Hunters

paid ag ofni, ton fach unig:
sua, sua ar lan y môr

Lecia couldn’t stand on her own. Luckily Izzy was still filling the bath when Vaughan arrived with the Duchess in his arms; the maid helped him to undress her.

“I think I can manage from here, Izzy,” he said. “Thank you.”

The quiet young maid left, closing the bath chamber’s door as she left.

Lecia kept completely still as Vaughan lowered her into the tub. The water soaked his sleeves as his wife’s body displaced it. It wasn’t overly full, so he felt comfortable to step back and shrug off his coat and roll up his sleeves. Deciding she needed fresh air as well, he quickly opened the windows, and a morning breeze filtered in. He grabbed some soaps and towels before returning to kneel outside the tub.

She had slipped down into the water, her chin breeching the surface. Perhaps it wasn’t that full, but Vaughan hadn’t considered how large the bathtub was; he’d had to replace it so he could stretch out his legs to wash. Lecia’s weren’t even close to capable of bracing her body against sinking. He should have realized.

“Damn,” he sighed, tugging her up by the shoulders so she wouldn’t drown. “I know you can keep yourself up,” he said quietly, dunking a washcloth into the warm water. “I can’t do it all at once.” He really didn’t want to have to call Izzy back because he didn’t want to have to allow the staff to recognize how dismal the situation was. It would be a bit humiliating for his wife when she recovered. No one needed to have that burden. Sure, he’d retched on the floor at Zeke’s, but he’d lived through far, far worse than that.

“All right, cariad, we need to get your hair,” he told her.

She looked at him then, blinking dumbly, and found the control to lower herself underwater and back up for air. All the while, Vaughan’s hands hovered over her to pull her out if he needed to. Now that her hair was wet, he massaged in some lemon juice. The fresh citrus tingled Lecia’s scalp, she was on the cusp of alertness from the bright scent. As her husband used the cloth to spread soap across the rest of her skin, it was as if a layer of filth was being washed away. She had to close her eyes again, though. Her head was heavy and with every minute movement she wanted to heave.

Vaughan was gentle as he bathed her; her fair skin was translucent and gaunt from the dehydration, but the water and the lather had started to revive it. He tried not to focus on how magnificent she was, even as a foxed and nearly unconscious version of herself, but he suffered from an innate hunger. His admiration of her slender legs and statuesque nudity was unavoidable, though he’d been careful to hang her long curls over her chest. She could have been buxom as the Duchess of Swynwick—who was notoriously plump—and Vaughan would have still loved her just the same. After all, he hadn’t cared for her in a romantic way until they had become friends, but, admittedly, his attraction was fostered by her outward allure.

Once she was rinsed off, the Duke pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in a soft towel. He was nimble when he lifted Lecia into his arms again and carried her to his bed; she fell to her side when he let go, but at least she couldn’t drown in fabric. He left her for a few minutes to retrieve a nightgown; for some time he’d been an advocate of silk trousers and sleep shirts, but he was sure his closet had an old white gown he could put her in. He’d forgotten to have one of hers brought over, but they were the same thing; it was only for a night, and she was too distressed to care.

When he returned to her, she was asleep. From experience, he knew that it was a useless slumber, but she would at least be at ease for a bit. He dressed her in the nightgown and dried out her hair as best he could before tucking her into bed. She smelled better now, at least. Confident she would be still for a minute or two, he went to call for fresh water to be put in the tub and a maid to keep an eye on her while he bathed himself. He had hurried home without even tending to the bile stain on his shirt.

Refreshed, Vaughan got into his pajamas and drew the curtains. The sun was coming up, but he certainly didn’t want it in his eyes while he tried to sleep. When he climbed into bed, he realized first that he could not use his sheet trick to separate himself from her, second that he didn’t want to; he’d trained the staff to leave the top sheets that he hated so much off of his bed. So, he got under the cover, fluffed his pillow, and lied down. There was sufficient space between them—he wanted to pull her into his arms—but he was going to put a pillow in the middle anyway. As he moved to do it, however, she moaned and woke herself.

Her eyes flickered open, heavy for sleep, and she looked at him. In the muted morning shadow, he could see the tears falling from her eyes. At first, he didn’t know what to say, but there was no right thing for him to muse in the situation. Besides, she might not have smelled like alcohol, but it was still in her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. In an effort to hear her, he edged closer.

