The Warrior Bride

by Lois Greiman

  “I myself did not plan to come so soon, but when I thought of the children…” She paused and spread her gloved fingers across her d?colletage as if in wide dismay. His gaze didn’t drift from her face for the barest moment. “How do they fare?”

  “I am but the bailiff here, my lady. I know little of the children,” he said. “But I can show you to your quarters if you desire.”

  “I would be eternally grateful,” she said, and brushed an imaginary speck of mud from the wide skirt of her gown. “It has been a long and wearisome journey.”

  “Shall I send another to gather your trunks, or will your man be seeing to them?”

  “I’ve no wish to trouble you further, Master…”

  “You may call me Reeves, my lady.”

  “Reeves,” she said, and gave him a small smile. “I’ve no wish to take you from your duties. I am certain your expertise is much needed elsewhere.”

  He made no indication that he had heard the compliment. She kept her smile firmly in place and felt as if MacGowan was about to burn a hole through the back of her head. Damn him and his Highland glower.

  “My servant would be delighted to see to my trunks, Reeves.”

  Beside her, Lachlan remained absolutely silent. Tension cranked tighter in her gut, but she turned resolutely toward him.

  “Wouldn’t you, champion?”

  For a moment challenge flashed in his eyes, but finally he lifted his face and gave Reeves a crooked smile.

  “Delighted I’d be,” he agreed, his voice unusually loud. “Just as me leidy says.”

  The bailiff seemed not the least bit disturbed by MacGowan’s boisterous demeanor. Neither did he deign to address him. “And will he be leaving us or shall I make a place for him in the servants’ quarters?”

  Rhona opened her mouth to speak, but Lachlan interrupted.

  “It’s staying I’ll be,” he said, and placing his fists on his hips, gave the somber bailiff a sharp nod. “Lord Barrnett, ‘e said, look after me daughter well or it’s your ‘ide I’ll be tannin’, so I’d best be stayin’ ‘ere with ‘er for I’ve a fondness for me ‘ide, but I’ve a strong back, I do, and I’ve a talent with the’ erbs if somemat should tek sick.”

  “Very well then,” said Reeves and turning about, led Rhona toward the looming house.

  She had no time to admonish Lachlan for his foolish display of rustic civility, but followed Reeves until she stood in the entryway. She’d been to Stirling Castle, King James’s residence, more than once. Its size little exceeded Claronfell’s, but she took no time to marvel at the grandeur of the place. Instead, she climbed the stairs behind the bailiff and was soon ensconced in her own chamber. It was almost bare, boasting little but a bed draped in deep blue velvet and a massive fireplace crafted of gray stone. Above the hearth hung a mace and a pair of battleaxes, both notched from use.

  Pacing to the window, Rhona looked out at the property below. Vast gardens stretched out forever. Verdant hedges spiralled this way and that. Bushes trimmed in the shapes of every manner of wild beast capered across the lawn, and fragrant roses still bloomed along a rock wall that formed an archway near its center. But despite the manor’s beauty there was a macabre aura about the place that disturbed her.

  Suddenly, though, she heard laughter, and turned, thinking she would see the children.

  “‘Tis the third door to the right. Some ways yet it be, but by the look of ye ye’ll stand the distance,” someone said, and in a moment Lachlan entered the room with a trunk upon his shoulder. A maid not yet twenty years of age followed. “Arms like that will come in handy round about now,” she said as he straightened from setting the trunk on the floor.

  “And a figure lek yours be ‘ andy year round,” countered Lachlan with his odd accent.

  “Hum, I’ll have to keep an eye out when you’re round about,” said the maid. “And what shall I be calling ye?”

  “Me mam named me Dafydd,” he said.

  “Dafydd.” She rolled the name on her tongue. “‘Tis a strange name ye have.”

  “Not atall,” he countered. “‘Tis a good Welsh name, it is.”

  “Aye well, I’ve not seen a Welshman the likes of you.” “Nor shall ye,” he said, and winked. “For me veins also flow with the blood of the Scots and the Saxon and a wee dram of the red dragon’s blood.”

