Dashiell nodded. “He saved my life last year,” he said. “Had it not been for Bric, I would not be standing here at this moment. I, therefore, gave him the most precious and honorable gift I could think of – you. Treat him well, Selly. He is greater than you know.”
Eiselle looked at Bric, appreciation in her eyes. Clearly, she already had a great deal of admiration for the man. Dashiell could see that plainly.
“I am hoping to discover all about him on my own,” she said. “We have the rest of our lives, after all. There is no hurry.”
As Eiselle looked at him rather dreamily, and Dashiell looked at him rather knowingly, Bric was rather embarrassed by all of the sentiment going around. Touched, but embarrassed. He was greatly warmed by the look in Eiselle’s eyes, a look that made his heart flutter as if he were a foolish squire. In truth, he didn’t care. He liked it. But he was far too uncomfortable with the situation to say anything remotely flattering or kind to her, especially in front of Dashiell. He was still new to all of this, after all, and he’d had absolutely no practice when it came to an intimate relationship with a woman. Therefore, for lack of a response, he simply forced a somewhat neutral smile at Eiselle before turning to Dashiell.
“Speaking of hurry,” he said, “I must see to the preparation for the army. My wife will see to your food and drink. I will be in the bailey when you are finished.”
His departure was swift, leaving Eiselle watching him go and feeling somewhat confused by his reaction. It was the first time she’d seen him since their wedding night and it seemed to her that his reaction the morning after was mixed. He’d told Dashiell he was pleased, yet he’d just fled the room as if he were eager to get away from her. Trying not to appear too sad about it, she looked at Dashiell.
“What does he mean by preparing the army?” she asked. “Is the army leaving?”
Dashiell nodded. “It will be soon,” he told her. “There is a potential problem, but nothing to worry over.”
“What kind of a problem?”
“Remnants of John’s French army.”
“And you will fight them? I mean, Bric will fight them?”
“If it comes to that.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “I am not sure I like this.”
Dashiell put his big arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards the great double doors that led into the hall beyond. “Selly, you are married to a knight now,” he said patiently. “But not just any knight; you are married to de Winter’s High Warrior. He is the greatest knight in the realm. You are going to have to become accustomed to the man going to war. It is part of his life and he will not stop it because of you.”
Fundamentally, Eiselle knew that, but she still didn’t like it. Such a thing didn’t matter to her before she’d met Bric, but now that she was coming to know him, the thought of the man in danger had her nervous stomach twitching again.
“I do not expect him to stop,” she said. “But… this is something I have never been part of before. I cannot help if I worry.”
Dashiell knew that. “My wife is the same way,” he said. “She does not like it when I go off to battle, but that is my vocation, too. That is the same life you are to lead now – your husband will go to war and you will patiently wait for him to return. Just know that Bric MacRohan is no ordinary knight; there is a magic about him that most warriors do not have.”
They paused as they entered the hall. Eiselle was looking up at Dashiell quite seriously. “I do not care what magic he has, as long as he returns home,” she said quietly. “I cannot explain it, Dash, but I have quickly come to like Bric. He is kind and he is patient. In truth, I was terribly nervous when I first came to Narborough. But he put me at ease from the first and that has not changed. I would be devastated if this brief marriage was cut short.”
Dashiell grinned, tapping her gently on the cheek. “I would not worry about that if I were you,” he said. “Bric MacRohan is like those ancient Irish warriors of legend – there is something immortal about him. He will always return to you, of that I am certain. Now, not to change the subject too drastically, but I could use some food and drink before I depart with the de Winter army. Will you provide me with sustenance, Lady MacRohan?”
Eiselle smiled broadly. “It will be my pleasure, my lord.”
Seated at the table and listening to the priest as he continued to sleep off his drinking binge next to the hearth, Dashiell delved into the cold beef and cheese and bread that a kitchen servant had provided. Eiselle sat with him and they spoke of Dashiell’s new wife and of the new position as duke. He had assumed the title late last year. Dashiell was very happy with his life, and Eiselle couldn’t remember ever seeing the man so joyful or relaxed.
