"Thank you for that assessment of my character, sir, but apparently, we are all willing to accept a price for our goals. But I have come because I think you should speak with the pirate, Thomas de Longueville, after he has made his peace with King Philip."
"Oh?" The sharpness of his tone suggested that he was suspicious of the pirate—and ready to do battle with die rogue if he had harmed Eleanor.
"No, Alain, it is nothing evil he has done. But he came to us with a stray about being accosted in Liverpool before he sailed."
"Thomas de Longueville was in Liverpool?"
"Sir, Longshanks might be a king with a wicked sword against his enemies, but no ruler is so great as to wipe out the bands of sea-raiders. There are many places at such a port where a man pays his way, and no questions are asked. Aye, it's easy enough for any pirate with means to find a good tavern in Liverpool."
"Go on."
"He was approached by someone who paid him to seek out Lady Eleanor's ship, to abduct her, and see that she didn't return to England."
"He's certain?"
"So he says."
De Lacville shook his head. "The man to benefit from her disappearance would be her cousin, Alfred of Clarin. But he is the man who first approached me, since he had sworn to my lady's father to see her safely wed." He cleared his throat. "I would not have been my own first choice for Eleanor—I was an old man when I first held her upon my lap when she was a babe. But I know her, and the situation, and in honor of her father, I am delighted to give whatever aid, shelter, and strength I can offer to the lady."
"She is a beautiful woman, sir, loyal to you," Brendan heard himself say. She was loyal, and fierce in de Lacville's defense.
"You have done us both a great service," de Lacville said.
Brendan lowered his head, not quite able to meet the man's eyes.
"If I am ever of service to you, it is I who am grateful," he said, managing to look up.
"I promise you that I will return to England with the lady, and I will use all my resources to discover what evil may be afoot."
"Then I will rest assured that she is safe in your care, sir."
"Naturally."
Eleanor met only briefly with the king of France that day, and she well understood the description "Philip the Fair." He was a handsome man. She met him in family chambers with his wife, Jeanne, and his children, and she was introduced to the young Isabelle, who was betrothed to the king of England's son and would one day be queen of England. Also present were Louis, who would be king after his father, and young Philip and Charles, his brothers.
Queen Jeanne was kind, making Eleanor welcome, and telling her what esteem Count de Lacville received from them all. She was also intrigued to hear about the high seas adventures, curious about Thomas de Longueville, and concerned, because, apparently, the Scots had informed the king about the pirate's story that someone had paid for her capture.
"Apparently Brendan ... Sir Brendan ... believes that my family must be guilty. He is mistaken. They were eager for my marriage and my happiness. I'm afraid that what they fail to realize is that I'm considered something of a pariah to their people—I was at Falkirk. A figurehead, imagined to be far more than I am. But there is a hatred that runs deep between he two peoples, and I think it not unlikely that a Scotsman with means—perhaps the relative of a fallen hero at Falkirk— would gladly see my demise."
"That's possible, of course," Jeanne mused.
"It is the only answer."
"Yet, Scots rescued you from the sea."
Eleanor hesitated. "Wars create faceless enemies. We hate l people we don't know. Then, of course, we discover that men and women are universal, and that it is easy to hate a faceless name, and not so easy to despise individuals. It's true s well that the Scots were happy to rescue me, for the ransom e Longueville would have demanded became a reward the cots could claim."
"Such is the world, my dear," the queen told her. "But all are happy now. You are here, Count de Lacville is here, and the marriage will take place quickly, so that none can doubt that you stand with a wealthy and powerful baron, and cannot be taken lightly."
"Of course."
She spent that evening dining alone with Alain. He had ordered a meal in her rooms at the palace. She tried to be casual, to speak about France, her enjoyment of the country, the kindness of the people.
He seemed quiet, watching her.
"You are eager for this marriage, my dear?" he asked her.
Her heart skipped a beat. "Yes."
"I had a visitor today."
"Oh?"
"Brendan."
"Ah, yes."
"He is a fine young man."
"Yes, so it seems. For an enemy."
' 'He remains your enemy?''
"He is a Scotsman. Clarin was ravaged. Men were burned to death."
"At his command?"
"No."
"Do you know what the English have done as well? A Berwick, where the king himself was present, he only stopped< the slaughter when a woman bore a child as she was being slain."
She set down her fork, no longer having an appetite. Alaii seemed not to notice. He was watching her.
"He has a great fondness for you," he said.
"He has a great fondness for Scotland."
"Aye, that's true. But what of you, my dear?"
She feared the telltale rush of blood to her features, an wondered for a moment what Brendan might have said to him But then, she knew that Brendan would have said nothing made no admissions; the choice to make a confession would be her own.
"He is a Scot."
"It's all that simple?" Alain queried gently.
"Yes."
He sat back in his own chair, watching her. "I am very old, you know."
