"This is magnificent, Gordon,” David declared, joining his friend to better admire the workmanship. “Thank you.” He clapped Gordon on the shoulder in appreciation.
"A toast.” Nicholas stood unsteadily, raising high the cup he held. “Be careful the horn of the unicorn. It can geld when least provoked.” He gulped down the rest of his wine and looked around for a serving maid to refill his cup.
Ellen held her breath as Gordon, angered by the veiled insult, started toward the nobleman. She sighed as a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Let it go, Gordon,” David advised quietly. “He is drunk and no one takes him seriously. You and I know what he is about. Would you spoil your sister's wedding with violence?"
Gordon relaxed slightly under David's hand, and both young men returned to the head table. He frequently glanced Nicholas’ way, and Ellen could tell her brother was expecting the drunken guest to be brewing up some trouble. Entertainment started up again and was merry, laughter rang throughout the hall and most appetites were well satisfied, as the evening fled.
"My lady,” Muriel whispered to Ellen. “Time to go up and prepare."
Ellen's flush deepened and she looked to David. “Go ahead, sweeting,” he smiled. “I will join you shortly."
David heard the mumblings of a drunken Nicholas, as both men watched Ellen climb the stairs to her chamber with Muriel close behind.
"She should have been my bride,” Nicholas grumbled between gulps of wine. It was obvious he did not care who heard him. He grabbed at a nearby servant and demanded his cup be refilled.
David began to rise, only to be stopped by a hand gripping his forearm. He turned to see the subtle shake of his father's head. David thought of his own advice to Gordon, and sat back, clenching his fists at the drunken remark. Had his father not stopped him, he might have done something foolish to ruin this day for Ellen.
A short time later, as he prepared to leave the hall, Gordon stopped him a moment and spoke a few quiet words. David laughed, while two burly soldiers watched him with interest. The Scots bridegroom barely nodded to them as he made his way up the steps.
Nicholas pushed his way past several guests, determined to stop David's unobserved departure, and shouted out, “Time for the bedding ceremony!” He charged his way to the staircase, only to have his path blocked by the two soldiers. Others followed his lead, but the soldiers refused to move. “We have the right to inspect the bride, Scotsman. Do not want you repudiating her later. Or do your Scots customs differ so greatly, you do not particularly care about the condition of the goods you have purchased?"
David stopped briefly on the steps, turned slightly, and glanced over his shoulder with disgust. Words were unnecessary, as his dark, narrowed stare effectively silenced the disgruntled guest. David's men would keep all but the family from gaining the upper floors for a while. He continued on to Ellen's bedchamber.
He knocked on Ellen's door, not wanting to frighten her, knowing she expected him to be followed. As Nicholas so crudely put it, the guests would want to see the bride to be sure she had no imperfections. David thought the bedding ceremony to be barbaric and disgusting, and intended to spare Ellen that particular embarrassment.
Gwennyth opened the door and waited for David to enter the room. “Good night, Gwennyth, Muriel. Enjoy the evening. Lady Ellen will not be needing you in the morning."
"As you wish, my lord.” Gwennyth bobbed an unsteady curtsy and followed Muriel from the room.
David closed and bolted the door. He would have no intruders on their wedding night. He saw his bride glance past him, then slowly release her breath. “My Christmas gift to you,” he said, taking her into his arms, “no bedding ceremony. I will not share my bride with the rest of the guests."
"I nearly forgot myself,” Ellen replied with breathless relief. “I, too, have a gift for you, but it pales in the light of your thoughtfulness.” She turned and carefully picked up a small cloth covered package, tied with string. She held it in both her hands and offered it to him.
David carefully unwrapped her gift and gazed at the dirk within. Inlaid in the hilt was a single ruby, and around it, the hilt was covered with gold leaf. The blade itself was narrow, and had a thin Celtic design engraved on it just below the hilt's crossbar. “'Tis beautiful work, Sprite. I will keep it with me, always.” He set aside the dirk, then turned to Ellen and wrapped his arms about her waist. “Tonight,” he said, with a gleam in his eyes, “I intend to take my time unwrapping this beautiful gift."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Despite the indulgences of the previous evening and early hours, Nicholas rode to Fair Haven, as if the devil himself were chasing him. Patches of ice lay treacherously hidden beneath the new fallen snow, but he refused to slow down. His mount's thudding hoofbeats matched the pounding in his head, step for step. Nicholas’ temper simmered too close to the surface, ready to flare at the slightest provocation.
