by Brit Darby
Liam lifted the bucket and dumped it over his head. He vigorously shook the rivulets of water from him like an overgrown pup. When he opened his eyes, pushing back his wet hair from his face, his gaze caught hers.
Alianor gasped, shame crushing her. Only minutes ago her eyes filled with tears at memories of Walter, yet here she stood gaping like a bitch in heat at another man. What sort of woman was she?
Tears threatened again and confronted by Liam’s stare, she could only do one thing. She turned and ran back to the abbey and the cool, secure darkness of her little cell. Away from those emerald eyes that both entranced and impaled her with their demands.
LIAM STEPPED TOWARDS ALIANOR, but the storm of emotion in her eyes stopped him. When he first looked over and found her watching him — her face flushed, her lips parted — his blood caught fire. Here he stood breathless from running and cold water, yet she was breathless, too, for different reasons.
Those eyes, those damme beautiful eyes, darkened to midnight blue as she stared at him like a startled doe. For a moment, he feared he would run to her like a lap-dog eager to please. But something changed and a shadow crossed her face. Visible pain replaced desire, shattering the moment. Passion’s flush vanished and Liam sensed some other emotion he could not define. Along with the haunting despair in her eyes, it left him unable to move.
Chapter Ten
LIAM PULLED THE BRUSH through Biorra’s mane, catching on a tangle. The horse snorted his objection and stamped his hoof. “Sorry, my friend,” he muttered, patting Biorra’s neck in apology. “It seems I am taking my frustration and bungling ways out on you.”
Biorra nodded his head up and down as if he agreed, and returned to munching his oats. Liam continued to groom the bay in the stall, trying to let the repetitive motion soothe the turmoil inside his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, it seemed he couldn’t force Alianor from his thoughts. Like the sidhe she haunted him, stealing his strength and resolve.
Anger rose, choking him with its bitterness. Why did this woman tie him up in knots? Alianor could not possibly be as innocent as she seemed. He had heard stories of the King’s court, the politics and perversions going on behind closed doors, and sometimes in plain view. She was no maiden; she was a young and beautiful widow. Perhaps she had taken many lovers — a common practice of the nobility.
A pang pierced his heart at the thought. “Fool,” he scolded himself. “What sickness has taken hold of you?”
Why should he care whom the Sassenach siren lured to her bed, yesterday or tomorrow? Let Softsword and de Lacy fight over Alianor Coventry — he had no stomach for it.
The stables door creaked open and a petite figure slipped inside. When Alianor turned to face the row of stalls, she saw him there and froze. In a dusty ray of sunlight streaking through a hole in the roof, Liam read the flurry of emotions on her face.
“Are you going to flee again?” He knew the answer, but his challenge flummoxed her into staying. He smiled, though he felt far from carefree inside. For his innards knotted up at the sight of her, and it took every ounce of will he possessed to continue grooming Biorra.
She focused with desperation on the horse. “I was bringing Biorra a treat. I try to do so each day.”
“I see,” he said. “You would have me ride a fat steed?”
She bit her lip, looking unsure if he was teasing or not. “Surely a little fruit won’t make him fat,” she said gravely.
Alianor approached Biorra and offered the horse the crabapples clutched in her hand. The gelding abandoned his oats and whickered with pleasure at the visitor bearing a gift. He nibbled at the crabapples daintily, as if considerate of the lady’s small hand.
The stables door creaked again as Turrean nosed it open and padded over to stand beside Alianor. The dog sat beside her and looked at Liam. He could have sworn those golden-brown eyes held a guilty apology.
“Mac an donais,” Liam swore beneath his breath. Had the whole world gone crazy for Alianor?
“Well,” Liam said, looking from Turrean, to Alianor, and to Biorra who greedily nuzzled her hand for more treats. “It would seem all that was mine is now yours.”
“No,” Alianor murmured, stroking Biorra’s velvet muzzle and keeping her gaze downcast. “You are their master, I am merely a distraction.”
“Perhaps I was not speaking of them.”
This brought her gaze back up and he read confusion and wariness there. “What else could I possibly take of yours?”
