“My lady, you are by the fire too long,” Matilda warned. “Your cheeks have gone red.”
Isolde cast a shy glance at her maid. “’Tis thoughts of Cormac that flush my face so.”
“Cormac?” Matilda lifted her brow as she carried over a fine blue-and-white kirtle.
Giddiness tickled inside Isolde’s stomach. She didn’t bother to smother her smile. “I mean Sutherland. The Chieftain of the Sutherland clan.”
Matilda broke out in a wide grin. “He’s been keen on you since our arrival, my lady.”
“He knows our secret,” Isolde whispered.
Matilda straightened, her expression going to one of concern.
“’Tis fine.” Isolde put her back to her maid to be aided into the kirtle. “He wants to help us, but I think we might be able to help him as well.” An idea was forming in Isolde’s mind as her maid dressed her. There might be a way to prevent the fight with Brodie’s champion.
Isolde slid her arm into the sleeve of her kirtle. The linen was wonderfully heated from where her maid had laid it by the fire. “I want you to listen to the talk at the joust today, Matilda. Especially to discussions of the men working for the knights in the tournament.”
Matilda laced up the back of Isolde’s kirtle with fast, expert fingers. “Of course, my lady. What is it you wish me to listen for?”
“The Ross clan is involved in some wrongdoing, I believe. I’d like to unearth what it might be.”
Matilda gave a little gasp. “You think we might be able to have them removed from the tournament?”
Isolde nodded. “And if they can be removed from the tournament, we need not worry about Brodie’s challenge or his champion at all.”
It was a narrow chance, but it might be the only chance they had. For though she was well aware it might cause her death, she could not allow Cormac to fight Edmund the Braw in her stead.
The mud-slicked streets of the market were filled with gossip. Cormac meandered through the vendors with his senses on alert for any new information. There was much to be had—how Laurence de Govic won all the jousts the prior day and how the first night of the feast Sir Alexander de Mandeville had Elinor of York sit beside him rather than her own father who was six seats away. Despite the wagging tongues, the subjects all pertained to people Cormac didn’t know and events he had little care for.
Not when he needed information on the Rosses. He’d sent Duncan, Lachlan and Alan to the jousting lists where they might have better luck. Cormac only hoped they would have more success than what he’d uncovered thus far.
A woman in a wide-brimmed hat strode by with a tray of apples and paused in front of Cormac, her brow lifted in a silent question that could be taken as an offer for an apple or something more. Cormac shook his head and turned away. Even before meeting Isolde, he never fell prey to such temptations.
And after Isolde…
After her, he could scarcely think at all. Not without imagining how her kiss-reddened lips had felt beneath his mouth or how she’d stared at him with her heavy-lidded blue eyes. Desire swept through him and left him hot with distraction.
Pain burst at the back of his head. He spun about with his hand pressed to the offending point of impact on his skull. A damaged apple rolled away from him.
Irate, he snapped his head up, half-expecting to find the suggestive apple seller prepared to lob another bit of fruit his way. Instead, he found Graham standing there, green eyes twinkling with good humor. “I tried calling out to ye.” His brother lifted his shoulders as if that were excuse enough.
“And now ye’ve wasted food when our people are starving.” Cormac pulled his hand away from his head, bringing a small chunk of white apple flesh with it.
“Ach, ’tis fine.” Graham picked up the apple and held it into the rain until all the mud had washed away. “Save the part ye ruined with yer head.”
“Where have ye been?” Cormac asked in a gruff tone. “I know ye come to the tent because ye’re still sleeping when I leave in the morn. Then ye’re gone when I’m back at noon and dinna return until after I’m asleep.”
Graham rubbed the apple on his tunic and bit into it. “I’ve been occupied.”
“Lady Clara?” Cormac asked in a low tone.
Hope rose in Cormac’s chest. Their people needed at least one fortune to save them. If Graham was having success with Lady Clara, Cormac could leave off Isolde.
