Once Upon a Knight

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  “And ye believe it?”

  “What?”

  “That she’s a witch.”

  Malcom nodded. “She’s a witch alright.”

  Caden asked, “And what’s it mean for ye if ye dinna join us? Won’t Stephen demand her return?”

  “Plow her well and get yourself a babe before then,” Cameron advised, laughing mirthlessly.

  Malcom narrowed his eyes. He and Cameron had never had an easy relationship, and there was a good deal Malcom would never forgive the man for. “Never speak that way of my wife. Cousin or nay, I’ll see you drawn and quartered for the offense.”

  Cameron whistled low and sat back. “So ye love her?”

  Malcom nodded. “I do. And what’s it to ye?”

  Cameron and Caden both shared a glance, and then a grin, and Malcom wasn’t sure whether it was a genuine show of pleasure for Malcom’s good fortune, or if he thought it propitious for other reasons. “So tell me about York.”

  Cameron held his gaze. “So you can run and tell your king?”

  “What would stop me from telling him now? What difference will a few details make?

  Cameron gave Malcom an assessing glance, then said, “While you’re at it, tell him Earl Maddadsson sent men from Orkney and Caithness.”

  “What about Sutherland?”

  “Him too.”

  “And what of my father? Suddenly, he’s decided that David is his rightful sovereign and he willingly bends his knee?”

  “Aye.” Cameron nodded affirmatively. “And so comes Broc Ceannfhionn and Aidan dún Scoti. The Brodies, too, are prepared to fight, along with the MacLeans, Montgomerie and McNaught.”

  “And de Moray?”

  Cameron nodded smugly. “Him too, despite his quarrel with Keane dún Scoti.”

  “Well, then, seems to me you have it all covered and what need have you for me? Simply so David might put another Northumbrian castle under his rule? No, thank you, cousin.”

  Malcom rose from the table, finished with talk of treason. “You may tell David—and my father—my answer is nay. I intend to keep my vows until such time as I can no longer do so. And now, my friends, I will retire to my bed and will advise you to do the same. Before you leave on the morrow, you must do me a boon by breaking your fast with my wife, lest she take your sudden departure as an insult.”

  Cameron lifted up his cup, banging it twice on the table, as though he regretted what he was forced to say. “Very well, Malcom,” he said, looking grim. “But… now I regret to inform you that I must be taking my boy when I go.”

  “I ken,” Malcom said, expecting as much. His jaw tautened—more with regret than with anger. “Before you go, I have a gift to give Wee Davie, but I will see that his belongings are packed, and he is ready to leave by the morn.”

  “I would not see him embroiled—”

  “I ken,” Malcom said again, cutting him off, and he quit the hall, knowing full well what his cousin meant to say: Aldergh itself was in David’s sights. The implication couldn’t be clearer. He didn’t want his own son in harm’s way.

  But keeping in mind treacherous messengers, he couldn’t help but remember another role his cousin had played so long ago. Malcom was naught more than six or seven when the original Merry Bells died, and Cameron himself was the cause of her death. FitzSimon broke the sweet dog’s neck with his own two fists and tossed her at Cameron’s feet over a bargain gone sour. Cameron had colluded with the enemy—a man who’d stolen Malcom from his father. And this, after all, was the true reason he’d named his Merry Bells after that sweet dog—to remind himself that the enemy sometimes appeared like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  And now, he would have to part with a child he’d grown to cherish as though he were his own—and why? Because, as Rhiannon said, war was nigh.

  Bloody tired over the long, long day—half a morning in the saddle and a long day in his council, Malcom, climbed the tower stairs, only belatedly remembering Daw.

  With all the bustle of the day, he’d forgotten about the squire. In truth, he didn’t know precisely how to deal with the man, but he would sleep on it, and perhaps by morning light, he’d be granted an epiphany. Alas, for the moment, all he truly wanted was to see his wife and forget his troubles between her sweet thighs.

  * * *

  Pacing the lord’s chamber after her bath, Elspeth waited for Malcom. It had been a long, long day and she’d accomplished so much. She’d made many new friends. But there was something bothering her she couldn’t point a finger to.

