“Well done. Ye see? Your best weapon is the element o’ surprise.”
Intrigued now, Ysenda watched as Noёl continued to train her brother with a unique style and technique. Of course, once Caimbeul began to improve and his antics were no longer amusing, the laird lost interest and retired to the keep. But Ysenda remained to watch in fascination, glimpsing a side of her brother she’d never seen before.
Gradually, over the course of an hour, Noёl transformed Caimbeul into an impressive and lethal fighter. Even more significant, the Knights of de Ware became Caimbeul’s companions in arms. They challenged him, jested with him, boasted and cursed together. Her brother finally had friends who treated him as an equal.
Yet to what end?
Her heart sank. The knights might be his brothers now. But soon they would desert Caimbeul to return to France. Then he’d be left once again with clansmen who mocked him.
It wasn’t fair. It was bad enough that she had to surrender a perfect husband to her selfish sister. It was beyond cruel to make Caimbeul sacrifice his happiness as well.
She had never felt more like fortune’s foe.
In the shadows of the armory, Noёl unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it aside. He was filled with regret. As if choosing between his duty to his king and the dictates of his heart wasn’t difficult enough, now he had to grieve over losing a young brother whom he’d quickly come to admire.
Noёl had never had a more enthusiastic and attentive student than Caimbeul. The young man not only learned fast, but he was clever and inventive. If only Noёl had more time with him, he was confident he could mold him into a respectable warrior.
Noёl slipped his tabard off over his head, then bent forward to shiver off his chain mail, letting it pool on the ground.
Behind him, he heard someone enter the armory. The uneven gait—the stab of a staff and the foot dragging across the floor—was instantly identifiable.
“I came to thank ye, Sir Noёl,” Caimbeul said quietly, “for givin’ me somethin’ no man’s ever given me before.” He stopped in the middle of the chamber. “Hope.”
Noёl’s shoulders lowered. Hope? He feared he may have given Caimbeul only false hope. What would become of the lad once the knights left? Would he go back to cowering before his father?
“Ye’ve made me see that I’m more than just a cripple,” he continued. Emotion thickened his voice. “I’ll never forget that. And I’ll never forget ye.”
Noёl nodded and turned to Caimbeul. But he couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I’ll never forget ye either.”
However, another pair of eyes floated into his thoughts. Eyes that glowed like soft gray fog. Eyes that shimmered like the sleek silver sea. They were eyes he’d never be able to banish from his mind. With a sigh, he sank down on the wooden bench and hung his head.
Caimbeul limped over and sat beside him.
“Ye love her, don’t ye?” he guessed. “Ysenda?”
Too weary to lie, Noёl nodded.
“And ye don’t want to leave her.”
Noёl swallowed back despair and answered gruffly. “’Tisn’t my choice. I’m honor-bound to do the king’s will.”
Caimbeul shook his head. “’Tis my own damned fault. If I hadn’t told ye ye’d wed the wrong sister…”
Noёl smile ruefully. “’Tisn’t like sparrin’, Caimbeul. Ye can’t feint and fool and deceive your way through life.”
“Can’t ye?” he grumbled.
Noёl shook his head.
“But if ye truly love my sister, isn’t that all that matters?”
Noёl clucked his tongue. “Ye’ve got skills with a blade now. But ye still have much to learn about duty and honor.”
Caimbeul heaved a sigh. Then he drew his dagger and began idly carving the top of his wooden staff.
“Besides,” Noёl said, “would ye not prefer I take the real Cathalin and leave Ysenda here? I know ye’re very close to your sister. And she loves ye very much.”
Caimbeul continued carving in silence, but Noёl saw his lips compress with an unasked question.
“Ye were hopin’ to come with us,” Noёl guessed, “weren’t ye?”
Caimbeul shrugged. “Maybe.” He dusted the wood chips from the top of his staff. “I could make myself useful now.”
His words broke Noёl’s heart. There was nothing worse for a man than not feeling useful. He wished he could take Caimbeul with him.