Guilt tugged at him once more. She’d been preyed upon by many men who sought to use her dowry and noble position to their own advantage. Yet, even as he wrestled with the dilemma of hurting her, he was all too keenly aware of his people’s starvation. Was it worth another clansman’s life to keep from hurting her?
“How do ye fare with Lady Clara?” Cormac pressed.
Graham winced. “I canna say. The lass is too hard to read. Every time I get close, she pulls away.” He smirked indulgently. “I’m rather having fun with it all.”
Bitter disappointment turned in Cormac’s gut.
“Ye’re having fun while our people starve.” Cormac led Graham to the awning of a thatch-roofed home where he could speak to his brother in relative privacy and without exposure to the rain.
“Ye say that as though ye’re no’ doing the same.” Graham lifted his brows. “How do ye fare with Lady Isolde? It appears that ye’ve been getting on with her verra well. I believe I saw ye dancing with her the other night?”
“I wouldna call what I was doing dancing,” Cormac muttered. “More like I followed her instruction while she tried to guide me through a dance with steps I dinna know.”
Graham laughed. “I wasna going to mention it, but now that ye’ve brought it up…”
If Cormac wasn’t in such a foul mood, he might have laughed at his brother’s jest, but his irritation left him glowering instead.
“So, it isna going well then?” Graham asked in a discouraged tone.
“Nay.” Cormac sighed. “’Tis going verra well.”
Graham watched the people of the market duck to avoid the steady rainfall that came down with a vengeance. “Going verra well should be a good thing, aye?”
Cormac didn’t bother moving his feet back from the splashing runoff. There was no point when he was already so drenched.
“I’ve learned more about her,” Cormac answered. “Men have sought her out for their personal gain through her noble birth.” He paused. “And her wealth.” He clenched his fist to stave off the blow of guilt, though it did little good. “She’s been hurt and abandoned, even by her own brother.”
Graham lifted a brow. “Was that no’ her brother fighting for her honor?”
Cormac shook his head, not willing to share Isolde’s secrets. “’Tis a long story.”
“And ye dinna care for her?” Graham asked. “She’s bonny enough.”
“Aye, she is.” Cormac’s blood turned hot as he recalled how she’d looked in his tent, her brother’s armor and sodden gambeson, her lips and chin red from their kisses. “I care for her too much. I dinna want to hurt her.”
“And how would ye be hurting her?” Graham took another bite of the apple and studied Cormac while he chewed.
The band of tension around Cormac's chest squeezed even tighter. “If I marry her for her wealth, then I’m as bad as every other man who has sought her hand. If I use her for her power, I’m no better than her brother.”
Graham’s eyes were crinkled with amusement.
“Why are ye looking at me like that?” Cormac demanded.
Graham crossed his arms over his chest, with one still cradling the apple and leaned on the wall, so he faced Cormac. “Like what?”
“Like ye find me amusing.”
“I do find ye amusing.” Graham put a finger to his chin in exaggerated concentration. “What if ye dinna have to worry about the clan?”
“I always have to worry about the clan.”
Graham put up his hands to stop Cormac from speaking. “What if ye dinna have to worry about the cla
n and ye had met Lady Isolde here? Would ye consider marriage to her?”
Cormac regarded his brother for a long, stupefied moment. The idea of how he felt about marriage to Isolde had not entered his mind. Not when it had been so full of that kiss. And not when he’d been so plagued with guilt.
Generally, Cormac overthought everything, looking at it from all angles before finally settling on the safest option.
But everything had happened so quickly: learning about what occurred in Isolde’s past, feeling so protective of her, the passion they’d shared. He hadn’t had time to analyze it until that very moment when he’d been asked to do so.
Could he see himself wed to Isolde?
He could imagine her in his bed, that much he knew with certainty. Her body, lean from her efforts in training with a sword, naked and writhing under his touch.
He nudged his thoughts away, lest he end up with a cockstand. It was not difficult to picture Isolde by his side, a warrior queen. The perfect wife for a chieftain. A woman who would hold her own, earn the respect of the clan and be a mother who would defend their bairns with the ferocity of a lioness.
