My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  Gilead’s bubble of hope for calling off his nuptials burst like a tied wineskin speared with a knife. Turius would leave in the morning—his men had made preparations all afternoon, much to Gilead’s puzzlement—but Gilead had no doubt he would return in force once he’d rallied his northern troops. Damn his father’s indiscretions. Angus would need Comgall allied with him if it came to war. There wasn’t any way Gilead could risk a breach right now. Unless...

  Unless he could get the men to sit down and treaty before Turius left. Gilead held title to land in Lothian, bequeathed to him at birth by King Loth as a gesture of permanent alliance with Cenel Oengus. He would offer that. And it might cost his father some pride to part with part of their prized stock, but Turius had a weak spot for good horses.

  The meal seemed to extend into infinity. Finally, as the servants gathered the remnants of the meal, Gilead leaned across the table. “Might I have a word with ye, King Turius? In the family room.” He looked at his father. “I’d like ye to be there, too.”

  Both men looked uneasy, but Formorian gave Gilead a steady look. “I’d like to attend also.”

  Gilead hesitated. It would be easier to get the men to agree if neither of them had to salvage their pride in front of Formorian. But how could he stop her? She always attended council meetings. Reluctantly, he nodded.

  “Then I’m coming as well.” Elen pushed back her chair and stood. “Deidre! I need ye to come with me.”

  Gilead groaned. He didn’t need a full audience for what he was trying to do, but Deidre nearly overturned her chair in her eagerness to get away from Niall. He turned to his mother. “This is men’s business. Have Deidre take ye to yer room.”

  Elen looked as though she might faint, but her voice was surprisingly strong. “What concerns my husband, concerns me. I will go.”

  With a small sigh, Gilead waited for Deidre and then led the party down the back hallway to the end room that was used for private company.

  He poured wine for all of them, which everyone accepted rather stiffly, but no one drank. When they were seated, he looked around the room. “Something has transpired while we were gone. I doona need to know what it is.” He made the briefest of gestures toward his mother while he glared at his father. “But the tension is so palpable, I could slice the air with my dirk and eat it.” He set his goblet down and looked at Turius. “I would that ye not be angry when ye leave. How can we make amends?”

  He saw Turius clench his jaw and then glance at Elen and force a smile before he looked back at Gilead. “You are mistaken. I am troubled that Maximilian refused to meet with me and that he continues to aid the Saxons. I only came to fetch the rest of my troops so we can march south and meet him. I won’t have my...son...defy me.”

  “Thank ye, Turius, for being so kind.” Elen smiled at him, but the smile left her face when she turned to Angus. “Is there something ye wish to tell me?”

  For a long moment Angus was silent and Gilead thought he saw pain pass fleetingly in his father’s eyes. At an almost imperceptible nod from Formorian, he took a deep breath.

  “Turius found his wife and me in a...rather compromising situation.”

  Elen’s face paled, but her eyes remained steadily trained on Angus. “Go on.”

  He stared at her. “I would spare ye the details.”

  Turius reached over and took her hand in both of his. “I agree. Let me say that Formorian is leaving with me tomorrow and when I return from the South, I will see that she’s admitted to a convent for the rest of her days.”

  Formorian slammed her goblet down, sloshing the contents onto the table. “I have no intention of entering a convent.”

  “You have no choice,” Turius replied calmly as he sat back. “I have been cuckolded far too long as it is.”

  Formorian laughed. “Ye are a fine one to talk. Maximilian isn’t my son. I am well aware of yer trips to the Holy Isle to see yer priestess, still.”

  “I am your king.”

  “In name only,” she retorted. “We were both aware that the marriage was to bind our lands. Ye promised me, if I crossed the Wall north with ye, ye’d never deny me the woman’s right of thigh freedom. Have ye forgotten?”

  Elen gasped and Turius stood up, his anger barely veiled. “Enough! We are finished here.” Turning to Elen, he said, “I am sorry you had to be brought into this. You deserve better.” He gave Formorian a slight shove toward the door, Deidre and Gilead falling in behind them.