That joy translated into a man who wasn’t afraid to show the side of him most people didn’t see; the comical side of his personality. He took to throwing bread crusts at the dogs sleeping on the floor, luring them over to the priest who was snoring loudly enough to rattle teeth. The bread crusts would land on the priest and the dogs would lick and bite the man trying to get at the food. The priest would snort in his sleep, batting at the dogs and calling them Satan’s children, and Eiselle giggled uncontrollably. It was great fun, all at the expense of the sleeping priest.
That went on for the nearly the duration of the meal, until Dashiell was finally satisfied. Then, their time together was over and Eiselle was sorry to see him go. Dashiell kissed his cousin on the head as he excused himself and headed out to the bailey where men were preparing for war.
Although he’d told Eiselle not to worry, it was inevitable that she did. This was all so new to her, now with her husband heading off to war again. Dashiell told her that she must learn to be brave, but she honestly wasn’t sure she could. Still, she didn’t want Bric to think she was weak, so whatever she felt, she vowed to keep it to herself. Or, at least try to keep it to herself.
But it wasn’t going to be easy.
Leaving the priest still snoring away and the table being cleared of the remnants of Dashiell’s meal, Eiselle returned to the master’s chamber to continue sewing on Keeva’s garment.
Keeva wasn’t anywhere to be found in the chamber as Eiselle resumed her position over near the windows. The fabric was laid out on top of a coverlet to keep it clean, as it was a deep brownish-red wool, something quite elegant.
Eiselle had been sewing from a young age, so she knew how to create a dress. It was one of the few things her mother had taught her, and she was very good at it. In order to start the pattern for the dress, she’d had Keeva lay on the fabric and then she’d taken chalk to outline the woman’s frame. From that, she carefully drew out the drape and basic dimension of the dress.
Eiselle had a sewing kit in her trunks, but she was using Keeva’s, and using long, slender iron pins to frame the shape of what she wanted to cut. The cutting would come later with a very sharp knife that was made to cut fabric.
As she pinned, Eiselle could hear the noise from the outer bailey, and more than once she was drawn to the long, very tall lancet windows that faced the west side of the castle. She kept hoping for a glimpse of Bric, but, alas, that was not meant to be. She never saw him, not once.
Saddened, she returned to her sewing and forced herself to focus, losing herself in her project as a way of forgetting about what was to come. This morning when she’d asked Keeva for tasks, it had been because she’d felt happy and energetic, thrilled to be living her first day as Lady MacRohan, but now the task was a way of escaping the reality that her new husband was going off to battle again. The raid two days before and now this… truly, she wasn’t sure this was something she could become used to, but better to suffer through it than not be married to Bric at all.
He was worth the anxiety.
The morning dragged on and Keeva finally returned to the chamber to check on the progress of her dress. She’d been spending her time on the inner wall with her husband, who was watching Bric and the knights assemble an army of over a thousand m
en, wagons, and animals.
Whenever de Winter mobilized, it was always something impressive to behold. Keeva spoke of the times past when the army would mobilize and move out, sometimes for months on end, which brought a bit of a concerned expression from Eiselle. When Keeva realized that she’d frightened the woman, she made every effort to backtrack on her prattle and try not to make it seem as bad as it was.
But the damage had been done.
Was it possible the army would really be gone for months? Eiselle thought gloomily. She was to marry a man and only know him two days before he left for months? It was distressing news, and something she struggled against even as Keeva tried to make it seem that all was not as bad as she’d made it sound. But Eiselle knew better; she knew her husband was leaving and there was nothing Keeva could say to cheer her up.
