One Snowy Knight

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “Skena, trust in wishes. Say yes,” he pleaded.

  Skena stared into his handsome face, into the gray eyes that sparkled with magic. She would kill for Noel de Servian. She would die for him. But she could not marry him. It was a dagger to her heart.

  “You do me an honor in the asking…but I cannot wed with you.” She was barely able to force the words out.

  He stared as if not believing her answer to be true. “Why? You know we would suit. You feel it. I know you do.”

  “Oh, aye. You are all I could wi—” She started to say wish, but changed it, “want in a husband.”

  His frown deepened. “Then explain, Skena. I want you for my lady wife. You say I am what you would wish for in a husband. Do not avoid the word. Guillaume says the people of Glen Shane and Glen Eallach already accept them as the lords there. I can win the approval of your people…my people…our people.”

  “I have no doubt you will make a good lord for this holding.”

  Skena’s heart broke, as she knew it would be a life without her. She could not marry him. She could not stay here. If she remained she would fall into being his lover. There would be no resisting him. He would have to marry to father a son, an heir. She would be forced to watch him with another woman. Worse, she would be cast into the same spot of shame that Dorcas had filled in her life. She would never do to another woman what had been done to her.

  “Unspoken thoughts haunt that statement. You say you cannot wed with me. Then explain.” The muscle in right side of his jaw jumped, signaling his refusal to accept her answer.

  She closed her eyes, fighting against the burning anguish. When she opened them she gave him the truth. “Angus,” was all she managed to get out.

  De Servian’s head lifted slowly. “Skena, sorry I am for your loss, but life marches on…for us all. What has he to do with your answer?”

  “Everything…. He has everything to do with my refusal. I cannot marry with you, Noel de Servian, though it might be my heart’s desire, because I am already the wife of another man.”

  He frowned. “And that man is dead, Skena. Your vows to him ended when he drew his last breath. The practice of the widow following her lord husband onto the funeral pyre went the way of the Vikings.”

  Skena shook her head. “Nay, he is not dead. I saw him on the boulevard stairs. ’Tis what distracted me when I went to let the wolves in.”

  Sympathy clear in his silver eyes, Noel’s tense muscles seemed to ease. “Ah, lass. I understand only too well letting go is hard. Grief pulls at the heart. Sometimes the mind plays us for a fool. We see what we want to see, not what is real.”

  “’Tis not what I wanted, but what I saw truly. I spotted him on the boulevard, and then he descended the stairs. Moonlight hit half his face. I saw him, Noel.”

  Noel shook his head to the side. “’Tis not possible. You simply mistook another man for him.”

  “Did you not listen before? There are no men here young and fit enough to pass for Angus.”

  “Likely, it was one of Guillaume’s men then,” he suggested.

  “Nay, they are clean shaven like you and Baron Lochshane. This man wore a beard and the braids of a chief.”

  “Then where is he now? If Fadden had returned, do you not think the man would come through the front gate and announce his arrival?” His right hand gently stroked her cheek. “I am sorry, Skena. Your husband died on the field at Dunbar. There is no shred of doubt. There were witnesses. Edward gave me Craigendan because he was made aware of the man’s death and knew the fortress would need a knight to hold it. Edward conferred the title on me in April. I had been wounded in the battle and was slow to heal, which is why it took me so long to come claim the holding. Originally, plans were for me to accompany Damian St. Giles to Glen Shane. He was to assume command of Lyonglen and I Craigendan. Since I am already sworn to Challon, Edward knew it would only cement Julian’s control here to place me as baron.”

  The quiet logic of his words made Skena feel childish. He was right—Edward had sent Noel as new lord here because Angus was dead. Even so, she could not banish the dark image from her mind. Mayhap guilt preying upon her caused her to see a man who was dead? She would never wish Angus harm; even so she did not want him back as her husband. Instead, she wanted to be the wife of this man who believed in wishes, wanted to believe dreams could come true for her.

