“Rely upon me, my dear. I shall make a fair wager for them, one way or the other.” Henry laughed shortly. “After all, if the convent does not desire them as they are, then we can sell them into service.”
Never! Vivienne forgot the falcons in her newfound determination to aid Erik’s daughters.
The woman chortled. “We shall see some advantage from visiting this ghastly abode. I like your scheme well, Henry.” She smiled then, as Beatrice tugged two small girls out of the hall of Blackleith. “And here are your beloved angels!” she called in honeyed tones.
The two girls scarce behaved like angels. It was clear to Vivienne that they did not accompany their mother willingly, as if they guessed the fate in store for them. The youngest once dragged her feet in sullen discontent, until Beatrice muttered something and caught the child around the waist, lifting her with an effort.
“Come along, my dear Astrid,” she said, as if the child was merely slow. A young serving girl, perhaps of fifteen summers, her eyes narrowed, slipped through Blackleith’s door to watch. She made no move to aid Beatrice, but folded her arms across her chest and stood her ground.
“They do not seem to wish to leave you, dear Beatrice,” the noblewoman said, her words too sweet.
“They were sleeping,” Beatrice insisted. “And a child awakened suddenly oft awakens in less than sweet temper.” She pressed a kiss to Astrid’s temple and the child snarled openly at her. Beatrice feigned a laugh. “Oh, she is so accustomed to her nanny that she scarce recognizes me when she is sleepy!”
The little girl punctuated that comment with a hefty kick to her mother’s leg. Beatrice grimaced, then swung the child into her arms, holding her elbows and knees fast against her own chest. Astrid began to kick and struggle with vigor then. Beatrice marched toward the couple, a gleam of determination in her eyes.
“Come, Erin, you could be of aid in this,” Beatrice said to the girl standing by the portal.
That girl shook her head and did not move.
“I shall see you whipped for such disobedience,” Beatrice said, even as she held fast to the flailing child.
Erin smiled. “You shall have to catch me first,” she said, then turned and fled into the forest.
The three nobles looked after the girl, aghast at her disobedience.
“One cannot find a decent nanny in this land, to be certain,” Beatrice said, clearly speaking through gritted teeth. “You can imagine the difficulties I face. I am convinced that the girls will be well served by the journey south and you will not regret this small favor to me. Truly, they are usually sweet beyond compare.”
The older girl, Mairi, trailed behind her mother sullenly, clearly having no inclination to be sweet.
“Hasten yourself!” Beatrice snapped at the girl, whose expression turned mutinous even as her mother pivoted to smile sunnily at her guests.
With three younger sisters and a house that had not always been tranquil, Vivienne knew the gleam that lit Mairi’s eyes. She braced herself for trouble, the kind of trouble a small angry child can make.
Mairi moved with uncommon speed. She leapt forward with vigor and trod determinedly upon her mother’s hems. She ground the finely embroidered cloth into the mud with her heel, so vengeful that Vivienne knew there was no affection between mother and this child.
So long and elaborate were Beatrice’s hems that that woman managed half a dozen steps, unaware of one child’s deeds as she struggled with the other, before the cloth was suddenly taut around her knees. Beatrice only had time to gasp and see the truth before she tripped on her full skirts and fell into the mud. Astrid took advantage of her mother’s loosed grasp to leap from her arms. Vivienne saw Mairi’s face light with satisfied malice as Beatrice’s kirtle audibly tore.
Beatrice spun with startling speed and smacked Mairi full across the face. The little girl sat down in the mud with a splat and began to wail in protest. Beatrice hauled her hems out of the muck with vigor, snatched up Astrid and cast that child into the noblewoman’s lap.
The woman recoiled in disgust. “I cannot carry the child!” she cried, raising her hands as if she feared to so much as touch the girl. She looked about herself in dismay. “Surely, they have a maid, or a nanny, or some person who must accompany them. Look how the child soils my kirtle! Henry!”
Astrid took one look at the woman’s face and began to cry in earnest. Beatrice tried to haul Mairi closer to the couple but that child was sufficiently tall and heavy that she could not be readily moved against her will.