  Gilead hoped his mother would finally give his father the tongue-lashing he deserved, but what he heard as he closed the door softly behind them, shocked him.

  “I never meant to hurt ye, Elen. Please believe that.”

  “Aye. I knew ye had taken the Oath with her.” His mother started weeping. “I have gotten exactly what I deserve.”

  ◊♦◊

  Something was going on. Niall didn’t like it. All afternoon, Turius’s troops had been making preparations to leave. Marching south to subdue Maximilian, they said.

  If Niall’s plan to have Turius get rid of Angus for him was to work, something would have to be done tonight before Turius left. Niall just wished he could have arranged for Angus to have been caught with Formorian. Then Turius would have had to call the Scotti out. Either trial-by-combat, one-on-one, or full-scale war that would be distracting enough that Niall could convince Fergus Mor to swoop down from the north and take advantage of the turmoil.

  He would have to move on to his other plan. He shook his head to clear it, wishing he hadn’t had so much to drink at dinner. But Deidre vexed him. She made him drink too much. And she would atone for all those times he’d gone to bed with no female relief. He grinned, thinking of the ways he would make her pay and then forced himself back to the present. Turius was leaving half a century of his men behind. No doubt Formorian would stay as well while he was engaged in the south. By law, the queen would be in charge of his troops. That suited Niall’s plans perfectly.

  If Elen were found dead before Turius left, that would leave Angus dangerously single. Formorian had always considered herself Gaelic and not Briton; she would draw to Angus like a finely notched arrow to a bowstring. Turius would realize the risks of losing his wife, especially if Niall could add a little fuel to the particular fire-thought. He certainly would not put up with being openly cuckolded. With luck, Turius might even call Angus out before he left; certainly when he returned and found out the queen was an adulterer, he’d take action. Niall would need documentation, though. One way or another, Turius needed to be persuaded to destroy Angus.

  Elen would have to die tonight.

  Whistling off tune, Niall went to find his co-conspirator. This time, he would make sure she succeeded. The devil help them both.

  ◊♦◊

  “How did Mother sleep last night?” Gilead asked Deidre the next morning as they stood on the steps outside the Great Hall, waiting for Turius’s troops to leave.

  “Brena fixed her a potion,” Deidre answered and looked up at the charcoal-colored clouds scudding low. “It’s such a dreary morn, I thought I’d let her sleep a while longer.”

  “Aye. ’Tis better she not have to see Formorian again,” Gilead agreed. “I’ll make her excuses.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Formorian replied as she stepped through the door, pulling on her riding gloves and apparently unfazed by last night’s conversation. “I think yer mother and I understand each other much better than ye think.”

  “Where’s Turius?” Gilead asked to change the subject.

  Formorian shrugged. “With yer father, I imagine. There are details to be worked out about the soldiers Turius is leaving behind.”

  Deidre studied her. How could the woman be so calm after what transpired? Like Helen of Troy, she could very well be launching a war, even if the men were trying to pretend that nothing really happened. How long would that last?

  “I am so sorry that we won’t be at yer weddings,” Formorian said brightly, “but Turius
is still a bit upset and I do need to appease him before he leaves for battle. I wouldn’t want him making a strategic mistake because he’s not thinking straight.”

  “Ye aren’t going with him to the south?” Gilead asked coldly.

  “I never have anything to do with his son,” Formorian answered and tilted her head to one side, looking at Gilead. “Regardless of what ye may think, I do respect my husband’s military prowess. I’ll not be the one who brings him down.”

  Niall stumbled out to join them on the steps. He looked at Formorian blearily. “Are ye waiting to see yer husband off?”

  “I’m riding with him,” she replied.

  He looked startled. “Ye can’t!”

  Formorian arched an eyebrow. “I can’t?”

  Niall began to sputter. “I mean...well, ye should be here...uh, for the wedding.”

  She sounded amused. “I doubt that Gilead will miss me.”

  “But yer...presence is needed for Deidre and me. Isna that right?” He tried to put an arm around Deidre, but she drew away from him and Gilead stepped between them. Niall cursed and then looked around belatedly. “Where’s your mother?”

  “Sleeping,” Gilead answered. “Why?”