“I wonder …” he began, and the words caught in his throat. He stopped, uncertain he dared go on. Who would this honesty serve? Neither of them. Yet he could no longer stay the words spilling from his lips.
“I wonder if you have not stolen my heart, sailchuach liath.”
Silence reigned and he saw a few motes filter down to settle in her silvery hair. She looked away. He held his breath and heard her say in a whisper so soft, so vulnerable: “You are the thief, not I.”
“Aye. Therein lies the irony of it.”
Alianor glanced back at him, still wary. “You are difficult to understand. I am at a loss for words.”
“What is in your heart, Alianor?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came forth. Liam saw a strange emotion flicker in her eyes, but it seemed she could find no words to express it. Instead, she entered the stall and stood beside him.
He stopped grooming Biorra as she reached up to him. Her fingers trailed down his hair, skimmed his face light as a feather, and came to rest upon his cheek. His flesh tingled where she touched him. Everything faded away but the sensation of her touch, her look, her words.
“Let me see your dimple,” she whispered.
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. She smiled at him, and he could not help but smile back. Her fingertips pressed gently upon his cheek.
“It’s said those with dimples have a divine role to play in God’s plan,” she told him. “The great burden of making others smile.” She went up on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his, a quiet murmur of a kiss. Liam’s eyes closed and her breath skimmed his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her fingertips, but met with only air.
Instead he heard the soft rustle of skirts and the creak of a door. He opened his eyes. Alianor was gone. He saw only the tip of Turrean’s tail as it slipped through the doorway.
Liam swallowed hard. With every fiber of his being he wanted to run after Alianor, to sweep her into his arms and carry her to his bed. He ached to make her his own and he sensed she desired it as much as he did.
Imagining her passionate surrender maddened him. Her skin, her eyes, her hair were cool as night, but somehow he knew within the woman, there lurked a heat no other possessed. A fire fierce enough to destroy them both.
Sleep would not find him tonight. Resigned to it, Liam took up the brush again, with fresh determination and focus. By the rood, Biorra would shine like a new copper coin when he was done.
FELICITY STOOD BEHIND ALIANOR, her nimble fingers plaiting the long, silken length of hair before her. “’Tis an unusual color, milady, these silvery locks.” She used a Gaelic word, liath. It prompted a memory for Alianor.
“Felicity, what does sailchuach liath mean?”
“’Tis a flower. Why?”
“I … heard the children speak of it.”
“Aye, I s’pose ’tis blooming,” the other woman replied. “’Tis seen in early spring. A pale little dog-violet.”
Dog-violet? Alianor almost exclaimed, offended, but found the humor in it. She had stolen Turrean’s heart from Liam, and he acknowledged the fact with his wry endearment.
“This hair of yours — I recall having seen hair of silvered wheat but once before,” Felicity reflected.
“I oft wonder how my hair came by the color.”
“You do not know?”
Alianor shrugged. “No, both my parents died when I was young.”
“I’m sorry you’ve known loss, my child,” Felicity murmured. “God’s path ca
n be difficult.” Her words and the way she spoke them made Alianor turn her head to glance over her shoulder. She wanted to see Felicity’s expression.
“Be still,” Felicity chided her, “or we’ll have t’ begin again.”
Alianor obeyed and turned back around in the chair, not wishing to prolong the torture.
Felicity chuckled. “Apologies. It seems the old Sister Felicity still comes out on occasion. Fear not, child, I’ll not make you do penance — this time.”
Alianor wanted to ask the obvious, but kept silent so Felicity knew she respected the rules of the camp — no questions about anyone’s past.
As if rewarding her for good behavior, Felicity offered freely what she dared not ask. “I was a young novice at the convent of St. Mary’s, milady. The nuns ran an orphanage — how I loved looking after the wee ones who came to us. There I cared for a little girl but three, mayhap four years of age. ’Twas she who had hair this color.” She sighed at her recollection. “Ailinn was her name.”