The squires, meanwhile, brought several plump saddlebags from the hall. They moved with purpose as they burdened the pair of palfreys still standing in the rain.
“You must go with Henry and Arabella,” Beatrice told the protesting Mairi. “They will give you fine gifts, beautiful garb and fare so delicious that you will think yourself in paradise.”
Mairi glared at her mother. “Do you accompany them?” she demanded with suspicion.
Beatrice smiled for her guests. “I know that you will miss me, Mairi, but I must remain here for the moment. We shall see each other shortly.” She bent to kiss the child’s cheek, but Mairi pushed her aside, leaving a muddy handprint upon Beatrice’s cheek.
The little girl rose from the mud, marched to Henry’s stirrup, then lifted her hands toward him. “Up,” she commanded, and Henry seemed to not know what to do.
Vivienne imagined that this pair suddenly saw the merit of the two maids they had abandoned in the forest.
And that granted her an idea. She fastened her cloak more fully about herself, the better to hide her fine kirtle. Her cloak was soiled so would not raise suspicions. She hastily moved Erik’s pin so that it was hidden beneath her cloak, then stepped out of the shadows, her hood pulled over her hair.
“I would offer my aid,” she said and the group spun in their shock to regard her.
“Who are you?” Beatrice demanded.
“I am a serving woman, a freewoman seeking a noble family to serve. I heard tell at the abode of the Earl of Sutherland that there was a fine abode further north, perhaps in need of my skills, and so I came this far.”
“What skills have you?” Arabella demanded.
“I have been a wet nurse,” Vivienne lied. “And I have been responsible for young girls. I can teach embroidery and matters of etiquette.”
“Then what brings you so far?” Beatrice demanded. “Why did you leave your previous abode?”
Vivienne wished she could have conjured a flush. “I feared,” she began, striving to think of some plausible detail. Henry granted her an appraising glance, one that did make her blush in truth and granted her an idea. “I feared to become a wet nurse again,” she said and the women nodded in unison.
Arabella jabbed Henry with one fingertip. “Fortunately, you will have no such fears in our household -- will she, Henry?”
“Of course not, my dear,” that man said with some discomfiture. “But are you certain that we have need of such a woman? It will be another mouth at our board, after all.”
“Up!” demanded Mairi. Astrid grasped a pearl sewn to Arabella’s kirtle and did so with such vigor that the gem popped from the cloth. It sprang into the mud and rolled away. Vivienne hastened to pick it up and offer it to the noblewoman.
“You must have journeyed far,” Arabella said, her gaze assessing as she accepted the pearl.
“My lord’s lust was potent indeed,” Vivienne said, her cheeks stained an even darker hue at this confession.
The woman assessed her openly, then nodded once. “If you so tempt another nobleman in my abode, I shall see you flogged.”
“Understood, my lady.” Vivienne bowed her head as the servants did at Kinfairlie. “It is my intent to please, my lady.” Vivienne emphasized that by picking Astrid out of the woman’s lap and cuddling her close. The child regarded her with suspicion, but to Vivienne’s relief, she did not scream.
“Baldwin, you shall ride along with Algernon and grant the other
palfrey to the maid,” Henry commanded his squires. “Come, if we ride immediately, we can reach the hospitality of the Earl’s hall before midnight.”
It was Mairi that almost foiled Vivienne’s scheme, for once in her lap, the child slipped beneath Vivienne’s cloak. Vivienne thought the girls were cold and let them ease closer, but Mairi’s fingers rose to touch the silver pin.
Her fingers closed over it and Vivienne’s heart nigh stopped. The clutch of the child’s fingers and her sudden stillness made Vivienne fear that the child knew the pin.
“Shhhhhh,” Vivienne whispered to her, striving to not attract the attention of the noble couple riding just ahead. “There is no need to cry. We shall be in a warm bed soon enough, with fine fare in our bellies.”
Mairi continued to finger the pin, her bright gaze - of a vivid blue reminiscent of Erik’s own - more knowing than it should have been for her age. She held Vivienne’s gaze so solemnly, her grip locked upon the pin, that Vivienne wondered how much this child recalled of her father and his supposed demise.
