by Nancy Morse
He remained silent.
“How old is the brooch?” she asked, uncertain why she needed to know more about this piece of jewellery.
“Hundreds of years,” he replied, but she sensed no enthusiasm in his voice. “It was handed down from an ancestor who was a sword-smith.”
She laughed. “A sword-smith? Like my father?”
She thought it humorous, but his clenched jaw indicated he didn’t. She should have kept silent but instead—
“What does it mean consumed by fire?”
He shrugged. “Who knows. Best we get some sleep. The morrow will be a difficult day.”
He pinned the brooch onto his cloak and stretched down in the shelter of the rock, tucking her back into his chest, his arm clamped around her. She fell asleep determined to savor this chance to be consumed by the heat of his body. It was unlikely it would ever happen again.
This was the calm before the storm.
Either Matthew’s feet had swollen or his boots had shrunk. He recalled woefully that this particular pair had always been snug. The cuts on the soles of his feet prickled as if he’d walked on hot coals. He considered easing the boots off, but suspected they’d be hard to remove and didn’t want to wake Brigandine.
The embers of the fire still glowed, warming them within the enchanted circle. This night she was safe in his arms. On the morrow—
His head swam with conflicting emotions. What was it about this woman that attracted him? He chuckled inwardly. Attraction was too weak a word for what he felt. The urge to mate with her was overwhelming, yet he had no wish to use her as his mistress, and the fullness at his groin was pleasantly reassuring that his yearning was natural.
But natural or not, there was no future for them. On the morrow the spell would be broken. They’d return to Lincluden where she and her father would no doubt face censure. Le Cordier might not deem the masquerade of any importance, but the castle folk would make the pair suffer for it. If Gorrie lost his livelihood, he and his daughter would be destitute.
Matthew resolved to do all in his power to ensure Gorrie remained as armorer to the English army. But Brigandine could no longer be his apprentice—could she?
He’d a feeling she loved the work. If she wanted to carry on he’d support her.
Marrying Brig might solve many of the problems that lay ahead. He fingered the brooch as a reminder of why that would never be possible.
He had to keep his eye on the prize; land, a knighthood. Those were the important things.
She turned in her sleep and her hand settled on his neck. Savoring the innocent intimacy of her gesture, he studied her lovely face in the firelight. How had he not realized? She was stunningly beautiful, even with the strange hair and the bruise on her temple. Though her hands were calloused, they were dainty and feminine. But she could never be his and his heart ached with the bitter truth of it.
Keeping The Secret
The noisy shouts of the Brabanters woke Matthew as dawn broke. He wasn’t alarmed. The mercenaries never did anything quietly. But he didn’t want them to discover Brig in his arms, having decided during the night that maintaining her disguise was the safest plan for the moment
Reluctantly, he gently shook her awake. She blinked open her eyes and gazed at him. What he saw in those green depths was humbling. She trusted him. Perhaps she had feelings for him too, but that would complicate matters further. “We must continue your masquerade,” he rasped, removing his cloak and wrapping it tightly around her. The backs of his hands brushed against her breasts. Despite his determination to discourage any relationship between them, he had to tell her. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes on, Brigandine.”
There was just enough light to reveal her blush. She said nothing in reply, but her eyes smiled.
He fastened the cloak with his pin, somehow knowing he could trust her with it. “Only I know of your sex,” he said. “We must keep it that way.”
She averted her gaze. “Sorley and Hamish know,” she murmured.
He got to his feet, took her hand and pulled her up. “It won’t take long to track them. They will probably lead us to other rebels.”
She eyed him curiously. He kept forgetting she was a Gael who’d betrayed him once already.
“I didn’t want to betray you,” she said, as if she recognised his fear. “I was angry and upset and only meant to free Sorley. He stole my dagger and freed the others and forced me to go with him when he took Belenus. I knew you would be furious about your horse.”
It pleased him that she cared. “I want to fold you in my arms, Brigandine and kiss you, but I fear the mercenaries might see us and wonder.” He grinned. “It’s strange, I thought Brig an ugly name, now I can’t stop saying Brigandine.”