But if he did the right thing and married the real Cathalin, he had to leave Caimbeul behind. He couldn’t be so heartless as to steal Ysenda’s brother from her.
With a growl of frustration, he shot to his feet, raking his hands back through his hair.
The abrupt movement spooked Caimbeul, who lurched from the bench in surprise and almost fell. As he grabbed Noёl to regain his balance, his dagger grazed Noёl’s neck.
“Ach!” Caimbeul cried. “Forgive me. Ye startled me. Are ye all right?”
“Aye,” he said, clapping his hand to his bloodied neck to make sure his head was still attached. Then he gave the lad a wink of reassurance. “’Tis only a scratch. But ye’d better put away your weapon before your warrior blood gets the best o’ ye.”
“Sorry.” Caimbeul sheathed his dagger and bent to retrieve his dropped staff. “Are ye sure ye’re all right?”
Noёl sighed. Nae, he was not all right. He was brokenhearted and discouraged. He could see no way out of this predicament. There would be no happy ending…for anyone.
After Caimbeul limped off and Noёl was alone again in the armory, his thoughts began to drift.
The Viking well suddenly materialized in his mind. Why, he didn’t know. He didn’t actually believe in enchantments. Only a fool would imagine an ancient ruin held some magical power.
Yet Ysenda’s words haunted him. What had she said? That the well could bless two lovers, binding them together for eternity.
Which was ridiculous. But he supposed every place had its local legends—the Highlands probably more than most. For the superstitious, all it took to keep such a legend alive was enough inexplicable coincidences.
Noёl, however, was neither superstitious nor gullible. Shaking his head over his absurd imagination, he left the armory.
As he entered the great hall, he glimpsed Ysenda near the far wall. She looked as beautiful as…as a Viking goddess.
He frowned. A Viking goddess? What had made that pop into his mind? He knew nothing about Viking goddesses.
He straightened and made his way through the crowd toward Ysenda.
Her smile was melancholy. Her eyes looked like heavy clouds about to loose their store of rain as she murmured, “I can’t thank ye enough for what ye did for Caimbeul.”
“He’s a good fighter. If he puts his mind to it, he’ll one day be a great Viking warrior.”
“A what?”
Noёl furrowed his brows. What had made him say that? “Highland, a great Highland warrior.”
Ysenda’s eyes were moist. He could see his praise of her brother meant a lot to her. But the longer he looked at her, the more miserable he felt. Standing beside her was torture when he knew he couldn’t keep her.
He had find an excuse to get away, if only for a moment.
There was a keg of ale at the opposite side of the hall.
“I’m goin’ to fetch myself a drink from the well. Would ye like me to get one for ye?”
She gave him a quizzical look. “From the well?”
“What?”
“Ye said ye were fetchin’ a drink from the well.”
“Nae, I didn’t.”
“Aye, ye did.”
Had he said that? What was wrong with him? “I’m fetchin’ a drink from the keg there, on the far…wall. Aye, that’s what I said, from the wall.”
That wasn’t what he’d said, and he knew it. But he couldn’t explain why his mind was fixated on that damned Viking well. And he didn’t want to try.
Without waiting to see if she wanted a drink, he left t
o fill two cups.
By the time he brought her ale back, he’d forgotten all about the well. He nodded toward her father. The laird was speaking to three of the de Ware knights and Caimbeul.
“It looks like your father has new respect for his son.”
“Aye,” she replied, taking a sip, “at least while he’s surrounded by your men.”
The reminder of Noёl’s imminent departure brought a scowl to his face.
Just then, Cathalin breezed down the stairs and into the great hall. Not a hair was out of place. Not a wrinkle creased her gown. Even his own men, accustomed to the great beauties of France, turned their heads as she entered the room.
But looking at her only made Noёl’s heart sink. A weight descended on his shoulders. And he knew he had to do something about it.
“We need to talk,” he told Ysenda.
