by Carol Arens
‘Margriet, there is no plot. We know Isobel is attracted to Athdar and he to her. I wanted to see if there is any true spark before encouraging this match to proceed.’
‘But he has sworn not to marry again. How do you think to overcome that?’ Margriet asked.
‘I think the better question would be how do we get your husband to accept a marriage between them? Neither one has got over their incident.’ Margriet blanched at Jocelyn’s words, her pale skin going even whiter at the mention of her husband.
Rurik and Athdar’s first meeting and the altercation that followed Athdar’s stupid behaviour and insults had led to Jocelyn’s forced marriage. For some male reason, the eventual happy outcome between her and Connor had not smoothed the road between two of the important men in her life and her connected family. Each of them gave the other the respect they deserved due to their roles and positions, but it was a begrudging deference and nothing more.
‘He is protective of her,’ Margriet said. ‘He did not take Connor’s suggestions for possible matches any better. Rurik yet sees her as a child. If he has time to consider the good things about a marriage between them...’ Her words drifted off into silence as they each contemplated Rurik’s reaction.
Jocelyn snorted first, laughing aloud, and then Margriet joined her, gaining the full attention of the rest of the women there. Greeting their puzzled looks with a shrug, Jocelyn waited until everyone had returned to their own conversations before speaking again.
‘Mayhap ’tis better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission?’ Jocelyn asked in a whispering voice, not really wanting an answer.
If Tavis MacLerie had asked permission to marry Marian and Duncan’s daughter Ciara, it would have been refused. If Ciara’s betrothed had asked permission to break their arranged marriage to marry another, it would have been refused. Sometimes it was better to take matters into your own hands than doing the proper, formal thing.
‘That may be premature, Jocelyn. We do not even ken if this is anything more than a mere attraction between them. If my daughter is to marry, I want her to be happy in that marriage.’
‘True. Which is the reason I invited her, and you, on this visit. To see how they are together. In a place where he is in charge and not affected by Connor’s, or Rurik’s, presence. To see the real man that Athdar is.’
They fell back into companionable silence and worked on the tapestry for some time before seeing Isobel enter the hall. Jocelyn had been pleased when her brother offered to escort Isobel himself to the healer’s cottage and from the blush in her cheeks and smile on her face, it had been a good idea.
‘Lady Jocelyn,’ Isobel said, with a bow of her head as she approached. ‘Mother.’
Margriet held out a needle and threads to Isobel, who took them and sat on a chair next to her. Isobel’s skills with a needle were excellent, but her other talents were more impressive and would be a boon for any man lucky enough to wed her. She had a level head, was intelligent and kind. She had grown into one of the best chess players amongst those in the family who played, beating her father and Marian with ease now. That demonstrated her logical mind and ability to see how things worked and progressed.
‘Did Laria have anything to say?’ she asked.
‘Nay, not much. I told her if there was anything else she needed, to speak to you.’ Isobel lifted the material closer to her and then glanced up at Jocelyn. ‘She is not a friendly person, is she?’
‘Nay, she is not,’ Jocelyn answered. ‘But she is skilful and has always worked for the good of the clan.’
She watched as Isobel absorbed the meaning of her words. Laria’s temperament had never been the same after losing her two children, but what woman would be unchanged by such tragedy? Still, she worked tirelessly to provide herbs and medicaments to anyone in need. Jocelyn’s father and Athdar after him always provided Laria with a living so that she able to continue her work.
‘Her gardens must be impressive when in full bloom,’ Isobel said. ‘I asked if she will teach me about her work while I am here.’
‘Did you?’ Margriet asked, putting down her needlework. ‘Why? You have never shown an interest in such things.’
‘I know that you and Father are considering possible marriages and that I will need to oversee such things for my...husband.’ She paused for a moment. ‘This seemed an advantageous thing since we are here and I have no other duties to see to.’
Jocelyn smiled to herself and glanced over at Margriet. Isobel did understand that it was time. Now, all she...they...had to work out was if marriage to Athdar was the right path for both Isobel and him.
A small thing to accomplish when she put her mind to it.
* * *
Athdar had accepted two things as inevitable when he received word of Jocelyn’s pending arrival with Isobel and her mother as travel companions. The first was something that always happened during Jocelyn’s visits—the keep would be better after she tended to things. The second was that he would be spending time, and a good amount of it, with the fair Isobel. Ever a man to know his limitations and his strengths, he understood the true purpose of his sister’s journey here and it had little or nothing to do with some damned plants for Laria.
As he swallowed another mouthful of ale and contemplated his reaction to Jocelyn’s, and Isobel’s, visit and his plans for this incursion into his life, he accepted another inevitability—Jocelyn had not given up on pursuing another marriage for him.
She said something then, about the cook’s recipe for the fowl before them, and he nodded and muttered something acceptable. But his mind turned the situation over and over. He knew she did most things to protect or help him. It had ever been that way between them—as children and even into adulthood, she had been the buffer between him and whatever came his way.