  It wasn’t that she was left wanting. To the contrary, she had a plethora of new gowns to choose from, and tonight she would sleep on a plump, feathered mattress.

  The lord’s chamber itself was very well furnished. There was a curtained bed in the center of the room, facing a lovely arched window with glass—put there so Malcom could awake to greet the day.

  Unlike at Amdel, there were no curtains to be found here, but there were beautiful, polished wood shutters that could be closed by night. And there was a brazier on both sides of the bed, lit even during summer because Malcom apparently did not relish cold feet. That discovery amused Elspeth, because he didn’t strike her as someone who complained overmuch. But she supposed every man had preferences in his own home—particularly in the privacy of his chamber.

  And this was something that pleased her: She would keep an entire solar at her disposal, with a great big hearth and plenty of room for a cauldron—if she should ever dare to use one. But for that matter, there was absolutely no reason she couldn’t use the brazier here in her chamber. Malcom already knew what she was.

  Resolved to find out what was plaguing her, she went after the purse she’d begun to fill with herbs, ferreting out the dried bits of coltsfoot.

  She took out a pinch, putting it to her tongue to be sure. It was sweet, like honey. And this was something else she could grow because the flowers could also be used to flavor wine or make a tea. She rewrapped the cloth, then tied it again with the ribbon, leaving the pouch on the bed as she carried the pinch to the fire. And, then, for the very first time in her life, without any concern of being discovered, she tossed the herbs into the brazier, and said:

  Blazing fires as you dance,

  Give me but a fleeting glance.

  A puff of smoke lifted from the brazier, the scent like burnt honey. The wisps and curls took shape, forming above the fire, and to Elspeth’s surprise, it was Merry Bells who appeared.

  Merry Bells?

  For all she knew Malcom’s horse was down in the stables, being pampered.

  But, then, when she lowered her gaze into the dancing flames, she saw blood trickle from the mare’s black eyes, creeping down over her face. Slowly, as Elspeth watched, transfixed, her black coat turned blood red.

  And then just as quickly as it appeared, the image faded, replaced by another… a man dressed in armor… holding a longbow… seated atop a pure-white stallion. He stood gazing upon a white-necked raven that was perched atop Aldergh’s tower—unmistakable for the red line of brick.

  As Elspeth watched, entranced, the man loosed an arrow, putting the missile through the raven’s breast. And then the image suddenly vanished as Malcom opened the door, breaking her concentration.

  Tired, but smiling, her husband sauntered into the room.

  Malcom froze once he saw her.

  “Dear God, you are beautiful.”

  Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this. Elspeth was standing near the brazier, wearing a scandalously diaphanous chainse that left little to the imagination. The room was misty, perhaps from her bath, and the firelight played off the shadows in her gown, revealing the darkened valley of her breast and the hollow between her thighs. Her red-gold hair was still damp and braided into one full plait that fell over one shoulder. God help him, even as tired as he was, the sight of her hardened him fully.

  “I was…”

  “Waiting for me?” he said with a slow grin, and now that they were home, prep
aring to spend their first night together… alone… in their bed... he felt the rightness of this union down to his bones—and in one bone in particular.

  He swept across the room and took her into his arms, kissing her soundly. “You’re here,” she said with a gasp once their lips parted. And then she reached up, caressing his cheek, smiling sweetly. “Tis no dream.”

  “If it is,” he said, “would that I never awaken.” And then he drew her slowly toward the bed, kissing her shoulder, letting his hands roam over the treasure of her body, inordinately pleased to find that she had discovered her own treasures in the depths of his grandmother’s coffers.

  “Malcom,” she protested. “There’s something I should tell you…”

  He reached up, covering her lips with a finger, having heard more than enough for one evening. He kissed her again, laying her down on the bed, flicking her pouch aside as he said, “Save it for tomorrow, my love. Tonight there is only you… and me.” He kissed her again. “Husband and wife.” He kissed her again, even more slowly, with far greater purpose. He untied the ribbons at her throat with incredible relish, and finally, she slid her hands into his hair, pulling him closer.

