"I do intend to marry you, you know," he said, his thumb moving over her cheek.
"Alain is barely cold."
"I know that as well."
"I should, in truth, be mourning."
"We both mourn a good man. But we both know as well that is precarious, and time, like life, very precious."
He held her against him.
They both dripped into the tub, and around it.
She drew away from him, pulled the wet linen over her head, and cast it upon the dragon's head to the side of the tub. She sank into the water, grateful that some steam still rose, and peeled her hose from her limbs, depositing them, too, upon the ferocious head of the dragon. She eased back and closed her eyes.
She was startled a second later when he joined her, clothing shed. His weight displaced the water, which sloshed over the rim.
"You don't fit!" she told him.
"I'll manage." His limbs entwined with hers.
"The floor will be soaked; the water will reach the carpet, it will all be ruined."
"Ah, but as of this morning, it is my floor, and my carpet, to ruin."
He reached for her, water sloshing anew, and manipulated their forms so that he rested against the tub, and she leaned against him, her back to his chest. He smoothed her damp hair, cradling her to him.
"Relax, my lady."
"I can't."
"You haven't spent enough time running," he murmured, smoothing her hair, "you learn to take what moments you can."
"It's not that."
"Then what."
"Your foot—"
"That is not my foot!" he laughed.
She fell silent, and couldn't help the smile that teased her lips. "I could kill you myself half the time!" she whispered, "And still ... you ..."
"Tease your senses? Awaken your wildest dreams?"
"Make me laugh."
"Alas, I have amused you? That was not my intent!"
In a second he was up, the water sluicing once again, and he was out of the tub, reaching for her, and wrapping her in the linen towel. And in seconds he had her up, and despite her shrieks, protesting the water he spewed, they were across the room, crushed upon the down-filled softness of the bed. Her words were still; the instant's deep chill she had felt on leaving the water was quickly gone. The soft fire that burned that afternoon laid claim to their skin, warming it, then casting a sheen upon them as they dried, to grow sleek and damp again in the urgency of their hunger, the depths of their desire. And that afternoon, she gave guilt and worry and fear to the flame, and lay beside him, happy only to be where she was, luxuriously warm in his arms, safe in the haven of his strength.
"We will have to rouse soon, and attend the wedding," he murmured, his lips at her hair.
' 'Aye. And the servants of this new domain you have claimed will come and see the room and see what havoc has been wrought and they will know ..."
"Ah, that the brave new master spent the day cavorting with his mistress?"
The word stung.
"Aye," she said. "That is what they'll know."
He rolled, looking at her. "Did you think that these men would all believe I rode into England to seize you from your tormenters to set you upon a pedestal? My lady, I can't seem to make you happy. You furiously inform me that you'll not marry me, however, you are going to have my child."
"It's just ... so soon."
"Soon, aye, but what choice? Did you want me to go about my business, pretending you weren't here?"
"You managed last night."
He smiled. "Ah, so that is it! Brendan, go away, leave me to my pretense of chastity, but take grave care what you do while I stand on my pedestal."
"No," she murmured. "I want to change what has been."
"Change the fact we met on the seas?"
She shook her head.' 'Change the fact that Alain was killed.'' She suddenly pressed him back to the pillows, her temper rising. "You, sir, will stop. I do not need luxury, and it isn't possessions I worry about. It's not even the fact that I ... that I wanted you in France; I knew what I was doing. And it is not the fact of the child now. I don't hate the Scots—good God, how could I? They have saved me too many times. But I don't despise the English for the acts of a single man, or the deviousness of others. And I want to be with you, and there has never been anything in my life to feel so sweet as having moments to remain idly in your arms ... but ..."
"But what?" he demanded, brow furrowed, arm behind his head as he studied her features.
"It's too soon ... and yet, I would marry you. I don't—" Again, she hesitated. "I don't want to live my life like Margot. I want to be a wife, and not—a mistress."
He watched her for a long moment, then reached out, and caressed her cheek. "My lady, the hour, the moment you choose, I will be waiting."
Tears suddenly stung her eyes. She lay against him, her face against his chest. He stroked her drying hair.
"It's a miracle, this," he murmured. "A home to claim ... and you."
She played her fingers gently, idly over his chest.
"I would have gladly run with you from Paris," she whispered. "I wasn't afraid of the woods, of life on the run. I was afraid that you'd be killed, and your great dream endangered, if I did not wed. In truth, King Philip warned me it would be so."
"I died when I saw you in that cathedral," he said, "I died a little, and I rode away, but I could never ride far enough."
She rose, pressing against his shoulders as she bent to kiss his lips, a touch that was light, tender... and then more fervent. Beneath her, she felt every subtle change and nuance in his length, and then each change that was not so subtle, and then she felt as if the fire exploded, rose to heights, melding them together. And she would have dearly loved to lie there again, knowing nothing but the comfort of his hold, easing away the moment half awake and half asleep. But Brendan was too quickly up.