* * *
“I saw the ship,” Tynan said, clearing his throat as if he felt as awkward in this moment as Rosamunde.
She said nothing.
“I saw the ship and I knew you returned. I had hoped that you might come alone.”
“Why?” Rosamunde asked, not daring to hope for any kindness from him after his harsh words when last they had parted.
Tynan inclined his head and seemed unduly fascinated with the toes of his boots. “Because I owe you an apology, and I lack grace with such matters.”
Rosamunde felt her resistance to him soften, for she knew apologies came no more readily to this proud man’s lips than to her own. “You lack grace in no matters.”
A fleeting smile curved his mouth then, easing the tension from his face for a bare instant before it disappeared and he frowned anew. “I thank you for that, though I think you too kind.” Tynan took a few steps closer and Rosamunde saw new lines of care around his eyes.
Perhaps this interval had been as difficult for him as for her. It was a tantalizing possibility.
Tynan swallowed visibly. “I believed the worst of you when you supported Rhys FitzHenry’s suit for Madeline, instead of asking you for the truth of what you knew.” He referred to their resounding battle over the welfare of their niece, a fight which had occurred months ago yet still had the power to infuriate Rosamunde. “I assumed he truly was a traitor to have been so charged, but you must have known that they were false charges brought against him.”
“I did.”
“I apologize that I believed you had cast Madeline into peril for no good cause. I was too troubled to see that it would have been unlike you to have done so, for you have always been protective of your own.”
Rosamunde inclined her head in acknowledgement. “You were hardly unjustified in assuming that I consorted with scoundrels. I have been known to do so.”
“I was unjust.” Tynan cleared his throat again and took another step closer. Rosamunde could see the glint of his eyes now, the quickness of his breath. Could he feel as much trepidation as she did?
“And I apologize,” he continued, “for you accused me rightly of treating you unfairly. I knew that you believed I meant to wed you when we chose to auction the relics and yet I did not make the truth of my intent clear. I knew that you would believe our future began when we spent another night abed, but I could not bear to confess the truth to you -- nor could I bear to part without loving one last time. And I was wrong, as well, to deny you any legacy from Ravensmuir.”
Rosamunde cleared her throat in her turn and took a step closer. “I should not have stolen one,” she admitted and was rewarded by the brief flash of Tynan’s smile.
“You were provoked.”
“I was furious.”
He bowed his head. “I was a fool.”
Rosamunde almost reached for him but then she realized that he had pledged nothing different. She waited, watching him with care. He lifted his left hand and she saw the glint of the silver ring she had previously worn. It graced his smallest finger, though still it nearly filled the knuckle.
She glanced up and found Tynan watching her. “Wed me, Rosamunde,” he whispered hoarsely. “If you can forgive me.”
“But what of Ravensmuir?”
He sighed and frowned and looked away. “I fear it lost.”
Anger lit within Rosamunde and she lifted her chin. “So you would reconcile with me because you have nothing left to protect? I will be no man’s consolation!”
Tynan lifted a hand to halt her tirade and shook his head. “Archibald Douglas would treat with me, but the longer I delay, the more onerous his terms become. He pushes me further each day. I was prepared to wed a woman of his family to seal the treaty, if that would save Ravensmuir, but I am not prepared to disavow my nephew Malcolm.”
“They will leave Ravensmuir standing only if you breed an heir with one of their own,” Rosamunde guessed and Tynan nodded.
“And Malcolm will be left with nothing, despite my vow to make him my heir.” Tynan raised a fist and anger flashed in his eyes. “A pledge made should be a pledge kept, and a man should respect the vows of any man with whom he would treat. Douglas, though, grants no weight to pledges that do not serve his ambition. I will endure his demands no longer, though it means that I will not be able to keep him so readily from my gates.”
“Ravensmuir will be besieged by her neighbors,” Rosamunde suggested softly.