  “I love you,” he said. “Did I fail to say so?”

  She smiled at him, a smile he was coming to know and love, and said, “I love you, Malcom.” And with those words, he was lost. All strife was forgotten. All that mattered was here and now, and the woman so pliant in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As the bells rang Prime, Elspeth awoke to find herself alone in the bed she’d shared with her husband.

  Her bed.

  His bed.

  She was the lady of Aldergh.

  For a long moment, she lay contentedly, until she remembered and rolled out of bed with a gasp.

  It wouldn’t do for her ladies to think her a lie-abed, and she wanted to make a good impression. After nearly a sennight in the saddle, she was certain her blue dress needed a good cleaning. In a hurry, plucking up the rose-colored gown she’d set aside, she dressed quickly, with the intent of attending morning prayers before breaking fast.

  More than anything she wanted to show these good folks that there was naught for them to worry over merely because she possessed talents they did not understand—of course, neither did she intend to broadcast her affiliations or her Craft. Malcom would prefer it that way. In good time, they would come to know her, and in the meantime, Elspeth wanted them to know beyond a shadow of doubt that their lady supported their love for the Church.

  She realized, of course, this was not Llanthony, but she still wanted to be sure the souls of her people were well cared for. It was such a great responsibility that Malcom had given her and she would rise to the task with joy.

  Hurrying so she wouldn’t be late, she left the pale-blue gown to be laundered, rushing down the stairs.

  Later, when she had the opportunity she would teach her ladies the wonders of simples. She would take stock of what she had in her garden and plant what was necessary—tansy, perhaps, and lavender and pennyroyal to rid the house of flies, moths and fleas; cloves and sandalwood for all their bed linens; sweet bags filled with orris root, red rose petals, marjoram and sweet basil to sweeten the coffers; sage, basil and rosemary for hand-washing at the table; and mint and vinegar to sweeten the breath—which, by the way, she wished desperately that she had right now.

  Testing her breath discreetly behind a hand, she rushed down the stairs, more than prepared to greet the day as the lady of her house. In fact, she was beside herself with joy, even despite her lingering malaise, and she was mired in thought, trying to interpret her vision of Merry Bells when she was set upon by Cora at the bottom of the stairs.

  “There you are, m’lady!”

  Quite pleased to see the maid, Elspeth gave the woman a smile and a hug, then smoothed her skirts, and bent to put a finger inside the back of her slipper to straighten the fold that was gnawing at her heel.

  For the first time in her life, she had shoes—fine shoes—soft and plush and pressed with silk. “Good morning, Cora! Have you need of me?”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  Elspeth’s cheeks warmed. “I fear I slept too late, but you must realize, you are always welcome to call at my chamber.”

  Cora smiled warmly. “Thank ye, m’lady. Alas, m’lord bade us not to wake ye. He said ye were too weary and to leave you abed sleeping.”

  “Ah, well, I must thank him for that,” Elspeth said, smiling. “But, next time, if you have need of me, I must insist you come to me at once—never mind what my lord says. After all, I am now your lady, and you are my kinsmen and I will never put my sleep over your needs. How thoughtless would that be?”

  The maid’s smile brightened all the more. “Bless you, lady! You have my word; I will do so if I must. Alas, but now, you must hurry to the hall. M’lord’s kinsman will be departing anon and he’s taking Wee Davie wi’ him. M’lord wishes you’ve had a moment to greet them.”

  “Oh,” said Elspeth, with a bit of surprise. “He did not tell me.” She had no idea at all that he had a kinsman in the house, or who in the name of the Goddess Wee Davie was! Rather, she’d thought he had an emissary from Scotia’s king.

  But, of course, with all her own problems, they’d spoken so little about his household, and she now, faced with her lateness to break her fast, she felt guilty about that.

  “I am quite certain he did not wish to trouble you, m’lady. I dinna believe his council went very well.” She gave Elspeth a twisted, worried face. “My girls were talking all about it this morn, and for that, I beg your pardon. I gave them a good speakin’ to and they know better than to gossip aboot the things they hear in our lord’s council.”