  A sly look crept over his face. “Yer mother is not a rude lady; she always sees her guests off. Mayhap ye should check on her.”

  “She’s fine,” Deidre snapped. “She needs her rest. Comgall will be riding in later. She’ll have to see to those arrangements.”

  Niall leered at her. “And Dallis. Don’t forget our fine Gilead’s bride. Just two more days, eh, lad? Then ye’ll be able to bed that beauty and I’ll be making Deidre my very own.”

  Deidre tried to suppress a shudder and Gilead clenched his jaw, but Niall went on. “I’m sure yer mother wouldna want to insult the king of Britain, would she?”

  He might have a point, Deidre thought. After the confrontation last night, the last thing anyone here needed was to have Turius feel slighted in any way, “I’ll go see if she’s awake,” she said to Gilead and then was interrupted as Angus and Turius came out the door.

  Judging by their conduct, last night might never have happened. Deidre knew that Angus had determination as hard as steel, but beneath it she could feel tension seething from him as he approached Formorian. Turius, on the other hand, appeared calm and serene. Maybe it was that cool composure that made him such a great leader.

  Turius’s foot soldiers had fallen into rank outside the walls and his cavalry filled the bailey, filing into formation for the journey to Luguvalium.

  Niall appeared edgy. “If ye’ll wait, my lord, Deidre was just going to fetch Lady Elen. I’m sure she’ll be disappointed if ye leave without her farewell.”

  “I believe the lady said her good-byes last night,” Turius said quietly.

  “But...ye know how she feels about good manners...” Niall protested.

  Angus raised an eyebrow. “Aye. Yet, she tolerates ye at the table. If Elen wishes to rest this morn, she will. She has a full day ahead.”

  Niall fell back, grumbling to himself as he walked into the house. “I wonder why he’s so concerned about manners all of a sudden,” Gilead said.

  Deidre shrugged. “He probably thinks it will impress me. Which it won’t...and never will,” she added as she glared at Angus.

  He ignored her and held the mare’s head for Formorian to mount. Then he bowed formally to both her and Turius. “May yer dispute with Max be settled quickly.”

  Turius nodded and the procession began its slow march from the fort. As Deidre watched Turius and Formorian’s horses round the bend and disappear from view, the first large, cold splats of rain began to fall from the darkened sky.

  ◊♦◊

  Una detained Deidre as she walked back into the Hall and put her to work with a grumbling Janet and sulky Sheila, making up Formorian’s former room for Dallis.

  “I doona know why we have to do chambermaid’s work,” Janet muttered as she stripped the bed of used linen. “We attend Lady Elen.”

  “Aye,” Sheila answered and slid a glance toward Deidre. “But Lady Dallis will also need a maid once she’s the laird’s son’s wife, wilna she?”

  Deidre swallowed hard. Having to serve Gilead’s new wife would be almost as bad as marrying Niall, but not quite. She had less than forty-eight hours left in which to make an escape. But she had no plans to wait that long. She would be gone today. With all the furor of Dallis’s arrival, no one would notice if she slipped to the stables. She’d leave some of her coin to pay for Winger. She was just sorry that she had failed in her mission to find the Stone because the feeling had returned—strongly—that the Stone was here.

  “The maid won’t be me,” she said.

  Janet gave her a sour look. “Aye. Ye’ll be a grand lady, too, wilna ye? Servants of yer own and all.”

  “If she can stand the pain,” Sheila snickered. “Remember what the servant that came with Niall’s wife once said about how he takes his pleasure in bed?”

  Janet’s face lightened, but Deidre was spared a reply by the sound of horses and wagons approaching. She ran to the window and looked out.

  “By the saints! It’s Comgall already! And Lady Elen isn’t even up!” She threw the towels she had gathered in a heap on the floor. “I told her I’d wake her in plenty of time! Will one of you send Una with hot water?” She didn’t give them time to answer as she bolted for the door.

  And nearly ran into Meara in the back hall. The cook’s face was a livid red and she had a kitchen maid by the arm and a scullery lad by the ear. The tirade was enough to make Deidre want to cover her own ears.

