both were finishing their meals. Bern carried the plates to the rear of the eating-house and scrubbed them clean with water from the deep well.

When she returned the Pilgrim was empty.

Broome approached her. 'I am sorry for losing my temper,' he said. 'I know he is wounded and needs attention. You will keep the coin. I was wondering… if you would join me at my house this evening?'

'For what purpose, Meneer?'

'To talk… have a little meal… get to know one another. It is important for people who work together to understand each other.'

She looked into his thin face and saw arousal in his eyes. 'I am afraid not, Meneer. I am seeing Meneer Scayse this evening to discuss a business matter.'

'A lease of land, I know,' he said and her eyes darkened. 'Do not misunderstand, Frey McAdam.

Meneer Scayse spoke to me because I know you. He wishes to be sure of your… integrity. I told him I felt you were honest and hard-working. But do you really want the lonely life of a farm widow?'

'I want a home, Meneer.'

'Yes, yes.' She could see him building towards a proposal and headed him off. 'I must get on with my work,' she told him, easing past him to the rear of the building.

That evening she was welcomed to Scayse's permanent rooms at the Traveller's Rest by a servant, who led her through to a long room where a log fire blazed in a wide hearth. Scayse rose from a deep, comfortable chair and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

'Welcome, madam. Might I offer you some wine?'

A handsome man, he was even more striking in the light from the fire — his swept-back hair gleaming, his sharp powerful features almost savage. 'No, thank you,' she said. He led her to a chair, waited as she sat and then returned to his own.

'The land you wish to lease is of little use to me. But tell me, Frey McAdam, why you approached me? You will know that no one has tide to land. A man takes what he can hold. You could merely have driven your wagon to a spot of your choosing and built a home.'

'Were I rich, Meneer, with fifty riders, I would have done just that. But I am not. It remains your land — and if I am troubled I will come to you for assistance. You have men riding the high pastures, and it is known that brigands rarely trouble you. I hope the same will be true of me.'

'You have learned a great deal in your short time here. You are obviously a woman of great intelligence. I find it rare that a woman should combine beauty with wit.'

'How curious, I find exactly the same thing with men.'

He chuckled. 'Will you dine with me?'

'I don't think so. Is the price agreed?'

'I will waive the price — in return for dinner.'

'Let us be clear, sir. This is a business arrangement.' She opened the small bag she carried and counted out thirty silver coins. 'That is for the first year. And now I must be leaving.'

'I am disappointed,' he said, rising with her. 'I had great hopes.'

'Hold on to them, Meneer. They are all any of us have.'

After Beth had gone, Shannow sat up. He could still smell the perfume of her body on the sheets, and feel the after-warmth of her presence. Never before had he experienced a phenomenon like her. Donna Taybard had been soft, gentle and passive, deeply loving and wonderfully comforting.

But Beth… there had been with her a power, an almost primordial hunger that had both drained him physically and elevated him emotionally.