But she soldiered through the day, working on the dress, something that Keeva praised quite a bit as the hours passed. Eiselle had an eye for a good pattern, and a fashionable dress, and Keeva was thrilled to discover it. It was the years of working in her father’s stall that had given Eiselle that eye. She knew what women were wearing and what looked good.
Towards late afternoon, after Eiselle had cut out the dress and was now loosely basting it onto Keeva, Bric abruptly appeared in the master chamber’s doorway. When Eiselle caught sight of him, she was so startled that she rammed an iron pin right into Keeva’s rump. The woman yelped.
“Oh, my lady!” Eiselle gasped. “I am so terribly sorry! How clumsy of me!”
Keeva rubbed her bum where Eiselle stabbed her. “Not to worry, lass,” she said, a grin on her face as she looked at Bric. “I see that your mind was not on your work. Bric, this is your fault.”
Bric smiled weakly. “I do apologize,” he said, but his attention was on Eiselle. “I was wondering if I might borrow Lady MacRohan for a short while.”
Keeva didn’t have time to reply before Eiselle was rushing in his direction. Seeing this, Keeva simply laughed.
“Go,” she waved them off.
Leaving Keeva with the half-basted dress still draped on her body, Eiselle rushed to Bric’s side. He wasn’t dressed for battle, but simply in a heavy tunic and leather breeches. Eiselle noticed almost immediately that he was wearing the belt she had given him.
“It looks as if my belt fits you,” she said.
Bric smiled as he looked down at it, fingering the fabric. “I will never take it off,” he told her. Then, he took her by the elbow. “Come with me a moment. I have need of you.”
Eiselle went willingly as he took her into the hall where some men were sitting around, eating cold beef and drinking ale. The evening meal was still several hours off, but the servants were stoking the hearth in the hall, building it up into a raging blaze as Bric took Eiselle to one of the long, scrubbed tables and sat her down. He then sent a servant for food and drink as he sat down next to her.
“I do not have much time, but I wanted to see you before I leave,” he said quietly.
“To war?”
He nodded. “Dash said he told you.”
“He also told me that I must not worry.”
Bric lifted his big shoulders. “I cannot tell you how to feel, as I have never had to face this kind of thing before,” he said. “Keeva always worries for Daveigh, and I have seen other women throw fits when their men head off to battle. I suppose it is a woman’s nature to worry.”
Eiselle watched his mouth as he spoke, those full and soft lips that had made her feel so wicked and wanton.
“How would you have me behave, Bric?” she asked softly. “Tell me and I shall do it.”
Bric looked at her, feeling those same giddy feelings sweep over him at the mere sight of her. She was so sweet and lovely, and he genuinely didn’t want to leave her, which was something of a new sensation for him. He’d spent the past eight hours preparing the army to depart and, all the while, his mind had been lingering on Eiselle and feeling so very regretful that he was going to leave her.
After a moment, he simply shook his head.
“I do not know,” he said truthfully. “I have never left anyone behind before, so I do not know. All I know is that for the first time in my life, I would rather stay here than leave to battle. We are only just coming to know each other and I was looking forward to the days to come. Believe me when I say that I am sorry to leave you here.”
Eiselle’s smile turned warm, genuine. “And I am sorry you are going,” she said. “I feel the same way. I would much rather have you remain here with me, where we can feast tonight and speak on foolish things or important things. We can speak on whatever we feel like. But instead, you are departing with your army and I feel… sad. I will admit that I am sad you are leaving.”
His gaze was warm upon her. “Good,” he said. “I am glad you are sad. That means… well, I am not sure what it means, but I know that I like it. I suppose it means that you are thinking of me.”
Eiselle was bold; she reached out and took one of his hands, holding it tightly. He responded by squeezing so hard that he nearly broke her fingers.
“Aye, I am,” she said quietly. “I suspect I will always think of you, no matter what. And since you cannot tell me how I should feel, I will be honest and tell you that I am not only sad, but I am afraid for you. I have never known someone I care about leaving for battle.”
