by June Francis
She loosened the fastenings on the blue gown and pulled it over her head. Then she drew the ribands on the front of the bodice tight again. It had a scooped neckline that revealed an expanse of cleavage; the sleeves were long and came to points at her wrists. She ran her hands over the fabric, revelling in the warmth of the wool and the gown’s snug fit. How she wished she could see her reflection in a mirror, but there was only a small oval looking glass on the wall. She undid her braids and, reaching for a comb, began to untangle her hair. It was then she heard a sound at the door and turned to see a man standing in the doorway.
Mackillin removed his boots and stripped to the waist. He washed his upper torso before realising there was no drying cloth on the washstand. He frowned and wondered whether the serving wench was late bringing one and had left it on the chest outside. He opened the door and stepped into the passage and saw that his assumption was correct. He picked up the cloth and was about to close the door when he heard footsteps. Curiously, he peered round the door jamb and saw a young man coming in his direction.
Swiftly Mackillin pulled the door so that it was only slightly ajar and waited until he had passed. Then he slipped out of the bedchamber and followed him, rubbing his upper body dry as he did so. He draped the drying cloth over his shoulders and padded after the man until he stopped outside a bedchamber. He watched him open the door and go inside. Then he heard an exclamation and, recognising Cicely’s voice, sped over to the door, only to have it shut in his face. He hesitated to burst into the bedchamber, but decided to remain outside in case Cicely should have need of him. At least that was part of his reason.
Cicely stared at the bearded and flaxen-haired man standing in the doorway. For a second she did not recognise him due to the beard; then she realised who it was and dropped the comb. ‘Diccon!’
He looked astounded. ‘Cissie! I was expecting to see Kate.’
‘She’s downstairs. She said you’d left.’
‘I did, but knew I could not go without making up our quarrel.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But what are you doing here? You should be at Milburn.’
She felt a sinking in her stomach. ‘Are you not pleased to see me?’
‘Of course I am.’ He forced a smile and strode over to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips.
As kisses went it did not make her pulse race and he released her almost immediately. ‘It’s just that these are dangerous times.’
‘I’m aware of the risk, but it’s months since I’ve seen you and there’s something I had to tell you—also I was concerned about your safety.’
He reddened. ‘I meant to send a messenger, but I was short of funds. Besides, I’ve been that busy, I—’
‘Given little thought to me,’ she murmured, her hurt compounded by the way in which he had released her so swiftly.
‘That’s not true, Cissie.’ His eyes glinted with annoyance. ‘I have thought of you often.’
‘As I have you, but there’s little pleasure for me in waiting and waiting and not hearing from you for months.’
‘I really am sorry.’ He sighed and scrubbed his beard with his knuckles. ‘You’ve changed, Cissie. You never used to complain about anything.’
She felt her temper rising. ‘I don’t mean to sound as if I’m harping on about your not getting in touch, but since your mother died, I’ve had to take on new responsibilities and I could have—’
He interrupted her. ‘I’m sure you cope very well.’
‘I do my best, but I miss your mother and would that you were home.’
A shadow darkened his blue-grey eyes. ‘I miss her, too, and pray God the day will come when I can provide you with a better home.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it before drawing her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers. She waited, but felt no thrill tingle through her veins and her spirits sank even further. It was pleasant enough to be kissed by him, but could not compare with the feelings Mackillin’s kisses had roused in her. In truth, she felt slightly uncomfortable and was glad when the kiss ended.
Diccon gazed down at her with a faint smile. ‘Aye, you’re no longer a girl.’
She freed herself and with a trembling hand picked up the comb and began to tidy her hair. ‘I have something to tell you.’
He peered into her face. ‘What is it? You look sad.’
‘It’s Father.’
Diccon tensed. ‘Is he here? I’ll tell you now, Cissie, he will be willing to give me your hand once he hears my news.’
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. ‘No, he will not—he is dead.’
‘What!’ Diccon stared at her as if he did not believe her.
‘It’s true,’ she said in a low voice. ‘He was murdered in Bruges. Jack brought us the news on St Hilary’s Day. I so wished you could have been with us.’ Agitated, she began to comb her hair with long sweeps of her arm. ‘I had such need of you then, but I could not even send you a message because I did not know where you were.’
‘I’ve already said I’m sorry.’ His face was fixed.
Cicely thought of Mackillin escorting her brother all the way home from Bruges because he had made a promise to her dying father. ‘You could have come yourself.’
He walked over to the window and gazed out. ‘I was about the king’s business, so it was out of the question. I am sorry about your father’s death. I was fond of him despite our differences.’
‘Thank you.’ She softened towards him. ‘It grieves me that you could not have made up your quarrel before he died.’
‘So do I, but it’s too late now for regrets.’ Diccon turned and gazed at her. ‘I will make it up to you. When you hear my news and what the king has promised me, you will understand.’
‘You mentioned the king before. I don’t understand, I thought you were against King Henry.’
Diccon smiled. ‘Not Henry, silly, but the real king. King Edward the Fourth.’
She frowned. ‘Henry is the real king.’