  Reaching out, his large hands cradled her face as if he held the most rare and precious treasure. “Skena, I can make you forget him. Just give me time.” He was so close the words fanned across her face, just before he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Skena’s breathing was shallow, rapid, as his gentle lips teased, giving her a taste of pleasure…making her hungry for more. Dizzy with anticipation, she closed her eyes and pushed up on her tiptoes, craving more of the sensations he conjured within her. Eager for all he could show her.

  Most vexing, he pulled back. “Open your eyes, Skena.” That probing gaze raked over her features, almost as if he were memorizing every curve, every shadow of her face. “You know naught of the ways of kissing, do you, lass?”

  She heard the puzzlement in his voice, felt ashamed he found her lacking. Unable to meet his stare, she glanced down. “I am sorry….”

  He laughed. The bloody man laughed at her! She felt like punching him.

  “Do not look angry or hurt, my sweet Skena. It will be my honor to show you these wondrous pleasures.” Noel tilted her chin up a little. “Open your mouth slightly….” The corner of his mouth crooked up as a wicked twinkle flashed in his eyes. His lips, ever so lightly, brushed against hers.

  Pulling back he watched the reactions playing across her face. Skena knew she could not hide them from him. What she saw reflected in his eyes robbed her of the ability to think, to draw air, made her want to believe in wishes. This time he tilted her head back slightly and then pulled her chin down to open her mouth. This kiss sent shivers down the backs of her thighs.

  As Noel lifted his head, Skena’s hands grasped his upper arms, flexing tightly about his hard warrior’s muscles, relishing his strength. “There seems to be more to the ways of kissing than I knew.” She leaned into him, wanting to feel her body pressed against his.

  The door pushed open and chattering children rushed in. Annis and Andrew. Her son said triumphantly, “See, I told you our knight would be awake.”

  Stepping back with a disappointed sigh, Noel chuckled. “We shall continue our lessons later, my lady.”

  Skena hummed lowly as she finished changing into one of her better kirtles. After getting out of the mail shirt and cleaning up, she had brushed her hair and added a simple, thin circlet across her forehead. Noel would assume the power of baron shortly, and despite his avowing he wanted her to continue to be the lady here, this would be the last morning she would go before the people of Craigendan as their mistress. Another would soon be deciding their fate. She wanted to face the change appearing every inch the baroness. While the gown was not new, she had always loved the deep blue. She shrugged. It had been a while since she had made a kirtle for herself. Always too busy with other things. She recalled a wine-colored velvet gown her cousin Raven wore last Yuletide. Skena envied that rich shade, but knew she could not afford the material. Well, she had never been one to wear finery such as Raven and Rowanne did. Tamlyn was like her, more comfortable in a sark and skirt of tartan. Only now, with Noel here, she suddenly wished she could put on a kirtle closer to what the women wore at court, what he was used to seeing.

  Feeling a quickening within her blood, she was suddenly forward looking to seeing how her people accepted de Servian as their new lord. She put a hand to her belly and took a deep breath, hoping Noel would find her pleasing in blue, be proud to have her standing alongside him.

  “Well, I am what I am, no changing it.” She spoke her anxiety to her reflection in the bowl of water, and then turned to leave the room.

  As Skena approached the lord’s chamber she heard voices chatter
ing. Discerning a female one, her steps slowed. The door was not locked, but left open just enough for a body to squeeze inside. She could see movement within, but not a clear view. The voices were too low to hear what was being said. Fearing the worst, a frisson crawled up her spine. Since she was still mistress of this holding and the door was not closed, she put her hand on its plane and slowly pushed it open.

  As she suspected, the feminine voice belonged to Dorcas. Her heart dropped, then slammed back up in her chest, making her light-headed. “What are you doing here?” Skena snapped.

  She told herself not to give Dorcas the reaction she wanted, yet it was impossible to contain the rage, the hurt…the jealousy. Before, with the situation between Dorcas and Angus, she had been humiliated. Angus had allowed Dorcas to flaunt her position in his life, permitted her to openly defy Skena when she gave orders. Still, she saw that it was only a wound of her pride. She had never loved Angus, so she had not been jealous, just resentful. This was a thousand times worse! She vibrated with fury, nearly out of control. She could not think, barely remembered to breathe. Desperately, she tried to rein in her temper, reach for that calm spot in her soul.