“I know.”
“We need to decide what to do. I planned to leave today, and—”
“Today?”
“Waitin’ any longer won’t make it easier.”
“I know.”
She was trying to be brave. He could see that. But her eyes were wet. And it was making his throat ache.
A tendril of her hair fell forward against her cheek, and he brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear. But his gaze locked on it in speculation.
A lock of her hair and a lock of his, tied together with a ribbon.
He frowned. He was not going to do it. It was a silly ritual. A waste of time.
And yet, he thought as she clamped her jaw to keep her chin from trembling, what harm would it do? He’d tried everything else. Why not try this? As long as no one caught him at the well, no one would be the wiser.
But how would he get a lock of her hair?
“And who will ye be leavin’ with?” she choked out. “My sister? Or me?”
She was on the verge of tears. He knew she didn’t want to cry in front of her clan. So he took her hand and guided her toward the stairs.
When they reached the shadows of the stairwell, he swept her into his arms. He kissed her deeply, passionately. It was a bittersweet embrace of loss and longing, of fond farewell and ill-fated desire.
It was also an opportunity for Noёl to sneak out his dagger and steal a wisp of her hair. Feeling foolish, he nonetheless managed to collect it without her knowledge. He closed it in his palm and then broke off the embrace to hold her at arm’s length.
“I need to be alone for a wee bit…to think.”
She nodded.
He looked into her eyes again, imparting his love for her with a glance. And then he left.
Chapter 9
After he’d gone, Ysenda’s eyes filled and spilled over. Sobs lodged in her throat, too painful to swallow away.
She never wept—at least not where anyone could see her. Weeping was a sign of weakness. Or so her mother had always believed. So she sat on the step, indulging her sorrow in secret.
Was there no way to undo what had been done? Was there no choice that would satisfy everyone? Was there nothing she could do to change their destiny?
As she continued sniffling into her hands, she felt an itching between her breasts. With tear-damp fingers, she reached into her bodice.
The lock of his hair. She’d forgotten it was there.
She withdrew it by the red ribbon and stared at it. Suddenly a strange tingling started at the back of her neck. A wee hope blew through her soul like a stray wind.
Locks from each lover’s hair, tied together with a ribbon.
Was it possible? Could she call upon the magic of the Viking well?
She didn’t even know if she believed in the magic. Some of the clan swore by it. But she didn’t put much faith in old legends and ancient enchantments.
On the other hand, something had compelled her to snip the lock of his hair last night. Why else would she have done that? She must have known, deep in her heart of hearts, that she would end up visiting the well.
She ran her thumb over the silky strands of black hair. She was being childish. It was only a Yuletide story, after all. Nobody even knew if the story was true. Going there was probably a reckless waste of time.
Still…what was the harm? She had to try.
Wiping away her tears, she went upstairs and donned her cloak. She didn’t want Noёl to see her going. He would guess what she was up to. And he would think she was a fool. So she left the keep quietly and took a roundabout path to the well.
Halfway there, she stopped to rest. Drawing her dagger, she cut off a small piece of her own hair and tied it together with his. Her auburn and his black made an interesting contrast. She couldn’t help but think about what their children’s hair might look like.
She gulped. What if a child was already growing in her belly? The thought was at once thrilling and horrifying.
Closing the precious strands in her hand, she continued on her journey, hoping no one would catch sight of her.
In fact, she was so busy making sure she wasn’t followed that when she arrived, she didn’t notice at first that she wasn’t the only visitor to the well. A mere ten paces from the stream, she finally saw she wasn’t alone.
She gasped in surprise.
Noёl glanced up with a frown. “Ysenda?”
“What are ye doin’ here?”
He hid something behind his back and cleared his throat. “I could ask ye the same thing.”
She realized she was holding the bound locks of hair where he could easily see them. But she couldn’t exactly tuck them back into her bodice. “I needed…fresh air.”