“Ailinn. After the beautiful Leinster princess of legend, lover of Baile of the Honeyed Speech,” Alianor said. “Yes, I remember the tale. An evil faery falsely told each partner of the death of the other so they would each die of broken hearts. The trick worked, and they were buried in adjoining graves where two trees, and apple and a yew, grew entwined.”
Felicity paused in her task. “How do you know this tale?”
“Oh, I must have heard it at court. Many traveling minstrels are Irish, Felicity. It’s a heart-wrenching story — hard to forget. Besides, Ailinn is an unusual name.”
“Aye,” Felicity agreed. “And an unusual little thing my Ailinn was, too. So bright, and curious about everything in God’s world.”
“Alas, there are too many orphans in this world.”
Felicity nodded and continued her story. “By the time Ailinn left us, I was ready t’ take my vows and commit my life t’ God. But the prioress was a hard woman, unkind t’ the children under her care. One evening, she overheard me telling the tale of Seòd Fios t’ entertain them. I had been forbidden t’ tell tales of Eire, milady. The prioress did not tolerate what she called pagan myths and Celtic idolatry, so she banished me t’ the streets. My calling was no more.
“I was alone and destitute. Hard times, indeed, and I could not find work, at least not of a sort I could bring myself t’ do. There is little occupation for a woman, milady, if she be neither wife nor whore.” Felicity’s hands paused in her work, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“I travel’d far in prayer of finding decent work for a pious, godfearing woman. But I found none. One day, I collapsed starving on the side of the road — a heap of rags and bones nobody noticed. Nobody except a pack of wild dogs.”
Alianor shivered with foreboding. “What happened, Felicity?”
“Snarling and snapping woke me. The curs surrounded me by moonlight, fighting amongst themselves for the first rights t’ attack their prey. I believe they were hungrier even than me, for it had been a hard winter. But I was too weak t’ defend myself, too weak even t’ cry out. ’Twas clear I was going t’ die.”
Despite knowing full well Felicity did not die, Alianor’s breath still caught in her throat. She imagined the terror the poor woman experienced as she stared up at frenzied, feral eyes and gleaming, bared teeth.
“God was with me, child. A man rushed from the shadows, and drove the pack off yowling into the night.”
Alianor turned again, this time ignoring the tug on her hair from doing so. “Oh, how dreadful. I am so sorry you suffered so.”
Felicity’s lips trembled as she smiled. She caught up one of Alianor’s hands in her own, patted it reassuringly. “We all have our crosses t’ bear, milady. But ne’er fret — for my story has a happy ending. ’Twas our Emerald Prince who plucked me from death’s doorstep and brought me t’ this place.”
“Liam,” Alianor murmured. No wonder Felicity bore him intense loyalty. To a woman almost dead and starving in the streets, he must have seemed like a prince indeed come to her rescue.
“’Tis how Turrean came t’ be at his side, too. She was but a scrawny thing, nigh a skinny pup half-starved t’ death tryin’ t’ fend for herself amongst grown dogs. She stayed behind when the others fled, and he brought both me and the wee hound home with him.”
Alianor smiled. “It’s a lovely story, Felicity, and bless you for sharing it with me.”
Felicity nodded and her fingers touched the wedding band Alianor wore. “It appears your loss goes deeper than your parents, milady.”
“Yes, my dearest Walter passed only a short time ago.”
“Walter is a good, strong name.”
“And he was a good, strong man. A great knight, too, for he fought beside King Richard in the Crusades,” Alianor said proudly. “Walter rescued me and my brother when our parents died.” She sighed. “Aye, Walter Coventry was the most noble, honorable man I’ve ever known.”
Felicity looked thoughtful. “Coventry. Was your lord husband ever in Eire, milady?”
Alianor nodded. “I believe so, at least once. Many years ago he had an Irish squire named Brian, who fell fighting beside him. Walter had promised the lad he would tell his parents of his valor in battle and his honorable death defending Holy Mother Church. Knowing Brian’s parents could not read, Walter traveled to Ireland to tell them the news in person. ’Twas the sort of man he was, Felicity.”