“We will be assaulted, to be sure.” Tynan shrugged, his eyes gleaming. “Perhaps Ravensmuir would have been attacked at any rate. Perhaps the bride they would have chosen for me would have opened the portcullis for them. I cannot know. I do not care.” His voice rose. “I have been pushed overmuch and I will be pushed no further.” He drew the ring from his finger and offered it to Rosamunde, his gaze intent. “Wed me, Rosamunde, for I love you in truth.”
But Rosamunde hesitated. Here was all she had believed she desired, and yet, a dreadful portent stilled her steps. She looked at the ring that once she had worn and trembled at some dark omen it bore. She feared then that Tynan’s love for Ravensmuir would come between them once again.
“Wed you because you no longer care what the neighbors think of your bride?” she teased.
Tynan laughed. “They are a deceitful and warmongering lot. No soul of good sense could care what they think.” He traced the curve of her cheek with a fingertip then, a glow lighting in his eyes. His voice was husky when he continued. “I have missed you, Rosamunde. Accept my ring and come again to my bed.”
“I thought I would not make a suitable Lady of Ravensmuir.”
“Only because I was fool enough to insist as much. I was wrong.”
“Aye, you were,” Rosamunde said. “How fortunate you are that I am a woman with a forgiving nature.”
“You are not, which is why your forgiveness would be a gift beyond expectation.” Tynan arched a brow.
She was a fool, afraid to accept what she had yearned for when it came within her grasp. There was no shadow ahead, only the unfamiliar prospect of being bound to another soul.
Rosamunde smiled and stepped forward, breaching the last gap between them. “I think our mutual apologies accepted,” she said and lifted her hand. Tynan held the circle of the ring between finger and thumb, and Rosamunde smiled as he slipped its weight over her knuckle once more. The silver shimmered, the ring slid down her finger, then an unholy scream filled the cavern.
* * *
Chapter Seventeen
Erik and Ruari pursued the hunting party even as fat drops of rain began to plummet from the sky.
“This is to our advantage,” Ruari claimed with pleasure. “The women will return to the hall, to be certain. And when the party turns back, we shall be able to catch them for certain.”
They gave the palfreys their heels and the beasts galloped onward along the path beaten down in the forest undergrowth. There was a bright point
ahead, then the horses leapt out into a clearing. The change was astonishing, no less because a deluge of rain poured suddenly upon them.
Erik sputtered and shook his hair from his eyes. The horse slowed its pace and he saw why.
A party of four horses emerged from the forest on the far side of the clearing.
The horses nickered at each other. Erik had no time to draw his hood over his head before Nicholas cursed soundly. Beatrice shouted at her horse and smacked its rump, urging it to run to Erik’s left. The other horses fled in pursuit, the noble pair in the saddles looking wet and confused.
Nicholas might have followed but Erik roared. He shouted at his steed and gave chase to his treacherous brother. Ruari moved quickly on his left and between the two of them, they ensured that Nicholas could not flee back to the hall.
Nicholas turned his steed abruptly then and raced in the opposing direction, diving back into the cover of the forest. Erik guessed his brother’s destination immediately and urged the horse to give chase.
The land curved upward from this point, cresting in a barren hill that Erik knew well. From that point, one could see all the way down to the North Sea. Erik and Nicholas had played there often as boys, for there was an ancient group of standing stones that offered numerous places to hide.
The rain began to fall in cold sheets, but Erik did not care. His pulse quickened and he urged the palfrey to greater speed, though that left Ruari far behind.
He burst onto the hilltop, bald but for the knee-deep bounty of blooming heather. Nicholas turned his horse hard within the circle of stones ahead. The beast reared just as lightening crackled across the sky.
“A reckoning comes, Nicholas,” Erik shouted.
His brother laughed. “Surely not one granted by you? Do you trust me no longer, brother mine?”
“You taught me the folly of that long ago,” Erik replied. He halted his horse within the circle and confronted his brother in the rain. Nicholas’ tabard looked less magnificent as soaked as it was, and his hair was a less glorious hue of gold. He had never been pleased to be seen at less than his best, and he glowered at Erik as if Erik had summoned the rain.
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