Diccon shook his head. ‘No longer, Cissie. Listen to what I have to say and you will be convinced by the rightness of his cause.’
She had no desire to hear about the conflict between York and Lancaster, was hurt that he had so quickly moved on from what was a tragedy in her life to the Yorkists’ cause. ‘Go on.’ Her voice was cool.
He did not appear to notice, but instead seemed to be gazing into the distance, almost as if she was not there. ‘Since Edward received the news of his father’s and brother’s deaths, he has been rallying men along the Welsh Marches. He was intent on joining forces with the Earl of Warwick to defend London from the queen’s host when he learnt of a great army of Lancastrians to his rear in Wales.’ Diccon paused as if for effect.
She resumed combing her hair. ‘So who was victorious?’
Diccon ignored the question, but said in a hushed voice, ‘Before the battle Edward received a sign from God.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘A sign from God?’
‘Aye. That’s what I said. Don’t interrupt, Cissie.’ He smiled as if to soften his rebuke. ‘Three suns rising through the early morning mist. Edward took it for a good omen, saying that his father had left three sons, Edward, George and Richard, and God was telling him they would be victorious. What do you think of that?’
‘I presume he won the battle.’ She began to braid her hair.
Diccon’s eyes shone. ‘Edward achieved a great victory at Mortimer’s Cross and afterwards declared himself King of England.’
Cicely was astounded. ‘He has dared to go that far?’
‘Aye. I am convinced that God will give him complete victory.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I must be there in his company throughout the coming conflicts. He has promised me a knighthood and a manor of my own when he is crowned in London. I am on my way now to rejoin his host.’ He came back over to her and said seriously, ‘You must not fear for me. I will return, I am certain of it. It is my destiny.’
Cicely could
not think what to say in the light of his conviction, but one thing was for sure—she was no longer willing to sit at home and wait for his return, whenever that might be. If that was so, was it purely because she no longer loved him as a sweetheart? ‘I pray you are right. Tell me, why did you come here if you intend rejoining Edward’s host so soon?’
He grimaced. ‘I received a slight wound and sought Kate’s ministrations. Also, I wanted my family to know that I wasn’t following a hopeless dream. I only wish your father could have lived to see Edward’s star and mine in the ascendant.’
Cicely could understand his reasoning, but his words still saddened her. Their marrying and living at Milburn was just a dream. Her father had been more perceptive than she had given him credit for when he had refused his permission for their betrothal. ‘I also wish it, but it is too late now.’ All the time they had been talking, she had been braiding her hair and now tied a plait off with a black riband. ‘Anyway, you need not concern yourself about mine and the twins’ safety. We’ve had a protector, Mackillin. You might remember him.’
Diccon swore under his breath and then begged her pardon. ‘I remember him, all right. He owned a ship and Nat had known him since he was a youth. A reckless type, but a good man to have by your side in a fight.’
Cicely smiled. ‘I would agree. I was glad of his sword when my kinsmen would have slain my family and acquiesced in my abduction from Milburn.’
Diccon gaped at her. ‘You jest! How did that come about?’
‘It is too long a tale to tell.’
Diccon frowned. ‘Have you questioned what Mackillin’s intentions are in helping you? Perhaps he has an eye to your dowry. I suggest you be on your guard in his company. Your father told me that he is a younger son, and just like me he has to make his own way in the world.’
Cicely almost told him the truth about Mackillin being the new lord of Killin, but instead she kissed Diccon’s cheek; a chaste kiss, a sisterly kiss. ‘You must not worry about me. I can take care of myself. You must follow your own star, as you’ve just said—it’s your destiny. I wish you God speed and that all goes well with you.’
‘I sense a rebuke in those words, but I will not take you up on them now.’ He drew her close and hugged her. ‘Forgive me for leaving you so soon, but I must find Kate and ask her forgiveness.’
She nodded, knowing for certain now where her heart lay, but what good it would do her, she could only hazard a guess.
As Diccon opened the door, Mackillin slipped inside a nearby chamber and waited until he had passed. He hated the notion that during the silences in the snatches of conversation he had heard, Diccon and Cicely might have been locked in a passionate embrace. The depth and strength of his feelings said much and he was unsure what to do about them. Once Diccon had passed, he stepped out of the chamber and was about to return to his bedchamber when the other door opened again and Cicely stepped into the passage.
Cicely felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the sight of Mackillin and, involuntarily, her eyes lowered their gaze to his bare chest and the curling hairs that ran in a V to the waist of his hose. She did not allow her eyes to linger on the bulge below, but hastily lifted them to the scar beneath his collarbone. She wanted to touch it, press her lips against it. She had to shake her head to rid herself of the notion.
‘What are you doing here, my lord?’ she asked. ‘Are you lost?’
Mackillin had had a few seconds to come up with an answer, but doubted it would sound convincing. ‘I had no drying cloth—hearing footsteps, I thought it was the wench bringing one. I was correct in that, but then I saw the back of a man and I had it in mind that he could be an enemy, so I followed him.’
Her brows knit. ‘You did not recognise him?’
‘I told you I was behind him.’ Mackillin did not know why he was so reluctant to admit having suspected the man’s identity.