  “I see,” Elspeth said, wondering why Malcom did not speak to her of any of this last night.

  But, of course, she knew why. She had sorely tempted him with that chainse she’d worn, and no doubt it was her fault he’d been distracted. The very thought of it made her blush. “And where are they now?”

  “In the hall, breaking fast, m’lady. M’lord will be expectin’ ye.”

  “Thank you, Cora.”

  Nervous, but curious nonetheless, Elspeth left the maid and hurried down into the hall, finding the morning meal sparsely attended. But, of course, the morning prayers were not yet over. Thankfully, she didn’t have to look far to find her husband. He was seated upon the dais, at the lord’s table. He spied her at once, waving her in, having saved her the seat of honor beside him.

  Elspeth hurried over, smiling and nodding to all who greeted her. “Good morn,” she said to a servant girl. And to Rhoslyn as she passed, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, my lady,” said Rhoslyn.

  And even before she’d sat her bottom in the chair beside Malcom, Cora’s daughter Ellyn swept a plate full of sop in vin down before her—toasted bread with wine—and Elspeth noticed with some surprise that there was also a child at the table.

  “Hallooo,” said the boy she remembered from yesterday. He waved at Elspeth and Elspeth waved back. “I’m Davie.”

  “Halloo, Davie. I am Elspeth.”

  He shoved a fat slice of toast into his mouth and said with a full gob, “Yah, I ken. I’da been pleased to know ye better, lady, but my Da says we gots important business to attend at Carlisle and we’ll be leaving now, I suppose.”

  His father—or at least the man she assumed to be his father—tipped Elspeth a nod. “My lady,” he said. “Ye’re as bonny as my cousin said, and I’ve never seen that fellow so besotted. You must have bewitched him.”

  Elspeth blinked. She opened her mouth to speak as Malcom’s arm slid around her waist, and she inhaled a breath, grateful for his presence, although the reference to witchery befuddled her. She turned a wary smile to Malcom.

  He squeezed her waist reassuringly, answering his cousin. “Of course she’s bewitched me, ye oaf. But no less than your Cailin did, and ye pined like a puppy far too long. At least I knew
what I wanted and seized the opportunity when it presented itself.”

  And then he turned to the wee boy, without giving his cousin a chance to respond. “I’m sure your mother’s eager to see you, Wee Davie. Dinna forget the bow I gae ye, and I’ll be expecting a big fat cony when I come visit. D’ ye remember what I taught you?”

  The boy nodded excitedly. “Practice close-range with eyes closed.”

  “There ye go,” Malcom said. “Dinna forget.”

  “Ye’ll ha’e the boy clipping the king’s arse with that advice,” said the other man seated to the cousin’s left. All three men laughed, and Elspeth chuckled.

  “Uncle Mal… when will ye come visit?” said Wee Davie, though his gaze lingered on Elspeth.

  “Soon,” Malcom said.

  The boy’s father scratched the back of his head. “We’ll be hoping you mean that,” he said, and then he turned to Elspeth, saying, “My Lady, clearly, ye’re husband has the manners of a boor. I am Cameron MacKinnon and I’ve known this rude fellow since he was a boy fresh off his father’s knee.” And then he turned to the man beside him, introducing him as well. “Caden Mac Swein,” he said. “From Inverness.”

  “Inverness?” Elspeth said.

  Caden nodded. “An’ ye’re welcome tae visit any time, my lady. I’ve three lassies of my own, and a wee boy the same age as Davie here. My wife would welcome the company.”

  Elspeth turned to her husband and said, “It would please me to know them.”

  “We’ll see,” said Malcom curtly, and he cast both men a narrow-eyed glance. Elspeth sensed the underlying tension.

  Caden Mac Swein forced a smile. “The offer stands,” he said, and for the remainder of the meal, they shared a lively enough conversation—lively enough that one might never have known these men were at odds. But Elspeth felt the strain. It was subtle but certain. It prickled the hairs at the back of her nape, though she didn’t have a feeling of danger… not precisely.