"My lady, there will be no marriage for your Bridie if we do not make ourselves present."
Bridie had chosen one of Eleanor's ochre gowns, with long embroidered sleeves. Her hair was dark against it. She had never been more beautiful.
The two would ride off to a small farmhouse on a lot of lane long abandoned by previous tenants; Lars meant to farm, ant still fulfill a feudal duty as a soldier, if—or when—war erupted< again. Bridie's happiness was contagious, and yet she promise< Eleanor, "I'll still be with you. The house is but a short ride from the fortress."
"I'll do well enough; we are both refugees here, Bridie. Be his wife, and don't worry about me. I have managed frequently enough on my own."
Bridie shook her head, smiling. "You made them bring me, my lady. In all the danger you faced, you might have forgotten me. You did not."
They hugged one another, then Lars came over grinning, and claimed his bride. They left the church, Father Duff, a burly, broad-shouldered priest hailing from Eire, along with them. A bonfire glowed. Pipers played, tunes outlawed but retained, and free again in the night with the words of a truce.
Eric found Eleanor watching the festivities, and grabbed her hand. "I'm not the new master of the castle, so I need not stand on ceremony," he told her, his handsome features cast in a rueful grin. "Come, these dances are all miraculously easy."
And so, she faltered, stepped on his feet, but laughed her way through the lively music played on pipes and flute. She saw that Brendan was out among the people, laughing, enjoying the night, and dancing with the people from the fields and the castle, families of some men, lovers of others, workers, and warriors. Then she found herself taken by Liam, Collum, and then de Longueville, who told her, "Strange, my lady, what paths we have both taken to find ourselves here."
"Aye," she agreed. "Most strange."
"I like it well enough."
"I'm glad. You left the high seas for peace in France, and left that peace for the life of a rebel in Scotland, and now ..."
* 'Now, there is a lady I met riding this great lowland expanse. She lives in a fi
ne manor beyond that northern hill."
"Indeed?"
"I will become a Scotsman, though, bless the Lord, I learned to eat—and cook!—in France."
She smiled and looked about. Her stalwart English cousin Corbin was dancing with a beautiful young woman with black hair that swirled around her like a midnight cape as she moved. Brendan was standing with Margot, sharing ale, and the two laughed and talked easily, like very old friends. And so they were.
She excused herself to de Longueville, and walked quickly over to Brendan and Margot. Though Margot had come to the castle when Eric rode south to England, and with absolute faith in their return had prepared for them to arrive, it was the first time Eleanor had seen her since France. Margot looked very pleased when she approached, and Eleanor embraced her warmly. "You're safe, and well," Margot said, holding her hands, stepping back to survey her. ' 'A beautiful exile in our presence, though I am sorry for the loss that brings you here. The Count de Lacville was a very fine man."
"You knew him well?"
"Well enough. That wasn't, of course, our first journey to France through the years. We have cultivated Philip's favor, you know, and what better way than for our men to fight for him?" She had a lovely smile. Eleanor wondered how Eric could ever risk losing her. Her hair was as fine as silk, her eyes bluer than any ocean. Her words were always gentle, and there always seemed to be a great calm about her. "William Wallace carries papers on him right, Brendan? from the King of France, asking that his 'good friend' always be given safe conduct through his lands."
"It seems that Philip himself has proven to be a good friend," Brendan said. "But he is at peace now; the truce he has maneuvered will benefit everyone including him. But Edward will not be done with Scotland."
Eric joined them. "Maybe he'll die," he said cheerfully.
"All men will die," Margot informed them.
"Ah, then, we should dance while we live. Lady Eleanor, Brendan, your pardon."
Brendan's arms slipped around her. He did not mind showing his affection before his people; she should not mind that he did. She still could not help worry about what was said about her, and hope that people would not believe she could have killed a man to be with Brendan.
But here ... there was simple acceptance of her. She was believed, without explanation.
"It was a fine wedding. And a fine gathering. A day of real celebration," Brendan said.
"Eric should marry Margot," she said.
"Aye, he should," Brendan agreed.
"Can't you do anything?"
"He is my cousin, and a free man, and he fights a battle because of Scottish blood that is a battle he doesn't need to fight. He is not bound to me by any ties, either than that of his choice to win freedom here. I don't ever presume to tell Eric what to do."
"Maybe I will," she murmured softly.
He was silent and she turned to see that he was smiling.
"What?"
"If you cannot solve the dilemmas in your own heart, you will work on others?"
"She is beautiful and wonderful "
"I agree. And that is between them. Come, it's growing late."
And so she followed him.