Belenus whinnied nearby. “He knows it’s time to go.”
She followed him to his horse and watched him mount. He smiled weakly, his hand held out. “I’d prefer to sit you on my lap, but again—”
She nodded, accepted his hand and mounted behind him. “I understand,” she said. “I thank ye. My Da will be grateful.”
It occurred to him she wouldn’t be in this precarious position were it not for her father, but he said nothing in reply. He might have done the same in Gorrie’s place. He shook away the notion. If he had a daughter—
Irritated with himself, he urged Belenus forward. There would be no daughters, no sons either if he never married. Despite his resolve, the notion saddened him.
He relished the warmth of Brigandine’s body pressed to his back, especially now he’d seen her glorious breasts. Her thighs hugged his arse. Strong thighs, made to wrap around a man’s hips.
His shaft reacted predictably to the arousing vision that played behind his eyes. “Lincluden. March,” he yelled gruffly to the Brabanters, hoping to take his mind off the woman whose heat already had him sweating. They fell into formation behind him.
Brigandine was lazily enjoying the leisurely ride back to Lincluden. No matter what happened, Matthew de Rowenne deemed her the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on. She found herself thrusting out the breasts she’d been careful to hide. The sensation wrought by her nipples rubbing against his back through the fabric of his cloak was indescribable. It made her want. What she wanted she wasn’t sure but it certainly involved Matthew.
As they came within sight of the castle he reined to an abrupt halt, gritting out something in his own language she suspected was an oath. “What’s wrong?”
“Atop the flag pole,” he replied flatly. “King William’s standard.”
She squinted up at the pennant fluttering in the early morning breeze. “How do ye know?”
“The red lion. That’s his symbol. That’s why he’s called William the Lion. Believe me it has naught to do with his prowess.”
The hint of humor in his voice intrigued her. “Ye sound like ye know him.”
“I unhorsed him at the Battle of Alnwick.”
Pride surged through her veins. The man she loved had unhorsed a king!
Wait! Loving Matthew was impossible.
“Then I escorted him to Normandie. In chains.”
This was troubling news that plummeted like a lead ball to the pit of her belly. “He’ll nay be happy to see ye, then,” she murmured.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he replied, setting Belenus in motion again.
They trotted into the bailey and dismounted. A stable boy ran to take the reins, and one of the Spanish soldiers hurried towards them. She edged closer to Matthew, fairly sure this was one of the bullies who’d dunked her in the river. “Commandante,” he said with a crisp bow before rattling off some message in his own language. He bowed again then stood to attention.
She hadn’t understood a word, but relief showed on Matthew’s face. “Le Cordier is with the King in the Hall,” he explained. “He knows nothing of what happened on the way to Annan, only that we were attacked. The Aragonese to
ld him I had gone in search of the rebels.”
She was awed that Matthew commanded the respect of the rough Spaniards. They’d protected him.
To her surprise he patted her bottom. “Hie away to the forge,” he said with a smile. “Don’t tell your Da I know the truth. Tell no one.”
Heart racing, she nodded, unpinning the brooch. He put a hand over hers. Its reassuring warmth traveled from her hand up her spine and into her womb. “Keep it on until you can replace the bindings. Act quickly. I’ll come for the cloak.”
He winked. “I must go,” he rasped. “A King awaits.”
It was exhilarating. A man, winking at her, as if they shared a secret. Which they did! And he was trusting her with his jewel.
“Go with God,” she whispered, watching him stride off with the Spaniard in his wake. When he disappeared into the Keep, she dashed off to the forge.
Cadha
Matthew found the King and Le Cordier in the Hall. William dwarfed the Lord’s chair, drumming the fat fingers of one hand on the elaborately carved arm. Matthew bent the knee, but his homage was prompted by custom not respect, and he sensed King William the Lion knew it. “Your Majesty,” he gushed in Norman French.
Le Cordier bristled. “His Majesty has been waiting.”