Her marriage to Connor, though now a happy one, had been her attempt to get him out of a bad situation he’d caused—one of many in his childhood and as a boy and even young man. Now, he wondered if the sins of his past were catching up to him, taunting him even, with the nearness of Isobel.
Isobel smiled just then and said something softly to her mother and Athdar watched her mouth curve and her eyes brighten. So young, so beautiful.
And so tempting.
He leaned back and listened to the discussion about some household matter and then realised he was not the only one watching and listening to her. She held the attention of Broc, Padruig and many other men at the table and nearby, whether they be married or bachelor. When Broc caught his eye and winked, Athdar knew she had another conquest if she wanted one or not. The way that she engaged in conversation, offering her opinion when asked and questioning to clarify, demonstrated her innate intelligence.
When had she grown from child into...this?
While he was living in hell.
The hell that began with his first marriage to the woman he’d loved for years. The hell that included watching her die, after she struggled to give birth to their child, and then losing the child, his son, within days. The hell that continued through another wife and another death and a betrothed and her death.
While Rurik had kept his daughter safe and sheltered, he’d failed three women.
No wonder he’d missed the changes in her as she reached womanhood.
He drank again trying to wash the bitter taste of those memories away and continued to watch the women discussing Jocelyn’s latest plan to improve the hall. He did not mind her ministrations, no matter that they reminded him that he had no wife to be in charge of his home, as his mother had done for his father. She saw that things were cleaned and repaired and freshened and they were usually tasks that he would never think of himself. Broc oversaw the important tasks a steward did—supplies, foodstuffs, livestock and such—but that left many less critical things undone. The empty platters were being removed when he dr
ank the last of his ale.
‘Isobel, do you play chess?’ He knew her parents did as did his own sister and husband. Chances were Isobel did. Something within him pushed him to offer a challenge when she nodded. He wanted to speak to her, with her. ‘Play with me?’
‘Athdar, it has been a long day,’ Jocelyn answered before Isobel could. ‘On the morrow?’
Isobel responded as the well-behaved guest and lady would. ‘I must agree with Lady Jocelyn, Ath—my lord,’ she said quietly, as she slipped up and used his name in front of others. His body reacted to the hint of his name on her lips. Bloody hell to that!
‘We are kin here, Isobel,’ Jocelyn replied. ‘I am certain my brother has no objections to you calling him by his given name. We are families connected now.’ Jocelyn arched an eyebrow at him. As though he would refuse when he’d already given her leave to do so.
‘None, Jocelyn,’ he said. ‘You all must pardon my boorish ways. I should have remembered about your travels these last few days and not imposed.’ He stood and held out his hand to his sister. ‘I will see you in the morn.’
Athdar hugged Jocelyn and bowed to Margriet and Isobel and he waited for them to leave the table before sitting back down. As they walked towards the back of the hall and the chamber they would use, Isobel paused and looked around as though searching for something. He glanced to where she’d been sitting and saw her handkerchief on the table. Athdar grabbed it and walked towards her, holding it out.
‘You left this,’ he said.
‘If you will wait, I would like to play chess,’ she whispered.
He tried to hide his surprise, both at her acceptance of his invitation and her boldness in planning to return, clearly without her mother or his sister. If he did the right thing, it would be to order her to remain in her chambers until morn. If he did the right thing, it would mean lying awake another night. If he did the right thing... Damn! He always did the right thing.
‘I will be here.’
She turned and made her way back to where her mother waited and Athdar watched them leave, all the while smiling over this small transgression. Oh, Isobel was completely safe with him—he would never overstep with Rurik’s daughter and would never dawdle with an unmarried woman in a way that would call her honour, or his, into account. They were family, Jocelyn had said. So he would treat her as such.
And he would wait.
For her.
Chapter Five
Isobel lay on her cot in the darkness, listening to the sounds of her mother and the lady as they fell into sleep’s grasp and wondering at the boldness of her actions. Once their breathing grew deep and even, she waited a few more minutes and then climbed slowly and silently from under her bedcovers, pausing after each movement, committed to returning to the hall. It took her several more minutes to get off the cot, get dressed in her simplest gown and make it across the chamber to the door.
She did not know what madness claimed her in the moment when she told Athdar she would return, but it seemed simpler than contradicting Jocelyn and making it seem more important than it was. At the same time, she did want to see him and play against him...now, and not wait for another day. Their walk to Laria’s cottage had been pleasant and she’d managed to lose the nervousness that always plagued her when he was near.
Isobel lifted the latch with care and eased the door open. The hall lay quiet and in darkness. The hearth at the other end was the only thing giving off light to guide her path. She gathered her hair and tied it with a strip of leather and then inhaled a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she took the first steps across the stone floor. As she grew closer, she saw a small table and two chairs arranged in front of the fire. Athdar stood, leaning his arm against the mantel of the hearth, staring up at the tapestry above it.