"I believe you are the same age as King Edward, who has recently taken a sixteen-year-old bride, sister to the king of France."
He smiled. "I am the same age. But not, I'm afraid, in as sound a condition."
"Please don't say that."
"I am only warning you, my lady, that I am not such a ... prize."
"To me, you are. You are kind, intelligent, giving ..."
He leaned forward. "Not so giving as you might expect."
She fell silent, uneasy, but then he smiled. ' 'In a few hours, we'll say our vows. When that occurs, I will accept nothing less than your complete loyalty."
She nodded, and reached for her chalice, needing a sip of wine. "I intend to give nothing less."
"My lady, you will never have a real bridegroom."
"I don't ..."
"Understand? No, of course not. I am not just old, Eleanor, but ravished by poxes. I bear up well in public, and this, of course, is a secret you will take to your grave. I am incapable of being a true husband."
He paused for a moment, watching her. She was appalled by the joy she felt in her own heart. She had meant to be the best wife to him she could be, but she had abhorred the idea !of being with him. Not because it was he, she realized. She simply wanted to be with no one else other than ...
Her enemy.
"At best," Alain continued, "I will have a few years to give you. But I hope in that time I will give you what you need; the means to rebuild your Clarin, to take control, to choose, at a later date, the husband you will take in the future."
She sat very still, and shook her head. "You're telling me ..."
"I haven't long to live. My doctors have assured me."
She shook her head. "You mustn't die. You are far too dear a man."
"You mean that, don't you?"
"With all my heart."
He rose and came around to her. She protested as he cracked his way down to one knee, but he would do so at her side. "I will cherish every minute of having you as my wife."
"I swear, sir ..."
"You needn't swear to me. I believe that you are in love with him."
She was amazed at the tears that sprang to her eyes. "I .. . no, I .. . couldn't—"
"No. Yo
u couldn't, and mustn't. Not now. He will ride with Wallace, and God knows, eventually, he might well have his fool head removed from those broad young shoulders. But I do not begrudge what you might have shared, my dear. Despite my infirmities, I am a proud man, and I will not be made a fool or a cuckold, but until you say your vows, my lady, you are guilty of no sin against me. Do you understand?"
She touched his silver hair. "I would never hurt you."
"I know that you would not. Neither, lady, would I cause you any pain I could avoid for you. But for the time ..."
"Sir, everything I do, I do with my eyes wide open, with all intentions of being your wife, your countess, and lady of Clarin."
"I know, Eleanor. I know that. Now, help an old man back to his feet. I'm for my own bedroom, my lady."
When he was gone, Bridie came in, chattering away. She talked about how noble and wonderful the count was, and how glad she was that Eleanor had reached Paris safely. She was so talkative, she didn't notice that Eleanor had little to say in reply.
"And to think!" Bridie said, crossing her slender chest. "I had thought we were dead upon the high seas!"
She laid out Eleanor's nightclothes, and brushed her hair.
"Is there anything else, my lady?"
"I'm fine, Bridie. Tired."
"Then, I'll leave you, of course."
Bridie slipped away, closing the door to the antechamber. Eleanor stretched out on the soft bed and fine sheets.
She lay awake.
A few minutes later, she thought she heard the soft opening and closing of a door.
Her heart quickened. She sat up. It had not been her door to open. She realized that Bridie had opened the door from the antechamber to the hall.
Bridie ...
Bridie was slipping out to meet the lover she had met aboard the pirate ship.
Eleanor lay back down.
In the elegance and splendor of the palace, she lay awake.
And alone.
Chapter 11
They were housed in a building just beyond the palace, and it was there that John Balliol came to see Wallace.
Wallace gravely gave Balliol an account of what was happening in Scotland.
"All was lost with Falkirk," Balliol told them. He was a slim man, his face not old, but showing the strain the years had taken.
"All was not lost at Falkirk!" Wallace said angrily.
Brendan gritted his teeth, wishing that Wallace could see more clearly that they fought a losing battle here, one far more fatal than Falkirk.
He stood, striding to stand between Wallace and Balliol. "Sire, you do not see the spirit that lies behind the people—"
"I see the greed and corruption of the clans, and the lowlanders who are more English than Scottish, ready to bend their knees to Edward," Balliol said. "I see Comyn and Bruce, ready to claim the throne, ready to kill to achieve it. I see those who ride for the Scots one minute, then take flight in the same battle to fight on the other side, eager for Edward's rewards!"
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Wallace swore, "no great prize is won without a fight!"
"Perhaps, once ..." Balliol said. "Sir William, you had the people. But they were decimated at Falkirk. The barons refuse to follow you—"
"But there are men, aye, nobles among them, who do fight the English, who set against them from Scottish casdes, who rob them blind. The dream remains, John. You must have the stomach to achieve it!"
Balliol lowered his head. "I subjugated myself to Edward. I have abdicated the throne. I have kept my head upon my shoulders."