Matthew widened his eyes. “I apologise, Your Majesty, I was abroad pursuing men who have rebelled against your rule. Had I known—”
William waved a lazy hand. “You’ve arrived at last, de Rowenne, and I am less than pleased my cousin chose you for this campaign.”
Matthew bowed in acknowledgement, but refrained from remarking that was exactly the reason Henry had sent him. “I regret my presence displeases you, Your Majesty. I am a humble soldier and I do my duty when it is asked of me.”
Le Cordier cleared his throat. “If I may speak—”
“Nay, you may not,” William interjected, “because you are about to tell me de Rowenne is a dependable soldier who proved his worth in the last Scottish expedition—the one Henry sent into my country while I was his guest in Normandie.”
The interview wasn’t going well. Matthew deemed it advisable to keep his mouth shut.
“Concerning the location of my castle in Galloway,” William asked unexpectedly, “what say you, de Rowenne? The Nith or the Annan?”
Matthew had no way of knowing what had passed between the King and Le Cordier, but was firmly convinced as to where the fortification should be built. “South of here, Sire, on the Nith.”
He sensed his capitaine’s agitation.
William stroked his red beard. “Agreed,“ he declared after several minutes of silence. “Now, on another matter. Ranulf de Glanville has charged me with finding a bride for you.”
Matthew had a strange feeling Le Cordier was stifling a smile behind his twitching lips. That didn’t augur well. The familiar desperation rose again in his throat, but William would quickly quell his objections and the reasons for them. But he was completely unprepared for what the King said next.
“I have chosen Lady Cadha MacFergus.”
The name was vaguely familiar. “MacFergus?” he asked.
“Aye,” William replied with a broad grin. “Daughter of Gilbride, so called Lord of Galloway.”
The ground shifted beneath Matthew’s feet. He determined to keep the consternation out of his voice. “Surely, Your Majesty, MacFergus will not allow his daughter to wed a lowly soldier?”
The King fixed his gaze on Matthew. “Don’t concern yourself with that. Cadha is his sixth daughter. He has already consigned her to a nunnery. Too many daughters, too many dowries.”
More retaliation. Matthew was being forced to wed a woman who would bring nothing to the marriage. He was a worm wriggling on a fish hook. “But if she has taken vows—”
William steepled his fingers, obviously enjoying Matthew’s discomfort. “Nay, just a novice. We got her out just in time.”
“Out?” he parroted.
“From Lincluden Abbey,” Le Cordier supplied. “I escorted her here yesterday.”
This explained the important matter that had preoccupied his capitaine. His bride-to-be was in Lincluden Castle; and why did Le Cordier find the turn of events so amusing?
The King had no way of knowing he’d cursed Cadha MacFergus to a fiery death, and it was likely he wouldn’t care if he did. But he knew full well he’d brought Gilbride’s wrath down on Matthew’s head. The Lord of Galloway would take the abduction and unsanctioned marriage of his daughter as a personal insult.
Only King Henry could prevent this marriage now, and he had returned to Normandie before Matthew’s departure for Carlisle.
He was a dead man.
Brig’s Da had pestered her for hours about the attack until she’d snapped back that she was sworn to secrecy. Deceiving her father was wrong, but she’d given Matthew her word. Gorrie sulked, pounding the ingot he’d been working on for days, apparently annoyed he knew as little as anyone else in the castle. The Aragonese had closed ranks.
“Well, we had our own excitement here yesterday,” he finally said. “King William and Le Cordier abducted Gilbride’s daughter from the Abbey.”
“Cadha?” Brig asked, remembering the shy girl she’d known in Cruggleton. “Why would they do that? It’s been her lifelong wish to give herself to God. She has a true vocation.”
“Aye, well,” Gorrie replied, “rumor has it she’s to wed the Norman.”
Brig understood now what consumed by fire meant. The burning pain of jealous disbelief scorched her heart. “De Rowenne?”
“Aye, but ye can ask him. Here he comes now, no doubt for his cloak,” her father remarked.