Some days before, the road had been churned up in thick mud, and settled in a broken surface. The horse stumbled on a patch of ice, nearly toppling his rider. Nicholas grasped a fistful of the horse's mane, to keep his balance. The gelding regained his footing, only to have a length of the reins whipped against his flank. He whinnied and sidestepped, but regained his footing. His breath fogged in the cold air as he snorted in response to the unexpected punishment.
By early afternoon, Nicholas arrived in the courtyard of Fair Haven Castle, and, after dismounting from the foam-flecked horse, slapped the reins into the stableboy's outstretched hand. “See to it my horse is properly cared for. Not your usual carelessness.” His scowl and a cuff across the side of the boy's head, was enough to warn the young servant of the master's black mood.
"Yes, milord,” the boy replied, and ducked his head against the cold. He snapped up the reins, gave them a quick tug, and hurried away to the stable.
Nicholas stalked into the great hall, while boy and horse were quickly forgotten. “Bring me ale, wench,” he bellowed at one of the serving maids. He loosened his cloak, then tossed it carelessly onto one of the chairs at the head table. The central high backed chair had an ornate design carved into the dark wood. No one knew, much less cared, what it meant. Nicholas stared at it resentfully. It represented the power to rule Fair Haven, which, for the moment, belonged to his father. Nicholas knew circumstances could change very quickly. Had he not altered a few to turn situations to his benefit? His smile was cold as he glanced once more at his father's chair. Time. All in due time.
Nicholas turned, and taking a few steps, held his cold hands out before the huge hearth. A few moments in front of the blazing fire warmed his body, but not his heart, yet he was in the mood for another kind of warming up—a warming which had been denied him the night before. His anger began to simmer again as he thought of the heathen Scotsman wedded to the eldest daughter of Ravencliff. Time, indeed, and careful planning, would right all injustices, and Nicholas would have what he wanted. He knew just the person to become his ally.
Long self-assured strides took Nicholas back to his father's chair where he made himself comfortable. “Where is that ale?” The serving girl reappeared, and placed a tray with a goblet and flagon of ale before him. Food had also been prepared, since he had missed the noon meal, but it was ignored as she filled the cup and held it out to him.
Nicholas was amused by the distance the girl tried to keep between them. He took the cup from her, and appeared as if his thoughts were elsewhere. The girl tried to take advantage of his distraction and make her escape, but his arm darted about her waist and he pulled her onto his lap, holding her securely in place. He laughed with dark pleasure as she tried to free herself from his grasp. Her brown eyes widened like a startled doe's, caught with nowhere to turn. Nicholas fed on her fear and held her tighter.
"Please, my lord. I have work to do,” she begged as she tried to pull herself free of him. “Lady Meredith would not be pleased if I do not finish my chores."
"I am master here. Y
ou work when I decide, and at the moment, I expect you to please me. Lady Meredith's wishes can wait.” Nicholas nuzzled the girl's neck as she tried once more to escape.
"You are not lord here—yet, Nicholas. Leave the servants to their work."
Nicholas looked up to see Fair Haven's soft spoken mistress approach. Her gaze never wavered from his. His heartbeat quickened as she moved closer. Lady Meredith stopped before him, but said nothing while he gulped his wine. Nicholas was amused, and quickly bored by the serving girl's pleading look, released her when Meredith nodded dismissal. He chuckled as the girl scurried back to the kitchens.
He focused his complete attention on Meredith. “When did I become answerable to you?” he finally asked, setting the empty goblet on the table. Meredith refilled it for him. He saw no change in her. She was just as beautiful as the last time he was here. Even his dreams could not disguise the attraction he still felt for her. Long golden hair lay in a neat thick braid against her back, a delicate gold circlet held wayward strands of hair in place. Brown eyes stared back at him, showing no fear of his temper. A deep blue gown, trimmed with a gold and blue girdle, clung to her slender figure. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she should have been his.