  “It’s a fine morn for ye to be havin’ yer sport with her, laddie! The laird and Lady Dallis are here, and we’ve nothing prepared to break their fast. If I dinna need the use of yer hands this day, I’d thrash yer skin bare. And ye...” She turned to the frightened girl and gave her a shake. “I’ll not be havin’ ye making bairns instead of bread in my kitchen! Are ye going to keep yer skirts down or do I send ye on the road?”

  Deidre flattened herself against the wall as the trio swept past her, Meara still in a fine fit of rage. Perhaps this was not the best time to try to get food for Elen.

  She bounded up the back stairs and paused to catch her breath and smooth her hair before she knocked on the door. Elen liked for her to look at least somewhat tidy.

  No one answered. Deidre turned the knob gently and the door swung open squeaking a hinged protest. She’d have to get one of the servants to oil it.

  Elen was still asleep, curled on her side, back to the door. Deidre approached the bed and laid her hand softly on Elen’s shoulder.

  “It’s time to rise, lady. The company’s come early.”

  There was no response. Deidre shook Elen’s arm. “Please, lady.” She brushed back the blond curls that covered part of Elen’s face. Her skin felt so cold. Deidre took her shoulder to turn her over and then stepped back, mouth open in a silent scream.

  Elen stared blankly up at her, eyes unseeing.

  She was dead. Deidre grasped the bedpost and gasped for air, fighting the wave of dizziness and nausea that swept over her. Somehow, though she wouldn’t remember it, she found her vocal cords and split the air with a piercing, keening wail.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  LAST CHANCE

  Gilead’s head snapped up as the hair-raising shrieking from his mother’s room rent the air in the bailey. He had just helped Dallis down from her carriage, but now he quickly handed her over to Drustan, who nearly dropped his harp in his hurry to offer her his arm.

  “Take care of her,” Gilead said and raced toward the entrance. He pounded up the stairs two at a time, slid around the corner to his mother’s room and then stopped abruptly, his mind not willing to absorb what his eyes saw.

  Deidre sat crumpled on the floor beside his mother’s bed, tears streaming down her face. His mother’s glazed eyes looked into emptiness, her face twisted in an expression of pain. Her hands, c
urled like a bird’s, clawed at the sheet.

  “My God,” he said softly as he stumbled toward the bed and leaned over, gently closing his mother’s vacant eyes. He reached down and lifted Deidre into his arms where she clung to him frantically.

  “What’s happened?” Angus burst into the room and then froze at the sight of Elen lying on the bed. “What...who...”

  Behind him, others were clambering up the steps. Janet and Sheila began wailing when they discovered Elen dead and a grim-faced Una shouldered her way through the throng that gathered in the hall. She crossed herself and then lifted the sheet in a precursory exam.

  “There are no marks,” she said to Angus. “No wounds. Nothing.”

  Her voice had the effect of unfreezing him. “Find me the guard from last night,” he thundered. “I want an accounting of everyone who entered and left this room.”

  The guard arrived, sleepy and tucking his shirt into his trews as servants were removing Elen’s body. His eyes widened and he snapped to attention. “What happened, my lord?”

  Angus’s eyes darkened. “That’s what I want to know. Were ye at yer post the entire time?”

  The soldier flinched a little, but returned the look. “Aye, sir.”

  “And ye were awake? Ye dinna take a wee nap?”

  The intimidating sarcasm would have squelched most men, but the guard squared his shoulders. “Nae, sir.”

  “Then tell me who came in.”

  The man frowned slightly. “The lady’s maid,” he said and pointed to Deidre. “Brena, with the lady’s usual potion. You, sir. And Queen Formorian—”

  “Formorian?” Deidre and Gilead asked together.

  “Aye. She said she wouldna stay long and she dinna.”

  Gilead gave his father a level look. “Any idea why she might invade Mother’s privacy?”

  “Aye.” Angus turned to the guard. “Find Brena for me. If ye remember anyone else, come and find me.” He waited until the man’s footsteps sounded in the hall and then turned back to Gilead.

  “It’s not what ye’re thinking. Mori wanted to apologize.”