Felicity pursed her lips then changed the subject. “Niall said you are destined for a Norman lord’s bed by order of the Sassenach King himself. Ach, ’tis too soon for you t’ remarry, milady, but men seem t’ care naught ’bout a woman’s grief.”
“Especially kings,” Alianor said. She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “But, as you said, we all have our crosses to bear.” Felicity tied off her plaits and rose to give the woman a hug. “Thank you for tending my hair, and for being so kind and attentive whilst I am here. You have made me feel at home and I shall be sad to leave for this reason.”
Felicity’s gaze fell warm and soft upon her, the woman touched by her words of gratitude. “Do you not wonder why you are so taken with the people here, milady?”
“Why, I hope it’s because my heart is more open than most. Though, it might take a strong nudge for someone to burrow deep within.”
Felicity hesitated. “I wonder, would it be our Uilleam who has managed t’ find a path t’ your heart, milady — with a wee bit of a nudge?”
An uncomfortable warmth crept up Alianor’s neck and made her cheeks burn. “La, Felicity,” she exclaimed with surprise, glancing out the window. “How the hours have flown by; the shadows are long already. I fear I have encroached upon your privacy a bit overlong. The time draws nigh for evening prayers, and I’ve kept you from your work.”
Thankfully, Felicity only nodded and Alianor escaped the woman’s cell to return to her own. As she walked the old abbey halls, a surreal sense of knowing something, yet not knowing touched her. She felt on the verge of a discovery. How strange, she thought, not able to put the intense feeling into proper perspective. For it held no meaning, only the faint promise of one.
“Don’t be a silly goose, Nora,” she chided herself beneath her breath. She did her best to leave the odd feeling behind her.
Chapter Eleven
LIAM STRODE DOWN THE hall to his bedchamber, but stopped when he spotted the door ajar. He heard a slight noise inside and his right hand went to the sword hilt at his waist. Tense, he pushed the door open, braced for anything.
Instead of an attack, soft humming greeted him. Alianor’s back was to him as she rose on tiptoe to snag one of the books high upon a shelf on the wall.
Flames crackled and popped in the large fireplace occupying another stone wall, and by its flickering light he admired the curve of her backside. Seeing Alianor caused an instant heat to flood over him. He made no move to go inside and said nothing, watching her profile while she studied the book’s contents, her fingers gently turning t
he pages.
Turrean noticed Liam from where she lay on the large rug before the hearth. The dog stood and stretched, crossed to where he stood, and prodded him with her nose for attention.
Turrean’s movement caused Alianor to look over and a small gasp escaped her. “I’m sorry — I did not know you were there.”
He did not speak and it seemed to make her nervous for she babbled on. “Felicity said you were away and I could come to pick out a book to read.” Uncertainty filled her eyes. “You said before I might borrow from your library. Or did I misunderstand?”
Liam finally managed a reply. “Yes, Alianor, I did offer. You are most welcome to anything I have. I didn’t mean to disturb you in your quest.”
He turned to leave, but her soft voice stopped him. “Please, you needn’t go. I have found one I like. I shall not intrude any longer.”
“You need not hurry.”
This time Alianor went silent. The awkward moment prompted Liam to ask, “You have finished Beowulf?” He turned back and stepped into the room, trying not to let her presence disturb him.
“Yes,” she said, fingering the book she held. “I thought I’d revisit Lancelot, in Chrétien de Troyes’ Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart.”
“Ah,” Liam mused. “A tragic love.”
Alianor glanced at him. The silence hung in the air like a visible wall, each unable or unwilling to breech it. She blurted, “I find your room charming.”
A pang of guilt struck Liam unexpectedly. “I’m sorry, Alianor. I should have given it to you when you arrived. ’Twas most ungallant of me.”
Her eyes widened in dismay. “No …” she began, and stopped, her embarrassment clear. “I was not hinting, William. I have neither the need nor the desire to take your room from you. I merely was surprised to find it so pleasant here.”
“Surprised?”
Alianor shrugged. “It’s an elegant chamber, full of books and fine things. I envisioned the king of outlaws living in sparse comfort. Like the monks who once lived here.”