Graham pushed off the wall and clapped Cormac on the shoulder. “I dinna think ye’re going to be using her like ye think.” He poked a finger into Cormac’s chest. “Ye’ve got the look of a man in love.”
In love?
Cormac scoffed, unwilling to even consider this latest claim.
“’Tis a better start than most marriages get.” Graham bit into the apple again and strode off toward the center of the market while offering a farewell wave over his shoulder.
Cormac watched his departure. Graham wasn’t always right, but on the matter of a marriage to Isolde, he might well be. Cormac left the marketplace and headed in the direction of his tent to prepare for the feast later on that night.
Once more, his focus flitted to Isolde. Her smile, her strength, her beauty and her determination. God’s teeth, never had there existed such a woman as she.
Was he in love?
Nay. Certainly not.
But he did care for the lass.
Additionally, Graham was correct in noting it was more than most marriages began with. The idea of mutual compatibility with Isolde eased the pressure of Cormac’s guilt. After all, with a woman who appealed to him in so many ways, Cormac could be certain he was not wanting to be with her for her wealth, but for the life that they might share with mutual joy, passion and respect.
Such thoughts sealed his decision, and he knew with certainty what he needed to do.
That night, following the feast, he would ask Lady Isolde to be his wife.
11
Isolde settled herself on a cushion in the stands as the jousters were preparing themselves on their horses. The rain continued to come down in earnest, though the awning over the stands kept the observers dry. At least those fortunate enough to not be on the ground. Peasants were left to crowd behind the wooden barrier beneath the open sky, ignoring the rain in exchange for such fine entertainment.
Isolde was just as eager to be in attendance. Now that Cormac knew she did not shy from combat, she did not have to feign disgust in the joust.
She cast a glance at her maid. “Matilda, please fetch me a goblet of wine.”
Matilda offered a slight curtsy. “Of course, my lady.”
She departed and would not return for some time. Not that anybody would notice. Isolde returned her attention to the jousters as the pair prepared to charge.
Thomas Brisbois of Kelso’s chainmail was muddy from his previous joust, but he was now donning a fresh surcoat, the green and white vivid against his dirty armor. He settled the lance in his arm, and the horses charged at one another, their hooves throwing up globs of mud as they ran. They collided in a spray of splinters as their lances broke against the other.
The joust was a long one, made grueling by the unfortunate weather. As Isolde observed the sport, she listened to the conversations around her. There were details about the jousts that day, of course. Apparently, several horses spooked earlier during a particularly nasty bit of the storm, and in his joust with Sir Julian, Sir Edward broke his leg when his horse fell on him.
No other pertinent information drifted from the surrounding nobles. Certainly nothing about the Ross clan. But then, that would most likely come from Matilda. Servants had more salacious gossip than their masters.
A large man pushed through the crowd of peasants, shoving people from his path as he went. Though many gave cries of offense, none challenged his presence. In fact, most darted out of his way rather than be removed by force.
The man was two heads taller than most, his face set in a darkened scowl, his shoulders as solid as a great stone and spanning just as wide. He was more beast than man. A shiver ran down Isolde’s back.
“Is that him?” the woman behind Isolde asked.
Isolde leaned in her seat along with several other people to watch as he disappeared under the stands.
“Aye,” her companion replied. “No one has ever been able to defeat Edmund the Braw.”
Ice chilled Isolde’s veins. That massive beast of a man was Edmund the Braw?
Her breath came short. No one had told her he hadn’t been defeated. She wouldn’t last minutes fighting against a man such as him. Cormac would last longer, but…
Undefeated.
Isolde pressed her hand to her chest as though she could return the panicked beat of her heart to its normal pace.
Moments later, Matilda arrived with a goblet of wine in her hand. “Forgive me, my lady, for it took some time to find the particular wine I know you prefer.”