He wasn’t fooled for an instant. And his gaze went immediately to what she was holding in her hand. “What have ye got there?”
A dozen lies crossed her mind. She opened her mouth to speak one of them. But none of them were believable. So she closed her mouth again. She might as well confess. She shook her head. “Locks o’ hair.”
“Whose hair?”
She raised her chin in challenge. “Yours and mine.”
She expected him to make fun of her. He’d doubtless have a good chuckle at her expense. And just as she anticipated, he began to laugh.
But then he held aloft what he had behind his back. “Like these?”
She frowned. He was holding strands of black and auburn hair tied together with a green ribbon. Her hand went instinctively to her head as she wondered when he’d stolen a lock of her hair. “How did ye…?”
“While we were kissin’.” One side of his mouth curved up in a grin. “And ye?”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “While ye were sleepin’.”
He shook his head. “Come on.” His eyes twinkled as he summoned her with his free hand. “We may as well get it over with.”
She joined him where he stood over the well. “Do ye think ’twill work?”
“I have no idea, but ’tis worth—”
There was a sudden movement through the trees. They both froze. Someone was coming their way. Damn! The last thing Ysenda wanted was an audience for their foolishness.
But after a moment, she blinked in surprise. She recognized the lurching motion of the intruder.
Noёl recognized it as well. “What the devil? Caimbeul?”
Caimbeul was struggling through the snow. His staff slipped on the slick surface. He was out of breath. But he had a wide smile on his face.
“Caimbeul!” she said, handing the locks of hair off to Noёl before rushing forward to meet her brother. “Are ye all right? How did ye walk so far? And in the snow?” As far as she remembered, he’d only been to the well once before, and he’d had to ride part of the way on a vendor’s cart.
He shrugged off her questions to ask his own. “What are the two o’ ye doin’ here? Are ye wishin’ on the well? Is that what ye’re doin’?”
“Nae,” she said.
“Aye,” Noёl said.
Ysenda frowned. She wasn’t exactly proud of what they were doing.
But Caimbeul only laughed and hob
bled forward, then dug something out of his satchel. For an instant, Ysenda couldn’t speak.
“Is that what I think ’tis?” Noёl asked.
Caimbeul grinned. “Locks o’ your hair? Aye.”
Ysenda blinked at the white-ribboned bundle. “I’m beginnin’ to think I’m lucky I haven’t been plucked bald. How did ye…?”
“Remember when I knocked ye on your arse in the courtyard?” Caimbeul asked, clearly acting the braggart. “I might have stolen a few strands while ye lay helpless.”
Noёl narrowed his eyes and nodded. “And ye took mine when ye had that ‘accident’ in the armory, didn’t ye?”
“Ye said trickery was my strength.” Caimbeul beamed with pride. “So what do we do now?”
It had seemed silly enough when Ysenda was thinking of making the wish by herself. Now, with three of them reciting the wish, it seemed absolutely ridiculous.
On the other hand, what did they have to lose? The fact that they all wanted the same thing touched her. And it made her more than willing to indulge the two most important men in her life.
“I suppose we weight them with rocks and drop them into the well together,” she said.
Noёl nodded. “That should give our wish three times the power.”
Once they’d secured small rocks to each bundle, they stood together over the well.
“What are we supposed to say?” Noёl asked.
“I’m not certain,” Ysenda admitted. “I suppose we wish for a way to bind our two spirits together for eternity?”
“I’ll do it,” Caimbeul offered when they stood above the well. “I think ye should hold hands.” They did. “In the name o’ the unfortunate lovers who once drowned in this well, I make this Yuletide wish that the two souls to whom these locks o’ hair belong to be blessed in their marriage and joined together forever and aye.”
They all nodded, pleased with his choice of words. And then they dropped their tokens, one by one, into the water, where they disappeared into the inky depths.
The heavens didn’t open up to let angels descend.
The air didn’t stir with the breeze of faerie wings or fill with the sound of ancient pipes.
The Handfasting Page 9