‘Why did you not knock on this door when you followed him here?’ She rat-tatted on the wood behind her.
‘You did not scream.’
‘But you saw him enter this bedchamber.’ The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘I hope you did not think…’
‘That you had a lover?’
She gasped. ‘What kind of woman do you think I am? The man was Diccon Fletcher, my stepbrother. There was no need for you to concern yourself for my safety.’
‘Does that mean Master Fletcher will escort you to Rowan Manor and then home to Yorkshire?’ asked Mackillin, a mocking light in his hazel eyes. ‘Somehow I do not believe that is likely.’
She realised then that most likely he had overheard part of her conversation with Diccon. ‘Eavesdroppers, Lord Mackillin, are despicable,’ she said with icy disdain.
‘I would not always agree with you there,’ he said smoothly. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I’ll go and finish my toilet.’ Without another word he turned and left her.
She gazed after him, wondering what he had made of the conversation between herself and Diccon. Obviously he knew that she could not depend on her stepbrother to protect her. Cicely remembered how she had been almost dizzy with delight two years ago when Diccon had smiled at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Now she only longed for Mackillin’s kisses. Was she fickle or was it as she now believed—that the nature of her love for Diccon was not that of a woman for a man? But did he still wish to marry her? He was no longer passionate about her, that was for certain.
Not for the first time she wondered why her father had offered her to Mackillin. Had his knowledge of his lordship been such that he had believed him to be the right husband for her? She remembered her first sight of Mackillin and how she had called him a barbarian. He had looked so wild that she had been scared of him at first. Yet still his touch had thrilled her. Then she had discovered he was not a savage at all. She came to a decision. She needed to pray for God’s will and his guidance for the three of them.
Cicely entered the hall to see Kate playing with her children. As she watched her stepsister lift her younger son into her arms and smile down at the elder, Gareth, who was tooting on a wooden whistle, she felt affection for them all.
‘She has two fine lads and a lass who will break men’s hearts one day,’ said Mackillin from behind her. Cicely whirled round to face him, thinking he must have moved fast and dressed quickly, to be here so soon. She saw admiration and some other emotion flame in his hazel eyes. ‘I know your father thought the same of you when you were a child,’ he added.
‘He spoke often of me to you?’ she asked.
‘He was very fond of you and always wanted what was best for your happiness and safety. That was why he would not take you on his travels. The life of a merchant venturer can be a dangerous one as you must know.’
She nodded, adding, ‘But one can die in one’s home. A fall down the stairs, a broken neck.’ She shrugged. ‘I would rather he had allowed me to take that risk.’ Before Mackillin could comment on her remarks, Cicely’s stepniece came skipping up to her.
Mackillin watched as she spoke to the girl. A fierce ache made itself felt in the region of his heart and he wondered what it would have been like between himself and Cissie if they had met in happier circumstances. He imagined them being introduced at a feast where there was dancing. Maybe a wedding at his kinsman’s house in France, where they could have laughed and sang and there was no possibility of them being parted, never to see the other again. He knew then what kind of future he wanted, but needed to give it more thought.
Cicely glanced at him and was surprised at the yearning she saw in his face. ‘Do you like children, Mackillin?’ she asked.
‘Aye.’ For a moment in his mind’s eye he could imagine the begetting of such children with her and felt a hot melting sensation in the pit of his stomach.
‘You’ll want sons,’ she murmured, as if to herself.
‘And daughters,’ he said, wanting to bury himself into her. It was amazing how the dark blue of the gown seemed to have altered the blue of her eyes
, so that they appeared mysteriously deep like twin pools that a man could drown himself in.
For her part, Cicely was considering how wondrously fulfilling it would be to bear Mackillin’s children and raise them together to be courageous and caring of others, to have fun with them and to show them so many wonderful things in life. A wistful sigh escaped her.
‘What is it? What are you thinking of?’ he asked, wondering if she was thinking of Diccon Fletcher.
She knew that she could scarcely tell the truth, so when her eyes rested on Gareth, she said, ‘About children and music. Do you like music, Mackillin?’
He was not convinced she was telling him the exact truth, but decided to go along with her chosen subject matter. ‘I deem we have spoken a little about music before,’ he drawled.
‘Aye!’ Her eyes danced. ‘When Jack unpacked the lute for Anna. What a pity I did not think of bringing it with me. She lives at Rowan Manor and we could have brightened her day with such a gift.’
‘It is indeed a pity.’
‘What about singing?’
He grinned, showing even teeth. ‘I’m certainly not a man to inflict punishment on folk for whom I have a fondness. I would like to hear you sing, though. You have a pretty voice.’
She laughed. ‘If you flatter me much more, I might just begin to believe you.’
‘Believe me when I say that you are beautiful,’ he said rashly.
His admiring stare brought a flush to her cheeks and she stared at him with her lips slightly parted. He wanted to kiss her. If they had been alone, he damn well would have kissed her. But what was he thinking of? He needed to consider carefully the pros and cons of a marriage between them. Nat might have considered it an excellent notion, but then he had not known about his being the Mackillin before he had died. He needed to see Cicely safely to Rowan Manor before making any decision.