Isolde accepted the goblet and gave her maid a knowing look. “Please tell me you were able to get exactly what I asked for?”
Matilda nodded solemnly. “Indeed, I did, my lady.”
Isolde’s pulse tripped over itself with relief. Matilda had found something.
Mayhap the information could prove Brodie was up to something nefarious. If Isolde could expose him to Lord Yves, it might be so bad that he would be placed under arrest and she wouldn’t have to fight his champion. She wouldn’t have to ensure Cormac did not take her place. With trembling fingers, she brought the wine to her numb lips and took a sip.
She wanted to leave the joust and seek privacy to find out exactly what Matilda had learned. If it was something that would spare her the fight, they would need to begin planning immediately.
After several sips of wine that she could not taste, Isolde handed the goblet back to Matilda. “I’m afraid all this rain has given me quite a headache. I should like to retire.”
Matilda immediately stood. “Of course, my lady.”
Together, they left the stands and began the slow walk toward the castle. This time, both women were armed with daggers. The Rosses would not catch them off guard again.
The journey back to the castle was uneventful. Thanks be to God.
“The news I bear is not as you think,” Matilda said in a low tone meant only for Isolde.
Isolde held out a hand to stop her maid from speaking further. “Say nothing until we return to our chambers.”
She knew all too well exactly who could be listening. She didn’t want the Ross clan to have any knowledge of what she had gleaned lest they try to thwart her plans. She couldn’t afford any opportunity to be ruined.
As soon as the door to Isolde’s rooms were closed, she looked to her maid. “What is it? What did you find?”
Matilda’s expression crumpled. “I’m afraid ’tis not good news.”
Isolde’s heart squeezed. “Tell me.”
“The Ross clan is involved in a plot to overthrow King Richard.”
Isolde had been right. The Rosses were involved in something terrible. Her mind immediately raced with what she could do with such information. Surely, Lord Yves would have the Ross clan arrested.
“This is excellent news,” she exclaimed.
Matilda appeared chagrined. “They are involve
d due to an agreement with an English noble.” She looked down at her feet and spoke the most awful words. “The Earl of Easton.”
The air sucked out of Isolde’s chest. “My brother? Gilbert?”
Matilda gave a slow nod. “It is why he allowed Brodie time alone with you and how he was in the area to find you together…” She swallowed. “…As he did.”
Isolde shook her head, aghast.
Gilbert was involved in the plot. He was committing high treason. He would be ruined. They would lose everything.
Her emotions reeled through so many layers of heartbreak and disappointment. This might have been her one opportunity to escape from the challenge Brodie had issued. But she could not go to Lord Yves to report Brodie’s nefarious deeds. For her brother—and she—would also be implicated.
The back of her throat ached with the threat of tears. “This can’t be.”
Matilda approached Isolde and took her hand as she continued. “The land in your dowry once belonged to the Ross clan. They’ve been trying to reclaim it for decades. Lord Easton knew this and realized what an advantage they could be when he proposed the idea.”
Humiliation washed over Isolde. “Servants know far too much.” And it made Isolde suddenly feel like the greatest fool.
“’Tis why you sent me,” Matilda replied gently.
A hot tear trailed down Isolde’s cheek, and she nodded. Matilda was correct. It was why Isolde had sent her. Servants were silent observers to all that went on around them. It did not mean they never spoke of what had been witnessed. Especially when given proper motivation. Like a lovely lady’s maid who gave them her full attention.
Isolde nodded. “Please go on.” When Matilda did not immediately continue, Isolde glanced up at her maid. “There is more, is there not?”
Matilda pressed her lips together and nodded. “My lord knew you would decline any offer of marriage to Brodie, and intentionally put you in a position where you had no choice but to accept.”
“By tarnishing my honor.” An angry sob erupted from deep within Isolde. “My own brother betrayed me to get the support he needed to engage in treason. He sacrificed me intentionally for his own gain. Not just me, but my integrity.”
The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights Book 2) Page 9