The days that followed were filled with joy. Eleanor came to know his men well, and the fortress changed from being a battered tower filled with men who had no function except for war to the center of a community alive with spring planting and a new desire for life. Land was divided; ruined houses were reclaimed; men fell into the work that had been theirs before they had taken to the forests, and the stone tower that was the last defense in war became more and more of a home.
There were nights when she lay with Brendan and they talked, and he told her that he had written to Robert Bruce, who was currently on excellent terms with King Edward, and asked him to intercede in the trouble at Clarin.
"But what can he do?" Eleanor asked.
Brendan hesitated a minute. "An agreement with Robert Bruce is important to King Edward. He has tremendous holdings in the southwest, and if he had ever set his mind to joining in rebellion, he might have created major changes in how many a battle came out. After Falkirk, when Edward launched his marches, Robert Bruce did hold out on his own lands. He and John Comyn were both guardians of the realm at the time, but the feud between them is too bitter after John Balliol, one of them would be closest to the crown."
"But I thought that Bruce had betrayed the rebellion time and time again."
"Many a good man has signed a submission to Edward over the years. Comyn holds out with vigor and anger when many a man succumbs, but there are those who say as well that John Comyn took his forces from the field at Falkirk with intent to do so, fearing the battle lost, and his own capture. I haven't trusted Robert Bruce often, but William, who has been the one to suffer the brunt of the barons' deeds, still claims that there is a true hero and king in the way, waiting to come out."
"But Wallace has ridden with Comyn again."
"Aye, William will fight the battles he finds to save Scotland. But Comyn has a terrible temper, and he has his bending point as well. That is why it is not beneficial for a man to grow too possessive of his holdings; they compromise his beliefs."
"And now you are a landholder."
He hesitated. "It's good to have the land, to be master here, to build, to reap, to sow; I've known too little of such practices.''
"But you are fiercely proud of your name."
"Usually," he said with a grin, and drew a pattern on a sheet. "The surname, though, has spread far."
"From England," she murmured. "Or so I've heard."
He took no offense, but cast her a smile. "Aye. The first of the Grahams came in with King David, when he arrived having grown at the English court. But the king was quick to make Scotland his own, many years ago now. His wife had the blood of Vikings and ancient tribal Scots, and they had sixteen children, so the family legend goes. They dispersed throughout Scotland, and like many other families, they have taken widely different paths throughout the years. I had a cousin who died at Falkirk, and one who set out a cry that everything of Wallace's should be seized when he left Scotland to pursue aid from France, and make plea to the pope in Rome. My father died when I very young, and I grew up in the household of another cousin whose home was ravaged and wife was killed by English invaders. Aye, a man becomes fiercely proud of his name. And I like the idea of a place of my own ... belonging."
' 'Perhaps you' 11 begin to understand my feelings for Clarin,'' she said softy.
"Aye, my lady, but I could leave, were it expedient."
"I am not at Clarin."
"Give it time, Eleanor. You must be rational, and not think to solve such a problem by rushing off madly."
"That's what you did."
"I had a life to save."
"And I have only honor."
"Your honor is not questioned here."
And it was not, she knew.
"Sometimes," she whispered to him, "I'm very afraid."
"Why?"
"I can't believe being here with you. In a place where we don't hide, at a time when being together is not ... wrong. I touch you, I wake and you're beside me, and I look at you, and shake because you are so perfect, and you lie beside me.
"Perfect!" He said, laughing, but pleased. "Hardly. I am riddled with scars, capable of a horrible temper and still an outlaw and upstart, I do assure you."
"Perfect to be with," she told him. "And I'm afraid that the time will come when it will be a dream, that I will not wake in the night, and be assured, because you are there."
He was silent a moment. "There will be such nights, but I will always return to you, I swear it. Wherever you may be, my lady, I will return to you." He spoke the words with passion and intensity, and at long last she dared tell him, "I love you, Brendan. I can ... I can live without Clarin now far easier than I could ever live without you."
He rolled, rising above her, studying her face. He kissed her, and made love to her, and in the
midst of this, whispered again and again, seemed to wrap her in a cocoon of shimmering silver. "And I love you ... I love you ... love you ..."
Later, as they lay together, the baby moved and she started, and he woke anxiously. "What is it?"
"Feel, Brendan, feel!"
"I feel ... your flesh."
"No, wait..."
And then again the ripple, strong enough that she could feel it with her fingers, holding his to her abdomen.
He felt the flutter. He tenderly pressed his lips to her, and pulled her close, and they slept.
The next morning, Brendan was preparing to ride out with Gregory and Lars to find a small herd of sheep that had run into the hills when Collum, on guard at the outer gate, shouted that a messenger was arriving. Brendan left his horse and raced up the steps to the tower. It was Griffin, and he knew that the messenger would be bringing a reply from Robert Bruce.
Seize The Dawn Page 31