  “Not to mention a bit of the blarney,” said the maid, and laughed.

  Emotions churned in Rhona’s gut as she watched the two. The girl was as pretty as springtime, with dark wavy hair and a pert, turned-up nose. The pale color of her green gown showed her tidy figure to perfection.

  “Not a bit of blarney is it, me leidy?” Lachlan asked as he turned toward Rhona.

  “Oh!” The maid jumped, then bobbed a curtsy and fidgeted as though she would be struck dead on the spot. “Me apologies, me lady. I thought you had gone to see the wee ones. I didn’t see ye standing there.”

  Rhona said nothing.

  “Well…” The maid cleared her throat and backed toward the door. “I’ll be helping your Dafydd here with the rest of your luggage then if you’ve no need for me just yet.”

  “I do,” countered Rhona.

  The maid stopped as if she’d been stabbed. Something akin to humor shone darkly in Lachlan ‘s eyes.

  Rhona dropped her gaze and cursed the deep timbre of her well-trained voice. “I do so hate to be a bother,” she said, and tried an ingratiating smile. It may have resembled a snarl. “But as a matter of truth, I could use your assistance. And I’m certain Dafydd here can manage to fetch my trunks himself.”

  His attention didn’t shift from her face. Neither did the gleam disappear from his eyes.

  “Oh, of course,” said the girl and bobbed again. “How can I assist you, me lady?”

  She was so eager, so comely. It made Rhona’s fists ache. “Aren’t you the bonny one?” she said. “And what might your name be, lass?”

  “I am called Colette.”

  Even the name was delicate. Not like Rhona. And already she was flitting her wide-eyed gaze back to Lachlan, as if he were her savior, just arrived on his champing white steed.

  “If it is not too much trouble, I would like to meet the children, Colette.”

  “Oh. Certainly. The poor wee babes,” said the other, and turned with only one more glance at MacGowan. “If you’ll follow me, I shall show you the way.”

  The halls were narrow and dimly lit, and it seemed a long distance from her chamber to the girls’, but finally they arrived.

  The nursery was a large room, mostly empty but for a narrow bed, two trunks, and a few well-crafted stools. A small girl sat upon one of them, her middle finger still wet from having just been jerked out of her mouth and half hidden in the folds of her white pristine gown. The hem was embroidered in soft shades of pink and green that twisted like living vines about the gown’s outer edge. The lace at her wrists was snowy, as was the upright collar that reached her chin. She held a clay doll and in the corner not far away another lass sat cross-legged with her back toward them.

  “Catherine!” scolded Colette and snapped her gaze to Rhona and back. “Get up off the floor, child, or there’ll be the devil to pay.”

  The girl with the doll jumped to her feet, nearly falling over in her haste, then hurried over to stand nervously beside the other.

  As for the elder of the two, she turned sullenly toward them, eyes narrowed. Her face was very pale but for a small blackish bruise on her temple. She was dressed identically to her sister.

  “Come hither,” ordered Colette. Neither child moved a muscle.

  “Come along now,” said the maid, then started as another woman arrived. “Oh! Baroness!” she said and curtsied. “Lady Rhona has arrived.”

  The newcomer turned to Rhona with a shy smile. She was a small, pretty woman with large sad eyes and a slim body garbed in black. Her hair was gray, pulled back from her face and mostly hidden beneath a dark French hood that hung down her narrow back. In her
hand she carried a string of wooden beads which she worried at with quick, delicate fingers. “Lady Rhona,” she murmured, her voice dulcet. “I thank the Lord you have arrived safely. And what of you, my dears,” she said, turning toward the children. “I hope you have welcomed her in due Christian fashion.”

  Rhona glanced back at the girls. Though they remained in the corner, the eldest had risen to her feet and turned now, her back to the wall. Defiance shone in every taut fiber.

  “I am Lady Irvette Norval,” said the baroness, and smiled bravely at Rhona. “So you are come to care for my brother’s daughters.”

  “Aye.”

  “I pray it will work out for the best.”

  There was something about her tone that aroused Rhona’s curiosity. “Has there been trouble, Lady Norrval?”