  Noel, still drying his face on a cloth, turned around. Lowering it, his sweeping glance took in Dorcas, who was straightening the bedding, and then Skena in the doorway. His expression did not change.

  Dorcas looked over her shoulder at Noel and gave him a sly smile, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them. “Why, I was seeing to Lord de Servian’s needs, my lady.”

  The way Dorcas said ‘my lady’ set Skena’s teeth on edge. Dorcas’s intent. Skena wanted to rip her red hair from the woman’s head and force feed it to her. Skena had taken umbrage that Angus never gave a pretense to hiding that he had taken Dorcas as a leman, and in some ways she believed he had flaunted it to shame her. The situation had proved difficult to live with. That offense was only a faint echo compared to what coursed through her blood now. Violent shaking threatened to manifest itself. Skena moved to the fireplace and pretended to warm her hands, in an effort to cover her distress. She quickly saw she was failing. She did not want to fake being calm. She wanted to claw Dorcas’s eyes out!

  “I need not remind you, Dorcas, that you have chores elsewhere. In the future, please recall you no longer have access to the upper levels of the fortress. Keep belowstairs where you belong.” Skena was proud her voice sounded calm.

  Dorcas paused, her hand on the top coverlet. Her jaw tightened, but then she continued to smooth the plaide of its wrinkles, ignoring Skena. She turned back to Noel and asked, “Is there aught else you would want, my lord?”

  Noel put down the cloth. “Nay. Not unless you can do the chores of a bloody squire.”

  She stopped before him, curling a strand of her long red hair around her finger.

  “You will find, Lord de Servian, I am able to do many things…. Help a man dress…or undress. And you must admit I am easier on the eyes.”

  Noel laughed. “But can you put an edge to my sword? After last night, it needs care.”

  Dorcas’s laughter bubbled forth. “An edge? Mayhap not an edge. Howbeit, I am quite capable of polishing your sword to a hard sheen.”

  Skena thought about picking up the fireplace poker on pretext to fix the fire, instead of watching Dorcas attempting to fix Noel’s interest. She decided against it. Her hand wrapped around the length of metal might prove too strong of a temptation. Besides, this was a test of de Servian.

  He gave the woman an impassive face. “I am sure if I require anything I merely have to ask Skena.”

  The lines at the corner of Dorcas’s mouth said she strained to keep her comely smile in place. “You will find, Lord de Servian, that our Skena is oft too busy to tend all the baron’s needs.”

  “Enough, Dorcas!” Skena’s temper snapped. “You should be on the wall patrolling. See to those duties or I will presume you lack work to keep you busy. The garderobe could use a good cleaning, most likely. Shall I set you to doing that?”

  Dorcas shot her a smug expression and shrugged. “Mayhap you might think to do such.” She glanced back to de Servian. “Mayhap not.”

  As Skena watched Dorcas saunter out the door, she wanted to throw something at her. Oh, she would deal with her later, and it would not be pretty. She had planned on waiting until spring to marry Dorcas off, but she would send word sooner to the Campbells and Comyns both. First man that offered could have her. Spending the winter with Dorcas trying to seduce de Servian for spite would be more than she could stomach.

  Noel picked up the dark blue shirt folded on the bench. “I will be glad when my men and wagons can get through. This is my last shirt until they do. Can you help me get it on? It pains me to reach over my head. I did not take notice of it when I was killing the wolves, but after the fear burned away, simple movements start the wound to aching all over again. The warrior in me tends to blot out pain when I fight. You must to stay alive.”

  Skena took the shirt and helped ease it onto his arms. The surcoat came next, also blue, but a shade lighter and trimmed with silver braiding. The dark blues and silver only seemed to highlight his arresting eyes.

  He glanced up from buckling his belt loosely about his waist. “Will I do?”