"I do not know how you act when you are at Ravencliff; they must not have manners if they fostered you to behave this way. I will not stand to have you disrupt the order of Fair Haven, on one of your whims."
Nicholas made himself more comfortable in his father's chair, enjoying the feel and fit of it. All the while, his gaze remained fixed on Meredith. He could sense her discomfort with his stare, and reveled in the thought. “Why did you marry him?” He saw how the unexpected change of topic made her blink in surprise. He was still capable of keeping her off balance. “You were meant to be my bride...” He reached for his goblet and quickly drained it, then slammed it back onto the table. “Not the bride of an old man.” Nicholas leaned forward, intending to intimidate her, and took pleasure as she flinched from his sudden move.
"Five years past, you spurned my suit to marry my father. Were you so anxious to become a countess, you could not wait for me to inherit Fair Haven?"
"You know my father arranged the marriage. I was unhappy with the arrangement, but there was never any formal agreement between us. You never spoke to my father for me."
"Your father would never have approved a marriage between you and a second son. You are as greedy as he was."
"When does a woman make her own choices?” Meredith countered quietly. “'Tis always a father or brother arranging her life for her, whether or not it is what she wants. Women are a means of barter. You know that very well."
"Either way, it worked against me. Your father chose for you and took you from me. Ellen was allowed to make her own choice and she took another for her husband."
"Feeling sorry for yourself?” Meredith looked a bit smug.
"Not at all, my dear stepmother. I find it interesting, had you married my brother, Edward, you would be a widow now."
"Yes, Edward stood in your way, did he not?” she commented suspiciously. “Were you responsible for his death?"
Nicholas feigned shock at the accusation. “Do you believe me to be so cruel as to murder my own beloved brother for the sake of a few baubles and a title?” He slouched back in his seat. “Really, Meredith, there are safer ways to claim a fortune. Committing murder is dangerous at best. If one is found out, one loses all he has gained."
"I am not sure what to believe where you are concerned.” Meredith stepped away from the table to give instructions to a servant. When she finished, she turned to find Nicholas standing before her.
"How fares my father?” he whispered, and ran a thick finger lightly down her throat, to the top of her gown's v-cut neckline.
Meredith shuddered with the bold hint, while her blood turned to ice. Slapping his hand away, she retorted. “If you are so concerned about your father, perhaps you should visit him in his chambers. He has been too ill of late to come below stairs."
"Perhaps I will, but there is something else I would like, before I consider thoughts of visiting a sickroom.” Nicholas grabbed her wrist. “I can think of better ways to entertain myself at the moment.” He made his way toward the narrow curved staircase leading to the bedchambers. His grip tightened as Meredith pulled back, suddenly wary of his intentions. “Come, sweet. You cannot be all that shy."
"Nicholas, no. Do not do this,” Meredith begged.
Nicholas felt her trying to break free of the tight grip he had. He pulled her up after him, knowing she could not keep up with his quick pace on the narrow staircase. He reached the upper corridor and tightened his grip even more as she tried to pry his fingers loose. Red bruises appeared on her fair skin. He yanked on her wrist, intending to hurry her along. Meredith's slippers caught in the hem of her gown, causing her to stumble. Nicholas growled at her clumsiness, and wrapping an arm about her waist, carried her through the dimly lit corridor. He scoffed at the ineffective strikes of her small fists against his forearm. “Think you that pains me? I would expect more from you than puny punches."
Smokey torches on the walls did little to light his way, but instead, sent eerie shadows dancing across the opposite wall. He hesitated before a closed door, then moved on to the next one. Forcing this door open, he shoved a weeping Meredith into her bedchamber and followed her in, kicking the door closed behind him.
"Do not shame me further, I beg of you.” Meredith was left kneeling on the floor among the rushes. Her small hands covered her tear streaked face, muffling her sobs.