  “Trouble?” A mixture of sadness and worry lit across her aging features, but she smoothed her expression and smiled wanly. “Nay, no trouble. They are good children,” she said. Her voice was soft. “They but take too much guilt upon themselves.”

  Rhona focused on the girls. They stood absolutely immobile, saying nothing, and she realized finally that the room had gone silent. “I beg your pardon?” she said, certain the baroness had spoken.

  “I asked if you have cared for children before?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked, your ladyship.

  But I did spend some time with my cousin’s children.”

  “Your cousin?”

  “Aye. I have been summering in Spain these past months with Lady Romona de Leon. Mayhap you know her.”

  “I’ve not had time for the luxury of travel,” said Norrval. “My brother’s wife has been ill for some time as you may know. ‘Twas my Christian duty to come and see my nieces gently reared.”

  “‘Tis good of you to leave your own affairs to care for them.”

  “We must do what we can. I’ve not been blessed with children of my own, but I cherish these two as if I had birthed them myself.”

  “I am certain I will feel the same.”

  The look of sadness creased the baroness’s brow for a moment. “I pray ‘tis true,” she said softly. ”Though Catherine…” She paused, then glanced at the girls and put on a brave smile. “Humility is a fine thing, surely, but… All will be well. I am sure of it.”

  Dread marched ominously down Rhona’s back. “Is there something I should know, baroness?”

  The older woman smiled wearily and shook her head.

  “Nay. I am being foolish. ‘Twas only that Loma needed much attention before her death. The children may have been neglected during that time, and I fear…” She paused, looking as though her heart would break. “I fear our young Catherine blames herself.”

  “Why?”

  The baroness shook her head. ”There is no reason,” she said, staring directly at the elder girl as she did so, as though she could force her to believe the softly spoken words. “No reason at all. Not for the blame, and certainly not for the bruises.”

  The bruises? Rhona skimmed her attention to the blackish mark on the girl’s brow. She abused herself?

  “And… their father?” Rhona asked, her mind spinning.

  “My brother is often busy with his affairs.”

  Lachlan ‘s words swirled wildly with the information she herself had garnered about the marquis. “I am certain it has been difficult since their mother’s passing,” Rhona said. “But I will do my best to care for them.”

  “I am certain you will,” said Lady Norval, ”but you needn’t tax yourself immediately. You must take some time to settle in. I will see to the little girls until you’ve become accustomed to the ways of Claronfell.”

  Rhona frowned. Time was fleeting, and if the marquis did indeed plan some evil, she didn’t have much time left to learn what it was. “I’ve little to do but care for the lassies, Lady-”

  But the other interrupted with a lift of her frail hand. ”They are used to having me here,” she said. “Indeed, we have become quite close and they do not need yet another blow so quickly upon the death of their mother.” She glanced at the girls. They remained exactly as they were, not moving a hair, their expressions unreadable masks. “Nay,” she said. “I will not be leaving just yet.”

  Chapter 20

  The marquis was not what Rhona expected. He was neither balding nor paunchy as MacGowan had implied, but stood straight and elegant, before bowing over her hand.

  “Lady Rhona,” he said, and kissed her knuckles with fatherly gentleness. His hair was silver and when he smiled, fine lines radiated from the corners of his azure eyes. “How kind of you to come all this way on my account.”

  “‘Twas the least I could do for an old friend of my father’s,” she said.

  “Not so very old, I hope,” he countered.

  She scowled, remembered herself and endeavoured to implement that wide-eyed gaze of adoration that other women seemed to accomplish so easily. “Of course not, my lord,” she corrected quickly. “I should have said my father’s esteemed friend. When I heard of your wife’s passing I only wished to help your daughters through this difficult time, and relieve your pain some whit.”

  His eyes saddened. She pulled her hand carefully from his grasp.

  “Aye, ‘twas a terrible loss,” he said. “She was with child, you know.”

  “Nay, my lord, I did not.” “Aye, she carried my son.” “You know the babe’s sex?”