Wallace gripped the arms of Balliol's chair, staring into his face. ' 'I remain willing to set mine upon the block. Come back to Scotland."
Balliol was silent. Brendan noted the fine cut of his clothing, the style of his boots. Balliol had been humiliated before his people, he had been paraded through the streets. But when exiled in Italy, he had been shown courtesy. Here, he was living in great comfort.
He was not coming back to Scotland.
"I cannot come back now," Balliol said at last. Brendan gripped Wallace's shoulders, holding him as Balliol rose. "Secure freedom, sir, and I will gladly rule. What good a king would I be, headless?"
Eric, who had sat by the fire and had not moved, answered that question. "A martyr, sire. And the people would rise in your name!"
Balliol stared furiously at Eric, then spun around. He left the room. Wallace's hands were knotted into fists.
"If I die, turn to Bruce," he said.
"I heard yesterday that Bruce has married, and signed his peace with Edward."
"It is a peace that will not last."
"Bruce is a turnabout!" Brendan reminded him.
"Aye. But he isn't a shrinking, sniveling coward!" Wallace said angrily, and he walked away, leaving their chambers.
Brendan watched him go, thinking he should follow. But Eric had risen at last. "Let him go. He's right."
"Who is right? Balliol? Or Wallace?" Brendan demanded bitterly.
"They're both right. But John Balliol is a weakling, and a coward. And Bruce is a turnabout, but by God, he has courage."
"Something has died within this room," Brendan said, clenching his teeth.
Eric shook his head. "Balliol—as far as Wallace is concerned. But not the dream, Brendan. The dream stays alive."
"Aye, the dream, the cause, Scotland!" Brendan was startled by the bitterness in his own voice.
"Think of the men who have died for it."
He closed his eyes, summoning to his mind the battle of Falkirk, the screams of the dying, the carnage, the blood. John Graham, dying, reminding him ...
They had to fight. They had to fight until freedom was won. And if they did not, then all their loved ones had died in vain.
"Aye, we'll keep fighting," he said. "No matter what the cost." He followed Wallace out. The city of Paris teemed around him. Workers with wagons of materials headed for the site of the cathedral, still creating that masterpiece of white stone that glinted in the sun.
He closed his eyes. The winter air was good. It didn't smell of human waste today, but of fresh baking bread. Children laughed in the street.
He needed to leave Paris. The dream was fading here.
Each time now that he remembered Falkirk, he remembered the pain, the anguish, the sounds, the screams.
Yet ...
He saw her face as well.
Aye, they needed to leave Paris.
The king had ordered a magnificent banquet.
The hall was beautifully furnished, the servings were as rich as H61£ne had told Eleanor they would be at court.
A full boar with an apple in its mouth, and festoons upon its tusks, was in the center of the head table. Pheasants appeared ready to take flight. Wine was served in ornamented carafes resembling birds and animals.
Jugglers performed in the center of the hall, hounds barked now and then, wagging their great tails as a scrap was thrown their way. The king and queen sat at the head table, surrounded by the greater nobility, followed by the lesser nobility, followed by the king's knights, the poets, the court physicians, and the scholars and artists. Music played throughout the meal, jesters amused, acrobats twisted their bodies in impossible ways.
Eleanor didn't know if the food was good as well as beautifully served; she could only push morsels around on her plate, aware that Brendan sat with the Scots farther down from the center of importance, where she sat with Alain. She pretended to eat, she drank wine, she clapped at the entertainment, chatted with those around her.
When the floor was cleared, the king stepped out with the queen, and danced to the music of his fine players. He beckoned others to follow, and Breslieu, on the other side of Eleanor, asked Alain's permission to lead her to the floor. The dance sent partners changing, meeting, changing. She was so startled to meet Brendan in the middle that her breath caught in her throat, and she did not realize she was not breathing until instinct caused her to gulp in a rush of air. Their hands met;
he bowed gravely. "My lady."
Then he was gone, until the music brought them back together again.
"All is well?" he inquired.
"Very well. And you, sir?"
"I am eager to return home."
"As am I."
"I had thought you would be concerned for your nuptials."
"Yes, that as well."
He was grave that night, and strikingly handsome, hair black in the glow of the flambeaux set in the walls, eyes seeming as dark as well. He was freshly shaven and wore a fine tunic with his Graham colors woven into the ochre garment. He moved very well, as she had learned. His touch, and his eyes, lingered on her. Then he bowed, and moved on to the next partner, some nobleman's younger daughter, dark-haired, vivacious, lovely. He smiled, laughed, moved with her, and Eleanor hated herself for the stab of raw jealousy that swept through her. She would marry; he was a free man, of a different nation, a different belief, and he would end tragically, and by God, she would have forgotten him by then.
Yet they came together again. "You look lovely, my lady," he told her.
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