‘Did you help to repair that?’ he asked quietly. He had not acknowledged her arrival, so his words surprised her. Pleased that he had waited, she moved closer.
‘Aye. I worked with my mother, your sister and the others to fix it. It was unravelling there near this edge,’ she said, walking up next to him and pointing to the lower, closest corner of the large woven and embroidered piece. ‘Lady Jocelyn fixed the fraying bear and deer there.’
‘They were her favourites.’ He reached up and touched the edge of the tapestry before turning to face her. ‘She would tell tales about each of the animals after our mother finished them.’ He held out his hand and guided her to sit, still smiling at what must be pleasant memories.
Once they were seated, he held out a cup to her, one he had on a tray next to the board. She accepted it and sipped the watered ale.
The light of the low flames flashed to life for a moment and illuminated his face to her. For once, he lost the pain that she could see in his gaze and took on the look of the younger man she remembered from her childhood. She could imagine for a moment the adolescent who vexed his sister and his parents. The man before he...
Lost so much.
She lifted her cup and leaned forwards to look at the board. If she continued to think about the many tragedies he’d faced, she would cry.
‘So, are you better than your father at this?’ he asked, as he settled in his chair.
‘He will never admit it, but, aye, I am,’ she confessed quietly. ‘Though I cannot win over Duncan’s wife on a regular basis.’ Duncan’s wife Marian was a formidable opponent in this game. Even her father had given up trying to beat her.
‘But you have tried?’ he asked, as he moved the black pieces to his side. She scooped up the red ones and began to put them in their places.
‘She taught me the game.’
His swallow was audible and she laughed at his reaction. ‘Mayhap I should seek my bed after all?’
‘Nay. I will not surrender this early. Let us test our abilities before calling for a retreat.’ His eyes sparkled then and she found herself lost in them for a moment longer than it took for him to notice.
‘Very well, if that is what you want,’ she teased.
They fell into a comfortable silence as she made the first move and then studied the one he made. She neither rushed nor delayed, but took her time and learned his method and strategies. He was skilled, though he played discreetly. Several times he surprised her with a riskier choice, but each risk taken was rewarded with success. In the end, Isobel struggled to make her loss appear real and not to lose in earnest.
‘You are a dangerous opponent, Isobel Ruriksdottir.’
‘But you won, Athdar,’ she said. Lifting the cup to her lips, she drank before she said anything more.
‘You let me win. You should have claimed several of my pieces when I put them in jeopardy.’
She had learned long ago that men did not particularly care for women who could best them so she had no intention of admitting he was right. But, when she met his gaze, she decided differently.
‘Are you insulted?’ she asked, watching his response.
‘Aye. Insulted that you think I need to be coddled like a bairn.’ The sparkling was back in his eyes, so she doubted he was truly insulted.
‘We could play again...’
‘An honest game?’
‘If that is what you want?’
They launched into the game without another word, the play going back and forth between them and the outcome was never a certainty for either of them. Finally, Isobel made her last move and won. She placed all the pieces she’d collected in the wooden box next to the board before raising her eyes and looking at Athdar.
Would he truly accept defeat well? Or would he be angry in spite of his words?
‘Well played, Isobel,’ he said. ‘I thought I might be the victor until you made those last three moves. More than skilful, lass. You have a real talent for this.’
His compliment and his appreciation of her skills brou
ght a blush to her cheeks. The warmth of it spread through her.
Athdar stood, gathered the rest of the pieces in the box and closed it. He lifted the board and tucked it under his arm. She waited for him to put it up in its place on the mantel.
Isobel had no idea of how much time had passed while they played. She looked at the hearth and realised it had burned down quite low. A few lamps around the hall still threw some light down its length and shadows into its dark corners. No one had entered since they’d been there—most likely all were in their beds asleep as they should be.
‘Athdar, I...’
‘Isobel...’
She laughed softly and waited for him to speak first. Just as he opened his mouth to begin, a cough echoed through the emptiness. They both turned to find her mother standing outside their chamber’s door.
‘I should go,’ she whispered.
‘Aye. Go on then,’ he said. ‘If you need me to speak to her, I will.’
‘Goodnight, Athdar,’ she said, taking the first step away from him.
‘Goodnight to you.’
She’d taken a few steps towards her chamber when his voice came as a whisper from behind her.
‘Isobel.’
She shivered at what her name sounded like when whispered so.
Isobel quickened her steps when in fact she had no wish to face her mother’s ire too soon. She wanted to savour the pleasure of being with Athdar, alone, as a man and woman. She let his words of praise repeat in her thoughts until she was but a few paces from her mother.
‘Who won?’
The words were not the ones she had expected to hear when she’d clearly misled her mother and Jocelyn. At the least, she expected a warning about such behaviour. Instead her mother surprised her by asking about the game.
‘I did,’ Isobel whispered as she followed her mother back inside the chamber. Lady Jocelyn sat up in the bed, watching her enter.