  He smiled wanly and seated himself at the head of the table. “She already bore me two lovely daughters. Simple logic would suggest-ahh, but there are my princesses now,” he said, and sure enough, they came, shepherded along by a darkly garbed Lady Norval toward the table. “Edwina,” he said, his voice coddling as he addressed the younger of the two. “Come hither.”

  Rhona noticed now that the child’s fingers were tangled in her sister’s starched sleeve.

  “Come,” he said again, and without glancing down, the taller of the two tugged Edwina’s fingers from her sleeve and urged her forward.

  The tiny girl stumbled forth on wooden legs. Lord Robert lifted her onto his lap, where she sat stiff as a spear and stared up at him with eyes as round as guinea eggs.

  He smiled down at her, then lifted his gaze as his sister urged Catherine toward a high stool.

  The girl’s pink mouth was pursed, but she did as told.

  Climbing reluctantly onto her perch, she pushed her hands rapidly beneath the table, then turned to glare at Rhona.

  “I trust you have become acquainted with my dear sister,” said the marquis.

  Rhona pulled her attention from the girl. “Yes, my lord,” she said, and turned her gaze toward the elder woman.

  The other lowered her eyes demurely and lovingly stroked Catherine’s hair. Fine and long, it gleamed red in the candlelight, but the girl’s mouth remained pursed, and her eyes smoldered.

  “Lady Irvette is baroness of Hanstone,” said the marquis and set Edwina on her feet. The girl scurried like a field mouse over to her high chair, then scrambled onto the seat and rolled her eyes from one adult to the other while Colette hurried forward to fit a wooden tray into its place in front of her.

  “Learn what you can from her,” Robert suggested to Rhona, “for I fear she will soon be leaving us.”

  “You needn’t worry immediately,” murmured Irvette, glancing with concern at Colette’s progress with the tray. “I am planning to stay a bit longer.”

  Edwina’s round eyes got rounder, but Catherine’s expression remained unchanged.

  “Indeed?” said Lord Robert. “And to what do we owe this privilege, sister?”

  “To Catherine,” Irvette said, and smiled reassuringly at the girl. “It seems she is not yet prepared for me to leave.”

  “Ahh,” said the marquis, and motioned to Reeves for the first course.

  And so the meal began, but Catherine refused to eat, Lady Irvette barely spoke, and the marquis rambled on about wines and spices and the time he had spent at court.


  The dining hall was large and well furnished. A host of ancient weapons adorned one wall. Rhona did her best not to admire them, but it would seem so much better to hold one in her hand and challenge all corners than to sit here in silence and try to untangle the nuances that flowed around her like spoiled wine. Was there a reason for her presence there, or was this naught but a waste of time?

  After supper, the baroness insisted on taking the girls to bed herself, thus Rhona was left alone with the nobleman. He was richly dressed in a scarlet doublet with slashed sleeves. His tunic was the color of the evening sky. It too bore the stylish slashes, and about his neck he wore a heavy pendant of gold. He smiled over his goblet at her.

  “How refreshing it is to have a maid like yourself at my table,” he said.

  Rhona lowered her gaze to the pewter plate she’d just used. Claronfell, it seemed, spared no expenses on its guests. “You are too kind, my lord.”

  He relinquished his wine and leaned closer as if to share a secret none other was privy to. “My sister is a boon with the children, but what with the sadness of the past several months…” He sighed. “She does not lighten the gloom as you do.”

  “She seems a godly person.”

  “She does, doesn’t she?” he agreed and, smiling, reached for her hand. “Perhaps you would like a tour of the gardens.”

  “‘Tis kind of you to offer,” she said and, tugging her fingers carefully from his, rose to her feet. “But it has been a long day, my lord. Perhaps I should bid your daughters good night and find my own bed.”

  He chuckled as he stood up.

  Irritation rippled up her neck, but she had carefully replaced her dirk in its place in her girdle. It was allowed, after all, since even Claronfell did not supply its diners with knives. “Why do you laugh, my lord?”

  “Simple pleasure, I suppose,” he said, and raised his hand palm up to indicate that she should proceed him from the room. “I hope you do not resent me for enjoying your presence.”

  “Of course not, my lord.”

  “After all, you are quite a surprise.”