  She nodded. “Aye, you are every measure worthy to be the lord here.” She started to reach out and brush the curls that spilled carelessly over his forehead, but then pulled her hand back, not feeling she had the right.

  Noel caught her wrist. “You are quiet, Skena.”

  “Sometimes ’tis wiser to travel the road in silence,” she replied softly.

  “You are angry?” He pressed. “The woman upset you? Why?”

  “One of those times when being mute is the lesser of evils.”

  He pulled her closer. “Holding back will not aid us in coming to know each other better. Why did she upset you?”

  Skena sucked in a steadying breath and slowly released it. “Very well, she is not merely an insolent servant. Dorcas was my lord husband’s leman.”

  De Servian’s brows lifted. “Ah, I can see where you have a right to be distressed by her presence.”

  “If you mean your words—”

  “I mean everything I have spoken to you, Skena. Everything. I want you for my lady wife. We are but strangers, but marriages have been made between men and women when they have never seen each other. We have a better start, and both recognized the strong liking, the rising feelings betwixt us. I mean for us to marry as soon as it can be arranged. I would prefer if we can dispense with the crying of the bans.”

  “Then ken this. I married young and learnt there were little choices with an iron-willed, and often uncaring, husband. As such, I abided one husband bringing shame to our marriage by taking another woman as his whore. I do not want to face that again.”

  Noel’s hands took her waist and pulled her toward him. His mouth caught hers, kissing her, not roughly but thoroughly, quickly taking her anger and turning it into a ravenous hunger. Her whole body ached with the need he stirred to life within her.

  Breaking away, he pledged in a harsh whisper, “Never give me reason to doubt you, Skena, and I shan’t offer you any reason to question my devotion. Craigendan and you are my deepest wish come true. I will fight to protect that dream.”

  Skena stepped back to distance herself from the potent magic Noel wove around her. He made it difficult for her to be logical. The closer she was to him, the more the effect took possession of her will.

  “Shall you accept my word, Skena, that I honor you above all others?”

  Her spine stiffened. “Angus gave his troth with me, spoke words before all, about forsaking all others and keeping only to me. His words were hollow.”

  “I have come to the belief your dead husband was not an honorable man. When a man of Challon gives his vows, you can place your faith it will be kept.” Noel held out his arm for her to take. “Now, shall we go belowstairs and greet the people of Craigendan?”

/>   Had she not just a short time ago pondered that she instinctively trusted this man, saw the nobility within him, recognized Noel de Servian was in all measures more than Angus had been? Mayhap she deluded herself because she wanted Noel to be the perfect warrior of her dreams. Only, as she stared at him, forcing herself to examine him with a jaundiced view of men in general, she still sensed deep integrity in him.

  Trusting that inner voice, she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her out of the room.

  “I take your silence as a yes.” He placed his other hand over hers and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. “Trust me, Skena, and we will rub along well.”

  “You are a stranger, yet I feel as if we have kenned each other for longer. I trust you. I just do not like how I felt when I found Dorcas in the chamber with you. It was painful,” she admitted.

  “If she is so insolent and such a constant thorn in your side, why have you not married her off to some distant clansman and been done with her?” Noel asked as they descended the stairs. “Then she would be out of your hair and not a constant reminder to you.”

  “Complicated reasons. At first, there was the expectation Angus would return. Then, there was Muriel to consider. Dorcas is her daughter.” Skena paused before the Great Hall’s doors, looking at him with wary eyes before adding, “There is also the fact that she is my half sister.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Since all within the keep had been ordered to show themselves before fast was broken, the people of Craigendan anticipated change rode on the cool morning air. Aware of the English presence, they surely suspected a new lord was the next order of business. What was left—how it would affect their everyday lives. Skena smirked when she heard one of her ladies chime, “Well, so long as it ain’t no bloody Campbell or Comyn, cannot be too bad.” Skena glanced at the solemn faces filling the Great Hall, searching each to judge their moods. Stark uncertainty was upon most countenances. The biggest portion of her clan members kept to the shadows of the far walls, observing as de Servian entered with Skena on his arm and Guillaume Challon just behind him.