His smile faded. “Do you?” he asked, shocked. “Care for me, I mean. Do… do you really care for me?”
She nodded, averting her gaze rather bashfully. “You have been kind and understanding and compassionate since I have known you,” she said. “How could I not care?”
That was more than Bric expected to hear from her, but he was delighted to the bone. As he sat there and held her hand, he reached into the neck of his tunic and pulled forth a chain looped around his neck that had something affixed to the end of it. He held it up to Eiselle, catching the light of the torches that were now being brought into the hall by servants, illuminating the darkness.
“See this?” he asked. “I have worn this since I was a youth. My former master gave it to me, an Irish warrior who fought well into his seventh decade. His name was Conor and he had no sons, so he gave this to me when I was knighted. Conor told me that this talisman had been passed down through the men in his family and that it had been blessed by St. Patrick himself.”
Eiselle was very curious about the talisman; made from steel and in the shape of a cross, it contained Latin words etched into the metal. She ran her fingers along the letters, barely making them out.
A maiorem caritatum nemo habet.
“What do these words mean?” she asked. “I cannot see them very well.”
He watched her face as she inspected the pendant. “A man hath no greater love than he lay down his life for his friends,” he said. “’Tis from the bible.”
She nodded in understanding. “I think I have heard the verse before,” she said. “And this brings you good fortune on the battlefield?”
“Aye,” he said. “This talisman has protected generations of warriors from death, and it will protect me, so you needn’t worry. This will keep me safe.”
Eiselle turned it over, inspecting it, before looking up and meeting his eye. “I thought only the superstitious wore talismans.”
Bric tried to look serious, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile from his lips.
“I am from Ireland, Lady MacRohan,” he said. “I have seen many strange things, many things that you would not believe. There are evil spirits in this world, and there are little folk who live beneath the hills. I have personally seen a troll, but that was when I was young. I ran from it when I should have run to it and challenged it. You must not scoff at superstition, my lady. It may be more powerful than you know.”
Eiselle didn’t believe in any of that, frankly, and she wasn’t sure how to tell him. “My parents were people of logic,” she said hesitantly. “I can only remember going to church a scant few times as a child because my fa
ther believed in reason over religion or superstition. His only friend was an alchemist, and he told my father that everything has an explanation. He says there is no magic in the world.”
Bric was rather pleased to hear that she was reasonable about life. He’d seen far too many women fall victim to the hysteria of religion and, truth be told, he wasn’t particularly religious himself. But he did believe in luck and good fortune, and he believed implicitly in the power of his mighty talisman.
“I suppose our beliefs are our own magic,” he said. “I do believe this talisman has power, and I believe the words inscribed on it. I believe it every time I go into battle and it has not failed me yet.”
“Then you should believe it. You should believe it with all your heart.”
“I do. And I want you to, also.”
“I will. If you wish it, I will believe it without question.”
With a smile on his face, he just sat there and gazed at her. She was such a beautiful creature that he couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. But he could still see that she was worried, facing something she had never faced before. Battle was frightening for those who were unaccustomed to it. The longer he looked at her, the more he felt an odd tugging to his heart, a sadness he’d never known before. It took him a moment to realize that, perhaps, he was feeling longing for Eiselle.
He missed her already.
Reaching into his tunic, he pulled the talisman over his head and put it in her hands.
“Here,” he said. “I want you to keep this for me. It has brought me fortune and comfort these many years, and now I want it to bring comfort to you.”
Eiselle looked at the heavy talisman in her hand. “But,” she stammered, “… but this is yours, Bric. You said yourself that you have taken it into every battle and it has never failed you. How can you even think to go into a fight without it?”
His gaze was warm. “Because my faith is in my abilities and my skill,” he said. “The fortune my talisman has brought me, even if it is not with me, still lingers. You will keep it safe for me and in doing so, you can ensure my return. I will come back for it… and you.”
Brides of Ireland Page 13