She watched as Matthew walked slowly towards her, his face ashen, and she knew it was true. Her heart was broken, her shoes nailed to the stone floor, but she had to go to him.
She hastily retrieved the folded cloak she’d made ready in anticipation of his visit, and ran to him. They weren’t the only people in the field, but at least her father was too far away to overhear. She thrust the cloak at the man who preoccupied her every waking and sleeping moment, averting her eyes from the red glass. “I hear ye’re to be wed,” she said brightly.
He accepted the cloak, one brow arched. “News travels fast,” he quipped with a smile that held no humor.
Brigandine swallowed the knot in her throat. “I wish ye the best. Cadha is a sweet lass.”
“You know her?” he asked with wide eyed surprise.
“Aye. We grew up together in Cruggleton, though of course she was a nobleman’s daughter and I was the smith’s apprentice.”
Matthew clenched his jaw and looked to the sky.
Brig remembered resting her hand on that long neck. The memory filled her with longing. She resolved to speak of other things. “But I always thought Cadha would become a religious.”
He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Because she’s Gilbride’s sixth daughter?”
“Nay, because she has a true calling.”
His gaze darkened. “She doesn’t want to marry?”
“She aspires to be the bride of Christ.”
Matthew studied his feet. She glanced around. People were becoming curious. She was at a loss. “But she’ll be a faithful wife.”
He looked up sharply. “I don’t want a wife.”
His anger took her aback. The news about Cadha had destroyed any silly notions about her and Matthew. Now he was trampling them in the dirt. “I’m sorry. I thought most men sought to wed.”
He furled the cloak around his shoulders, his jaw clenched. He unpinned the clasp of the brooch, but held it out, his eyes locked on hers. “This is the reason I will never marry. You asked what consumed by fire meant. This heirloom has been handed down through my family for generations, always to the second son. The last three wives of those men all died by fire, including my mother. I’ll not wish that on any woman, especially one I love.”
Brig swayed like a saplin
g in the wind, wishing she could throw herself at him, tell him he was wrong. Fire was already consuming her. He’d never met Cadha. If he loved a woman, it could only be—
“Ye love me?” she ventured in a hoarse voice she barely recognised.
He pinned the brooch back on the cloak then looked back into her eyes. “I am not master of my own destiny, Brigandine Lordsmith. If I was—”
He turned and strode way abruptly before she had a chance to tell him she would risk anything to spend her life with him, no matter how short that life, nor how painful the end of it.
Flight
Brig saw Matthew only occasionally over the course of the next few days. He never stopped on his way by the forge, never looked her way. Preparations were in hand for construction to begin on a new castle fortification south of Lincluden at Dumfries. She accepted he must be preoccupied with his responsibilities on that front, but it hurt nonetheless to see him so obviously unhappy, his jaw clenched, face grim.
With her female emotions in turmoil, playing the role of a lad was becoming nigh on intolerable, but her father needed her as the workload increased in the smithy.
Rumor had it Matthew had been introduced to his betrothed. She wondered what he thought of Cadha. She hadn’t mentioned the lazy eye and slurred speech, but he must know of the girl’s physical shortcomings by now. It was reported she’d left the interview in tears, stammering her objections.
The pounding of her Da’s sledgehammer had never bothered Brig, but now every blow rang in her head. She absent-mindedly pressed her fingertips to the bruise at her temple. It had almost disappeared, but the memory of Matthew’s concern brought her close to tears. That was the trouble with being a girl. She seemed to be constantly teetering on the verge of tears.
She wept with relief when it was whispered the men hiding at the druid circle had eluded the mercenaries who’d gone to ferret them out. That meant Sorley and Hamish were probably still alive, but it gave renewed hope for Gilbride’s triumphant return, and an ousting of the Scots. She worried though that the arrival of Scottish troops with King William had crammed Lincluden to the rafters with armed men. Gilbride had best attack with a huge army. But if the English were routed, Matthew might be killed or injured.