“What are you sorry for?” he frowned, finding one of her hands.

“I—I broke things,” she said with shuddered breaths. “I st-stole your rum.”

“You stole more than my rum, I’ll grant you that,” he said under his breath. She was oblivious to the remark, shining eyes watching him with such deep and hollow sadness that he thought he might get lost in it. “We all do regrettable things when our hearts break.”

He could see the wave of anger that flashed over her, but she somehow remembered that he was an orphan, recalled his stories of woe, and didn’t act on the urge.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” she asked, inching to be nearer to him.

“Sometimes,” he exhaled, memories prickling his skin. “It depends on your love,” he said. “When I lost my mam I was broken, but I had only been a boy; by now I’ve lived four of the lifetimes we shared without her. If I think on it, I get sad, but it doesn’t do to dwell. My tad wasn’t hard to lose,” he confessed. Lecia was still attentive, hoping to hear a cure. “He’d been heartbroken over mam, so he was distant and drunk. He and I couldn’t love each other, and his death was slow, so when it happened I was ready and I was fine.”

Lecia grimaced. He really was not telling her what she wanted to hear.

“Daid and nain were the hardest, and there isn’t a day that goes by without wishing they were here. They raised me. They loved me, and I them. Daid was never as malicious as grandfather; his kind of aggression was common, tradition almost. He wasn’t pleased by it, so it was easy to forgive and forget. The pair of them were more my parents than anyone else, and to lose them at once was…difficult,” he said. “I made mistakes, too. I tried to bury the pain with drinks and cigars and w—,” he was going to be honest and say women, but perhaps it wasn’t quite the time to air his numerous affairs. There had been other women in his bed, and it sickened him to think of them with Lecia there.

“One day you will wake up and the aching will have become so commonplace that it is unnoticeable; you will become numb to it, but there will always be an emptiness in your life. Maybe you will fill your days with pleasure and happiness, perhaps you will be truly happy, but the grief will be there too. Not as painful, not as unpleasant, but there. It will have become bittersweet; the memories will fill you with sorrow and joy. They will be times you recall with fondness and gratitude for ever having lived them.

“But,” he whispered, stroking her cheek dolefully, “until that day, you will cry. You will struggle to breathe through the compression of your lungs; you will forget to eat because hunger is a tickle compared to the agony of a shredded heart. You will be very unhappy, but I will always be here to comfort you.”

At that very moment Lecia could not breathe. With all of her misery, there was no room for the tears, so they were expelled so rapidly from her eyes that she could no longer see. It was an effort to fill her lungs with air, and a struggle to keep from sobbing too loudly. She had to maintain some dignity.

Knowing the ache, Vaughan forgot his restraint and pulled her into his arms. She pressed her face into his chest as he stroked her still-wet hair. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt so forcefully he worried a button might break off. He wasn’t sure what to do.

It came so naturally to him that it was a moment before he was aware of it. There had been a melody his mother sung him as a child, his nain after. He smiled, remembering the times it put him to sleep.

“Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun,” he sang delicately, “Ni wna undyn â thi gam; huna'n dawel, annwyl blentyn…”

The song could have become a forgotten anecdote, but she awakened something in him that reverberated through his memories and restored his joy. Suo Gân had lulled him to sleep, out of sadness, into manhood. It had shaped him as much as collecting eggs, or learning to read. For a long while he had pretended to be a proud Welshman, but now he sincerely was.

“Huna blentyn, nid oes yma, ddim i roddi iti fraw.” His dulcet voice had consoled Lecia out of crying; she listened now, falling into sleep, as he completed the lullaby. “Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes, ar yr engyl gwynion draw,” he finished.

They were silent and unmoving until she nuzzled herself deeper into his arms. He embraced her, a soundless promise to eternally keep her safe.

“You have the most incredible voice,” she murmured before passing into dreams.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head.

Vaughan waited for the measured breathing and graceful heaviness that meant his wife had fallen asleep before closing his own eyes.



Suo Gân is the prettiest lullaby on this Earth. The video is the best version I could find on Youtube. If you wanna hear a lady and pretend it's Vaughan's mommy, Sian Wyb Gibson does a good version. I also like David Hobson's, but the only one he has isn't complete, and also it's not on Youtube. You can find a translation on Wikipedia.