Nicholas stared at his father's disheveled wife, then turned and strode from the room, unsure if he was disgusted with her, or himself. He shut the door tightly behind him, cutting off the sounds of Meredith's weeping and pleading. He glanced back at the thick oak door, and his hard expression softened for a moment. He had loved her once, so how could he turn on her this way? Was this a guilty conscience speaking to him? Nicholas shook off the strange feeling and stood straighter, determined not to let Meredith's tears affect him any more than they had.
Moving back down the hall, he stopped once again, before his father's bedchamber. Was the old duke as ill as Meredith claimed him to be? Nicholas decided to find out for himself. He opened the door wide enough to slip into the room, and moved to his father's bedside. The room smelled of old age and illness, and felt as if the very air had been sucked out of it. Nicholas held his ground and studied the still figure on the bed.
The old earl was little more than bones, with dry, papery skin pulled tightly over them. His white hair was long, but sparse. The face, which once showed strength of character and determination, held little resemblance to the commanding presence Nicholas remembered. His father's eyelids fluttered in restless sleep. His shallow breath rasped annoyingly. The bedcovers barely moved with each breath he took.
Nicholas raised his father's head ever so slightly, to remove one of the feather pillows. He stood back, clutching the pillow to his chest and stared down at the shell of the man who had no love to give a second son. As Nicholas stared down at the bed, everything around him seemed to recede, and he was, once again, a small boy of eight. * * * *
A group of hunters waited in Fair Haven's courtyard, ready for a day of hunting. Nicholas looked up at the imposing man, who was his father. The earl's mount sidestepped nervously, only to have the reins mercilessly yanked back. The gelding's huge head was pulled up and held that way for a moment. The earl's gaze never once left the boy. “You don't have the brains God gave you, for hawking, boy. This bird is more intelligent than you are.” As if to emphasize his point, the earl raised his arm where a hooded falcon sat. At the sudden motion, the bird stretched out its wings for balance, doing a little dance on the thick glove covering the earl's hand. Its tresses were held snugly, limiting its movements.
Nicholas stared at the hunting bird, angry that it should be more important to the earl than he was. Should not a son be important to a man, even if he was
only a second son? The boy never understood his father's neglect of him. His brother Edward looked down on Nicholas, a smug expression on his face as he sat his pony. Nicholas scowled back. Edward was much like their father, right down to the temperament, while Nicholas, so he had been told disparagingly, favored his mother.
The earl gave his son a black look, then turned his horse toward the portcullis. Edward followed proudly, giving Nicholas a backward, smug glance, then set his pony to a gallop to catch up to his father. The rest of the mounted men quickly followed. Their horses kicked up a cloud of dust as they galloped out of the courtyard.
Nicholas stared after them until they disappeared in the distance. His anger seethed just beneath the surface. The boy needed an outlet for his anger and growing hatred. He turned slowly and stared at the mews, a plan forming in his young mind.
He slowly walked up the short ramp and entered the small building. The only light came from the open door. Three hunting birds, not fully trained, remained inside, their heads hooded. Nicholas backed out of the mews and ran toward the great hall. He knew exactly what he needed.
Nicholas glanced about, and seeing no one, slipped into the empty stillroom. His mother used to work here with various herbs and had taught him a little about them. The scents of herbs hanging in bunches to dry, drifted from the low rafters. He looked about the small room, pushing around several containers until he found what he wanted. He peeked into one small jar, sniffed its contents, then tucked it inside his shirt. He glanced about to be sure he was alone, then quickly left the stillroom.
He returned to the mews, then removed the stopper from the jar and poured a bit of the contents into his hand. He took some small bits of meat, rolled them in the powder and put them aside for a moment. After he shook the remaining powder from his hands, he rubbed the extra coating from the meat and laid a piece before each bird. He watched closely as they greedily tore into the food. Nicholas found satisfaction in the deed, and backed out of the mews. A tight smile formed in his young features. Today he would prove he was not as stupid as his father assumed him to be. Edward would learn to never again challenge his younger brother.
To Every Love, There is a Season Page 10
